Setting Times stories to music: Harry Nilsson to the Clash
The soundtrack for one of this week’s Great Reads is by the marvelous singer-songwriter Harry Nilsson.
This is a man who had range. Let’s look at just four of his hit songs as Exhibit A:
“Without You.” One of the most melodramatic songs in pop history. Grating and over-the-top when you’re happy, a weepy sing-along when you’re not.
“One.” Belongs to the same post-breakup sub-genre as “Without You,” but it’s as subtle as a whisper in comparison. I love this lyric: “I spend my time making rhymes of yesterday.”
“Coconut.” Just pure goofiness, and used to great effect in Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs.” If this song doesn’t make you feel silly in a good way, I despair for you.
“Everybody’s Talkin’.” The star of another movie (“Midnight Cowboy”) and his masterwork, I think. This one puts him up in the Jimmy Webb stratosphere in intimate, inside-your-soul songwriting -- and then there are those wonderful, almost yodeling swoops of vocals.
I like to think of the Great Reads as the Nilsson of storytelling -- ranging from intimate to emotional to funny, and beautifully crafted.
Anyway, in these roundups of the week gone by, I’d like to offer the first paragraphs of each Great Read (or, as they’re known in print, Column One) -- maybe they’ll buy your eye and you can settle in for a good weekend read. And you’ll also get the songs that inspired me while editing the stories, or reading them later if my fellow editor Millie Quan ushered them through. A story soundtrack!
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Precious Pearl: War orphan’s sole clue to past
Standing in the battlefield, the young South Vietnamese soldier was getting ready to blow up a bridge before Viet Cong forces could cross when an old man staggered his way, carrying a bundle.
The stranger handed him a conical straw hat. There was a baby inside.
The man said he had found the little girl clutching a dead woman, still trying to nurse.
“I can’t go on any longer,” he said. “Please bring her to safety. She is desperately hungry.”
It was wartime in Vietnam, 1972, and 22-year-old Bao Tran had been trying to focus on just one thing: igniting the My Chanh Bridge. But now he stood frozen, staring at the pale, thin child in stained cotton.
When he asked his commanding officer what to do, the reply was straightforward: “You take care of her.”
So Tran set off for a nunnery 37 miles away. He walked, he rode a bus. When the child began to whimper, he poured drops of water from his thermos, letting her lick it from his finger.
At the Sacred Heart orphanage in the coastal town of Da Nang, the head sister greeted him at the front door.
“You must fulfill your responsibility,” Sister Angela Nguyen told Tran. “You must give her something of yourself. What would you like to call her?”
He gave her his last name, then added: Ngoc Bich.
Precious Pearl.
#soundtrack: “Come Together,” by Primal Scream. Get into a groove and listen to this 10-minute version of the dance classic, overlaid with Jessie Jackson speaking at Wattstax.
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She’s homeless and likes it that way
Steve Harvey’s DJ patter floated out of the orange tent, followed by a clear contralto singing along to KJLH’s classic rhythm and blues. Patrol cars slid by, and police officers called out, “Good morning” and “Time to get up.”
It was reveille, skid row-style: Time for Annie Moody to step out of her tent, pull over a blue milk crate and sit. And sit some more.
“It gets rather boring, really, nothing to do but sit and wait and wait and wait,” Moody said.
That sitting and waiting has cost her: Moody has been arrested by Los Angeles police 59 times in roughly six years, according to LAPD arrest data — more than anyone else in the city. Since 2002, she has been tried 18 times, convicted 14 times and jailed for 15 months, costing taxpayers at least a quarter of a million dollars, according to court and law enforcement records.
Under a court settlement, homeless people can sleep on the sidewalk overnight but must be up by 6 a.m. or face charges of resting on the sidewalk or having an “illegal lodging.” Most of the 1,000 or so street dwellers on skid row fear arrest and move along, if only temporarily.
Moody stands her ground at 6th Street and Towne Avenue.
Authorities say she has turned down dozens of offers of shelter or services for the homeless. Friends believe police target her because she stands up for her rights. Police describe her as a homeless “anchor” whose defiance encourages others to remain in the streets, undermining efforts to clean up skid row.
“Ms. Moody’s case represents an extreme, including her repeated disinterest in complying with rules that everybody else complies with,” City Atty. Mike Feuer said.
Moody, 59, said she doesn’t like sleeping on the sidewalk but believes skid row is part of her “destiny.”
“We’re human beings, not to be pushed around like cattle,” she said. “We have a right to be stationary.”
