Confessions of a Prairie Bitch Read Online Free PDF Page A

was a teeny little rock club on Sunset called Pandora’s Box. Well, not really on Sunset, but on what was actually a traffic island in the middle of the street. It was that teeny. And apparently it was ground zero for the entire L.A. hippie population. As a kid, I was fascinated with it, since it was painted purple and looked like some kind of kid’s playhouse, just sitting there in the middle of the street. I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to go in. Turns out a lot of people didn’t want their kids going in, and the police shut it down one night, resulting in a series of demonstrations and riots, so huge, that they became the basis of the Buffalo Springfield song “For What It’s Worth.” You know, “It’s time we stop, hey, what’s that sound? / Everybody look what’s going down.” Yeah, that one. There really were “a thousand people in the street.” Probably quite a bit more than that, actually. At one point, the rioters even turned over a bus.
    We were living up on the fifth floor of the Chateau, giving us the best view of the scene. My parents and their friends gathered on the balconies to drink wine and watch the spectacle. I wasn’t allowed out on the balconies, so I felt quite put out. My mother explained to me that it wasn’t safe because there might be something called “tear gas.” I remember hearing the adults talk and asking my mother, “What’s a riot?” The explanation I was given about people fighting in groups, etc., didn’t make a lot of sense, and I became convinced it was some kind of sporting event. I had visions of organized teams in something like karate robes with wooden poles taking turns hitting one another. It’s not surprising I thought it was all a game from the reaction of the grown-ups on the balcony. They were yelling and laughing: “The peasants are revolting!” “Let them eat cake!”
    But riots weren’t the only thing I could see from our perch in the castle. From my bathroom window, I had a perfect view of a revolving billboard. No, not just any revolving billboard, but a giant Bullwinkle. For also on Sunset were the offices of Jay Ward, the creator of Rocky and Bullwinkle. At the corner of Sunset and Marmont Lane, he had erected a perfect replica of Bullwinkle J. Moose, in a glittering, cut-away showgirl costume, with Rocket J. Squirrel perched on his outstretched hand. Every time I went to the bathroom, I watched Bullwinkle go round and round and round. I thought he had been put there just for me.
    Back then, children were permitted to play in the halls at the Chateau. But they weren’t the only ones roaming aimlessly. Some of the more stoned or spaced out adults could also be found wandering about. One day, I found an old woman in my hallway. She was very well dressed and had an accent. She sounded British, like the people in that annoying Mary Poppins movie. She had a wonderful smile and seemed sort of funny and dotty. As if I had found a stray kitten, I brought her home to my mother and asked if I could keep her.
    She turned out to be the famous music-hall star and actress Beatrice Lillie. No, I couldn’t keep her, as she really did have her own apartment down the hall, but she did officially become my new best friend. I made it clear that she was specifically my friend, and my parents were allowed to play with her only when I was busy.
    We all went to see her in her movie when it opened: Thoroughly Modern Millie, with Julie Andrews, Carol Channing, and Mary Tyler Moore. Bea played Mrs. Meers, the scary old lady with the chopsticks in her hair who kidnaps the girls in the movie by chloroforming them and dumping them into a large wicker basket. I absolutely loved her. She was the villain.
    Bea was delighted to come to my big event as well—my fifth birthday party, held in our apartment in the Castle. She brought me a present. It was in a big box with lots of tissue paper. When I got it open, I pulled out a ceramic sculpture—of what appeared