Shockingly to most of us SoCal denizens, both the Fox and Bruin movie theatres in Westwood Village closed down, (for either “good” or, more optimistically, “now,”) last week!

Even though I had not been to either of those two iconic movie theatres in LA in years, (partly due to the pandemic,) my heart sank when I read that they were closing. It came out of the blue. They are (or were) two institutions that I naively thought would outlast all of us! They were no-brainers.

The Fox Westwood Village, the day before it closed. Photo by Karen Salkin, as is the one of both theatres at the top of this page.

As a major part of my initial year in this city, they’ve meant a lot to me to this day! Every time I saw a film in one of them in the past couple of decades, I marveled that, in these days of banal multiplexes, these two gorgeous structures were still going, perhaps not “strong,” but still standing. I often felt like a Norma Desmond-era movie star just entering them.

Being that they both opened in the 1930s, (the Fox Village Opened in 1931 followed by the Bruin in 1937,) I can only imagine how glamorous all the premieres were at these stunning movie houses. Even in modern times, there were many premieres at both, but it seemed mainly at the Village. Occasionally when I’d be driving through there for one reason or another, (usually to pick-up food from one of the many eateries in the area,) I’d see one taking place. I had even been to a couple of openings there myself.

And now, incredibly sadly, they both closed on July 25, just two days before my anniversary with LA! I celebrate that milestone most years with a drive down the coast a bit, as I did that very first day, then up through Westwood to 501 *Gayley Avenue where I first landed as a teen. So the end of this major era is extra poignant to me. * [Note: In a strange bit of irony, when I tried to go to that building to take my yearly picture in front of it last week, the same day that I took the pix of the movie theatres, Gayley Avenue was also closed!!! Temporarily, of course, for construction. But, as frustrating as it was to have my anniversary celebration attempt thwarted, the synchronicity of my most special street in Westwood being closed, as well as the theatres, made me chuckle.]

The Bruin, the day before it closed. Photo by Karen Salkin.

My first job here, (yes, I did have actual employment before the long journey of being a “media personality,” first with my TV show and now this e-zine,) was as the “hot dog girl” at Stan’s Corner Shop in Westwood, which was catty-corner to—you guessed it—the Fox and Bruin movie theaters. I was so fortunate to get to look at their beauty every day. They were so majestic; we didn’t have anything so grand in either my native Brooklyn or the more upscale Manhattan.

And, the best part of those days was that, as a young worker in Westwood Village, I quickly became friends with many others who were employed in that small area, especially on that one block. So I got to see every movie in these two places free! It really was the best of times.

As the years passed, the Fox and Bruin were still my favorite film venues. And then when I started seeing Mr. X, we occasionally enjoyed a five-movie day, and that often included one or two in those houses.

The front of the Bruin the day before it closed. Notice the picture of Hugh Jackman as Wolverine on the left. Photo by Karen Salkin.

As Screen Actors Guild screenings came into play for me, whenever there was a choice of venue, I chose these two. Just even waiting on line to get in still felt special to me, like I was home.

And walking into them made me feel positively regal! There are no other movie house experiences like those two in the rest of Los Angeles; I always felt like Margot Robbie’s character, Sharon Tate, must have in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, even though I wasn’t there to see myself in a motion picture, as she was. (But a girl can always hope!)

The last film I saw at either of them was 2019’s Knives Out before it even came out. It was a SAG screening, with free popcorn and soda, and all the stars speaking after. What a happy memory to close-out this long era on.

The cast of Knives Out speaking after a private industry screening of their film, sitting in front of the curtain at Westwood’s famous Village theatre. Photo by Karen Salkin.

I’ve read that the Village might possibly reopen in the future if rumors are true that it was bought by a group of show business bigwigs that includes Jason Reitman, Christopher Nolan, Steven Spielberg, Guillermo del Toro, Bradley Cooper, J.J. Abrams and some others. They are purported to be planning to add a bar and restaurant, which makes sense since one entire side of that block, outside of one lone falafel shop that’s still hanging on, is now vacant! (What is happening to my beloved Westwood Village???)

I’m keeping hope alive that at least the gorgeous facade of the Fox Village, along with the retro one of the Bruin, will last in their next incarnations. I’m afraid that someone may just turn them into multiplexes, which I would not love, but that would at least be better than so many other alternatives.

Long live the Bruin and Fox theatres, however they can be saved! And a fond farewell to them if they cannot.

How has it been two decades since the horror that is known simply as “9/11” happened? Does it seem like that long ago to you? It does not to me, while at the same time feeling like it was a lifetime ago.

