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I went to the park again recently on a weekday afternoon. When the Pan Pacific Auditorium opened in 1935, it was essentially L.A.'s first convention center. It was famous for its streamline modern façade, especially its distinctive flagpole pylons curved like the fin of a fish. Today, the land it stood on is a purposeful, efficient city park and a flood control district featuring an empty pool, a baseball diamond and a soccer field. The sprawling park teems with diverse people. Children scamper about the clusters of shiny, safe playground equipment. Hasidic women in long skirts push strollers and chat, and young Latinos play basketball. A group of elderly African American men play board games near the park's senior center. There are numerous homeless folk, asleep under the Haym Salomon statue, or eating in the covered picnic areas. Most moving of all is the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust, an excellent free resource that was eerily silent and almost empty when I visited.
There are very few signs of the old Auditorium complex, which burned down in 1989. The Recreation Center facing Beverly Blvd. features a 45-foot spire that pays homage to the auditorium's iconic sea green pylons. There are other markings that may or may not be pieces of the old complex. At odd intervals around the perimeter of the park are mysterious sandy enclosures framed by short wooden fences (perhaps something to do with flood control?). Next to the soccer field, there is a graffiti-covered, sea green structure, reminiscent of a miniature Coit Tower. Soccer players now use it as a place to throw jerseys and lock up their bikes during a game. As I watch a friendly soccer match begin, I smile. This has always been a place of entertainment and fun.
Southern California Marches On
"Better Housing is in the Air. It's everywhere! "
--from LA Times article, 1935. 1
It was 1935 in Los Angeles. Across the country, the housing and building industry had been ravaged by the Great Depression. Nowhere was this truer than in Los Angeles, where construction had fallen to an "all time low" 2 after the reckless building spree of the 1920s. Formed in 1934, after the passage of the National Housing Act, the Federal Housing Administration sought to make home ownership more affordable for all Americans. It was hoped this would both promote stability and revive various industries. Housing expositions were held throughout the country under the watchful eye of Henry G. Guthrie, national chief of the exhibition section of the FHA. In Los Angeles, FHA agents encouraged the formation of a citizens committee to stage "the most ambitious" housing exposition in the country. A $100,000 cash guarantee fund was raised by the committee. Brothers Clifford and Phillip Henderson took control of the project and secured funding and a 12 ½ acre piece of land near the La Brea Tar Pits.
The exposition, scheduled to open May 18th, 1935, was planned at breakneck speed. The famed L.A. firm of Plummer, Wurderman and Becket was chosen to design the mammoth structure that would house the exposition. They designed what was essentially a 110,000 square foot wooden barn, perfect for housing large scale events. What made the building exceptional was its of-the-moment streamline modern façade, which featured colors and architectural features reminiscent of a sleek and sophisticated ocean liner moving towards the future. The upcoming exposition, billed as a "mini-world's fair" 3 was the subject of a massive media campaign. Pretty starlets were photographed atop scaffolds at the construction site, and 100,000 promotional windshield stickers were distributed across the city. The auditorium was dedicated a scant 56 days after ground was first broken. On May 14th, the L.A. Times reported:
"Day and night more than 500 decorators, carpenters and painters are at work inside the Pan Pacific Auditorium this week placing exhibits for the National Housing Exposition which opens Saturday. There will be 160 separate exhibits inside the auditorium including a 2-story steel frame house which will be complete in every way... Outside on the 12 acre exposition center at Beverly Blvd. near Fairfax, five other model homes are in final stages of construction. These include the suburban home which the Times is giving away and a honeymoon cottage...Another important feature of the housing show will be a glass house in which Miss Edna Kirby will live, sleep and entertain during the two weeks the show will be open." 4
The grounds also included "numerous other demonstration buildings, a midway, Little Theater of the Stars, a model village, children amusement zone and numerous other features."5 Inside "the west's largest exhibition hall,"6 every department store, contractor, etc, in Los Angeles seemed to have their own novel display, while the FHA itself had a booth where inspired visitors could apply for construction loans on the spot. Modern marvels like safe, smokeless stoves and indoor refrigerators were displayed. There were also oddities, like a kitchen door opened by a lighted sensor and a giant "Robot Miss" who extolled the values of natural gas.
At 8pm on May 18th, the National Housing Expo was dedicated and opened in a grandiose ceremony attended by thousands of Angelinos, including "civic and industrial leaders, public officials and motion picture stars." 7The 500 person-strong Olympiad Chorus, together for the first time since the 1932 Olympics, provided the music. There was a historic pageant, which told the story of "housing through the ages," staged at the Little Theater of the Stars. A model of the Hoover Dam was unveiled in the auditorium. The "Fountain of Fabrics," in the center of the auditorium, was designed by Ken Weber. This 40-foot tall display featured 10,000 yards of the finest drapery the Southland had to offer.
The exhibition proved to be a massive success. Visitors loved watching the attractive Miss Kirby conducting daily chores with the latest products in her glass house, while boy scouts were invited to spend a thrilling night on the massive grounds after closing time. On June 2nd, the L.A. Times reported the show would be extended for another week.
