6667 Hollywood Boulevard
I’m the Anniversarist. Every day, I squint at microfilm of newspaper stories about people from 25, 50, 75, 100 years ago, sometimes even longer, searching for commemorative features to write up. My beat is yesterday’s news, which some readers vastly prefer to today’s. Friends ask me, “What if, you know, some real news happens?”
My answer is always the same: “I’ll give it real nice play in 10 years.”
Today I’m standing under the canopy at the rear door of Musso & Frank Grill. It’s 10:59 a.m., and I’m waiting for the place to open, listening to the rain pound overhead. Don’t feel sheepish if you’ve never heard of Musso’s. For every Angeleno who downed their first martini here, or savored their last chop after an ominous checkup, plenty more have never ventured inside. Musso’s doesn’t mind. Two blocks from the recently opened Museum of Selfies, Musso & Frank Grill remains the still center of Hollywood’s clock—surrounded by revolutions, defiantly unbudged.
At the stroke of 11, a red-jacketed waiter swings open the door and spirits me inside. As his lapel pin announces, 2019 marks Musso & Frank Grill’s
