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Never let a name fool you: Yvette Mimieux.

The ooo-la-la French seductress thing was all the rage in the early 1960s cinema and TV. After WWII, French culture spilled across the Atlantic and wormed into American culture.

French plus female, along with even a minimal degree of attractiveness, propelled a woman into the hearts, minds, and below-the-belt-areas of most U.S. men. Brigitte Bardot, Jeanne Moreau, and Catherine Deneuve were authentic French actresses with talent.

And then we have Yvette Mimieux, who I’ve always assumed to be part of that wave.

The woman behind this ultra-swanky French seductress name was born and raised in none other than Los Angeles. Yvette made the usual local beauty queen circuit rounds (Miss Harbor Day, 1957) before being noticed by talent agent Jim Byron.

Much like another criminally unused actress, the lovely and talented Nancy Kovack–patron saint of this blog–Mimieux got out of the business by marrying well.

Mimieux had a curious marriage history.

Mimieux’s first marriage was to director Stanley Donen, director of Singin’ in the Rain, On the Town, Charade, The Pajama Game. Mimieux and Donen were married for 13 years.

Second, Mimieux married Howard Ruby, the marriage that would last until her death. Ruby is the owner of Oakwood Worldwide, “the largest global provider of temporary furnished apartments,” per Ruby’s personal website. Ruby is routinely called “the man who invented corporate housing.”

Clearly, Mimieux’s life changed. After 1986, her IMDb dries up to almost nothing: the classic sign of a well-married actress in those days.

But wait. Wasn’t there an earlier marriage before her marriage to Donen? Yes. Mimieux’s first marriage was to Evan Engber, and this marriage would last just a couple of years.

Far from fading into obscurity, Enger is a name in his own right.

Engber was the cool, ultra-connected guy to know throughout the Sixties. Engber is one of those Zelig-like figures whose name pops up in the strangest of places. His name comes up frequently in relation to the Merry Pranksters.

Engber even appears in the personal history of Rue McClanahan–yes, Rue McClanahan of Golden Girls–since Engber was a friend of Norman Hartweg, McClanahan’s husband at the time, another Prankster affiliate.

Evan Engber has led BioEngineering Associates, Inc. for over three decades. Bioengineering is the practice of building ”stabilizing structures whose primary components are living plants,” according to the company site.

It’s interesting to speculate on an alternate history where Evan Engber and Yvette Mimieux remained married. Yvette Mimieux might have peeled off in a Jaharana Romney (Bonnie Beecher) direction.

We might have pictures of Mimieux kayaking the South Fork Coquille River in Oregon with Enger instead of attending swanky charity balls with Howard Ruby.

Or maybe not.

Engber is definitely still around. His son, Eamon Engber, is a Research Associate at Humboldt State University.

You might even run into Engber in Laytonville, near Ft. Bragg, California, for one of the annual Hog Farm and Friends gatherings of “community and connections.”

Perched at the top of the Hollywood Hills, off of Mulholland Drive, is a property that commands what might be the highest and most expansive view of any home in the area: 7430 Pyramid Pl.

7430 was the long-time home of one of the most famous crooners of the early 20th century, Rudy Vallee, who clocked an impressive four decades at 7430. It also has a tangent with a semi-high-profile L.A. rape case in 1937.

Ann Harding at 7430

In January 1930, a M.C. Pasker filed a permit to build a house at 7430 Pyramid: for $15,000.

From 1930 to 1940, 7430 Pyramid was owned by actress Ann Harding and her husband Harry Bannister. That is, until 1932, when the two divorced.

Miss Harding may have been the nervous type or maybe the divorce put her on edge. On May 25, 1932, she placed a frantic call to the police about “mysterious sounds, like someone being murdered.” Four police cars raced to the Pyramid property and finally found the cause of the murderous sounds: a dog locked in the private theater.

Bonnie Wrankle Rape Attempt

Strangely enough, there would be a repeat performance five years later, and this would be the real thing. Thirteen-year-old Bonnie Wrankle, who lived at 903 North Edgemont Drive, south of Santa Monica Blvd., found herself at 7430 Pyramid Place.

A 58-year-old family friend named Raleigh Fremont told Bonnie’s mother that he was going to take her to a movie. Instead, Fremont drove Bonnie up into the Hollywood Hills “and attempted to attack her.”

“He grabbed me and choked me,” she said. “I fought with him, but he told me to shut up or he’d kill me.” Bonnie was a fighter. He kicked him and managed to hit him over the head with a rock at some point.

Bonnie Wrankle escaped from Fremont’s car and hid at 7430 Pyramid, where staff member George Seaton later found her hiding in a chimney.

Raleigh Fremont was sentenced to one-to-fifty at Folsom State Prison. Bonnie Wrankle and her mother would also sue Fremont for $200,000.

Fremont must have done more one than fifty, because in 1940 we hear from him again. He’s living in the Yankee Hill Feather River, California area, and he’s arrested on statutory rape charges for making advances on a 17-year-old girl.

