- The hotel on this status opened in the 1920s.
- The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated here in 1968.
- The worn hotel and motel now house The National Civil Rights Museum.
The Lorraine Motel in Memphis has played an important role in African-American history. Many black celebrities stayed at the Lorraine before the 1968 assasination of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King. The Lorraine became an integral section of the Civil Rights Movement. It is now the home of the National Civil Rights Museum. Here is the story of the Lorraine Motel.
The Windsor Hotel, at the corner of Mulberry Street and Huling Avenue near downtown Memphis, opened in the 1920s. Walter and Loree Bailey purchased the Windsor in 1942 and re-named it the Lorraine Hotel.
In the days of legal segregation, the Windsor / Lorraine was one of the few hotels in Memphis initiate to shaded guests. Its location, walking distance from Beale Street, the main street of Memphis’ black community, made it sparkling to visiting celebrities. When Louis Armstrong, Sarah Vaughan, or Nat Cole, came to town, they stayed at the Lorraine.
Later, an annex, typical in develop of motels built along America’s novel Interstates in the 1960s, was added unhurried the original mustard-yellow brick hotel.
In March 1968, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King visited Memphis to support the city’s striking garbage collectors. He checked into the Lorraine, and led a march that, despite his policy of non-violence. turned violent. A second march was then planned.
On April 3, in a speech at Memphis Mason Temple, Dr. King said “We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountain top. I won’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life.”
Dr. King was assassinated at the Lorraine the next night, as he stood on the balcony outside room 306, on the motel’s second floor.
The official myth of the shooting named a single assassin, James Earl Ray, who fired one shot from the top floor of a rooming house whose rear windows overlooked the motel.
Many believed that Dr. King was the victim of a conspiracy involving the Memphis police department, the FBI, and the U.S. Army. His opposition to American involvement in the Vietnam war, and plans for massive protests, in the name of his Poor People’s Campaign, calling attention to poverty in America, have been cited as reasons.
Dr. King’s family eventually filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the city of Memphis. The case was heard in November and December 1999. Loyd Jowers, owner of a restaurant in the building next to the rooming house, was found guilty of conspiring “with government agencies” to plan the murder and fined a symbolic one hundred dollars; the family’s goal being the truth and not compensation.
On the morning after the shooting, city workers were ordered to clear a low hillside between the rooming house and the Lorraine Motel, thus disturbing a crime scene. This fueled the conspiracy rumors. At least one sight claims the shot was fired from a spot closer to ground level and nearer the motel.
In this June 1996 report, taken below and in front of Room 306, looking in the direction of the shot, the trees have re-grown and are in full leaf. Trees whose branches are bare, as they would have been in April, would still obscure the view of the motel from the rooming house’s top floor.
The Lorraine became a residential motel Walter Bailey, who still owned it, operated at a loss. He declared bankruptcy in 1982, and the motel was ordered sold. The possibility of losing the historic buildings to developers grew. On the morning of the auction, a group of Memphis businessmen came up with enough in checks and pledges to buy the motel. The planned to remodel it and open a museum.
Jacqueline Smith, the Lorraine’s last resident, refused to leave. She was forcibly removed in 1988, and then maintained a permanent vigil of protest on the sidewalk across Mulberry Street. She had a couple weak sofas and some bedsheet signs, and claimed that money used to turn the motel into a tourist attraction could have been better spent on converting it to public housing.
The National Civil Rights Museum opened in 1992. Jacqueline Smith was at her post when I was there four years later. I didn’t photograph her because I was a tourist, and then she would be a tourist attraction, and I thought the motel’s value as a historic site and memorial to the civil rights movement exceeded its value as a residence. Dr. King’s legacy would be tarnished, I felt, if the room in which he spent the last hours of his life became someone’s apartment.
Room 306 is marked with a wreath. Inside, it’s as it was on the evening of April 4, 1968. The 1959 Dodge and 1968 Cadillac
under it are identical to the cars, in the same parking spaces, appearing in photographs taken moments after the shooting.