#soundtrack: “Over and Over,” by Hot Chip. As one commenter said: “The nerdiest band in the universe. Hooray for nerds.”
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Burglars live the high life off rooftop bank heists
The men had their pick of eight banks at the busy intersection of Diamond Bar Boulevard and Grand Avenue. They chose the Citibank branch that used to be a Blockbuster store.
For more than a month, the five of them became regular customers. But unlike others who used that branch, they returned after dark — to watch and wait.
Then, one night last April, four of the men climbed out of a white van in matching Dickies jeans and long-sleeved shirts. Even their shoes matched: size 101/2 wide DieHard work boots, although one of the men was much smaller than the rest.
Carrying a 6-foot ladder, roofing materials, a drill and other heavy equipment, they climbed onto the Diamond Bar bank’s roof. For three hours, they cut and sliced through the rooftop. Using a sonar device, they were able to locate the vault and cut a hatch right over it.
They stole nothing that night — in fact, they sealed the hole up before leaving. This was a two-night job, and they wanted to make sure bank employees never suspected a thing.
Outside the Citibank that night, the crew’s lookout sat in another car drinking a 16-ounce Rockstar energy drink, a walkie-talkie in his hand.
But he wasn’t the only one watching.
#soundtrack: “Bankrobber,” by the Clash. “Daddy was a bank robber/but he never hurt nobody/He just loved to live that way/and he loved to steal your money.”
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Sam Slom is a party of one in Hawaii’s Senate
The clock was ticking and scores of bills hung in the balance, so Hawaii’s Republican Senate caucus descended to the Capitol basement and an austere wood-paneled meeting room, sealing the door to plot strategy.
Peering from behind silver reading glasses, Minority Leader Sam Slom skimmed a summary of each bill, then rendered a verdict. A housing revenue bond: “That’s OK.” Funds to boost Hawaii’s film industry: “We’ll let that one go.” Guaranteed overtime for public works: “More cost to the taxpayer,” Slom said, flagging the bill for dissent on the Senate floor.
The room was filled with a dozen staffers as well as the minority leader, the GOP floor leader and the top-ranking Republican on each of 16 committees, yet in 21/2 hours there wasn’t a whisper of dissent as Slom firmly made up his mind.
That’s because Slom holds every one of those leadership positions.
In the 25-member Hawaii Senate there are 24 Democrats and one Republican: Slom, a Pennsylvania-born contrarian with a frugal streak owing to his parents’ Great Depression upbringing and an unyielding capacity to be clobbered — ceaselessly, day in, day out — and gladly return for more.
“Nobody twisted my arm,” he said. “Nobody’s making me stay.”
The opportunities for futility are never-ending.
#soundtrack: “One,” by Harry Nilsson. “One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.”
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More seniors seek roomies to share expenses
Gerry Venable knew it wasn’t his turn to restock the coffee. He’d just bought those two big containers of Folgers. But his roommate reminded him that the bag of Starbucks beans she’d contributed to the shared stash cost just as much.
The squabble dragged on for a day or two and spiraled into a discussion about quality versus quantity, before Venable decided it wasn’t worth it. He bought more Folgers.
A few weeks earlier, his roommate, Carol Loper, called him out for falling asleep with the TV on and running up the electric bill. That same week — as he likes to remind her — she did the same thing. Twice.
Although an occasional tiff breaks out within the walls of the second-story duplex they’ve shared in the Carthay neighborhood for about a year, the roommates get along well. Whenever he goes to Vons, he buys her a jelly doughnut, her favorite. She cleans up his butternut-squash-soup splatters on the stove. And when he asks her for advice on how to get a girlfriend, she offers this: You need a good selfie for your OkCupid profile.
In most ways, Venable and Loper are a pretty typical pair of L.A. roommates. But at 74 and 69, respectively, they’re among the senior Angelenos who have decided to share a home to save money.
Affordable Living for the Aging, the L.A. County nonprofit that introduced Loper and Venable, has matched more than 220 people in the past seven years. Home share program manager Miriam Hall said she hopes more seniors will consider the setup and help break down the stereotype that living with roommates is only for young people.
“That’s the biggest challenge for most of our clients,” she said. “Maybe they shared when they were younger — in college. It’s certainly a change in focus.”
#soundtrack: “Golden Years,” by David Bowie. Here he is lip-syncing it on Soul Train. (Yes, Soul Train.)
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If you have ideas for story soundtracks of your own, tweet the title and artist to @karihow or @LATgreatreads with the hashtag #soundtrack.
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