Rudy Vallee Redevelops 7430

Around the same time, Ann Harding sold 7430.

Singer and bandleader Rudy Vallee would eventually live there for 45 years. All we know of Vallee’s 1941 purchase of 7430 Pyramid is that the previous owner was a woman who received it as a wedding gift from her father but the newlyweds “didn’t know how to enjoy it,” according to Vallee. Possibly this was Los Angeles contractor P.F. Martter, who in 1940 successfully argued down the original land and house assessment from $19,320 to $11,500.

Vallee developed 7430 Pyramid into a 5-bedroom, 6-bathroom 6,000 square foot house with a resurfaced tennis court, game room, theater, and heated pool.

In 1960, Vallee tried to build a pair of 54-foot shortwave radio towers at 7430 Pyramid, a move that met fierce opposition from neighbors. The application was denied. RCA would have paid Vallee $75 per month for allowing them to erect the towers.

In 1971, Vallee tried to have “Pyramid Drive” changed to “Rue de Vallee.” Six neighbors supported him, but Vallee’s move was blocked by 13th District Councilman Robert J. Stevenson. Vallee claimed that as his reason for trying to unseat the incumbent councilman in 1973.

Rudy Dies, Ellie Takes Over

Rudy Vallee died in 1986. The house, a pink and garish relic of another time, went to Eleanor Valle, who had lived there for 40 years with husband Rudy.

Ellie eventually moved to Brentwood with her new husband, attorney Edward F. Hustedt. But before doing so, she put on a few commercial live theater performances in the movie theater, calling it Rudy Vallee Theater.

On April 3, 1987, for example, anyone from the public could buy a ticket and see the play “Tribute” by Bernard Slade, starring Bo Sabato and Ellie Vallee.

By 1990, Elllie was ready to put the estate behind her. Anyone scouring the tiny print of the classified ads on July 28, 1990, could have snagged Rudy Vallee memorabilia for garage sale prices:

Memorabilia, Burl coffee table, furniture, clothing, pictures, & antiques–all good stuff! (213) 876-5423, 7430 Pyramid Place

7430 Pyramid Today

In 1990, comedian and late-night talk show host Arsenio Hall bought 7430 Pyramid practically sight-unseen for $3.5 million (he flew over it in a helicopter).

The property had first been listed by Ellie Vallee for $10 million in 1986, then was dropped to just about half that ($5.5 million) barely nine months later.

Now, 7430 Pyramid is owned by a doctor who cleared the hilltop and built

a new, 10,320 square-foot, two-story, single-family residence (including an attached, 2,178 square-foot, six-car garage, a 2,237 square-foot basement, and 3,726 square feet of covered porch or patio or balcony area), on an 87,270 square-foot lot.

And on and on, according to the permit documents from 2015 to 2018.

Of all of the actors who played soldiers and other military men in mid-century American TV and movies, a few were the real deal. Unlike those who served in picture units or who showed up at the Hollywood Canteen, these men served overseas in an active capacity, sometimes seeing actual battle.

Theodore Marcuse was one. Lee Van Cleef. Dean Fredericks, too.

Born Frederick Foote, Fredericks grew up in Antelope Valley, in Southern California, the son of a petroleum products distributor.

Fredericks served in World War II in the United States Army as a sergeant with the First Cavalry Division. While in a landing craft on a beach in Leyte, Phillippines, he and other soldiers were bombed into the water by a Japanese dive bomber.

He was so badly wounded with a leg injury that he spent two years recuperating. Fredericks received the Purple Heart.

Fredericks’ brother, Edward G. Foote Jr., named after their father, served during the war, as well. He died in Burma (Myanmar) in 1944 at the age of 21.

With that kind of history, it wasn’t a great stretch to see Fredericks in the role of USAF pilot Steve Canyon. Not just that, but Fredericks looked strikingly like cartoonist Milton Caniff’s creation. The only missing element was the blonde hair.

No problem there, though. As papers reported in 1958, Fredericks dyed his “mahogany” hair peroxide blonde on a regular basis at Myda’s Beauty Salon, Lancaster, California. The salon was owned by his wife, Myda Fredericks.

Dean Fredericks’ high cheekbones and strikingly Asiatic looks served him well in Hollywood as a bit actor, scoring part after part as indigenous characters with names like Crow Feather, Comanche Chief, Grey Wolf, Great Bear, Spotted Wolf, and more.

Steve Canyon and the title role of Col. Frank Chapman in The Phantom Planet were a couple of the high points in Fredericks’ acting career. True fame eluded Fredericks, though. He retired in the mid-1960s and died in 1999.

Even before I bought a car from Carvana, I spent months poring not just over the cars but the platform and the buying process–plus, reading tons of first-person reviews and watching the inevitable Carvana unboxing YouTubes.

In the end, I bought the car and I love it. I even scored a better deal than I should have through chicanery and a bit of white-hat hacking of their platform. Yet there are aspects of the Carvana car-buying process that I never see mentioned that would give me pause before buying next time.

