Category: ApexUSA

ApexUSA is a stab into the darkness, an attempt via ad images to locate the exact point in the 20th century when America reached its cultural peak.

Is a LIFE ad for Pullman coaches really indicative of what was going on in America in 1937? Isn’t that a distorted view? Yes. But a serious, tight-lipped historical account would be equally distorted. Pick your distortion.

This is not a yearning for the past. As time goes by, you gain some things, lose others. There are no answers here. Only evidence.

  • Cars Will Travel in Tubes by Year 2000

    Cars Will Travel in Tubes by Year 2000

    The Year 2000–as it was called before 2000–is looking awfully distant with each passing year. Will it ever happen? And what I mean by this is the chasm between what was promised and what we’ve got: the old “Where’s my jetpack?” meme. Or, “I wanted cars in tubes but all I’ve got is Twitter.”

    Yes, cars that travel in tubes. This one comes from the engineers at Honeywell, in the 1950s a cutting-edge company sprouting all sorts of innovations. This photo, from Popular Mechanics, December 1957, comes with no context other than the caption, “Honeywell engineer predicts that by A.D. 2000 cars will zip through network of crashproof pneumatic tunnels.”

    Cars in tubes by year 2000

  • To a Swell Dad

    To a Swell Dad

    Swell Dad Card

    I’d kill to have someone give me a card that says, “To a Swell Dad – Handyman, You Fit the Bill.”

    This is from an ad for Gibson’s Cards, LIFE Magazine, June 15, 1953.

  • Long-Forgotten G.I. Coffeehouses: Hotbeds of Anti-War Dissent

    Long-Forgotten G.I. Coffeehouses: Hotbeds of Anti-War Dissent

    In this age of freely flowing words–often too many of them–it’s hard to imagine a day when conversation actually had to be nurtured. During the Vietnam War, anti-war activists had far fewer avenues of discussion available than today: no Twitter, blogs, YouTube, or social media. Self-publication was largely confined to mimeographed newspapers. Vietnam anti-war activism tended to happen in-person, with actual people and actual words.

    From the late 1960s to 1974, so-called “GI coffeehouses” sprang up near military bases to act as general purpose interfaces between anti-war pacifism and military personnel. Usually established by non-local activists, these coffeehouses acted as everything from sounding boards for just-returned G.I.’s and comforting waystations to proselytizing drug-infested dens of dirty, long-haired hippies, as David L. Parsons details in Dangerous Grounds: Antiwar Coffeehouses and Military Dissent in the Vietnam Era.

    One such G.I. coffeehouse and the first of its kind was located at 1732 Main Street, Columbia, South Carolina, near Fort Jackson. On January 13, 1970, the coffeehouse was shut down by local law enforcement on the basis of being a public nuisance. UFO Coffeehouse was run by the husband-and-wife couple Duane Ferre and Merle Ferre, Leonard Cohen, William Balk, and Christopher Hannafan. All except for Hannafan (who fled to New York) were charged with operating a public nuisance and fined $10,000 each, plus each was given a 6 year jail term. The jail terms were later substantially reduced.

  • Bars, Nightclubs, and Casinos from Ocean’s 11 (1960)

    Bars, Nightclubs, and Casinos from Ocean’s 11 (1960)

    How bad can a movie be yet look fantastic? Ocean’s 11 (1960) is a heist film famous for its slick Rat Pack, mid-century modern trappings, but altogether a heaping, floppy mess. It’s a movie you want to like but can’t. It has no real highs, no lows, no drama, little humor. Interminable parts of the movie happen at Spyros Acebo’s Ladera Drive house in Beverly Hills, where the boys just talk and talk forever. Even one hour into the movie, they have only talked about the heist. The only real spark of life is with Cesar Romero, as Peter Lawford’s father-in-law-to-be, an unspecified Las Vegas fixer-gangster who wises up to the boys’ heist and exposes it.

    Yet the movie has a great look, as the boys progress from casino to casino: Flamingo, Sands, Desert Inn, Riviera, and Sahara. This slavish progression through the five hotels not once, but twice (first casing the joints, then later on, robbing them) is a huge drag on the movie’s storyline, but it’s a great crosscut of 1960s Las Vegas.

    Flamingo Bar

    Flamingo Hotel and Casino Bar from Ocean's 11 (1960)
    Flamingo Hotel and Casino Bar from Ocean’s 11 (1960)

    Sands Cashier/Guard Stand

    Sands Casher/Guard Stand from Oceans 11 (1960)
    Sands Cashier/Guard Stand from Oceans 11 (1960)

    Sands Hotel and Casino Phone Area

    Sands Hotel and Casino Phone Area from Oceans 11 (1960)
    Sands Hotel and Casino Phone Area from Oceans 11 (1960)

    Sands Hotel and Casino Coffee Shop

    Sands Hotel and Casino Coffee Shop from Oceans 11 (1960)
    Sands Hotel and Casino Coffee Shop from Oceans 11 (1960)

    Sahara Casino Nightclub

    Sahara Casino Nightclub from Oceans 11 (1960)
    Sahara Casino Nightclub from Oceans 11 (1960)

    Flamingo Hotel and Casino Entrance

    Flamingo Hotel and Casino Entrance from Oceans 11 (1960)
    Flamingo Hotel and Casino Entrance from Oceans 11 (1960)
  • Modern Babylon: Deserted Weyerhaeuser Campus in Federal Way, Washington

    Modern Babylon: Deserted Weyerhaeuser Campus in Federal Way, Washington

    Quietly ensconced in 130 acres of woods south of Seattle is the abandoned campus of the Weyerhaeuser Corporation. Much like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, with gardens built into the walls of the palace, the Weyerhaeuser campus’ 5-story building is heavily draped with English ivy; thus the name of the complex: The Greenline.

    Built in 1971 by Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (SOM) architect Edward Charles Bassett, the complex is set into a hilly cleft and feels similar to Frank Lloyd Wright’s 1962 Marin County Civic Center. SOM calls the building a “groundscraper” or a “skyscraper on its side.”

    In a 1992 interview, Bassett said of the complex:

    The building has been one of my most satisfactory experiences. I wanted to find a point where the landscaping and the building simply could not be separated, that they were each a creature of the other and so dependent that they could hardly have survived alone. It’s a very simple statement, there’s nothing to it. Simply a number of terraced floors moving across from one side of a swale to the other. It’s a low ridge, so that you enter at the fourth level, a communal floor, with the three office floors below you instead of above. As the building progresses across the swale, forming a kind of dike or a dam, it gets broader as it goes on. The terraces are then planted with ivy that sweeps from the natural land form at either end. It’s elegant and understated and essentially un-architectural.

    It was also the first example of the open office plan, with no walls between offices, only movable dividers (there were a few enclosed rooms for private conferences). Long before the green roof movement began, the Weyerhaeuser headquarters’ green roofs absorbed solar energy, directing glare and heat away from the inner office area.

    In 2016, Weyerhaeuser abandoned the complex and moved into an uninspired glass building near Occidental Square in downtown Seattle. Today, The Greenline lies abandoned, crumbling, overgrown with ivy.