"Yesterday's announcement by managing director Clifford Henderson that the 12 ½ acre display of building and furniture products will continue until Sunday is expected to bring an additional 100,000 visitors to the home exposition which symbolizes the motto: "Southern California Marches On." The mammoth display at the auditorium has been attracting more than 25,000 potential home-builders daily. A grand total attendance of 200,000 since the show started was reached yesterday. The 108,000 square feet of exhibits, comprising every known device for erecting, completing and furnishing the ultra-modern American home today, are the product of more than 200 L.A. exhibitors." 8
After the show closed, it was credited with jumpstarting the construction business in Los Angeles and for helping to bring Depression weary Angelinos a little hope:
"The housing show was intended as a Non-Profit venture and as a boost to the building industry, also to help reality generally. It proved a tremendous success. Praiseworthy public spiritedness inspired the show. Characteristic Southland energy and ability carried it to success. The huge auditorium was essential to the show's success...L.A. owes its greatness, its progress to the public spirited activities of citizens who with clear concept of this city's possibilities have given generously of their time and means to further its welfare. They have dreamed great dreams for it- and made them come true." 9
Basketball, Big Boats and Begonias
For the next four decades, the highly versatile Pan Pacific Auditorium was the primary showplace for many of L.A.'s biggest industries and dreams. Starting in 1935, the L.A. International Auto Show was held there almost every year. The hugely popular 1936 Air and Boat show, staged "to stimulate interest in aviation and boats," 10 helped cement L.A. as a leader in the aviation business. The show featured a huge Douglas Sleeper plane, a plane owned by Amelia Earhart, and daily performances by a popular big band. When a committee brought the famed Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra, led by Leopold Stokowski, to L.A. for two performances that same year, a special theater seating 13,500 was constructed.
"The famous orchestra was seated in a wedge-shaped shell painted a deep blue and with shaded lights. When Stokowski stepped quickly across the stage at the far end of the auditorium a roar of applause greeted him, with a smile and a bow, the tall blond leader turned to his men and the back toccata and fugue swelled out over the throng like a tremendous pipe organ. 11There were also poultry shows featuring prize chickens, and a gala where the auditorium was transformed into the canals of Venice. Loyola Marymount University and UCLA basketball teams both played seasons on the basketball court constructed in the auditorium. In 1938, a mammoth ice skating rink was also added:
"Plans revealed that the auditorium will be divided in the middle by a removable partition allowing a complete ice hockey and skating effect of the north end and an ideal basketball floor on the south end, with a seating capacity of 4500 on both sides. In the event of a large game the entire 9000 seat may be made available for either the hockey or the basketball set up." 12
The rough and tumble Hollywood Wolves ice hockey team was part of the short lived Southern California Hockey League (later the Pacific Coast Hockey League). The team was made up mostly of former USC players who called the ice rink home during the 1940s. The hugely popular Ice Capades and other ice skating shows were also staged on the rink. The "Pan Pac" also continued to host annual home and garden shows, which further transformed the space:
"The Pan Pacific Auditorium has been transformed into a dream garden by hundreds of thousands of flowers, plants and trees, growing in tons of sod and dirt moved into the building as the midsummer flower and garden show went into its third day in conjunction with...annual home show...There is not one artificial flower, tree, or shrub in the display. In one section, the center garden, there are more than 5000 begonia plants, including tuberous and fibrous types. A lily pond fed by a tiny waterfall sets off the landscaping that leads to the model home. The show provides a setting to demonstrate the Southern California theory that this section contains every essential for the beautiful in home construction, fittings and outdoor living." 13
Post-war California experienced a boom in prosperity that few could have imagined in the dark days of 1935. During the 1950s and 1960s, the Pan Pac was bustling with leisure activity- you could watch the Harlem Globetrotters play the hapless Washington Generals, see Elvis performing at the height of his notoriety or catch a speech given by Eisenhower a month before he became president. There were live broadcasts of the popular show "Queen for a Day." There were annual home shows, sporting shows, car shows and the popular "do-it-yourself" show. In 1955, a small "do-it-yourself" prefab plane made an unusual landing onto the grounds of the Pan Pac as a publicity stunt to publicize the show:
"Passing motorists could hardly believe their eyes yesterday afternoon as they drove by the parking area just west of the main entrance to the Pan Pacific Auditorium. Smack in the middle of the parking lot was a striking blonde in a more striking bathing suit, waving her arms in the air, signaling a small airplane in for a landing 14Full of Pigeons and Leaks Of course, the golden times could not last forever. With the opening of the mammoth L.A. Convention Center in 1971, the dated Pan Pac was rendered obsolete. It closed in 1972. It quickly became a hulking, decaying wasteland, essentially abandoned by the estate of auto manufacturer El Cord, who had bought the Auditorium in 1947. Graffiti covered the auditorium and its surrounding structures, which included a bowling alley and the outdoor theater. Derelicts and drug users snuck into the auditorium frequently, accidently setting small fires that brought out local authorities. In 1978, the auditorium was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. In 1979, after years of back and forth, the state, county and city bought the auditorium and surrounding land (a total of 28 acres) for $10.45 million. It became a cult icon in the early '80s, when it was used as a location in the camp classic Xanadu.
