Dale Richard Perelman - Death at the Cecil Hotel in Los Angeles

Published by The History Press

Charleston, SC

www.historypress.com

Copyright 2022 by Dale Richard Perelman

All rights reserved

First published 2022

E-Book edition 2022

ISBN 978.1.4396.7490.1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022931451

Print Edition 978.1.4671.5018.7

Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

CONTENTS

The Cecil Hotel sign, 2021. Courtesy of Sean Kanan.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to my wonderful wife, supporter and reader, Michele; my writer son, Sean Kanan, who provided me with the idea for this book; and my daughter, Robyn Bernstein, for being my daughter and a great writer as well.

This is my fourth book with The History Press, and my acquisitions editor, Banks Smither, has again provided his invaluable support. I also appreciate the hard work and support of my editor Ashley Hill.

The author in front of the Cecil Hotel. Authors collection.

INTRODUCTION

Her body struck the canopy of the Cecil Hotel with a thud. Another victim had died. One witness released a high-pitched scream. The horrific spectacle unhinged a frail-looking man, who sobbed and mumbled incoherently at the sight, his arms flailing while he turned and fled toward the Philharmonic Hall.

Within minutes, the wail of a siren from an oncoming police cruiser filled the air, interrupting the growing crowds gasps and groans. A fire department emergency vehicle hastened to the front of the hotel to remove the womans bodyanother death at the Cecil.

Guests labeled the Cecil Hotel Suicide. The media and paranormalists designated it as the most haunted hotel in Los Angeles. All three groups were right. Inexplicable fatalities, suicides, drug overdoses, murders and violence had snowballed throughout the years. A mishmash of misfits snaked through the Cecil Hotels doors, enticed by its cheap rates and convenient downtown location, only to succumb to despair and sometimes death.

Like a black widow spider luring an unsuspecting fly into its web, the hotel drew the impoverished, the mentally ill, the lost and the drug-addicted to its rooms. The sketchy area around Skid Row wallowed in sex offenders, cutthroats, killers, thieves and drug dealers, many of whom feasted on the Hotel Cecils lax security. Some acted as predators; others became prey.

Reputation remains a fragile commodity. It can change like a chameleon in a matter of seconds or ooze into oblivion like molasses. A single mishap can rupture a person or place. Joe Paterno, the once highly regarded Penn State football coach, plummeted from grace, either justly or unjustly, depending on whom you ask, once the Jerry Sandusky child molestation incident came to light. In the case of the Cecil, the decline came gradually.

An interior view looking into the lobby of the Cecil Hotel. Image from the Historical-Cultural Monument application, City of Los Angeles.

The hotel opened with fanfare and a five-star rating in 1924. Its prestige remained near the top for several yearsthat is, until the Great Depression and a cascade of unfortunate occurrences dragged it into an abyss. Now home to ghosts of the past, surrounded by a once-booming financial district, a lively transportation system and a vibrant retail scene, the nearly empty Cecil Hotel sits like poet Percy Bysshe Shelleys solitary statue of Ozymandias, set in a desert of dilapidated buildings on the edge of Skid Row.

Look on my works ye mighty and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

the lone and level sands stretch far away.

The young man stepped off the curb without looking, his thoughts floating elsewhere. A speeding car struck and killed him. He awakened standing by Heavens pearly gates, with Saint Peter sitting at a desk in front of him.

Well, son, Ive checked, and you are free to make a choice between Heaven and Hell. Would you like to take a look at both options?

Yes, sir.

In the blink of an eye, the newly arrived decedent floated atop a cloud in the sky. A cherub sat beside him, strumming a lyre. A handful of angels watched silently and blissfully while savoring the soft, melodious music.

How beautiful, said the man to Saint Peter. But I guess I should visit Hell as well.

And so you shall.

With a snap of Saint Peters fingers, the man found himself in Hell. Sexy beauties in scanty outfits swayed to the smooth sounds of jazz. The intoxicating perfume from the dancers wafted across the room. A smiling bartender poured margaritas for the patrons. A cornucopia of delectable canaps covered a long table. Heaven appeared sweet and serene, but Hell rocked.

Well, how do you choose? asked Saint Peter. But I must caution youwhichever one you pick, you can never change your mind. Your decision is irreversible. Do you understand?

I do, the recruit said. Heaven looked great, but Hell looked like lots more fun. I choose Hell.

And so you shall have it, said Saint Peter.

The man quickly found himself in the fires of Hell. The food and drinks had disappeared. The women he had seen dancing appeared old and haggard. Heavy chains held them in place. When he looked at his own wrists and ankles, manacles blocked his movement. Fierce guard dogs snarled and snapped at his feet.

A sketch of Satan. Image from Creative Commons.

The unfortunate man looked up to see Satan towering over him.

This is not what I thought I was getting. What happened to the food, the dancing girls, the wine and the music?

Ah, said Satan with a grin. Appearances can be deceiving. What you first saw was for prospects, but now that you have entered my domain as a full-time resident, things are quite different. Satan roared with laughter.

Like Satans false presentation of the joys of Hell, the magnificent entryway and classic lobby of the Cecil Hotel beckoned visitors through its doors, masking a scary and dangerous place. What appeared at first like a virtual paradise in the heart of downtown Los Angeles proved to be a mirage. Rather than a guarantee of peace and safety, guests found themselves in a crypt of horrorstrapped like the poor soul in the story.

THE ROARING TWENTIES

The story of the Cecil began on Saturday, December 20, 1924, with the formal opening of the hotel. Los Angeless economy boomed during the Roaring Twenties. With Christmas less than a week away, throngs of shoppers filled the downtown streets. The clink of coins echoed from the pockets of the populace. Optimism ruled the day.