It’s not an Edwardian octoplex full of grime and grifters. It’s not even on Bunker Hill. But we’re going to tell the tale of the Architects’ Building, and if not to you, faithful OBHer, then to whom?

All and sundry weep for the Richfield. It’s not altogether true that everyone turned a blind eye during its ‘68-9 demo. Even the Government knew enough to come on out with its Instamatic and take lots of snaps.

After the DWP and Dorothy Chandler went up, postcard photographers said whoopee! something to shoot besides City Hall and the Chinese. So they cruised up to the bluff on Huntley, trained their lenses across Second and Beaudry toward First and Flower and fired away. The day view is a Plastichrome by Colourpicture, the night view by Western Publishing & Novelty, both circa 1965.

"This kindly greeting to all we waft;
Get a move on you, and vote for Taft."

-Los Angeles Times, Nov. 3, 1908

Election Day in Los Angeles, and the sweet smell of democracy is thick in the air.  Perhaps a little thicker for you if you were a Bunker Hill resident voting in the 30th or 31st Precinct.

Though Democrat William Jennings Bryan would sweep the Southeastern U.S., Republican William Howard Taft would win the White House with 51.6% of the popular vote and a commanding 321 electoral college votes.  Taft took California in a landslide with 55.5% of the popular vote, compared to Bryan's 33%.  The Socialist voter turnout in California was lighter than had been predicted.

From the files of "Where'd that law come from?" we turn to Section 11352.1b of the California Health and Safety Code, which makes it illegal to sell "any material represented as, or presented in lieu of, any dangerous drug or dangerous device."

The story behind the legislation takes us to a Chinatown street in the early 1950s where two undercover police from the narcotics division were attempting to score marijuana, and arranged a "hand-to-hand go" of $300 for 5 pounds of "manicured tea."  They had their street lingo down, but I'm sure you can see where this is going.  The dealer took their money, and proceeded to hand over exactly what he'd promised -- 5 pounds of tea.  At those prices, let's hope he at least sprung for Twinings.

Once the crime lab revealed their folly, the two officers rushed back to Chinatown to arrest the enterprising young dealer until realizing that they didn't know what to arrest him for.  Finally, they settled on the somewhat dubious charge of grand theft.

As has been noted, when it comes to Bunker Hill, there is no image as iconic as Union Bank Square—the Redevelopment Project’s first great endeavor—towering over remnants of antiquated Los Angeles. (One could argue there are few sights as telling when it comes to defining Los Angeles in general.) But while we’re all familiar with those 42 stories of mid-60s glory, who remembers what stood there before? It was that hitherto unsung monument of Los Angeles deco: the Monarch Hotel.

February 28, 1954
205 South Figueroa

James Saul Pauge, a 60-year-old newspaper vendor and retired railroad conductor, was murdered in his apartment today under exceptionally puzzling circumstances.  Help couldn't have arrived any sooner, but it was still too late.

Pauge's neighbor Louis Jaralillo, a former boxer, heard a shot fired and ran upstairs to Pauge's apartment to investigate.  Pauge stood in front of his open front door, swaying and gesturing towards his back, unable to speak.  Almost immediately, he fell over dead of a gunshot wound.  The can of soup Pauge was preparing for his dinner was still simmering on the stove.

The window in Pauge's apartment overlooked 2nd Street, and had been left open.  Police suspected that a sniper had fired in through the window, and hit Pauge in the back as he stood at the stove.  No motive could be established for the killing, and no suspects were apprehended.

August 6, 1923
240 South Figueroa

Police came to the apartment of William Fisher and Walter J. O'Connell, responding to neighbors' complaints of a loud party. When they arrived, they found seven men and a woman seated primly around a large round table, and grinning like mad. However, police could not help but notice "the odor of synthetic gin was in the air."

At first, police were stumped. There was no evidence of a party, and no bottles to be seen. But then, one of the detectives noticed a stream of liquid trickling out from the thick center leg of the table, and a sniff revealed it to be contraband booze.

Quickly, the detectives dismantled the table and discovered that its leg had been hollowed out, and a hooch tank and spigot installed. In all the excitement, some careless partygoer had neglected to twist the spigot shut, leading to the telltale leak.

Meet Ruth Winters, 31, of 350 S. Figueroa (site of the Bowman brothers' asphyxiation by cyanide gas poisoning), an angular blonde with a naughty smile and a way with the fellas. Despite her considerable charms, Ruth is on of the most detested women on Bunker Hill, or at least she is if you judge her by the names bestowed upon her by the Times and the thick stack of hysterical city ordinances set forth to curb her profession.

Yes, Ruth is one of those "harpies of Main Street," a B-girl at Marco's Cafe at 513 S. Main, and Ruth is one of the best in the business (she's the one with the world-weary eyes sitting in the front row, above).