However, this did not change the Pan Pac's sorry state. While some of the land was converted into a flood control plane and public park, the auditorium languished. Neighbors complained the park was overrun with the same undesirables who continued to call the auditorium home. In 1985, a much touted 22 million dollar plan for a complex featuring an American Cinematheque film center, hotel and retail center was announced by Councilman Ed Edelman, who worked tirelessly for years to rehabilitate the Pan Pac.
However, this plan fell apart. Other plans in the works were rendered obsolete on the evening of May 24, 1989:
"The fire began shortly after 7pm. At times flames from the dilapidated boarded up auditorium...shot 200 feet into the night sky and could be seen from as far away as the civic center and Silverlake area. Streets were closed for four blocks in each direction from the blaze, but spectators by the hundreds walked to the scene...and watched flames write the final chapter in the auditorium's uncertain recent history... The spectacle created a tremendous traffic jam...People were getting out of their cars, and some were fighting. With the huge smoke cloud, it looked like a scene after they dropped the bomb... At the fire's peak, more than 200 firefighters from 50 companies-some from as far away as the San Fernando Valley - battled the blaze. As firefighters contained the flames, all that was left standing were three charred walls and the distinctive fin shaped pylons at the entrance. The pylons began to collapse about an hour later..." 15
A homeless man was suspected of starting the blaze, but this theory was never proven. Ironically, the same week the Pan Pac was destroyed, a model of the iconic façade was unveiled as the entrance of the new Disney/MGM Studios Theme Park in Orlando, Florida. So the design lives on, with thousands of excited people streaming under its green and white pylons daily. It seems a fitting tribute.
1 "Greater strides in home construction," LA Times, May 16, 1935
2 "How the pan pac came about," LA Times, April 16, 1978
3 "Fair Hands Speed Building" LA Times, April 28, 1935
4 "Prize home wins" LA Times, May 14, 1935
5 "Housing show gains impetus" LA Times, May 5, 1935
6 "House show on tonight" LA Times, May 18, 1935
7 "House show on tonight" LA Times May 18, 1935
8 "Home show extended" LA Times, June 2, 1935
9 "Home show extended" LA Times, June 2, 1935
10 "Air and sea show opens" LA Times Feb 2, 1936
11 "Tone welcomes conductor" LA Times, April 28, 1936
12 "Huge ice rink planned for Pan Pacific Auditorium" LA Times, May 24, 1938
13 "Flowers form dream garden at Pan Pacific Auditorium" LA Times, June 8, 1941
14 "PIC blonde helps land plane" LA Times, July 19, 1955
15 "Fire destroys Pan Pacific Auditorium" LA Times, May 25, 1989
"Everybody in this town knows Madame Wu. One of the dearest, sweetest, most elegant women I've ever known." -- Merv Griffin (USA Today, Jan 29, 1998, Closing time at Madame Wu's)Sylvia Cheng was born into a wealthy, cultured family in Jiujiang, China in 1915. Her parents separated early. Sylvia was raised by her grandfather, who owned a bank and a department store. "He was good to me," she said, "...showering me with gifts and special treats, but he was also wise and taught me discipline. I was brought up in the traditional fashion, learning respect and good manners." When not away at boarding school, mooning over photos of Cary Grant, she would spend many hours covertly watching her grandfather's servants preparing delicious delicacies in the off-limits kitchen. As she wrote in her book Cooking with Madame Wu, she learned that "eating well balanced meals containing selected herbs and spices would improve health, beauty, sexual vitality and longevity."
After her beloved grandfather's death and the outbreak of World War II, Sylvia and her extended family moved to Shanghai and then to Hong Kong. A free flight to Calcutta resulted in an offer that would change Sylvia's life. A friend in India was about to join his wife in the U.S. He said she could come along, as long as she agreed to go to college there. "I don't know how I had the courage," Sylvia recalled. "I had no family [in America]...The trip took 40 days from Bombay, and because of the war there was a blackout all the way". While perusing an education degree at Columbia University, she became reacquainted with King Yan Wu, a successful engineer from a distinguished Chinese family (both his father and grandfather served as China's ambassador to the U.S.). They were soon married and had three children, who she touchingly referred to as her "good friends."
Sylvia settled into the role of sophisticated housewife and hostess. A personal chef, provided by her mother-in-law, assisted her. Eventually, Sylvia began to cook more herself and claimed she could prepare a full Chinese dinner for her family in under an hour. This was preferable to the Chinese restaurants in New York, which often "left her disappointed." She was appalled by the manner of the waiters and the heavy faux-Cantonese dishes.]]> By 1959, the Wus were living in Los Angeles. "I liked the climate but was lonely here," she explained. "When the children were in their teens and didn't need me much, I began to think about getting a job, but it was impossible because my English was so poor. One day I told King I wanted to open a Chinese restaurant. He made no objections, thinking I wasn't serious, so I drove around and found a location in West Los Angeles." When King realized she meant business, he tried to talk her out of it. "My husband was worried," she said, "but I told him 'Look, most people who open a Chinese restaurant are waiters with no common sense. At least we have common sense, a cultured background and education. How can we lose?'"
