The saga of four generations of a Los Angeles newspaper dynasty begins in the mid-nineteenth century, when Benjamin Raines Olin takes over the Los Angeles Tribune, and continues to the 1980s, as his descendants battle each other for control of the corporation

The Paper Dynasty

Literature & Fiction

Theodore Roosevelt Gardner II

United States

Allen a Knoll Pubs

Southern California Gardens: An Illustrated History

History

Padilla, Victoria

Americas

Two cops whose methods are polar opposites -- in love with the same kidnapped woman -- race against time and each other to save her. From Los Angeles' lowlands to its highest mountain, The Snatch races at breakneck speed to a crashing climax.

The Snatch

Champion, David

"Is it possible she won't want to see you?" 
 Darts came through the eyes. "Why would she not?" he faltered. I think I heard his voice break. "Of course...it's...possible." He put a spin on "possible," like anything was possible but he would just as soon not think it could be in this case. When he regained his composure, he asked, "So what would you charge?" 
 Here we were at the moment of truth. I had rehearsed my response to this inevitable question in front of the bathroom mirror in our tract house. I had honed it to as near believable perfection as I was capable of bringing off. But now my tongue seemed to stick to my lower teeth. Michael Hadaad didn't let his gaze waver. Finally I shook my head, once. "Phew," I said with as much bravado as my thumping heart would allow. "Gonna be expensive." 
 "How expensive?" he asked, cocking an eye of suspicion. 
 "Not so simple," I said. "I bring her here and she's happy to come, I'd settle for two hundred." 
 "Two hundred dollars?" He thought he had gotten lucky. 
 "Two hundred thousand," I corrected him. 
 "Two..." he choked. "That's ridiculous!" 
 This is where my art came in. I nodded, the soul of understanding, and stood to leave. I nodded again, in acknowledgment of his hospitality, and said, "I quite understand. My fees are a lot higher than the run of the mill. There are many available for a lot less." 
 He just stared at me, as though I were the first person to ever walk out on him. For my part, I was not as bummed at the prospect of losing the case or the fee (it was a lark anyway) as I was of losing the opportunity to see his palm collection. 
 I turned to leave. I had not taken three steps when I heard the mighty Michael Hadaad say, "No, wait." 
 I smiled to myself before I turned. Now I cocked my eye as he had done so expertly. 
 He answered: "You had the guts to get up. Most people can't see past their fee. Sit down." 
 I did. 
 "Is there room for negotiation?" 
 "I don't nickel and dime," I said. "I don't submit chits for meals and gas. But I'm afraid I've only given you the low side." 
 Up went the eyelids. 
 I nodded. God, I thought, is he buying this? But how could he? "If she doesn't want to come, it will be a half-million." 
 He sank back in his chair. I stood again, but faced him. "I quite understand your reluctance, Mr. Hadaad. I am used to working for the extremely wealthy, exclusively."

The Missing Link (Gil Yates Private Investigator)

Mystery, Thriller & Suspense

Boyle, Alistair

Mystery

The Mountain Massacres: A Bomber Hanson Mystery

"Lotusland is one of the most dramatic gardens in the world. This spectacular book eloquently chronicles the gardens and the life story of the eccentric Madame Ganna Walska, the legendary woman who spent more than forty years and untold millions developing these gardens."

Lotusland: A Photographic Odyssey

Arts & Photography

Photography & Video

Barry makes friends with Simon Rodia, the builder of the Watts towers in Los Angeles, who teaches him to follow his own dreams

Something Nice to See

Children's Books

Book by Gardner II, Theodore Roosevelt

Off the Wall: The Newspaper Columns of Ted Gardner

Gardner II, Theodore Roosevelt

Essays & Correspondence

I'll never forget when Doctor laid the facts of life on me. He did it with such exuberance, such panache. None of this handing me a book with crude drawings, none of this, "You know it all already," none of this drunken slurring veiled mystery about "privates." No, the Doc went right for the jugular. "It's the greatest thing in the world, son, if you do it right. It's more than a mingling of genitalia, it's simply the greatest thing in life - a mystical thrill beyond anything else you will ever experience. You find a girl who turns up her nose at it, you head for the hills without her as fast as you can. 
 "You'll find plenty who pooh-pooh it, son, and all I can say when you run up against one of those thin-lipped virgins with a stone heart that pumps ice water, is run for your life. Don't under any circumstances saddle yourself with one, no matter how nice she seems, no matter how beautiful she is, no matter how rich, nothing else will matter if you don't have that mystical connection - that greatest of all natural forces. You know what the man said: 'It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.' And by God, that's right on the money." 
 I can still see him standing over me at the kitchen table. The Doc was a man of commanding flamboyance. He was not a word mincer. But I also sensed, even at twelve, that he was hopelessly enslaved to hyperbole. All his admonitions about the superiority of sex left me feeling that he was denigrating my mother, whom I not only loved, but pitied. 
 For the great ebullient Doc didn't spend a lot of time at home with Mother. I became the substitute husband, squiring her to this charity event and that picnic; all obligatory affairs attended while the Doc was conducting his own affairs. 
 So I ignored his advice. And, of course, I regret it. 
 There were unspoken undercurrents there. Even at my tender age, I felt the Doc was telling me my mother didn't "do it right" and his dental assistants did, or they moved on to chaster pastures. And the women patients with the past-due bills that were never sent out for collection, they surely did it right. 
 I have never given up trying to "do it right." But up until now, one of the overriding ironies of my life has been while I aspired to be like my father, I wound up more like my mother. While I longed for his libidinous flamboyance, his aura of command, I became repressed and mildly subjugated to a major breadwinner. 
 Perhaps it was because of my sympathy for my mother, perhaps not, but I was severely retarded in my interaction with the complementary sex. 
 Until, as I said, I met Kelly.

The Real Sleeper: A Love Story

Romance

The Con: A Gil Yates Private Investigator Novel

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