Address: 5124 De Longpre Avenue, Los Angeles, Calif. 90027
Remembered by: Lee Mallory, poet and performer
Mentioned in: Charles Bulkowski’s Scarlet by Pamela “Cupcakes” Wood, author of (and portrayed as “Tammie” in Bukowski’s novel Women.)
Pamela “Cupcakes” Wood: “...He opened the door [to the De Longpre house] and invited us in. He was fairly tall and fairly old, with a large head and a ravaged face...I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by staring at his scarred, pockmarked skin. Wow, I thought, this guy has had a rough life. It looked like a road map to hell imprinted on his face.
…His eyes moved from my face, to my chest, to my empty hands. “You’ve got the cleavage, but you don’t got the six-pack,” he said.
…[The De Longpre House] was the most rundown-looking dump I’d ever seen: An old sofa with a faded red blanket thrown over it; across from the sofa sat an over-stuffed, worn-out, mustard and brown striped chair with blotchy stains; in-between was a round coffee table, which was too big for the room and covered with debris, including overflowing ashtrays and empty beer bottles. The rug was stained and covered in lint—dust was everywhere, and newspapers were strewn about. To my right was the entrance to the kitchen. The wall connecting the two was partially painted in a chocolate brown. It looked as though someone got too tired to finish the job….The entire place was approximately five hundred square feet and a hundred miles from bohemian. It was just plain seedy.”
Lee Mallory: “I was pretty young, just 23 or so, and I remember being introduced to him by Tom Kerrigan, poet and lawyer, who was already friends with him...In Hollywood, Kerrigan and I would visit, but in the beginning, Buk wouldn't let us in unless we brought lots of beer. Later though, the beer didn't seem to matter, but we brought it anyway. At our knock, he'd pull the door shades open a crack, peering out to see if we had the ‘goods.’ Inside was dark, with spare, cheap furniture, and often with a lot of papers and cans around. Also, the big typewriter, and a phonograph. We'd drink, laugh, and he enjoyed...teasing us. To him...we were ‘sharks,’ the young writers...who wanted to hang out with the ‘big guy.’
Once...he got right in my face, and pointed to his own face screaming, ‘Mallory, what do you think of my face?’ Being younger, somewhat in awe of him, I didn't want to hurt him. But as everyone knows, it was pretty bad. Still, if I flinched, to show weakness, I thought he'd throw me out. This was, indeed, another test. So I got in really close to him—absolutely nose to nose—summoned all my courage, and screamed back: ‘Your face is so ugly, it looks like it's been bitten by red ants! It's a flare-scored face, just the worst!’
At that, everyone in the room grew silent, mostly him, and we were still nose to nose…He seemed really angry, and for what seemed interminably long seconds, we just stared, unblinking, at one another. He was bigger than me, and in the heat of the moment, I honestly thought he was going to kill me...Everyone was just so quiet, and I thought. ‘This is it!’ Then suddenly, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. I'd passed the test!”