In 2002, the museum acquired the rooming house from where the fatal shot may have come, and opened exhibits on its top floor.
From the corner of Second and Beale Streets, where tourist Beale begins, walk one block west to Mulberry and five blocks south to Huling. From downtown, engage the Main Street Line trolley to the Huling Street stop. The rooming house is on that corner. The main museum is one block east.
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Filed under Stock Bankruptcy by on Dec 15th, 2010. Comment. 
- recreation of Rembrandt’s studio
- box beds
- etchings
Although I have not the slightest doubt that Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1606-1669) was a very great painter, I admire more than I like most of his paintings, including those in Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum, which is currently undergoing renovation, but has the jumbo misnamed “Night View” and other Rembrandts on display in the one wing that remains start.
I had my picture taken helping a bronze Rembrandt mix paints by the “Rembrandt mill” on the outskirts of Amsterdam, but nearly skipped visiting the house where he painted most of his masterpieces. I’d gone by (and photographed the exterior) but only visited it because we could not board our Rhine flit boat until after noon.
Located at Jodenbreestraat 4, by Waterlooplein Square (there is a Waterlooplein Metro Station), the house/museum was only a five-minute walk from our hotel (the Sofitel Grand) and ten minutes’ plod east from Dam Square.
As a gilded sign on the outside proclaims, the house was built in 1606. For a house in central Amsterdam, it is wide, occupying two lots. In piece because houses were taxed by their width, Amsterdam houses are generally deep. They all have hooks to raise furniture (etc.), having interior spiral staircases and visitors to the Rembrandthuis have the experience of ascending its spiral staircase. (There is a novel annex with an elevator and straight flights of stairs for descent and/or for those who cannot manage the spiral staircase.)
Rembrandt purchased the house in 1639 for 13,000 guilders, a very large sum that he did not pay in full—then or ever. In 1656 the contents of the house were inventoried room by room as part of his bankruptcy proceedings. (This gave those furnishing the house/museum in the early 20th century exact information about what was in the house.) His possessions were sold and The house was auctioned in 1658 for roughly 11,000 guilders. Rembrandt moved to a small rented house on Rozengracht, where he lived until his death eleven years later.
BTW, his money troubles were not a result of obscurity or low prices. Rembrandt’s paintings were highly valued during his life, but he spent more than he earned, partly on collecting art, partly on women.
Like Vermeer (whose paintings were also prized during his lifetime, though he painted few), Rembrandt was an art dealer as well as a painter, though Rembrandt seems to have had some difficulty in letting go of art he was dealing, keeping great of it for his own collection.
In addition to being a great painter, Rembrandt was also a master etcher. (Not that it matters to anyone, but I like his etchings a lot.) There is a press on the second floor with three demonstrations each hour of the etching process. The Rembrandthuis has prints of most (260 of 300) of the etchings Rembrandt made and displays a rotating show of them and of other etchings either contemporary with his or relating to them on the mezzanine floor.
The first floor, with an imposing marble fireplace and a faux-marble door frame is where Rembrandt’s art sales business was conducted.
The big kitchen — with a huge fireplace and a box bed for the cook to sleep — on the second floor are interesting. There is also a box bed in the painter’s studio and another down in the room with the marble fireplace. Dutch people in the 17th century were afraid to sleep lying flat: afraid they’d “wake up wearisome” from an excess of blood flowing to the head. Therefore, they slept propped up on pillows in a plot too tight to stretch out. The box beds in the Rembrandthuis have curtains that could be drawn closed on the open side
Rembrandt’s painting studio (with northern light) is recreated on the third floor along with a room full of what I’d call “props” (shells, and spears, and plaster casts of Roman emperors) though it might also be called a cabinet of curiosities.
The furnishings of the house are 17th-century, though not objects owned by Rembrandt (with the exception of his etchings).
Of course, there is a gift shop by the ticket seller desk and the door to/from the street.
