A Gathering Without Class

There were two Bentleys in the driveway and a classic convertible parked in the street. Aside from those glamor queens, the obligatory BMWs, Mercedes, Lexus, and other sundry desert chariots were all scattered about. I would have driven my Camry (I love that car) but the party was only a block away.  ‘High season’ had, once again, begun in Palm Springs.

Snowbirds, seasonal visitors, and other part-timers were returning to the desert and ICNO was there. ICNO, the Indian Canyon Neighborhood Organization, was hosting its annual get-acquainted party for the neighborhood. ICNO sponsors one party in the fall and another in the spring. The events are always hosted at someone’s house in the neighborhood. They’re great fodder for stealing decorating ideas, catching up on neighborhood gossip and renewing acquaintances with other seasonal players in town.

Last fall, the hosting house was a newly remodeled four-level custom designed home owned by two gentlemen from the coast. I always look forward to these parties because of the folks who attend. A lot of them are nearby neighbors and some are active on the ICNO board as I was a couple of years back. Then, there’s usually an eclectic assortment of newcomers rubbing shoulders with the old regulars who have been around since Frank Sinatra stalked the golf course with a martini and close friends under both arms.

The thing I appreciate most about these parties is the lack rarified air so typical of many West Coast gatherings. This isn’t a West Hollywood party where everyone is angling to hook up or a party in the canyons where movie deals are made around the swimming pool. It’s not like the gathering of those closed societies down valley in their cloistered gated communities. ICNO could be like that but never has been.

What sets these neighbors apart is an almost total lack of pretentiousness. These are accomplished folks who are comfortable in their own skin. Yet despite their financial success, they are charming, engaging, and fun to talk to. Most have fascinating backgrounds and abundant stories to share. It’s like meeting other seasoned world travelers who just want to share their travel ad-ventures. No one is there to impress. In fact, the ones who try to impress soon find themselves odd man (or woman) out. It’s a class of folks without a hint of class.

On a more personal level, it’s an interesting dichotomy for me to observe. I have several acquaintances and casual friends who now ‘have money’ but lack the panache to pull off what these folks can. These accidental associates seem to have forgotten where they came from. They were born middle class but feel they have out-grown their roots. They have this subtle need to either be showy or consciously put down those around them who are not as financially well-heeled.

One would think in those circumstances modesty would be the order of the day. One friend hasn’t really ‘arrived’ because she was never on the journey. With a jump start from daddy, it wasn’t affluence earned so (at least in my mind) it would seem best to be a little humble. As for the other friend who did make it on his own, I see no reason to put down those back home with less affluence. Both these folks seem to have forgotten the core values that are an intrinsic part of their common class roots.

Years ago, Sharon spent a great deal of time in her hometown of Wabasha, Minnesota. She was there to help sell her mother’s house, move her mom into assisted living, plus handle a laundry list of chores directly related to her mother’s care. This entailed dealing with the locals on a daily basis.

Wabasha is a small town. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. They either knew Sharon or knew of her; where she went to school, what she did afterwards and where she is now. There are few secrets in a small town. Sharon was constantly on display… but it hardly mattered. She treated everyone as she always has…with respect and common curtesy.

In many ways Palm Springs is a small town little different than Apple Valley. While it’s true Palm Springs has as many Yoga studios as Apple Valley has daycare centers, there are enough similarities to see that both worlds run on parallel tracks. On one level, there are different cultures, tastes and lifestyles between the two cities. Yet on the other end of the spectrum, there are a lot of similarities.

The movie star Alan Ladd once had a hardware store in Palm Springs and used to make home deliveries. Bob Hope used to stroll down Main Street to get his ice cream downtown. A precursor to the rat pack hung out at Chi-Chi’s nightclub and burned the midnight oil at Canyon Country Club.

