PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

PETER BUFFA

There’s something to be said for seniority. Not a lot, mind you, but

there are a few benefits.

One of them is that the old song, “Everything Old Is New Again,” comes

true with a vengeance. Every morning, I check the papers for all the news

that’s fit to print from the five continents and the seven seas.

What are the “seven seas” by the way? Every time I ask someone, it’s a

different seven seas. In fact, what’s the difference between a sea and an

ocean? Is an ocean big and a sea little? What about Lake Superior? It’s

bigger than some seas. Who thinks these things up? I don’t get it.

Where were we? Oh yeah, I remember. Seniority. Anyway, the other

morning, I stumble down the driveway, mutter at the crows, careen back to

the door and open a paper called the Daily Pilot.

There it was, right on the front page: “Lawsuit filed against

swingers’ club in Costa Mesa neighborhood -- the Panther Palace.” In the

words of Lawrence “Yogi” Berra, it was deja vu all over again. The first

time I heard about the Panther Palace was five years ago.

A woman stepped to the microphone at a city council meeting and

demanded something be done about a home a few doors from hers. The owner

was running a business of questionable character in an otherwise quiet

home on an otherwise quiet street, namely hers.

“What kind of business?” we asked, stifling a yawn and waiting for the

usual answer about someone repairing cars or making cabinets in their

garage.

“It’s a swingers’ club,” the woman said, bringing everyone’s chairs to

the full upright position.

“It’s a what?” we asked, wishing we hadn’t.

“A swingers’ club,” she repeated. “They run personal ads” -- one of

which she had with her, much to our distress -- “for ‘swapping parties.’

”

The story might have ended then, had she not added two more details.

The owner’s name was “Wild Bill” Goodwin, she said, and he called the

house the “Panther Palace.”

Kaboom. Wild Bill and the Panther Palace become national news.

Worse yet, when the press discovered that Goodwin was in his 70s, and

that many of his clients were also, um, mature, things got wilder than

Bill.

We could have done without the story, of course, which eventually got

a mention from both Leno and Letterman. But you have to admit, it’s

different than your basic cabinet-making-without-a-permit story.

I’ll say one thing for Mr. Goodwin -- who, by the way, has since swung

into eternity -- he might have been quiet but he wasn’t shy. He proudly

gave every reporter and news crew that showed up a guided tour. It was

like the Jackie Kennedy tour of the White House gone horribly wrong, with

a lot of leopard skin and mirrors, as I recall.

As bizarre as the story is, it confirms my totally unsubstantiated

“Theory of 100.” I have long been of the belief that in any group of 100

people, every type of odd, and in some cases illegal, behavior known to

man and woman is represented therein. As usual, I have no evidence

whatsoever to offer, but trust me on this.

Next time you’re at a big holiday party or a wedding or a neighborhood

meeting, look around. Even if you know everyone there by name, you’re

looking at the full spectrum of human behavior.

The thing is, you have no idea which person goes with what behavior.

They may be just “good old Ed” and “that sweet Susan” to you, but I’m

telling you, two or three of those 100 people have a special costume at

home that nobody gets to see. And there are some investigators,

somewhere, who would love to talk to one or two others.

At any rate, it appears that the Panther Palace swings on, now under

the watchful eye of Gordon Oliver, who is 72. Whatever happened to

bridge?

Now, as then, the city has decreed that enough is enough, and has sued

for a cease-and-desist order against whatever goes on in that house --

and we don’t need any details, thank you so much.

Sounds simple enough. But I suspect that now, as then, the story will

become much more gray before it reappears in black and white. See the

file under “Cadillacs, Bars, Sid Soffer.”

The Panther Palace management team cleverly requests a donation rather

than a fee, supposedly to cover the cost of food and refreshments, and

turns away no one who declines to “donate.”

Pretty transparent, but the courts are very protective about what does

or does not constitute unacceptable activity in a private home, as well

they should be. And even though the police have visited the Palace and

its subjects on a number of occasions, it’s apparently a pretty subdued

operation. No drugs, no loud music, etc., etc.

But, still and all, talk about a problem neighbor. Oy. The next time

the neighbors are slow to put their trash cans away, don’t get bummed.

You could be living next door to Wild Bill’s Panther Palace.

Yes, it’s true. If you just wait long enough, everything old is new

again. It’s always hard to tell what makes news and what doesn’t. But the

Panther Palace was destined to be one of those smirky “And finally ...”

stories that anchor people love to close with.

We’ll see how it ends this time. Stay tuned.

I gotta go.

*

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column appears

Fridays. He can be reached via e-mail at o7 [email protected] .