I found the audio guide very helpful in explaining the lifeways of a burgher of Rembrandt’s day, the implements and “props” of his work. And I definitely wanted to experience the light in his studio. The etchings are well displayed and expose what a fine draftsman Rembrandt was (which I should have known from the drawings and etchings by Rembrandt I have seen here and there as well as from the craft of his paintings).
The Rembrandthuis is open daily 10am to 5pm, closed only on New Year’s Day.
Admission, including an indispensable audio guide, available in English among other languages, for adults: is €8. It’s €1.50 for those Aged 6 to 15, and free for those under 6.
Admission is included for those with a OneAmsterdam Card.
For those with any interest in art history or 17th-century Dutch domestic life and an hour and a half free in central Amsterdam, I highly recommend a visit to the Rembrandthuis. (I most wanted to visit the Tropenmuseum, which takes longer; these days being mostly closed the Rijksmuseum doesn’t, depending on how long one contemplates the Vermeers (all two of them when I was there, usually four) and Rembrandt paintings.
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Filed under Stock Bankruptcy by on Nov 22nd, 2010. Comment.
- From the earliest days of American cinema, governmental agencies have attempted to censor films.
- Hollywood developed its first censorship code in 1913; the Hayes Code was adopted in 1930.
- In 1968, after the demise of the Hays Code, Hollywood created the ratings system we know now.
In the earliest days of American cinema, there was no standards board determining what could, and could not, be shown to theatre audiences. Local authorities might, and sometimes did, ban or edit films they found to be against the public good. In 1859, for instance, “Dolorita in the Passion Dance” was removed from a Kinetoscope parlor in Atlantic City, NJ. In 1909, however, in response to increasing public demands for content standards, the studios began submitting their films to the New-York based Board of Censorship (which would later become the National Board of Review). The Board, which was made up of private citizens, screened films for objectionable content. The studios hoped that this acquire of self-censorship would both attract viewers concerned about exposing themselves, or their families, to snide material, and forestall government attempts to control the burgeoning movie industry.
The studios had reason to be concerned. In 1907, Chicago had passed an ordinance allowing the superintendent of police to ban films he considered obscene. Film makers challenged the ordinance, but the Illinois Supreme Court allowed it to stand. In 1908, New York’s Mayor George McClellan closed all the movie houses in his city. They opened again within a few days, but the industry realized that it was in danger of disappearing, or at least of being silenced, if it did not appease that segment of the voting public which objected to sex and violence on the screen. The Board of Censorship was the first step in that direction. Within a few months, the Board could boast that it had screened 75% of the films being exhibited in the US. Many conservative groups considered the Board’s standards to be too lax, however, and continued to request more stringent controls.
In 1916, the industry again attempted to appease the shrill minority demanding government action. There was a new urgency to its efforts, as the United States Supreme Court had denied First Amendment protection to movies in 1915. (Because the First Amendment would not be held to apply to state law until 1931, when Reach v. Minnesota confirmed the Court’s statement in Gitlow v. New York that freedom of speech is “among the fundamental personal rights and ‘liberties’ protected by the due process clause of the 14th Amendment from impairment by the states,” a ruling in the industry’s favor would only have protected it from federal action, in any case.) The studios worked out a 13-point code, prohibiting nudity, graphic violence, base forms of sexuality, and obnoxious portrayals of governmental or religious authorities. Still the complaints continued. The studios, despite their soothing gestures, were peaceful creating movies that offended, and certain vocal watchdog groups were still making their displeasure clear.
In 1922, in the wake of the Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle scandal, the Motion Pictures Producers and Distributors Association was formed, with William Hays at its head. Hays’ first act was to ban all of Arbuckle’s films. He made it clear from the beginning that the private lives of the stars were as much his trouble as their on-screen exploits. For the next eight years, Hays fought an uphill battle against depravity in cinema. In 1930, though, the industry adopted the Production Code, known as the Hays Code, or simply the Code. In theory, every film made in the U.S. had to be favorite by the Production Code Association. However, America was deep in the thrall of the Great Depression, and the studios feared bankruptcy if they showed only the safe, moral films which the Code would permit. Until 1934, then, the studios flouted the Code at every opportunity. Prostitution, crime, and even homosexuality found artistic outlet in the American cinema. In 1934, though, the economy improved, Congress grew more vocal in its threats to impose federal legislation on Hollywood, and the Catholic Legion of Decency threatened to boycott Hollywood films. Joseph Breen, a used journalist, took over the administration of the Code.
