Heather Heater

My dad is a (retired) jazz musician. When I was little he would take me to free weekend jazz concerts, which were held on top the rooftop garden of the Chevron Building in downtown Los Angeles. While he grooved to the beats I played with the other kids, splashing in the fountains and running around like mad! Then we would go to the Bonaventure Hotel and ride the elevators. The elevators are glass — at the top they seem to burst through the roof and at the bottom it feels like your landing in water! Every time we would go “through” the roof my dad would bang his foot on the floor of the elevator to make it seem like we were really crashing through the ceiling. It was super fun and I giggled every time, even though I knew what was coming. The day always finished up with lunch at Phillipe’s (http://www.philippes.com) where we’d shuck peanuts and eat hot roast beef sandwiches together sitting side-by-side with the other jazz cats, business folk, and lonely Los Angelinos down on their luck.

Some of the best memories of my life were these weekends with my dad.