That's just the beginning of the story told by J.R. Moehringer, one of the best writers -- as opposed to reporters -- in the newspaper game today. His story, "The House I Lived In," appeared in the Los Angeles Times' West magazine last weekend. Moehringer spent 24 hours in Twin Palms and captured all its history and color -- and ghosts -- on paper. Here's part of it:
"Suddenly you're overwhelmed by the desire to tell someone where you are. You phone your friend Emily in Chicago. Guess where I am. Where? Frank Sinatra's house. Really? Sitting by his pool—the same pool where Lana Turner went skinny-dipping! I hope they changed the water, Emily says. I hope they didn't, you say.
"You're not comfortable with idolatry. You've never conceded any kinship with people who worship celebrities. You once visited Graceland and felt very distant from the throngs standing in line, waiting their turn to walk across Elvis' shag rugs. You shuddered at the ghouls who logged onto eBay and bid for Britney Spears' used chewing gum. But Sinatra is different, you tell yourself. Sinatra is—you know, Sinatra."
Moehringer has the benefit of an L.A. Times press badge to get him into cool places, but we have our imaginations. If you could spend 24 hours in any famous person's home -- let's assume, if he/she is alive, that you're there on an empty weekend -- whose home would you haunt? Why?