AS I WALKED AROUND VENICE BEACH IN THE EARLY MONTHS OF 1960, I met several old gentlemen who owned a home right on the beach, right on the Strand or Promenade, whatever one chooses to call this long ribbon of concrete that runs the length from just north of the Santa Monica Pier all the way to Manhattan Beach and beyond. One can walk this Strand, cycle it on a pedal bike or jump on the "Nickel Snatcher." It costs more now.
So, in the early days of 1960, these two very old gentlemen whom I originally met at the Carousel or some other small and fun bar told me they were wanting to sell their small, two-bedroom bungalow for around ten grand and thought I might consider it an investment. They looked like they had enough money to last them far beyond their lifespan, but I just assumed they were ready to retire to a quieter and less hectic lifestyle. In their 80s, they had to be careful while walking to the grocery.
And they were drinkers too, so they had to watch their steps even more carefully. By noon, they were well into another world as they sipped California wines. "Buy this property and get it off our hands," the elder of the two demanded. I liked the place. And although Venice was in a general state of disrepair, I sensed the time would come when the property value would increase.
Posts