Breen was a devout Catholic who was unwilling to compromise his morals or the provisions of the Code, but who was always willing to work with the studios to discover that their films could be exhibited. He lost some battles early in his administration – three of Mae West’s comedies got past him before he gathered enough clout to ban her from Hollywood completely – but that soon changed. He scored one of his first victories against “Tarzan and His Mate.” In the original cut of that film, Maureen O’Hara’s Jane is skimpily attired, and her body double appears completely nude in the swimming sequence. MGM, the studio responsible for the film, appealed, but Breen’s decision was upheld. MGM made the changes he had requested, cutting or obscuring the nudity, and redesigned Jane’s costumes in the ensuing Tarzan films. For three decades, Hollywood largely abided by the Code, although the studios did not always submit gracefully. And then, in 1966, Warner Brothers released “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? ” without the Production Office’s seal of approval. Jack Valenti, head of the Motion Pictures Production Association (MPAA), had been unable to broker a compromise over the artfully nasty portrayal of a disintegrating marriage. Just a few months later, MGM released “Blow Up,” which contained nudity and drug use, without the seal. The Code was, effectively, dead. The MPAA called a series of meetings with the National Organization of Theatre Owners (NATO), the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), and other industry organizations, and in 1968, a original form of self-censorship was unveiled. In place of the Code, which banned all films that failed to meet its standards, there was to be a ratings system, which would label films according to their content. The original system had just four categories (X – no one under 18 admitted, R – no one under 18 without an adult, PG – parental guidance suggested and G – general audience), in contrast to today’s five-tier system (NC-17 has now replaced X, which was co-opted by pornographers, whose films are not usually submitted to the MPAA, and PG-13 has supplemented the PG rating, to indicate films which do not merit an R rating, but which may collected be wicked for young children), but was essentially the same system that is used today.
Critics of the current system say that it is too subjective to be useful. The MPAA has published guidelines to the ratings, but refuses to adopt a standardized means for determining what films will receive which ratings. The government continues to threaten statutory restraints on film content, although First Amendment considerations should invalidate any federal censorship. And Hollywood goes on adopting narrate restrictions, which it then cheerfully ignores. In the movie business, this is business as usual.
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Filed under Stock Bankruptcy by on Oct 30th, 2010. Comment.
- From the earliest days of American cinema, governmental agencies have attempted to censor films.
- Hollywood developed its first censorship code in 1913; the Hayes Code was adopted in 1930.
- In 1968, after the demise of the Hays Code, Hollywood created the ratings system we know now.
In the earliest days of American cinema, there was no standards board determining what could, and could not, be shown to theatre audiences. Local authorities might, and sometimes did, ban or edit films they found to be against the public suitable. In 1859, for instance, “Dolorita in the Passion Dance” was removed from a Kinetoscope parlor in Atlantic City, NJ. In 1909, however, in response to increasing public demands for pronounce standards, the studios began submitting their films to the New-York based Board of Censorship (which would later become the National Board of Review). The Board, which was made up of private citizens, screened films for objectionable swear. The studios hoped that this form of self-censorship would both attract viewers concerned about exposing themselves, or their families, to rank material, and forestall government attempts to control the burgeoning movie industry.
The studios had reason to be concerned. In 1907, Chicago had passed an ordinance allowing the superintendent of police to ban films he considered low. Film makers challenged the ordinance, but the Illinois Supreme Court allowed it to stand. In 1908, New York’s Mayor George McClellan closed all the movie houses in his city. They opened again within a few days, but the industry realized that it was in danger of disappearing, or at least of being silenced, if it did not appease that segment of the voting public which objected to sex and violence on the screen. The Board of Censorship was the first step in that direction. Within a few months, the Board could boast that it had screened 75% of the films being exhibited in the US. Many conservative groups considered the Board’s standards to be too lax, however, and continued to demand more stringent controls.