Canyon Country Club, the precursor to Indian Canyon, had a storied history. Over the years numerous movie stars and noted celebrities made their homes there. Now it’s a curious mixture of gay couples, retired folks from the coast, Canadians and east coast transplants who don’t like the Florida scene. They’ve all come to enjoy our golf courses, spectacular mountain scenery and the whole Palm Springs atmosphere. Indian Canyon carries on that tradition of open hospitality and egos left at the door. There is comfort level here among neighbors equal to that back in Apple Valley.

The ICNO party was a great success. We renewed old acquaintances, made new friends, and planned for a very active season. Sharon and I are very fortunate. We’ve have been able to straddle these two worlds and live comfortably in both…without losing sight of where we came from.

South of Downtown

In the late fifties, an intrepid developer named Albert Frey approached the Agua Caliente band of Cahuilla Indians about the hundreds of acres they owned south of downtown Palm Springs. Since the mid-thirties, new neighborhoods and surrounding developments had always sprung up north or east of the downtown core. South of downtown was a barren wasteland of desert pockmarked with little else than scrub brush and roadrunners.

The Indians agreed to a one hundred year lease on the land (since renegotiated) and the area south of town began to blossom and grow. First came a championship golf course, then homes, each individually designed and built, around the links and finally condominium clusters in the land remaining. Canyon Country Club was born along with the Indian Canyon neighborhood.

In the last ten years, a new neighborhood organization was loosely organized around the idea of tying the disparate variety of homeowners into a more cohesive group of vested neighbors. The ICNO (Indian Canyon Neighborhood Organization) fall and spring neighborhood parties are the highlight of the season for most homeowners here.

Fall is the beginning of ‘High season’ in the desert. Snowbirds, seasonal visitors and other part-timers are returning to the desert. Traffic is getting congested on highway 111, the main artery through town. Some restaurants are no longer taking reservations because they don’t have to and the entertainment venues like casinos are billboarding top acts once again.

This November, ICNO hosted its annual get-acquainted party for our little community. It’s always hosted at someone’s house in the neighborhood and is great fodder for stealing decorating ideas, catching up on neighborhood gossip and renewing acquaintances with other seasonal players in town.

A lot of the folks in attendance are nearby neighbors. Some are active on the ICNO board as I used to be. Then there’s usually an eclectic assortment of newcomers rubbing shoulders with the old regulars who have been around since Frank Sinatra stalked the golf course with a martini and close friend under each arm.

The thing I appreciate most about these parties is the lack rarified air so typical of many West Coast gatherings. This isn’t a West Hollywood party where everyone is angling to hook up or a party in the canyons where movie deals are made around the swimming pool. It’s not like the gathering of those closed societies Down Valley in their cloistered gated communities. ICNO could be like that but never has been.

What sets these neighbors apart is an almost total lack of pretentiousness. These are accomplished folks who are comfortable in their own skin. Yet despite their financial success, they are charming, engaging and fun to talk to. Most have fascinating backgrounds and abundant stories to share. It’s like meeting other seasoned life travelers who just want to share their travel ad-ventures. No one is there to impress. In fact, the ones who try to impress soon find themselves odd man (or woman) out.

In many ways Palm Springs is still a small town little different than Apple Valley. While it’s true Palm Springs has as many Yoga studios as Apple Valley has daycare centers, there are enough similarities to see that both worlds run on parallel tracks.  On one level there are different cultures, tastes and lifestyles between the two cities. Yet on the other end of the spectrum, there are a lot of similarities.

The movie star Alan Ladd once had a hardware store in Palm Springs and used to make home deliveries. Bob Hope used to stroll down Main Street to get his ice cream downtown. Frank Sinatra and his rat pack hung out at Chi-Chi’s nightclub and burned the midnight oil at Canyon Country Club.

Canyon Country Club, the precursor to Indian Canyon, has a storied history. Over the years numerous movie stars and noted celebrities made their homes there. Now it’s a curious mixture of gay couples, retired folks from the coast, Canadians and east coast transplants who don’t like the Florida scene. They’ve all come to enjoy our golf courses, spectacular mountain scenery and the whole Palm Springs atmosphere. Indian Canyon carries on that tradition of open hospitality and egos left at the door. There is comfort level here among neighbors equal to that back in Apple Valley.