You Pay For and Insure a Car You Don’t Own. For a Long Time.

With Carvana, registration and title transfer are not seamless, by any stretch of the imagination.

On the one hand, you’ve got to sympathize (if that’s the right word) with this Internet platform trying to mesh with the slow-turning gears of state and local government. On the other hand, it’s the customer who fills in the gap between the two.

When you take delivery of your vehicle, you get a paper license plate (or tab, whatever you like to call it) and temporary registration with some random state. Before this, you’re supposed to insure the car and send in the insurance information to Carvana.

Then, you’re stuck in limbo for weeks or months. Many reviewers complain about how long it takes to get your real state registration. During that time, Carvana may roll you over several times to different states: today Arizona, next time Georgia, next time Tennessee, and so on.

That’s annoying, but one point that gets missed is: You don’t have title during this time. You don’t own your car. Yet you’re insuring this car that someone else owns.

Plus, this car that you don’t own you’ve paid for 100% in advance.

Hotspots Inspection Is Diverting and Misses the Point

Carvana’s rotating 360-degree image of the vehicle shows various hotspots, as they call it: scratches, dings, gouges. Maybe some faint discoloration of the seat covers.

Take note that these are all surface imperfections as if Carvana’s vehicles were completely perfect in all other ways.

Upon delivery, my vehicle had a whine coming from the passenger side of the engine block, just behind the dashboard. This type of thing will not be mentioned in the vehicle write-up. Why? Read on.

For Carvana, 7-Day Return and 100-Day Warranty Replace True Vehicle Disclosures

Combing through Carvana vehicles in their Vehicle Details and 150-Point Inspection Reports, you’ll be hard-pressed to find anything like “Pulls to the right, needs alignment,” “Whine in engine block,” “Temperature gauge runs high,” or any of those classic vehicle ailments.

Carvana (much like CarMax) will say something like: Because we don’t sell those types of vehicles.

I’m not so sure of that. This is conjecture but I believe that Carvana full-well knows about all of the real issues with the vehicle, but they rely on the customer to catch the issues and do something about them.

Because Carvana has a 7-day return policy and 100-day warranty with car repair insurance through SilverRock, they can remain blameless. Whatever they sell can theoretically be returned or repaired.

But that’s shifting the responsibility to the customer. For one, if you’re out of market and you paid (non-refundable) to have the vehicle delivered, you’re probably not going to be sending it back. At least, you have a huge motivation to do anything before sending it back.

And that something is their 100-day warranty.

SilverRock’s Repair Facilities Are Numerous But Largely Worthless For Real Repairs

So, you’re within that 100-day warranty period for problems on your vehicle that existed before it even rolled off the car transporter. Now what?

Well, you’ve got car repair insurance through SilverRock. Just find a partner repair facility and get it fixed.

The problem is that there are no true vehicle repair shops, just tire stores, muffler shops, and the like.

In my Metro Seattle area, SilverRock’s repair facilities are Pep Boys, Meineke, and a mobile car repair service, Wrench.com.

Pep Boys and Meineke combined do:

• Heating and cooling
• Brakes
• Steering and suspension
• Belts and hoses
• Diagnostics
• Clutch
• Oil
• Exhaust and mufflers
• Tires and wheels

This isn’t nothing. But it’s not the kind of comprehensive mechanic that can hunt down the cause of any problem and fix it.

I did use Wrench and they were valuable in tracing the source of the engine whine and finding the right GM repair bulletin. That was great for what it is. But these are just small vans with limited sets of tools. They can’t do any real repairs.

Delivery Was Kind of Depressing

Much is made of Carvana’s vending machines. Insert a token into this great glass tower and out comes your car.

That may be true for some people. But if you’re not close to a vending machine, the reality is a car that’s dirty beyond imagination being rolled off of a car transporter in the middle of the night.

Carvana gives you $50 toward a carwash, which does help and is appreciated.

My Experience

But this isn’t a litany of complaints; more a dose of reality.

• I ended up getting the car repairs at a real shop: the local Chevrolet dealer. The dealer dealt directly with SilverRock, and SilverRock/Carvana paid for the repair.
• Though I paid for and insured a car that I didn’t own, nothing went wrong.
• Registration took a couple of months but not the six to eight months that you sometimes hear about.
• The Hotspots cosmetic imperfections were all listed true to form. But there were a number of under-the-hood issues that weren’t highlighted. I fixed a couple of minor things myself.
• Though some issues weren’t highlighted, it did come with a few great things: a full set of new tires, for one.
• It’s often mentioned that customer service reps are helpful. I found this to be true, as well.

Imagine, though, if she called you up late at night

and talked to you for two hours

and it was mostly apologizing for bothering you. So that it’s just one more layer of frosting.

Which is just something that goes along with kind of a depressive temperament.

So, there’s a lot of narcissism in self-hatred.