Violins It had to be this place, this small chair, an unrequited accent. My hotel-room-finger logged the phone book looking for a tailor. Most of the tailors had Italian names like Favio or Giovanni or even Mario. There are many songs and literary tales about this place. There are American fortunes, sales people who die along the way. My tailor says his name is Ludwig Van Beethoven. To avoid confusion, I tap my pen to the beat of a deaf man's Fifth Symphony, allegedly the greatest. My disheveled tailor, probably insane, smiled. This place I have found is called Sylvestri's Tailor Shop located on Ventura Boulevard in Los Angeles. Ludwig, as he prefers, custom cuffs my brown pants to match my sport coat in one half hour demonstrating that he speaks four languages like the mastery of sixteen violins beneath his fingers, behind his eyes. Ten years and counting seem not to have become a fortune for anybody on Ventura Boulevard, including Ludwig.