With so many newer abominations occurring in the world right now, it seems at times that the memory of 9/11 has gotten a tad lost in the shuffle. But remembering it and honoring it tomorrow may just give us a road map of how to get through everything that the world is experiencing right now.

What New York looked like twenty years ago.

This is a thought I had a few weeks after 9/11/2001, when the smoke, both literal and figurative, began to clear a tiny bit. To lessen the pain in my brain, even a little, I had to think of a possible positive that could come out of this extreme devastation. This is what I came up with, which I’m still consoling myself with twenty years later: If this tragedy somehow brought together two people whose paths would never have crossed otherwise, and they had a child who grows up to cure cancer, which would save billions of people worldwide for the rest of mankind, then perhaps that would make the evil that was perpetuated on this country an iota less painful for everyone.

Outside of that sentiment, I can just about guarantee that every single New Yorker has a personal story of that day, which we will never forget. (I’ve been an Angeleno for more than half my life, but having grown-up in Brooklyn, and continuing to be semi-bi-coastal until 2014, my heart still always lies half there.) Here are a quartet of my remembrances:

~ Sadly, so many of us know someone who lost his or her life either in 9/11 itself or indirectly because of it. I didn’t know anyone personally, but my friend, actress Debralee Scott, lost her fiancé JD Levi, who was a Port Authority policeman, that day. I had met Debralee shortly after she stopped acting, and she asked if she could manage my career here in LA. We would have made a great team. But just a few months after that, in the beginning of 2001, she paid a visit to the city with another one of her clients, and bumped into her former boyfriend, JD. They re-fell in love and she gave up everything here and moved to New York to be with him. She moved into his Brooklyn home, and even though I missed having her here, I was thrilled for them both.

Debralee Scott.

He was not supposed to be working on 9/11, but decided to go in anyway, to get overtime for a little trip they had planned for that week-end. And you can figure out the rest.  After that, several of us begged Debralee to come back to LA so we could take care of her, but she wanted to stay in Brooklyn with her fiancé’s mother. I still got to see her every time I went to New York to visit my own little mother, which was often. One time in particular has always stuck out to me. We were shopping in Manhattan when I started drooling over a pair of crazy colorful sneakers in a window. She declared them “whimsical,” and insisted on buying them for both of us, even though I didn’t think they were quite her style. She called me a few days later and said she had returned hers. When I asked her why, she deadpanned, “I realized I don’t have whimsey.”

The last time I was supposed to see Debralee was in March 2005, when she was due to come to an afternoon tea I was throwing at my mother’s house there. It’s a long private story, but she basically said she wasn’t up to being around strangers, but wanted to come over the night before to help me set-up. I’ve eternally regretted that I declined her kind offer, but I didn’t want her to tax herself on my behalf. And then I never saw her again; she moved to Florida to live with her sister shortly afterwards, and then she passed away pretty quickly from what I firmly believe was a broken heart. Even though she did not die in actual 9/11, I am convinced that the aftermath was definitely the cause of her death. Such a shame.

~ On top of all the devastating losses of life, there are so many other horrific and disturbing ways 9/11 ruined lives. My one personal example of that is that my good friend, John, had a beautiful high-end luggage boutique in the area where the first plane came down.  Right before 9/11, he had been forced to move locations to a few blocks away after about twenty years, and had gone through the expense of moving, overhauling the space, doing new advertising, etc. And then, because that entire area was decimated in the tragedy, he had to shut down. He lost everything, and, after having loved living in New York for most of his life, he had no choice but to move away. And keep moving.  He’s never recovered, both financially and emotionally; with sooooo many businesses applying for a piece of the 9/11 money, he received hardly anything. His whole tale is so tragic.

My friend’s store was a few buildings down from what is now the 9/11 Tribute Museum on Greenwich Street in Tribeca.

~ I know that many others in that geographical area had similar losses. A month and a half after the Twin Towers were taken down, I visited that neighborhood on my next trip to New York, and I was overwhelmed by the gruesome smell that still permeated the area. It’s stayed with me since then, and on my very many subsequent trips to the Big Apple, (which have numbered over three dozen,) I’ve never been able to go down there ever again. I don’t know how people who lived or worked in that area have fared right after or since, but I’m sure that my friend’s business is not the only one that was terminated that day.

No caption needed.