In 1916, the industry again attempted to appease the shrill minority demanding government action. There was a new urgency to its efforts, as the United States Supreme Court had denied First Amendment protection to movies in 1915. (Because the First Amendment would not be held to apply to state law until 1931, when Near v. Minnesota confirmed the Court’s statement in Gitlow v. New York that freedom of speech is “among the fundamental personal rights and ‘liberties’ protected by the due process clause of the 14th Amendment from impairment by the states,” a ruling in the industry’s favor would only have protected it from federal action, in any case.) The studios worked out a 13-point code, prohibiting nudity, graphic violence, immoral forms of sexuality, and unfavorable portrayals of governmental or religious authorities. Unruffled the complaints continued. The studios, despite their soothing gestures, were still creating movies that offended, and certain vocal watchdog groups were still making their displeasure clear.
In 1922, in the wake of the Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle scandal, the Motion Pictures Producers and Distributors Association was formed, with William Hays at its head. Hays’ first act was to ban all of Arbuckle’s films. He made it clear from the beginning that the private lives of the stars were as much his concern as their on-screen exploits. For the next eight years, Hays fought an uphill battle against depravity in cinema. In 1930, though, the industry adopted the Production Code, known as the Hays Code, or simply the Code. In theory, every film made in the U.S. had to be approved by the Production Code Association. However, America was deep in the thrall of the Great Depression, and the studios feared bankruptcy if they showed only the safe, moral films which the Code would permit. Until 1934, then, the studios flouted the Code at every opportunity. Prostitution, crime, and even homosexuality found artistic outlet in the American cinema. In 1934, though, the economy improved, Congress grew more vocal in its threats to impose federal legislation on Hollywood, and the Catholic Legion of Decency threatened to boycott Hollywood films. Joseph Breen, a former journalist, took over the administration of the Code.
Breen was a devout Catholic who was unwilling to compromise his morals or the provisions of the Code, but who was always willing to work with the studios to see that their films could be exhibited. He lost some battles early in his administration – three of Mae West’s comedies got past him before he gathered enough clout to ban her from Hollywood completely – but that soon changed. He scored one of his first victories against “Tarzan and His Mate.” In the original cut of that film, Maureen O’Hara’s Jane is skimpily attired, and her body double appears completely nude in the swimming sequence. MGM, the studio responsible for the film, appealed, but Breen’s decision was upheld. MGM made the changes he had requested, cutting or obscuring the nudity, and redesigned Jane’s costumes in the ensuing Tarzan films. For three decades, Hollywood largely abided by the Code, although the studios did not always submit gracefully. And then, in 1966, Warner Brothers released “Who’s Terrified of Virginia Woolf? ” without the Production Office’s seal of approval. Jack Valenti, head of the Motion Pictures Production Association (MPAA), had been unable to broker a compromise over the artfully nasty portrayal of a disintegrating marriage. Just a few months later, MGM released “Blow Up,” which contained nudity and drug exercise, without the seal. The Code was, effectively, tedious. The MPAA called a series of meetings with the National Organization of Theatre Owners (NATO), the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), and other industry organizations, and in 1968, a new form of self-censorship was unveiled. In place of the Code, which banned all films that failed to meet its standards, there was to be a ratings system, which would label films according to their content. The unusual system had unbiased four categories (X – no one under 18 admitted, R – no one under 18 without an adult, PG – parental guidance suggested and G – general audience), in contrast to today’s five-tier system (NC-17 has now replaced X, which was co-opted by pornographers, whose films are not usually submitted to the MPAA, and PG-13 has supplemented the PG rating, to expose films which do not merit an R rating, but which may smooth be unsuitable for young children), but was essentially the same system that is used today.
