It’s 1939 and you’re shivering in a gray, eastern city when into town rides a tanned cowboy with a gap in his teeth. His name is Johnny Boyle; his sidekick is a lanky cut-up named Frank Bogert. They drag a barbecue out of their woodie station wagon and pretty soon the steaks are on and Johnny is tossing the lariat and singing in his heavenly baritone about finding cool water in the desert.
Photography by Joseph Pellegrini Steven Lowe had been working on The Beat Hotel for a couple of years when I met him. At the time (February 2004), I was editor of The Public Record and writing about his soon-to-open hotel. My immediate impression of Steven — an impression that never dissipated — was that he was extremely intelligent, fascinating,
It is an irrefutable fact of modern life that old columnists never die; they just opine away.
TB Puts PS on the Map There is no question: Tuberculosis put Palm Springs on the map. Up until 1876 when the Southern Pacific Railroad cut through the San Gorgonio Pass to Los Angeles, the area stood virtually undiscovered by white pioneers. Johnny was the first of many invalids to come and be healed in the healthy desert climate. Among