~ But let’s end my personal tales on a positive one. On September 11th, 2001, I was still blissfully asleep here in Los Angeles when the first plane hit, but Mr. X woke me up to let me know what was going on. The second he told me that it was the World Trade Center that was involved, my heart stopped because one of my lifelong best friends, Carol Rampino, worked there. I immediately jumped up to call her, but he told me that no one could get through to New York. The gravity of the situation began to dawn on me as I kept dialing, and I began to panic, as I imagine that everyone with a loved one in that area did. Finally, by some miracle, I got through to her office voicemail, and this is the message I heard: “You have reached Carol Rampino. I’ll be out of the office on September 11. If you need assistance, please call…” I almost passed-out from relief. That woman has still barely missed a day of work in her life, but, by some miracle, (which I do believe in,) she had an early morning doctor appointment. She later told me that she had been upset that they hadn’t given her one on an earlier date, but that annoyance turned into all of our gratitude; the scheduler literally saved her life!

On that note, I suggest that we use the twentieth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks to remember to cherish every day. As world events continue to remind us, life is not a given. Let us never forget.

Mr. X and I literally gasped when we learned that L.A.’s iconic deli, Greenblatt’s, had closed after almost a century!!! I can’t add “…of deliciousness” because I don’t really remember anything about their fare, either yay or nay. But I hate LA’s history being torn down.

The only times I have ever eaten at Greenblatt’s were when I was a member of The Laugh Factory Ensemble, the resident improv troupe of the club next door.

The Laugh Factory Ensemble improv troupe: (L-R) Howie Teichman, Karen Salkin, forgot his name completely, Susie someone, and Tim McLaughlin. Photo courtesy of Howard Teichman.

It seemed so normal to be performing at that venue once a week back then, like it was no big deal. But looking back on the experience, it definitely was. The comedy club had never had an eponymous improv group before and have not had another one in all the years since ours.

We started out with about nine members, (one of them being the late Carol Ann Susi who went on to voice the recurring unseen character, Mrs. Wolowitz, on The Big Bang Theory,) and between all the in-fighting and crazy schedules, we whittled ourselves down to just a quintet. Everybody but I wanted to be the boss!!! At the end, just three of us got along, which is far from ideal for an improv company, so we had to keep the other two, until we finally just called it quits.

But it was a wonderful performing experience, which I’ve always appreciated. And, can you guess what the best part of that whole shebang was for shallow moi? It was going to Greenblatt’s after our shows! Of course.

The upstairs of Greenblatt’s deli, where my gang and I always sat after performing next door.

As I said, I have no recollection of the actual food, but the late-night camaraderie was first-rate. And it wasn’t just about us—it was the friends who were at our show to support us, strangers in the audience who came over to give us props, and even seeing other night owls at near-by tables and wondering what exactly brought them there each night.

We always sat in the upstairs room. I really don’t think I ever sat downstairs, which now I wish we had, just to get the feel of it. But I was very familiar with the to-go counter. On the days we held auditions or showed-up at the Laugh Factory during the day for some other reason, (there’s not much rehearsal for an improve squad—duh!,) I’d stop by Greenblatt’s afterwards to pick-up food to bring home to Mr. X. It was like our own private commissary in those days.

So all my memories of that classic deli are positive ones. You can’t do better than that.

Greenblatt’s famous to-go counter.

I wish I had known it was closing. Even though I hadn’t been there for about two decades, I’m pretty sure I would have been one of the goons who lined-up for hours to procure one last taste of history. (Which makes me wonder–why did the news outlets wait until the eatery had actually closed to cover the closing??? Or was I just too busy with the Olympics to notice anything else happening, even right under my own nose?)

All that being said, I predict that the Laugh Factory will take over the space. That comedy club has been growing in fame and popularity in recent years, and besides, Greenblatt’s is not an ideal location for a restaurant. Even though there are a few parking spaces in the back, it’s not an easy area of Sunset Boulevard to deal with. No one is ever tempted to just stop on that short street and run in to an establishment for something, especially with much easier-accessed mini-malls across the street two ways.

The many patrons grabbing one last taste of Greenblatt’s on its final day of business. (But what is that guy on left doing?)

My last thought on the situation is that now that I’ve paid final tribute to the place, it may suddenly re-open, as the Beverly Hills deli, Nate ‘N Al’s, did last year, shortly after my article about its closing was published. And I’ll be glad to be of service once again.

If not, R.I.P Greenblatt’s Deli. You had a run for the ages!

When I arrived in Los Angeles as a teen-ager, I had no intention of making it my home; going cross-country was just my summer activity. So when I decided to stay here, against my parents’ wishes (and therefore without their financial help,) I had to get a job. Up until that point in my life, my only jobs in Brooklyn had been baby-sitting and modeling! Neither of those occupations exactly prepared me for the real world.