In 1959, Wu's Garden opened at 2628 Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica. The intimate space seated fewer than 50 people. "We had two cooks, two waiters and a dishwasher," Sylvia said. "In the beginning, the chef did all the buying because I didn't even know how." A friend, who was president of NBC, helped her write a letter promoting the opening, which she sent to the membership of her church and her daughter's exclusive school. King's worries were quickly assuaged. "That letter really brought the customers," Sylvia recalled. "We sold out the first night and people were lined up outside for six months."
The restaurant was a hit with the Hollywood in-crowd, charmed by Sylvia's impeccable manners and discreet, reverential treatment of them. By 1963, columnist Joan Winchell was sufficiently bewitched by Wu to write: "We have always felt that West-siders were fortunate to have this charming, tasteful place in their midst -- where service, smiles and heavenly food at moderate prices are the rule." The "dainty and feminine" Sylvia, who one reporter called "one of the most beautiful women I ever met" (Los Angeles Times, August 4, 1977) was a natural hostess -- and a natural boss. She quickly became adept at running every part of the restaurant -- from buying the food, to running the kitchen, to answering the phones. Sylvia was a genius at self-promotion. She greeted guests in a traditional mandarin silk gown, her hair swept in an elegant up-do. She was also not above a gimmick -- occasionally serving an edible "electrified" sweet and sour fish covered in tiny lights.
Sylvia knew what her customers wanted. She served a brand of Cantonese (and later other regional) dishes suited to the less sophisticated American palate. "I had to teach my traditional Chinatown chefs to change their ways," she said. "Chinese friends would criticize the food, saying it wasn't authentic. But I told them, 'Look around. Do you see any Chinese dining here?'" Her spareribs, Peking duck (drained of all fat to suit American tastes), crab puffs, and shrimp toast were legendary. Her teen-age crush, Cary Grant, (who would become a close friend) told her about a shredded chicken salad he had enjoyed at another restaurant, so she developed her own Chinese Chicken Salad, which is now imitated at restaurants around the globe. However, she did occasionally challenged her guests. Once, Frank Sinatra had the audacity to order chow mein, which she considered lowbrow. She instead served him her famous Wu's Beef. When calorie counting and fad diets became all the rage, she developed her own "Long Life Diet," featuring tofu and low-calorie versions of her classic recipes.
In January 1968, Madame Wu's Garden moved to an 11,000 square foot, mod-pagoda style restaurant at 2201 Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica. Designed by architect Guy Moore, it seated over 300 people and featured a huge stone waterfall, recessed lighting, Chinese themed murals, and rounded stucco walls. The menu at the new restaurant featured over 200 dishes, all served in heaping portions to suit American tastes.
The '70s were Madame Wu's glory days. She became something of a national celebrity by publishing two cookbooks and appearing on numerous cooking shows. A typical review summed up Madame Wu's appeal: "Madame Wu's tempered approach to Chinese cooking has long ago proved itself. The dishes are well prepared but not planned to challenge; palatable adventure without discomfort. There are the amenities of cocktails, western ideas of service and a calmly beautiful setting. Celebrities, who like to be comfortable, are apt to be seen." Indeed, Princess Grace of Monaco, Paul Newman, Elizabeth Taylor, Ronald Reagan, Robert Redford, Jane Fonda, and Mae West (who loved the bird's nest soup -- supposedly an aphrodisiac) were all fans. Sylvia often traveled with Cary Grant and his family, and drove around in a Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce, with a license plate that read "MME WU."
The Wus remained a tight-knit family, eating a family dinner at the restaurant every Tuesday night. Her two sons became successful lawyers. After her only daughter's death from breast cancer, Sylvia helped raise her grandsons, and devoted herself to many charitable causes (including a stint on the board of directors at KCET). She also put her grandsons to work at the restaurant. "On my 14th birthday, my grandmother looked at me and said, 'You're ready to go to work,'" her grandson Jonathan remembered. But by the mid-'80s, business had slowed considerably. Hipper and more authentic Chinese restaurants opened around Los Angeles. Madame Wu's brand of bow-tied, formal elegance became old fashioned and stuffy. But Sylvia hung on for another decade, not closing until 1998.
When King died in 2011, he and Sylvia had been married for 67 years. Sylvia is now 99, and still full of energy and ideas. "She's fit," one niece says, "she's dressed, she's bejeweled and ready to go to lunch every day at 1 p.m."
"I shouldn't have closed," Sylvia told a reporter from the Los Angeles Times recently. "I want to open another restaurant. I really want to open one."