Critics of the current system say that it is too subjective to be useful. The MPAA has published guidelines to the ratings, but refuses to adopt a standardized means for determining what films will receive which ratings. The government continues to threaten statutory restraints on film content, although First Amendment considerations should invalidate any federal censorship. And Hollywood goes on adopting content restrictions, which it then cheerfully ignores. In the movie business, this is business as usual.
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Filed under Stock Bankruptcy by on Sep 23rd, 2010. Comment.
- The original sign read: HOLLYWOODLAND.
- The Hollywood Sign was built in 1923 to advertise a housing development.
- Today the sign is protected under the auspices of the Department of Homeland Security.
Overlooking the movie capital of the world, the Hollywood heed has been a symbol of the mythical world of expose business for nearly 85 years. And yet, once you know the real history behind the most famous sign on the planet, you will find it to be one of the most unlikely icons ever built.
The Birth of Tinsel Town
The early days of movies were controlled by Thomas Edison and the Motion Pictures Patents Trust. Operating out of New York, Edison and company controlled movie production and ruthlessly stamped out any competitors. To avoid the trust, a few filmmakers headed about as far away from New York as you can possibly glean without getting your feet wet – a sleepy little town of orchards and sheep farms known as Hollywood.
A Quiet Microscopic Nowhere
Ironically, Hollywood got its name from the wife of a Kansas prohibitionist named Harvey Wilcox, who had moved to the Cahuenga Valley area to location up a small community that reflected his conservative beliefs. He bought 120 acres of land and built a ranch in the middle of a fig orchard. Wilcox’s wife, Daeida, while returning home by narrate from an East Coast trip, struck up a conversation with another woman on the bid who called her summer home Hollywood. Daeida liked the name so much, she decided to borrow it as the name of her ranch. By 1897, the area surrounding the ranch became known as Hollywood, and in 1903 the town was incorporated.
Enter the “MoviePeople”
In 1907 the first filmmakers came to Hollywood and place up shop. The sunny climate and tremendous distance from Edison and the Patent Trust made Hollywood an ideal location for shooting movies. Five years later, over a dozen film companies had moved into Hollywood, but the real insist hadn’t started yet. Films were shot all over town, with many ’studios’ setting up shop in old barns and unused cowsheds. Cecille B. DeMille worked out of a barn on Vine Street.
The New Gold Rush
By 1915, Hollywood was a boomtown. Studios were springing up all over town. Young hopefuls gathered by the hundreds for a shot at breaking into the movie industry. Established stars built glamorous mansions. The town was literally transformed overnight, from a sleepy conservative backwater to a bustling metropolis where fortunes were won and lost every day. As more and more people flocked to Hollywood, the real estate market exploded.
Here’s Your Sign
In 1923, the Hollywoodland Real Estate Group decided to promote some of their prime real estate by erecting a massive sign on the side of Mount Cahuenga. The sign simply read: Hollywoodland, but that was the only thing simple about it. Built at a cost of $21,000 dollars the enormous sign was made of 13 letters. Each letter was 30 feet wide and 50 feet tall. The letters were made of metal barn roofing and held up by a framework of pipes and telephone poles. Below the note was a large white circle, 35 feet in diameter. The message was meant to say: “Hollywoodland! Period.” The sign originally was studded with 4,000 20-watt light bulbs that blinked “Holly” then “Wood” then “Land” out into the clear California sky and was visible at a distance of 25 miles. As a promotional gimmick, the sign was meant to last about a year and a half. Obviously, the promotion is still going on. Only the product has changed.
Hard Times
The Great Depression hit Hollywood hard. Salary cuts were implemented; jobs slashed. The Hollywoodland sign stood as a symbol of hope for thousands of actors and actresses struggling to make it in movies. One such hopeful was a Broadway actress named Peg Entwistle who tried desperately to create it into movies but failed. In 1932, she climbed to the top of the 50-foot “H” and jumped off into the night, committing suicide from Tinsel Town’s most famous symbol.
