Lots That Was Odd

Even El Nino cannot douse Southern California’s ability to churn out an annual bounty of quirky stories. Here are some distinctly odd memories of 1997.

Nuts Redux

Richard Aller’s return to work in August was welcomed as a great day for peanut lovers, not to mention Dodger fans. Aller is the veteran goober vendor whose sarcastic jibes and yells of “Nuts! Nuts! Nuts!” had echoed through the stadium since the day it opened in 1962. Earlier this year, two particular bags of peanuts landed Aller in a very sticky situation. Aller, who normally sells 300 bags per game, was fired for misappropriation of peanuts. The allegation was that he had purchased the two bags from fellow vendors who had gotten them for free as part of their stadium lunch allotment, and that he was planning to sell them for a $1-a-bag profit. Aller’s firing was protested by fans, who contended that he is as much a part of the ballpark’s atmosphere as any ballplayer. Administrators of Aramark Corp., who are in charge of food services at the stadium, agreed to Aller’s return after negotiations with leaders of his union. “I’m just happy to be back. I’ll be insulting everybody again,” the Lakewood resident crowed on his return.

Think Pink

Pink Man, the beach’s folk hero of the year, was a sight to behold. Even in Venice and Santa Monica, where chain saw jugglers are second nature, he earned stares. After all, how many men wear hot-pink leotard, pink cap and gloves and ride a unicycle through the crowds at the Third Street Promenade? Oh yes, he also shakes hands, sings songs and slaps high fives with natives and tourists alike. Pink Man, a.k.a. Michael Maxfield, said all he really wants is to spread good cheer. His creed: “I pink, therefore I am.” However, the sometimes homeless East Coast transplant, 36, is not above making some money from his cartoon-wacky routine. He was hired to hand out fliers and semi-frozen juice drinks and made quick cycle-through appearances to jazz up the drinking scene at area bars. He even had a small role in an independent film as a very odd blind date.

Blade Runners

The quirky angle of this year’s Los Angeles Marathon was supposed to be the arrival of in-line skating as an authorized event. You know, the world was supposed to snicker at those weirdo Californians on their roller-blades. Reality, however, intervened. The real strangeness occurred in the women’s more traditional footrace. The first female runner to reach the finish line was stripped of her gold medal for allegedly taking a shortcut. Russian runner Nadezhda Ilyina’s explanation: She had to use the bathroom at a convenience store, forcing her to veer off the main route. Marathon organizers weren’t buying it, and they named Lornah Kiplagat of Kenya the winner of the women’s division. OK, there still was something odd about 2,000 grown-ups skating down an auto-free Figueroa Street. “It’s like having your Harley full throttle on the open road,” said one blader.

Boning Up

“I forgot.” Those words rarely have had such scary, or putrid, results. A chiropractic student had taken home a few items from school, he said, for home study. He stored them in his Hermosa Beach garage, and supposedly forgot them when he moved away. The next tenants had a rude surprise in August when they opened those black plastic bags and found: one intact head, one partial skull, two right feet and legs, one left foot and leg, one partial pelvis, a left arm and hand and a right arm. Their horror led to a police investigation. “An overzealous student doing his homework,” a police officer explained.

Lost and Found

Speaking of body parts, the case of downtown’s missing skull was solved in late October. That’s when the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County testily announced that its collection had long included the cranium--and several other bones--found 40 years ago at what is now the building site of a Roman Catholic cathedral. City and church officials previously described the human remains as mysteriously missing, and probably lost forever. The issue is touchy because some Native Americans contend that the bones prove that an ancient graveyard lies beneath the future cathedral property. An archeologist hired by the archdiocese thinks the bones were deposited on the site when the land was filled in the early ‘50s. As a result of the debate, excavation will include monitoring by Native Americans. Meanwhile, don’t expect any special exhibits at the museum.

Bosom Buddies

It was not quite Arafat and Rabin. Still, a minor whiff of history surrounded the June meeting of Larry Flynt and Jerry Falwell. Flynt, head of the publishing empire that puts out Hustler magazine, and Falwell, the conservative Baptist minister, had coffee together at Flynt’s Los Angeles office. The pastor and the porn king said all the vitriol was behind them. Forget that lawsuit over the 1983 Hustler cartoon that insulted Falwell’s mother. So what if it went to the U.S. Supreme Court, where Flynt prevailed. They’re buds now. And Falwell wants to be Flynt’s pastor. Not that Flynt goes to church much.