If anyone can pull off a late in life comeback, it is the indomitable Madame Sylvia Wu.
Madame Wu's Shredded Chicken Salad
2 chicken breasts or 2 drumsticks
2 quarts vegetable oil
1/3 package rice noodles
6 won ton wrappers, cut in 1/8 inch strips
2 tbs finely chopped toasted almonds
2 scallions, white parts only, sliced thin
1 tbs. light soy sauce
1 tsp. sesame oil
1 tsp. mustard paste
¼ tsp. five spice powder (optional)
½ head lettuce, shredded
Put chicken in a pot, cover with water, and bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Remove and drain on paper towels.
Preheat a wok, add oil, and heat to 350 degrees F (Test for readiness by dropping one strand of rice noodle in oil. If it sinks to bottom, oil is not hot enough. If it pops up immediately, oil is ready.)
Divide noodles into 3 parts and deep fry separately. Noodles will "explode" in contact with oil. Remove at once before oil is absorbed by noodles. Drain on paper towels.
Deep-fry won ton strips until crispy brown. Drain on paper towels.
Deep fry chicken for 5 minutes. Drain on paper towels. Bone and cut chicken into strips, skin and all. (You should have about 2 cups.)
Toss chicken meat in a large bowl with almonds, scallions, soy sauce, sesame oil, mustard paste and five-spice powder.
Add won ton strips and noodles. Mix thoroughly. (Do not toss or salad will become soggy.)
Place lettuce on a platter and top with chicken. Serve.
The Dunbar Hotel was once the epicenter of African-American culture and society in Los Angeles. Today, it is a nice brick building that houses seniors; it looks like a million other well made, slightly dingy structures from the 1920s. It blends into the urban landscape. Blink and you'll miss it. But there are plenty of hints of past glory. A peek through the gates reveals an elegant Spanish style courtyard. At the front entrance, inlaid in stone is "Hotel Somerville," the structure's original name. There is a neon sign reading "Hotel Dunbar" and two historical markers covered by green leaves and branches. Across the street is the "Central Avenue Jazz Park."
The hotel is surrounded by the Somerville Apartments, a subsidized housing complex named after the hotel's founder. As I peer into the empty, whitewashed galleries of the Dunbar, I notice an older man in a puffy Raiders' coat, who I saw earlier in the courtyard. He has followed me outside, curious as to why I am sneaking around his home.
"We charge $20.00 for pictures!" He jokes. We chat for a few minutes. "Is it a nice place to live?" I ask. "Oh, sure it's a nice place to live," he says, as we both reverentially gaze at the building. "And man, what a history!"
The Largest and Finest Edifice for Its Purpose
"Because I had loved so deeply, because I had loved so long, God in his great compassion gave me the gift of song."
--Paul Laurence Dunbar, "Compensation," 1905
Dr. John Somerville was raised in Jamaica. When he arrived in California in 1902, he was shocked by the lack of accommodations for people of color on the West Coast. Black travelers usually stayed with friends or relatives. Regardless of income, unlucky travelers usually had to room in "colored boarding houses" that were often dirty and unsafe. "In those places, we didn't compare niceness. We compared badness," Somerville's colleague, Dr. H. Claude Hudson remembered. "The bedbugs ate you up." 1 Undeterred by the segregation and racism that surrounded him, Somerville was the first black man to graduate from the USC dental school. In 1912, he married Vada Watson, the first black woman to graduate from USC's dental school.
By 1928, the Somervilles were a power couple -- successful dentists, developers, tireless advocates for black Angelenos, and the founders of the L.A. chapter of the NAACP. As the Great Migration brought more black people to L.A., the city cordoned them off into the neighborhood surrounding Central Avenue. Despite boasting a large population of middle and upper class black families, there were still no first class hotels in Los Angeles that would accept blacks. In 1928, the Somervilles and other civic leaders sought to change all that. Somerville "entered a quarter million dollar indebtedness" and bought a corner lot at 42nd and Central. 2 On this lot, in the heart of L.A.'s black community, a $250,000 four story hotel was built. It is said that only African-American labor and craftsmen were used.