Stan’s Donuts in Westwood. That last window on the right side is where I worked back in the day. Photo by Karen Salkin.

So the guy I had started seeing out here, who was the manager of a record store in Westwood Village, recommended me to Stan Berman, owner of the already-famous donut-and-hot-dog place, The Corner Shoppe. [Note: It was later re-named Stan’s Donut’s.] Even at that young and inexperienced point in my life, I knew that gig was something special. And, sadly, now, after fifty-five years of existence, that place is no more. Stan decided to close the place much earlier than he would have otherwise, as many others have at this same time, because of the Coronavirus situation.

Most of my stories about The Corner Shoppe have to be told verbally, so I do just that in my latest YouTube video, which you can watch right here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=TppggJU8So4&list=UUF7mwI2jwcB2xB9dBCBxLZg.

What was posted in the window of Stan’s Donuts, on the last day of the iconic business.

I met so many fun people there, both the customers and my fellow employees. And let’s not forget about seeing all the UCLA jocks!

Kathy, the sister of the guy I was seeing, was the basic donut girl, and became my roommate that year, but the early morning and week-end donut girl, Judy, became my life-long friend. (Well, not literally life-long, because we met when I was a teen-ager, but you know what I mean.) Just about every age-appropriate guy, (and many who were not,) asked me out, or at least flirted with me. And some were just kind people, interested in a young girl who had recently arrived from New York, all by her lonesome. That concept even still boggles my mind! In my entire life up to that point, I couldn’t even walk to the corner grocer by myself! (And I’m not exaggerating about that, not even one little bit.)

Part of the teensy-tiny houseware set a nice man bought me when I was a teen-ager working at The Corner Shoppe. I put that quarter in the pic just to show you how small the set is. Photo by Karen Salkin.

Upon hearing that I finally had to find an apartment for myself, (because up until then, I had emulated Blanche DuBois and depended on the kindness of strangers,) one man, who was just a kind middle-aged store owner in the area, ran out and bought me a tiny doll-sized CorningWare set, to start me out on living on my own. And to cheer me up about having to do that for the first time in my life. And guess what? I still have it!!! (In my way overcrowded house, I even knew where it was just now, to take this picture! That feat is the true definition of amazing!)

But that’s how Westwood Village was back then—it really did seem like a little village, with everyone knowing everyone. I literally lived my life right in and around that microcosm; I knew everyone and they knew me; I made fast friends all within a very short period of time. Most of the workers in every business in those few blocks was also young, and we all looked-out for each other. (I really was the youngest one, and a stranger in a strange world, and always friendly, so everyone just seemed to automatically take me under his or her wing.) I totally lucked-out to land at exactly the right part of Los Angeles! (The original look of The Corner Shoppe can be see in the background of a scene of Once Upon A Time In Hollywood. It’s across the street from the movie theatre that Margot Robbie, as Sharon Tate, goes to see herself in a movie. That took place way before my time there, but the edifice even still looks virtually the same today, just with the new name up there.)

Margot Robbie in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, with The Corner Shoppe in the background, looking like it did in the early days.

Even though The Corner Shoppe was mainly known for its vast assortment of delicious donuts, I was the hot dog girl. Go figure. Always the rebel. I was headquartered in a tiny area of the other side of the corner space, where we offered hot dogs and Orange Jubilees, which was basically Orange Juliuses, with a different-but-similar moniker. Most of my customers were served on the outside counter, where they sat on stools on the sidewalk, right at my big serving window. What an enjoyable experience it was for everyone, me included.

Stan didn’t allow us workers to eat the more costly hot dogs, but we could devour as many donuts as we wanted! And we could take a box home, every day, which, of course, this poor girl did all the time. So ergo, I can’t even smell a donut anymore without feeling sick. I haven’t eaten, nor even looked at, one of those things since I left that employment! (For the story about me actually losing my lunch in that exact location, you’ll have to watch my new YouTube video—it’s too complicated to write. Here’s that link again: www.youtube.com/watchv=TppggJU8So4&list=UUF7mwI2jwcB2xB9dBCBxLZg.)

Some of Stan’s famous donuts.

Over the years, the hot dog side became other fast food enterprises, but Stan’s Donuts remained steadfast.

All entertaining anecdotes aside, I’m honored to have been an infinitesimal part of Los Angeles history. Even though Stan Berman has finally retired, (and I wish him a wonderful rest-of-his-life) and someone new will be coming into that space when the world gets back to normal, it will always be The Corner Shoppe to me.