Proud monuments of a golden era; mid-Wilshire is not what it used to be, but glorious remnants recount its heyday.

Proud monuments of a golden era

Mid-Wilshire is not what it used to be, but glorious remnants recount its heyday

Like grand dames unwilling to let go of the luster of youth, opulent "apartment homes" of yesteryear still dot the Mid-Wilshire district, sporting genteel, British-sounding names, such as The Gaylord, The Windsor, The Evanston and The Bryson.

Perhaps the grandest is The Talmadge, a 10-story, 48-unit brick structure erected in Mid-Wilshire in 1924 by silent screen star Norma Talmadge and husband Joseph Schenck, Hollywood magnate-producer.

The pair lived in a top-floor pied-a-terre, a stone's throw east from the Ambassador Hotel, where tycoon Howard Hughes had assignations, and where the Cocoanut Grove played the best swing music anyone ever fell in love to.

Across the street, the world-famous Brown Derby beckoned, and victuals were served to the celluloid famous and Tinseltown wanna-be's.

Today, the Brown Derby is gone, its innards carted off to Pasadena, and the concrete bowler itself perched atop a mini-mall on the old site. Likewise, the Ambassador is closed, moping behind a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire. Signs warn of ill for trespassers.

Faded a tad but yet unbowed, The Talmadge oozes opulence, offering a generous terrazo-tiled lobby with painted friezes, a green inner courtyard and hallways lined with lacquered antiques.

"We keep the place up, and we have lovely clientele (residents)," says Mrs. Lucy Leonard, 14-year manager, as she bids an elevator man to take a visitor to a sixth-floor apartment home. The elevator features a gleaming silver roof-freize quartet of Nordic god-like figures, representing the four corners of the globe.

As Leonard enters the to-be-shown apartment, she notices a burned-out bulb in the hallway, and telephones an assistant to have the light replaced.

"This is the foyer," announces Leonard, waving an arm at the rest of the apartment.

A modern-day Angeleno, upon encountering the commodiousness of a "two-bedroom" Talmadge apartment home, might be forgiven for doing cartwheels across a living room that feels as large as a basketball court.

In addition to the living room, there is a dining room, a kitchen, three baths (one for the maid's quarters), the two bedrooms and an additional studio room -- perhaps 1,900 square feet in all. The rent? $1,500 a month, announces Leonard. The paint looks original -- Talmadge residents tend to be lifers -- but Leonard, impeccably attired in a black dress, vows to have floors and walls redone. There is thick molding in abundance and glass door knobs.

In a "pantry room" connected to the kitchen, there is is also a semi-private elevator for accessing the underground garage, "and for bringing in groceries and items you wouldn't bring in through the main entrance," sniffs Leonard.

As Leonard leaves the spacious apartment, a worker is earnestly placing a ladder underneath the darkened bulb. Perhaps three minutes have passed since her call for help.

Back in Leonard's office -- graced by a gilt-framed painting of Norma Talmadge -- Leonard reveals it takes a small squadron to keep The Talmadge up to snuff; she counts among her staff 24-hour doormen, 24-hour garage assistants, a resident engineer and an assistant manager.

Such glory has faded considerably at other plush quarters of yesteryear, including the Windsor Apartments, connected to The Windsor restaurant on Seventh Street.

Here a lobby is graced by gilded statues and a fireplace, but hallways are covered in a threadbare, spotted red carpet of the quality found in run-down miniature golf courses or honky-tonks. The elevator is floored in chintzy brown tile, of the type that lines Greyhound station bathrooms.

In several of the apartments, there are brass Windsor crests on interior doors -- but buried under layers of cheap paint. Sparkle stucco has been sprayed on a the apartment ceilings.

In an ongoing "improvement," the ceilings of hallways are being obscured behind dropped panels.

In some previous improvement, the original apartment doors must have been replaced, for now each entrance is faced with plastic walnut veneer.

"The one-bedrooms are $550 a month," states the Windsor manager, a middle-aged bleached blonde in brown polyester pants. "There are no doubles (two-bedrooms) in the building."

Nearby at the Gaylord Apartment, on Wilshire Boulevard directly opposite the closed Ambassador, manager Joseph Pilla welcomes potential tenants.

A World War II veteran (Marines, and he served "in the islands in the Pacific"), Pilla is wearing eyeglasses that lack a stem, but never seem to jiggle out of place as he fights with various locks and window latches. The Gaylord has broad hallways, lined in marble, but the rooms are small, and bachelor pads, sans kitchen, lease for $420 a month.

The 20-foot-high lobby is splendiferous, lined with limestone blocks, topped by an ornate ceiling. But there is a dowdiness about the place, and the elevator has a carpet so soiled it would be brown even if it wasn't.

Back at The Talmadge, manager Leonard has placed a book on her desk, "The Talmadge Sisters," penned by Anita Loos, screenwriter behind the movie, "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes."

Leonard is too young to remember Wilshire in its heyday, but as a teenager she strolled Wilshire in the 1940s, when "the Cocoanut Grove had all the top acts." A small-part actress in Hollywood, Leonard recalls that when she was young, she and her sister would sometimes actually be mistaken for the Talmadge sisters. For a moment her face brightens with all the prospects of a beautiful young woman on the town.

Outside the Talmadge's graceful quarter-circle driveway, Wilshire Boulevard traffic is snarled in a rush-hour of horns, honks and revving engines.

It's Christmas time, and scabrous homeless men are begging quarters. The palm trees have graffiti sprayed on longitudinally, the words or names illegible, save perhaps to the author.

PHOTO : Spirits of Yesteryear: Staff at the Talmadge

PHOTO : The Windsor: Its lobby is graced by statues and a fireplace

PHOTO : The Bryson: A shadow of its past glory