Relishing Success

Of all the big dreams in Southern California, consider the unusually spicy case of David Tran. His for-

mula for fiery red sriracha relish became a popular success worldwide, tantalizing hot-sauce mavens from Fresno to France. From his Rosemead factory, the refugee from Vietnam first got San Gabriel noodle shops to stock his sauce. As word of scorched mouths spread, annual sales rocketed to the $7 million mark. But don’t expect Tran to follow the pattern of overreaching entrepreneurs. “Some think because they are successful in one business they can do anything,” he said. “For me, I just want to make hot sauce as good as possible.” He knows his jalapenos.

Copy Cop

Here was another Southern Californian obsessed with wheels. Gary Goltz’s dream car is not just any beefy 1955 Buick. His black-and-white is the spitting image of the one that Broderick Crawford drove in the classic 1950s TV series “Highway Patrol.” It even sports a red light and siren and a loudspeaker that blares the old show’s theme song. What’s more, in a a dark suit, a fedora and his best scowl, Goltz is the spitting image of the late Crawford. His hobby has cost Goltz more than $25,000, but he says it is worth every penny to become part of the show he watched in reruns as a kid in Pittsburgh. Said Goltz, who runs a judo school in Claremont and owns a health care sales consulting firm in Upland, “The good guys always won and the bad guys got what they deserved on the show. There were no lawyers, bail bondsmen or even Miranda rights.

“There was Broderick Crawford.”

The Bidder End

A tragic landmark of Los Angeles history or a good place to pick up some kitchen spatulas? Both interpretations applied to July’s closing auction at Mezzaluna. The Brentwood restaurant had been crippled, its owners said, by the media and star-gazing frenzy surrounding O.J. Simpson’s criminal and civil trials. The eatery, in case you’ve forgotten, was where Nicole Brown Simpson dined and Ronald Goldman worked his final shift as a waiter before their murders. While the auction attracted some ghoulish groupies who bought menus, the main action was from food industry types who bid on the silverware, fry cookers, coat racks and unopened bottles of wine. Still, the spotlight stayed on Mezzaluna to the end. Reporters nearly outnumbered bidders, sticking microphones in people’s faces as they tried to call out their bids. “This is ridiculous,” said one frustrated customer. “I can’t even see what they’re auctioning off.”

Grin Line

The Metropolitan Transportation Authority may have its financial and construction woes. But it is trying to avoid any attitude problems among its bus drivers. That’s why the transit agency this year began a new class that includes strategies for defusing difficult situations ranging from fare disputes to unruly passengers. The drivers are encouraged--though not required--to smile and greet the public. (Ralph Kramden of “The Honeymooners” would never have passed the course.) “We show them why smiling is an appropriate strategy for increasing ridership,” said one MTA official. But one non-smiling driver retorted: “What good does it do to smile if we aren’t providing on-time service, if the bus is filthy and there is no security?”

Never Closed--Willingly

Since it was founded in 1924, nothing had ever shuttered the Original Pantry restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. Not earthquakes, not riots, not a neighborhood visit from the pope. But then came the county health inspectors, who in November found 36 minor health code violations and closed the joint down. Oh yeah, the majority owner happens to be Mayor Richard Riordan. And hizzoner himself was on the horn the next morning, trying to get help from the county bureaucracy. “This is Dick Riordan from the Pantry,” he said. He was asked to spell his last name. He was then put on hold for 10 minutes. Then disconnected. He called again, and this time he said he was the mayor. Within an hour, a county health inspector had given the approval to reopen, to the delight of many waiting customers. By the way, it was Thanksgiving morning, a day when the average citizen does not find it all that easy to receive swift government service.

No-Leash Beach

The acronym FREEPLAY has the ring of a nursery school or, to a somewhat more sarcastic mind, an instructional manual for adult romance. But this is L.A. and here it stands for Friendly, Responsible Environmentally Evolved Pet Lovers Alliance Yes! That group’s manifesto declares that the beach is for all God’s creatures, even those with four legs. In April, 200 FREEPLAYers paraded through Venice to demonstrate their demands for a slice of beach where canines can frolic. They carried placards that declared: “Off-leash dogs are happy dogs” and “Born to be wild.” Right now, anyone who brings their dog, leashed or unleashed, onto the sands risks being declared a lawbreaker. Dog droppings are a health risk to humans, officials said. Still, one animal activist proclaimed: “We all have freedom, but dogs don’t.”

Compiled by Times staff writer Larry Gordon.