The inside of the house is even more disheveled. Pictured here is what’s left of an area of the kitchen.
Random stuff covers the counters, cupboard doors and shelves are in ruins, it looks like a junkyard.
The state-of-the-art swimming pool, previously a vision of A-lister splendor, is now an eyesore.
It’s been left empty, except for a mossy accumulation of old rain for so long that taggers have had time to fill the pool with graffiti. The signs of former splendor are imperceptible. It’s all gone.
In one area, Romanesque pillars litter the grounds like dead soldiers of previous pomp and stature. The marble columns remind one of the renowned designer Elgin’s work, and of the decline of his former client.
In the 1970s, Vincente Minnelli’s prominence as a Hollywood director waned. During that same period, coincidentally, Liza’s fame was hitting its heights. It’s rumored that she assisted her father financially during those times.
Indoors, it’s easy to see how the entire house is crumbling down from the inside, out.
The carpeting is a disaster - a filthy, rotting mess. Left to the elements, even the padding under the carpet has deteriorated to rusty orange dust.
With all of the graffiti, damage, and decay, it’s safe to assume this property, for many years, has captured the imagination of every child in the vicinity.
It sits like a legend, a Hollywood haunted mansion. On a wall upstairs, “Judy Garland” is casually scrawled in large handwriting, as if in deference to her greatness. In fact, locally, the property has earned the nickname “The Hilton for Squatters.”