The Depression also forced the real estate developers who built the sign into bankruptcy. By 1939, all maintenance on the sign had stopped. All 4,000 light bulbs were stolen. Vandals removed pieces of the sign, and the elements wore away at its supports. Holes and gaps began appearing in the trace, which was becoming an unstable, unsightly mess. Many neighborhoods in Hollywood lobbied for the sign’s removal
The rationing during World War Two meant that no resources could be spared to repair or fix the sign. Arrive the end of the war, the bankrupt real estate developer who had built the label, gave the city of Hollywood his remaining acreage high up in the Hollywood Hills – sitting on a small parcel of this land, sat the rapidly deteriorating tag.
By 1949 the sign was in extreme disrepair – the letter H had fallen face down. Something had to be done. Later that year, the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, the new owners of the sign removed the “Land” part of the designate and repaired the remaining letters.
I’d Like to Pick a Vowel
In 1973 the sign was declares a historical monument by the cultural heritage Board of Los Angeles. It’s new, official status as a monument, meant that much-needed restoration and repairs would take place. The repairs would be expensive, so to raise money, the new Hollywood Designate trust put together a star-studded fund raiser, during which, individual letters of the sign could be “adopted” for $28,000 each. The fundraiser was hosted by Hugh Hefner at the Playboy Mansion and featured a unique mix of celebrities rallying around the sign. Gene Autry adopted one of the L’s. Alice Cooper bought an O. Paul Williams sponsored the W. With new financial backing, the Designate Trust unveiled a new Hollywood sign in 1978.
Sign Sponsors:
H — Terrence Donnelly, Publisher of the Hollywood Independent Newspaper
O — Giovanni Mazza, Italian movie producer
L — Les Kelley, Creator of the Kelley Blue Book
L — Gene Autrey, singing cowboy, Owner of KTLA
Y — Hugh Hefner, Creator of Playboy magazine
W — Paul Williams, Singer/composer * (some sources attribute this to Andy Williams)
O — Warner Brother’s Records
O — Alice Cooper, rock legend (in tribute to Groucho Marx)
D — Dennis Lidtke
The Sign Today
In 1992, Dan Lungren, California Attorney General specified a belief to absorb the sign. Under the plan, The Hollywood Sign Trust was to preserve and promote the sign as a symbol of the entertainment industry. The Hollywood Chamber of Commerce was entrusted with protecting the image of the sign, ensuring that any images of the sign are properly licensed. The City of Los Angeles was required to have and protect the restricted area of Griffith Park that’s home to the sign. They also provide park rangers and security for the sign.
The entire area around the sign is restricted and monitored by a state-of-the-art security system. External alarms, motion sensors and digital surveillance cameras constantly monitor the entire sign area.
In 2006, the Hollywood Sign Trust integrated the sign’s security system with the Department of Homeland Security to ensure that the sign is protected as a national care for.
You can see the view from the sign’s webcams and security cameras HERE.
Only in America – Fate of the Original Sign
When the original brand was torn down the pieces were purchased from the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce by Hank Berger, a nightclub promoter for $10,000. Berger crop up small sections of the sign and sold them as framed collectables. Sales were slow and Berger eventually gave up on the project. The crumbling, original sign then sat in storage for 25 years.
Dan Bliss, who knew Berger through business dealings, purchased the imprint for an undisclosed six-figure amount in 2003. Bliss auctioned off larger pieces of the trace on eBay, including a 5′x3′ section of the H to the Hollywood History Museum for $11,766. The rest of the sign sat stacked in a storage building. In 2005, Bliss auctioned off the rest of the sign on eBay. He opened the bidding at $300,000. Bliss wanted to use the money to fund a documentary to see if Elvis was still alive. On December 6, 2005 the remaining sections of the original Hollywood stamp sold for $450,400. Ah, only in America.
You can peruse the original ebay listing for the sign HERE.
From a real estate ad to federally-protected icon of the American entertainment industry, the Hollywood sign has endured as a lasting tribute to the dreamer in everyone.
Sources: City of Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, CBC.ca
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Filed under Stock Bankruptcy by on Sep 2nd, 2010. Comment.