The Hotel Somerville boasted 100 guest rooms, 60 private baths, and assorted public rooms, all dressed with $35,000 worth of custom furniture. The opening gala in June 1928 brought out over 5,000 people. "It was a palace compared to what we had been used to," H. Claude Hudson remembered. 3 Like most grand hotels, there were numerous businesses within the building (many run by women). Over the years these included a 100 seat dining room, bar, popular café, flower shop, nightclub, barbershop, ladies' hairdresser, and a stenographer's office. According to the L.A. Times:
The entrance had a spectacular art deco chandelier and flagstone floors and arched windows and tiled floors. The main lobby looked like a regal Spanish arcade, with open balconies and steel grillwork. 4
The Somerville quickly became the unofficial town hall/country club of black Los Angeles. The hotel's guest rooms were consistently booked by various cosmopolitan visitors, including many entertainers (Josephine Baker), sports stars (Joe Louis) and important thinkers like Langston Hughes and Thurgood Marshall. The year it opened, the first West Coast convention of the NAACP was held in the hotel. W.E.B. DuBois was an honored guest. "It was a place where the future of black America was discussed every night of the week in the lobby," Celes King III recalled. "There were very serious discussions between people like W.E.B. DuBois, doctors, lawyers and educators and other professionals. This was the place where many of them put together plans to improve the life style of their people." 5
Despite the hotel's success, the depression hit the Somervilles hard. The hotel fell into the hands of a group of white investors, before being sold to Central Avenue powerbroker Lucius Lomax. He renamed it the Dunbar Hotel in honor of the tragic poet Paul Laurence Dunbar, the son of ex-slaves, who had risen to fame at the turn of the 20th century. It has been reported that in 1935, the hotel was briefly owned by the Father Divine cult, which used it as a dormitory and office building. In 1936, former Chicago businessman James "Jimmy" Nelson and his wife, Katherine, bought the Dunbar for $87,500. James, who friends called "the champ," proved to be a popular owner. A "very capable, progressive but reserved and unassuming" man who loved boxing and entertaining, he would become the face of the Dunbar during its most influential decades. 6
However, the transition to new ownership wasn't all smooth sailing. In 1937, a gossipy article in the Los Angeles Sentinel reported that hotel guests had "awoke Monday morning to find the air about the spacious lobby tense with dynamic vibration." 7 The cause was the sudden departure of hotel manager, Mrs. Camille Keys, who had left after an on-going feud with Katherine Nelson. The Dunbar soon became a family affair, when Jimmy asked his nephew, Celes King Jr., to come to California and help manage the hotel. His son, Celes III, (who would become a prominent bail bondsman and civic leader) "grew up in the lobby," running around like a male Eloise, talking to all the famous and infamous guests who gathered at the hotel. 8
The Great White Way of the Eastside
The great white way of the east side colored district and its hub is the sidewalk in front of the Dunbar Hotel. Here congregate the cosmopolites -- men about town, sportsmen, artists of stage and screen. Here the Central Avenue playboys flaunt themselves. Los Angeles Times, February 11, 1940 9
"I didn't know where Sunset Boulevard was when I moved to L.A., but sure I knew Central"
--Quincy Jones, 2011
During the '30s and '40s, Central Avenue was the peak of chic. The Dunbar was the sun around which the tight-knit neighborhood revolved, and the scene of many big celebrations:
Pandemonium broke loose on Central Avenue last Tuesday night when from Madison Square Garden Bowl, the radio announcer shouted the winner and new welter weight champion, Henry Armstrong. Gesticulating wildly, some danced, some sang, some ran hither and yon while many others in speeding cars turned the thoroughfare into a crowded bedlam of shrieking horns and wide-open cut-outs. And so far into the night...with the largest crowd blocking the sidewalk in the Dunbar Hotel block, throngs lingered, fighting the battle of the century all over again. 10
Next door to the Dunbar stood the legendary Club Alabam, across the street the Last Word, both of which featured the biggest names in jazz. The basement was filled with music emanating from the intimate Turban Room piano bar. For a brief period in the mid-'30s, boxing champion Jack Johnson, a personal friend of Jimmy's, had a club in the Dunbar called the Showboat. At various points there was a nightclub run by different managers within the hotel.
Everybody who was anybody in the jazz world stayed at the Dunbar -- Ella Fitzgerald, Cab Calloway, Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Fats Waller, Nat King Cole, Lena Horne, Billy Eckstein, Jelly Roll Morton, Ray Charles and Count Basie. Celes III, a future Tuskegee Airman, became fascinated with flying after the bandleader and frequent Dunbar guest, Jimmy Lunceford, took him up in his private plane. When the big bands came to play in the all-white venues across town, their black musicians would almost take up entire floors at the hotel. Musicians would tune up in the mezzanine or harmonize at the bar. Duke Ellington and his high strung band threw raucous parties at the hotel, filled with "chicks and champagne everywhere." 11 Trumpet player Buck Clayton recalled what happened when Ellington's band heard their latest record, "It Don't Mean A Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)" playing on the jukebox in the Dunbar restaurant for the first time:
So much rhythm I've never heard, as guys were beating on the tables, instrument cases or anything else they could beat on with knives, forks, rolled-up newspapers or anything else they could find to make rhythm. It was absolutely crazy. 12
Those who couldn't afford to stay at the Dunbar congregated outside, "holding up the wall." The strip in front of the hotel became a cruising area, where locals showed up and showed off. Lionel Hampton, the famed vibraphone player, who recorded "Central Avenue Breakdown," remembered:
Everybody that was anybody showed up at the Dunbar. I remember a chauffeur would drive Stepin Fetchit, the movie star, up to the curb in a big Packard and he'd look out the window at all the folks. The Dunbar was also popular with would be actors because Hollywood directors would regularly stop by the hotel to gather up extras for a day's work. 13
