Here is the industry and culture the un-American oil pirates have threatened with their greed.
Above is a photo of the last block on Washington Street that ends where the Venice Pier begins. In the 70s, every Friday and Saturday night young men whose girlfriends were knockouts, came here for a impromptu beauty contest. I do not know if this was going on when I met Rena in July of 10970. She was hiding in the dark doorway of one of these establishments at 3:00 A.M. in the morning. Her boyfriend had driven from Grand Island Nebraska to Los Angeles. I suspect he wanted to get his lover in the movies, or, perhaps, Playboy? Rena was waiting fore someone to come along – that she could trust.
After calling the Venice Muscle Men “fags” they chased him down the boardwalk, caught up with this Cornhusker, a mile away, and put him in the hospital. Rena saw the muscle guys return, and waited, and waited for…
View original post 824 more words