The ICNO party was a great success. We renewed old acquaintances, made some new friends and planned for a very active ‘season’ back in the valley. Sharon and I are very fortunate. We’ve have been able to straddle these two worlds and live comfortably in both…without losing sight of where we came from.

Docent for a Day

Docent: College teacher or lecturer.

Well, that didn’t quite describe our role when we were hosting a home tour in our neighborhood as a part of Modernism Week here in Palm Springs.

 

Modernism Week is a signature event held every February in Palm Springs. It attracts thousands of modern architecture lovers from all over the country and the world. There are a host of events to showcase and highlight the very best of modernism designs and trends. There are art fairs, a modernism yard sale, vintage car show, lectures and films on historical Palm Springs architecture, as well as many events at the convention center. Every year one of the highlights of the event are the neighborhood home tours.

Beginning in the mid-40s, architects originated a design movement specific to the greater Palm Springs area. It became known as Desert Modern. Their buildings featured ground-breaking techniques such as post-and-beam supports, floor-to-ceiling glass walls and a wide array of colors to match the surrounding mountains and desert. Now famous architects such as William Krisel, E. Stewart Williams, Albert Frey, William F. Cody, Richard Neutra and Donald Wexler were among the masters of this design.

For the first time this year, our neighborhood was included in the home tours. Sharon and I volunteered to be docents at one of the homes. It was a great opportunity to meet more of our neighbors and peek in on the lives of the design-conscious, artsy-types who created these one-of-a-kind homes.

It was fascinating to see what had been done to these retro houses and how the other half lives. Most of the homes were owned by interior designers…no surprise there. Each was a designer’s delight. Stunning is not too strong a word to describe some of those settings.

Here are some examples of the homes on the tour:

We were docents at a home designed by William ‘Bill’ Krisel in the Kings Point complex of condominium homes. It was one of the last projects designed by Bill Krisel in the late 6o’s. Our home featured an open floor plan highlighted by clerestory windows, original terrazzo floors and walls of glass which extended the living area to an outdoor patio and pool.

The homeowners divided their time between Los Angeles and Palm Springs. Like so many of our other neighbors (The CommonClass) these folks were friendly, gracious and welcoming of the curious picture-taking hordes descending on their home for the tour. It was fun to watch the expression of the visitors when they first stepped inside this designers heaven.

 
 

Near the end of our tour duties, a little old lady approached me.  Her grandmotherly attire and slow gait assured me of a simple question I could probably answer.

Little old lady:            “Excuse me, young man.” (I love her already)

Myself:                        “Yes, Ma’am. How may I help?”

Little old lady:            “I have one question.”

Myself:                        “I’ll certainly try to help. What is your question?” (Of course I’m imaging                                     ‘How big is this house?’ ‘Do they have children?’ ‘What does something                                      like this cost?’

Little old lady:            “Well, I’ve been to all of the homes on this tour. But something bothered                                      me about everyplace I’ve been.”

Myself:                        “What was it that bothered you?”

Little old lady:            “Where do they put all their crap!”

Myself:                        speechless

Little old lady:            Every home is perfect. There’s not one thing out of place. They’re                                     spotless.

                                    Do people really live like that around here?

Myself:                        “Ma’am. I’m guessing if you were to look in their closets and drawers                                     they’ve probably stuffed them full of ‘stuff’ they didn’t want out in the                                     open.”

Little old lady:            “Oh, thank you. That makes me feel better. I can’t imagine anyone could                                     live in such a perfect home.”

Myself:                       “No Ma’am. None of us are perfect even these home owners.”

I wanted to assure her that while clean and tidy is nice, this level of perfection is pure Modernism Week. The rest of us live like ordinary people.

But as Sharon is quick to attest: “Thanks heavens Denis has an office where he can hide his ‘stuff’ and I just close the door.”