Careers were made at the Dunbar. Celes III told how "Rochester," Jack Benny's longtime sidekick, got his most important role. "One day comedian Jack Benny called the hotel looking for an actor named Johnny Taylor," Celes III recalled. "But Taylor was in jail so Eddie took the call. That's how he became Rochester." The men holding up the wall could be kind as well as cruel. Actress Hattie McDaniel recalled driving by the "Central Avenue playboys," who had once taunted her, in her new luxury car. "'Sorry gentlemen,'' she said, shifting into high. "Got no time to socialize. They're waiting for me at the studio. We're starting to shoot 'Gone with the Wind' today." She chuckled as she explained her motives to a reporter from the L.A. Times:
I just couldn't help driving by the Dunbar that day. I felt mighty happy driving that Packard to the studio [Selznick Studios]. And when I stopped by that big, white colonial front they got on it, why I remembered to myself the last time I was there I only had bus fare one way. Yes sir, I had to borrow a dime to get home on- and I didn't get the little bit of work I'd gone after. So I just had to show them all standing around [the Dunbar] dressed up so big. I had to show them I done it." 14
The Dunbar was also a popular hangout for many white Angelenos, who were drawn to the brilliant music and ambiance of the Central Avenue District. Legend has it that W.C. Fields accidentally "integrated" the Dunbar one night when he passed out in the lobby after a drunken night at the Club Alabam. A $20 check Jimmy cashed for Bing Crosby bounced, leading to a life long joke between the two. "It was very important for a talent like Crosby to be well regarded in the black community," Celes III recalled. "So Crosby came right down to Uncle Jimmy, paid his debt, and collected his paper." 15
Katherine, who was confined to a wheelchair in later years, died in 1947. That same year, Jimmy remarried the "lovely, personable, vivacious" Julia Franklin. 16 The couple entertained frequently and lavishly. One dinner party was described thusly:
The kind of buffet dinner parties that the James C. Nelsons give in their huge Dunbar apartment, that is complete with a comfortable indoor patio, may be termed most outstanding ... Thus it was on Monday evening that champagnes and liquors of such rare vintage were served in the very finest of crystal that complemented the magnificent silver service. 17
And so the Dunbar rolled into the '50s under the leadership of "kind and thoughtful" Jimmy Nelson. 18 There were characters everywhere, like O. Mosely, a neighborhood fixture who everyone called "86," who lived at the Dunbar for over 20 years. A collegial atmosphere permeated the hotel. Future Mayor Tom Bradley worked the Central Avenue beat as a young cop. He would often stop by the Dunbar Grill and lightly flirt with waitress Tille Euliss. 19 A sports reporter recalled a typical night in the lobby:
The other night we didn't go to the ball game and wandered in the lobby of the Dunbar Hotel, run by sports minded Jimmy Nelson. There was a TV set upon a table that operated on the theory that if you put a quarter in the slot you could see video for 30 minutes. The lobby was full -- not the people in the lobby though -- and the hat was passed so the ball game was on. 20
Central Avenue Breakdown
Jimmy died after a long illness in September 1952. An obit in the Los Angeles Sentinel summed up his legacy. "The guys and gals up and down the avenue thought a lot of the 'champ'." 21 Julia managed the hotel for a time. Celes III and his wife, Anita, also ran the business, now called King's Dunbar Hotel, until it was sold in the mid-60s. By then, Central Avenue was a shadow of its former self. Ironically, this downturn was prompted by the abolishment of racist, segregationist laws during the 1950s. Black Angelenos were now "allowed" to live and own businesses anywhere. Many Central Avenue residents moved downtown or to other neighborhoods.
Bernard Johnson bought the Dunbar in 1968. He dreamed of restoring it to its former glory. It was recognized as an L.A. Historical Cultural Monument in 1974. Johnson opened a small Black History Museum in the Dunbar. It was now a tenant apartment building, housing mostly poor male residents. A reporter, visiting during the filming of the movie "A Hero Ain't Nothing But A Sandwich," described what the Dunbar had become:
...tiles are broken and a few flagstones have disappeared. The back windows of the brick and plaster building have fabric stuffed into the holes. The cocktail lounge on Central is closed although the roaring twenties sign survives. The big Seth Thomas clock still hangs below a lobby balcony. And the Dunbar barbershop, four chairs, is still open for business... The ceiling tiles have peeled. There are stains and holes and creaks. The movie furnishings-glass and chrome and overstuffed foam-obviously don't belong in a corner monument with fire escapes and locked corridors. 22
In 1990, through a series of complicated maneuvers and grassroots movements, the Dunbar was renovated and reopened as a low-income apartment complex for the elderly. Mayor Tom Bradley spoke at the opening ceremony. "I am proud to see that this property has been restored to its former glory," he said. "This time, the hotel will provide lodging for senior citizens who may have frequented this establishment in their youth. It is a fitting tribute to the legacy of this hotel that it is being returned to the community for use, once again, as lodging for residents." 23
In 2012, both the Dunbar and the Somerville Apartments underwent a 14 million dollar renovation. This renovation of the newly dubbed "Dunbar Village" was spearheaded by a public-private-partnership between Thomas Safran and Associates and the Coalition for Responsible Community Development. Architect Dan Withee worked hard to preserve the best historic features of the Dunbar, while making it a safe and comfortable space for senior housing. A gym and entertainment room were among many features added. In 2014, the newly completed Dunbar Village was honored by the L.A. Conservancy with a 2014 Conservancy Preservation Award. As Withee poignantly explained: "We are trying to find a way to bring back some life into the neighborhood that hasn't been there for a long time." 24
If that happens, it will be a great day in L.A.
