Tuesday, July 3. This day was sacred to record hunting. After three years of noodling around, I finally got hep to myself and went down to Central Avenue, After hitting a number of blanks, I finally discovered a colored new-and-used platter shop at 35th and Central which made the whole week worthwhile from the Jazz standpoint. The place handles both new and used platters, the latter being purchased and/or traded for by them from non-juke box sources, largely negro ones.

The contents of their miscellaneous used bin (35c each and take your own chances with badly beat records) were unbelievable, and after I had knocked out both myself and my finances, the proprietress mentioned that her good used records were on shelves behind the counter and would I like to see them? Wow! This store had the best pickings I’ve yet found in LA, and the payoff is that on a return trip two weeks later I discovered their stock had changed so much that I got even more than the first time. This place would not be regarded too highly by the lover of white jazz, Dixieland, big swing bands, and such, but if you like race blues vocals - old and rare ones - their stock will drive you mad.

On the way from Central Avenue to Hollywood, I dropped by Slan Shack for a moment, showed the records to an Elmer Perdue who was too drunk to be very appreciative, and then supinely allowed myself to be inveigled into sitting around waiting for Tucker and Mari-Beth. Fellow waiters included the Ashleys, Rothman, the Lost Weekend, Ackerman, and, I believe, Sandy Kadet, plus two or three others whose names escape me.

When I finally left for Hollywood, Milt Rothman went along. Part of our trip was spent discussing Dunk, the NFFF, the Foundation - but most of it we were busily getting acquainted, comparing our tastes in this and that, and so on. Our objective was the Tempo Record Shop, a recently established rival to Marili Mordan's Jazzman Record Shop. Oddly enough, since Milty is Elmer's favorite fan, in the Tempo we ran into one of Perdue's non-fan friends, a jazz collector named Joe Orr. The haul at Tempo ran strongest to quality rather than quantity — the four HRS reissues of Hines' QRS solos, and the original Okeh of Armstrong's Monday Date/Sugar Foot Strut.

Sunday, July 7. Perdue, Rothman, Widner, and Kadet came over with me to [my place to] play records for a while. For Kadet, I fear it was a bit boring. Widner, who had recently become interested in jazz, was having a big time sampling (his taste seems to run strongest to Chicago style and Dixieland); Rothman, whose classical leanings were first menaced by Perdue back in 1940 or '41, was busily renewing his acquaintance with Meade Lux Lewis and Earl Hines, while Perdue and I, who like anything that kicks, were just plain enjoying ourselves.

So far as I know, this was the only bash of the Pacificon.

- FANDANGO #13 (Fall 1946, ed. Laney)

Mel Brown on Laney's record collecting:

It is not at all uncommon to walk into a second-hand record store, peer inquiringly under a pile of old dusty records and after some effort, fish around and eventually bring to light a squalling, squirming, but excruciatingly happy FTLaniac from the wreckage. There will be a maniacal gleam of satisfaction on his face and in one hand he will be holding a copy of Delauney's Jazz Discography and in the other, clutched tenderly, a warped, worn, battered record in such horrible condition that I would even be ashamed to turn it in for scrap. Laney would be exclaiming wildly: "Look, a genuine King Oliver!" Whereupon yours truly would look at him rather blankly and innocently ask "King who?" Upon which the Laniac would shove me into the corner and proceed to explain ponderously, but with great gusto and enthusiasm, what and why and which was King Oliver, Bix, or some of the other jazz artists of the twenties. From there, we would proceed to Fran Shack where the precious King Oliver would be lovingly placed on the turntable of the Laney record player. Soon there would erupt a series of scratches, noise and weak brays of a fouted trumpet, the unhappy notes of a clarinet, with a broken-down piano somewhere in the background.

It was about this time that I decided to try a little symphony on the Laney platter spinner, and one evening when the musically correct members of Shangri-LA slandom were present I ventured to play a newly acquired recording of Lizst's "Les Preludes" by none other than Mengelberg and the New Amsterdam orchestra. Nothing was said until after the last side was put on and had begun to issue forth from the protesting speaker. It was then that Fran stopped whatever he was doing, listened for a moment, and then remarked, "Hmmm, I wouldn't mind having that. There is some really good brass work there". This rather innocent statement horrified all of those present--or the majority--and for that it deserves a place in the annals of fan history. All in all, however, Fran is very tolerant of other peoples' taste in music. I've used his machine to play a great part of my own collection, both classical and swing.

Sometime previous to the "Les Preludes" incident, I decided to sell my jazz and swing collection, mainly because I no longer had room for all of it. Also, my tastes in music had changed a great deal. As I needed money, I sold the records without consulting the FILaniac. They were sold to a second-hand dealer in the same place Laney makes most of his purchases. I sold them Saturday and on Monday Fran made a mad dash to see if he could acquire any of the rarities I had formerly possessed. He was not long in finding out that they had sold like hotcakes and that he couldn't even get any of the lesser works. Of this little incident I was to hear plenty. It was not till after I had given him a platter of Duke Ellington's "Solitude" and "Stormy Weather"--autographed by the Duke and Ivy Anderson, that the moans subsided. Now he is quite happy and gurglingly drags them out whenever I come down there.

- SHANGRI-L'AFFAIRES #19 (October 1944, ed. Burbee)