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One of my useless superpowers is being so familiar with my hometown of Los Angeles that I often know exactly where something was shot—or at least where a location is likely to be.
This is the original Doheny mansion—built by oilman Edward Doheny. Just north of USC, just south of downtown. Now part of a small Catholic college’s campus.
It shows up a bit—stood in, for instance, as a family museum in an episode of COLUMBO.
When I say original Doheny mansion, I mean to differentiate it from Greystone in Beverly Hills, which Edward built for his son Ned. Who died there shortly thereafter with his male secretary in what appeared to be a murder-suicide. Still no definitive solution—including the nature of their relationship. Easier back then for rich people to cover stuff up.
You’ve certainly seen this house in film and TV. It’s a city park now—feel free to go up and wander around if you’re ever in the neighborhood.
Here’s the view from its terrace. That highrise is Sierra Towers, right off the Strip at the border of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. My godmother’s godmother lived there forever—back when its rep, like the Trousdale Estates neighborhood built on the subdivided Doheny estate in between—was GERIATRIC.
Then younger celebrities started moving in—et volià—suddenly chic.
All of this grading was the former Doheny estate—Greystone is just off to the bottom left. Trousdale Estates was all one-story midcentury modern houses. Some architecture very good, most of it very bad.
When I was a kid in the ‘70s and ‘80s, lots of original owners still lived there. Not at all fashionable. Until midcentury modern got hot and then it became a gold rush. Especially because it’s so well-located—a minute from the Sunset Strip—and most houses have views all the way to the ocean.
@Holberg@mstdn.socialWhat kills me—really KILLS me—is that during the economic crisis in 2008 you could snap up Trousdale houses for peanuts. Like just a couple million on the low end. If I’d had the money, I would’ve bought every last one because I knew it was impossibly good investment. Today:
(The lower numbers at the edges aren’t in Trousdale. You ain’t getting anything for $3 million.)
Okay, my godmother’s mother who lived at Sierra Towers? Even in her 80s and 90s we’d be at dinner—it could be anywhere, often something like Craig’s—and some group of younger guys at a nearby table would send her a Belgian ale. Her favorite. And I’d be, like, how do you even know them? And she’d smile slyly and shrug and say, oh, you know, I get around.
She was an absolute kick. Who insisted that her funeral’s afterparty be held at Spago. Occurs to me they didn’t serve Belgian ale, though!