Courtyard housing: Mythology come to life

When my mother decided to move to Los Angeles, my family began looking for an apartment in Los Feliz. We chose the area for a variety of reasons, but availability of affordable housing was not one of them. In fact, after weeks of stoically surveying depressing brown carpet and windowless living rooms, Mom had decided that if "this last place" didn't work out, she was going to give New Mexico another try.

Fortunately, "this last place" was Ambrose Gardens, an apartment building that is also one of those portals that connect real-life Los Angeles and postcard Los Angeles. Impossibly tall palms surround a pool the color of Paul Newman's eyes, while roses and geraniums, pansies and ferns gather in front of doorways and walls, there is a shaded patio, there is sunshine on green grass, and beneath the cries of ex-pat parrots overhead, there is, unbelievably, silence. All within spitting distance of an Albertson's parking lot.

This is not accidental. Ambrose Gardens is a classic post-World War II courtyard apartment building -- a two-story building shaped like a squared-off "U" holds this bit of paradise in a careful embrace. There are 42 units, most of them single bedrooms, and in them dwell a wide variety of people. There is a sense of collective upward mobility -- several doctors and lots of Industry types -- which reflects the neighborhood and the real estate market, but also quite a few retired folk, people who have been living here for 20, 30, or in one case, 50 years.

"I've got seven people who've lived here more than 25 years," says Elsie Columbia, who has managed the building for just about a decade. "People come and they like it so well, they never leave."

Like the architecture that surrounds them, many of these people also embody mythic Los Angeles. Doris Eller, who just celebrated her 50th year of residency, came with a friend to Los Angeles in 1953 from Portland, Ore., two gals looking for adventure. After a month or so, they ran out of money, so they figured they'd better just get jobs and stay awhile.

They saw a "for-rent" sign at 4440 Ambrose Ave. and moved in. Eller still has a photo of herself, in a smart suit and matching hat, standing beside one of the now-towering palm trees; it comes to her hip.

There was no pool back then, Eller says. Instead, the courtyard was dominated by a huge oak tree under which residents would gather and kibitz. But the tree became worm-infested and the owner took it down, eventually putting in the pool.