by Robert Eshman, Associated Editor
Community / For 45 years the City Spa has attracted an electric and peaceful a mix of people as Los Angeles can offer.
This story begins as no other, with its author lying naked on a warm stone slab, being beaten with eucalyptus branches by a large Russian man named Lazar. "You like this?" he says. "You like it?"
At the City Spa on Pico Boulevard and Burnside Avenue, they call this a "plaitza." As Lazar's hot mop of fresh-cut eucalyptus leaves thwacks my body, long-clogged pores open to suck in the super-heated air. The temperature in the Russian-style rock room - reportedly the only one of its kind in the country, climbs up to 200 degrees. Aches and stresses melt like butter. Lazar Kumpan, who, in civilian dress, is CEO of a medical instruments company, gives me one last slap. After 15 minutes, I'm a new man.
I've just discovered what Eastern European Jews have known for centuries, and what many Angelenos have known for decades: The Shvitz is life.
Located on a stretch of Pico Boulevard that was settled, then abandoned, and is now being rediscovered by the Jewish community, City Spa, originally called Pico Burnside Baths, evokes the kind of loyalty and teary-eyed reminiscence usually bequeathed upon, say, the pastrami at Langer's or the eggs and onions at Arts.
Cappy Capsuto, 82, has been going to the City Spa since it opened 45 years ago. That's when Jewish gangsters such as Mickey Cohen and Bugsey Siegel frequented the place. "A lot of guys go to the pool hall or to the bar" he says, dressed in the flouncy toga everyone wears when they're not naked. "We'd come here. You meet a bunch of guys from where you're at. You get a good steam."
Long before City Spa, Jews from Eastern Europe brought thier love of the steam bath to America. Part refuge, part social club, part health resort, the baths were a place to schmooze, relax, have a glass of schnapps and a nibble of herring. City Spa is the last authentic shvitz in Los Angeles, say its long devoted patrons. Only the 10th Street Baths in Manhattan comes close to its atmosphere, though Capsuto would differ. "Nah," he corrects another old-timer, "that's like comparing chicken salad to chicken s---."
For numerous Jewish families, the spa has endured as a rite of passage, a tradition. "My father used to take me here when I was a kid." Danny Brookman, 49, tells me. "Now I started taking my sons here."
On this particular Thursday evening, Brookman and his father, Bob, 73, soak in the Jacuzzi while Brookman's sons, Jordan, 12, Miles, 9, and Max, 7, dare each other into the cold plunge. "My dad used to take me here when I was a kid" says Brookman, a Santa Monica lawyer. "and now I take my kids." Many of the men at City Spa tell the same story. They first came holding thier fathers hand, and they've kept coming back.
But its not just Fathers and sons. City Spa attracts an electric and peacful mix of people as Los Angeles can offer. On any given night, Jewish Defense League leader Irv Rubin will find himself soaking next to a black Muslim. John F. Kennedy Jr. may drop in. Jesse Jackson, former Los Angeles District Attorney Ira Reiner, Orthodox Jews, Russians, Israelis, the old-timers, children, actors, agents all come - the place is a United Nations of sweat.
When little Max Brookman slips on his way out of the rock room, a familiar voice asks, "You OK?" When Max looks up, he sees a smiling John Travolta.
You pay 30 dollars to enter (updated 2012 $40) - discounted annual memberships are also available - but nobody seems to rush in and out. Besides the rock room, there's a wet-steam room, thick with hot eucalyptus scented mist, the Jacuzzi; a cool swimming pool; a dry sauna.
Upstairs in the two-story building is a refurbished weight room, a sun deck, massage rooms, a TV and game room. Downstairs, there's a restaurant, lockers and Bulls Room. Patrons wander back and forth between the rooms, stopping to trade jokes and stories. "Four hours goes by like nothing here" says Brookman.
Or 40 years. Co-owner Simon Kamviz says that, sometimes, widows have come to the spa, asking for the key for thier dead husbands locker. "They'll say, My husband has been here every week for 40 years; what's he hiding in the locker?"
Simon, along with his brothers, David, Soli and Cameron, bought City Spa 10 years ago from longtime owner Ellis Pasavoy. The place has fallen into disrepair along with its neighborhood. "Everything was crumbling," says Simon. "The old-timers called it a concentration camp."
But the Iranian Jewish brothers fell in love with the spa. They remembered how, back in Tehran, thier mother would pack lunches and rose water and send them off to the spa with thier father. "I think being nude with your parents brings the closeness." says Kamvis.
The brothers who own Plaza Carpets on Pico Boulevard and several other businesses, spent close to $2 million renovating and upgrading the spa. "We saw a piece of History just dying" says Kamvis. Now the brothers are tireless boosters of thier spa's wondrous health and social benefits. "We decided if we'll buy this place we'd live longer," says David. "People come here unhappy and walk out happy."
Along with the physical improvements, the brothers Kamviz made other big changes. Women for one. Every Monday and Wednesday is coed, with bathing suits mandatory. Some customers resented the change. "This was always a place where you would come and meet the boys," says Lester Bice, a judge.
But the brothers said that they had no choice. For one, thier mothers, sisters, wives and daughters wanted to experience the spa. But, also, time has been tough on membership. "A lot of our best customers were dead," says David. "We had to bring the younger crowd."
To attract a new generation, the Brothers have added fresh squeezed juices
to the restaurant menu, along with remarkable good food prepared by an Iranian Jewish chef. Simon himself makes the superior olives, pickles, herring and sourkraut. And, on coed nights, he puts candles on the tables "to make it more romantic."
Indeed, business has picked up, and City Spa has been reviewed and praised in the Los Angeles Times, Harpers & Queens, Variety and even GQ Japan.
And the longtime customers still keep coming back. "When you're not feeling well, you can come in here and take it easy" says Bice. "You'll feel better."
Copyright The Jewish Journal March-April 1997
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