Skid Row by Rick Farris

Skid Row . . .Everything changes. I guess change is good, it gives us something to look back on. Skid Row is certainly not full of warm memories for most, just pain , suffering, desperation, a last stop on the journey thru life for some who had lost their way.As a kid, Skid Row was home to the Main Street Gym, so it would it would become a place I would know, and in an odd sense, respect. As much disrespect the inhabitants of Los Angeles Skid Row got from society, I chose to respect these old bums, the young drug addicts shaking in an alley desperate for a "fix", the glorious transvestites who paraded the block in their over-the-top fem attire, and even the cops, who would make their rounds every couple of hours in a paddy wagon. In those days, the police would just scoop their unconcious bodies off the sidewalk or out of the gutter and load them into their wagon, then take them "sleep off" their night of drinking in jail for awhile. For those lucky enough, shelter could be found down the block at the Midnight Mission, or around the corner at the Union Rescue Mission. Food would be served there, but the beds would fill up early in the evening for those hoping to sleep on something softer than concrete. I was twelve when I saw Skid Row for the first time. I'd see it when my grandfather or dad would drive me to the Main Street Gym for my Saturday morning workout. During the weekend, the Johnnie Flores Gym was closed, and I wanted to train around the best in the world when I had the chance. There was no better place on earth for me to train in the company of world champions and top contenders than the Main Street Gym. One day a week was not enough for me, but my dad and grandpa wanted sundays for themselves and knowing my penchant for getting into trouble, they did not want me to walk around Skid Row by myself. I found that the local RTD bus system had a line that went from a bus stop off in front of Burbank High School, on San Fernando Road, directly to the L.A. Times Bldg. on the corner of 2nd & Spring St. downtown. The Main Street Gym was right around the corner from the Times building. To hide my travel plans from my mother, I'd load my gym bag with a baseball glove and a hard ball, giving the impression that I was headed up the hill to the park for some "batting practice", etc. The round-trip bus fare was exactly sixty cents, and took less than an hour one way. I'd wake early on Sunday morning, pack my bag, and head for the bus stop a couple blocks away. The 24G line would take me south on San Fernando Road, thru Lincoln Heights, across the L.A. river to North Broadway. When we'd pass thru "China Town", below Dodger Stadium, the bus would cut over to Spring St. and head south to the L.A. Times building where I'd depart the bus and walk over to Main St. and down one block to the gym.I took great pride in being a boxer. And I wanted the residents of Skid Row to know that I wasn't just a little punk white kid from the Valley (as if they cared), so I'd always tie my training gloves together by the laces and sling them over my shoulder as I walked. It was kinda like a "jail house routine", I didn't face anybody off, kept to myself and kept moving. I didn't want my mom getting a call from the LAPD to come pick her son at the police station. It didn't take my mother long to figure out what was going on and soon I was allowed to make my Sunday workout travels without sneaking around. The deal was I'd have to bring my little brother, Rob. I would train four days a week at Flores Gym in the Valley, and had both Saturday and Sunday at Main Street.My brother and I would wander Main Street after my workout, checking out the pawn shops, an underground pool hall between 4th & 5th Streets. There was a Mexican cafe a few doors down. More than once I looked thru the cafe window as I passed and would see the likes of George Parnassus with a couple of managers and a world class Mexican boxer or two. The street was loaded with low end porn theatres and galleries and directly across the street from the gym was an ancient burlesque house, a place I always wanted to slip into but never could. By the time I was old enough it was long gone.Many years later, I would quit boxing and find work in the film industry. At the time, when I was breaking into the business at Universal, the studio was very busy and I would work on a variety of their TV productions. When I was on the crew for TV series such as "Baretta" or "Kojak", it was common for us to film on Skid Row. Baretta filmed a lot around 5th & 6th, in the Main and Spring Street area. We'd do a lot of work at the old King Edward Hotel, less than a block from the Coles French-Dip Sandwich restaurant.This was when I would see Skid Row after dark, for the first time. This is when the street really got wild. Hookers, both straight and transvestite, would do their thing everywhere and anywhere. The one thing we hated about filming on Skid Row were the alleys. Those alley's are known to us in the industry as "Shit Alley". The reason is obvious, it's where the derelicts would relieve themselves. As a lighting tech, when we'd rig the alleys with cable, we'd have to be careful where we laid it.Usually, shooting in "Shit Alley" required a water tank truck full of water and bleach, to spray the area in attempt to disinfect it prior to our rigging. Another interesting thing about those alleys are the rats! Skid Row rats often lager than the average house cat, and they are everywhere.I would always get a kick out of lighting the alley directly behind the old "Alexandria Hotel", and I've done it many times, as recently as last year. I recall that in the early 80's, I was a new lighting director, and was shooting a TV movie with actress Dyan Cannon. Dyan knew I had boxed and would always ask me to escort her from her motor home to the set, after it was lit and ready to film. That wasn't my job, we had production assistants for that, however, she liked to talk about the area and I had a few stories. Anything for Dyan Cannon, she is one of my all-time favorites to work with, and I've worked with her a number of times over the years.Another memory took place right behind the Rosslyn Hotel, in the alley behind Main Street. In Michael Landon's last film project, a pilot for a new series that would have been called "Us" (Landon died a few months later so the series never to be), we shot a scene late on a friday night behind the hotel. As we filmed in the alley, a couple of the hotel "residents" decided to urinate in cups and throw them down on the cast. Landon was furious and saw the window from which a cup had been thrown from the 5th floor. Michael never considered himself "special" like a lot of actors, just a blue collar film maker who would stand up to those who crossed him.I see Landon heading over to the front door of the Rosslyn, he was angry and was going to get the person who threw it. I didn't try to stop Michael but decided to walk with him. Mike was possibly biting off more than he could chew. I told my assistant to grab one of the cops and luckily Landon was persueded to "forget about it".Skid Row is not the same anymore. Today you have Starbucks, the old hotels are now upscale lofts and the bums have been replaced by trendy women in designer skirts, walking their pure bred canines.I guess change is good, but I really miss Skid Row, the way it once was.-Rick Farris