1 "Group fights to save dunbar hotel" Los Angeles Times, September 24, 1983
2 "Avenue hotel lives in history, service" Los Angeles Sentinel, June 25, 1959
3 "Group fights to save dunbar hotel" Los Angeles Times, September 24, 1983
4 "Washington didn't sleep at the dunbar but look who did" Los Angeles Times, November 14, 1976
5 "Group fights to save dunbar hotel" Los Angeles Times, September 24, 1983
6 "Close up: marriage of the week" Los Angeles Sentinel, December 4, 1947
7 "Ruth: dunbar hotel has new manager" Los Angeles Sentinel February 18, 1937
8 "Group fights to save dunbar hotel" Los Angeles Times, September 24, 1983
9 "Yoohoo hiya Hattie" Los Angeles Times, February 11, 1940
10 "central ave celebrates as Armstrong wins" Los Angeles Sentinel, June 2, 1938
11 Buck Clayton, Nancy Miller Elliott. Buck Clayton's Jazz World, p. 62. Continuum Int'l Publishing Group, 1995
12 Ibid.
13 "Group fights to save dunbar hotel" Los Angeles Times, September 24, 1983
14 "Yoohoo hiya Hattie" Los Angeles Times, February 11, 1940
15 "Core state chief leads living" Los Angeles Sentinel, May 29, 1987
16 "Close up: marriage of the week" Los Angeles Sentinel, December 4, 1947
17 Los Angeles Sentinel, August 10 1950
18 "The Wright corner" Los Angeles Sentinel, September 25, 1952
19 "Washington didn't sleep at the dunbar but look who did" Los Angeles Times, November 14, 1976
20 Halley Harding, Los Angeles Sentinel, April 20, 1950
21 "The Wright corner" Los Angeles Sentinel, September 25, 1952
22 "Washington didn't sleep at the dunbar but look who did" Los Angeles Times, November 14, 1976
23 "Dunbar Hotel is living history" May 11, 1989
24 Los Angeles Times, July 6, 2012
One day last week, I decided to take a mid-week, mid-afternoon stroll around the Brewery Art Colony. It sits in the hushed, Rust Belt-reminiscent area of Lincoln Heights, where diminutive, run-down Victorian homes stand side-by-side to abandoned commercial brownstones and small hipster businesses. Though the buildings at the Brewery are rough and industrial, in every other way it felt like I had stepped into a sleepy, close-knit rural town. In one repurposed loading dock, a few workers were spraying down signs and carrying them into an awaiting flatbed truck. A little further on, two men were sitting on the curb. One man was eating a sandwich, the other smoking a cigarette. I walked down a quiet makeshift street where an old man with long flowing hair sat at a picnic table, eyeing me curiously. In front of many of the studios there were inventive outdoor "front yards" of potted plants, flowering vines, statuary and garden chairs.
Barbara's, the colony's friendly on-site bar and restaurant, was sparsely populated. Most of the clientele sat chatting easily on the deck, like close co-workers or old friends. A man and woman were in deep discussion on a bench near the gazebo in the tiny, mid-complex park. Further on, a squirrel scurried across a row of brightly colored storage crates. The area in front of the famous Brewery smokestack was empty, until a mail-truck drove slowly down the otherwise deserted street. I watched as the mailman stepped out of his truck and begin to deliver packages door to door. He and I nodded as we passed, and I waved at a man sanding at an angulating table outside his workspace. As I walked out of this self-contained, vibrant world, I thought of the amazing feats of creativity that were occurring in the silent grey and brown buildings that surrounded me. Creativity doesn't just thrive in chaos, it also thrives in peace.
Put Eastside Inside
One of the busiest places in Los Angeles yesterday was the plant of the Los Angeles Brewing Company at 1920 North Main Street. There, lines of trucks blocks long were loaded by 500 extra workers, who labored all day and far into the night. Loaded trucks, guarded by government inspectors, were held in an ever-increasing battalion inside the brewery yards until the momentous 12:01 am released them into legitimate channels of trade. Charles J. Lick, manager of the brewery, estimated that approx. 260,000 cases of beer will move from his establishment on the first day. This does not include 1683 barrels of tap beer already ordered for delivery today. Some thirty railroad cars were also backed into the brewery yards for distribution as far north as San Francisco and as far east as the Middle West.
--Los Angeles Times, April 7, 1933 1
Lincoln Heights started its life in the 1830s as "East Los Angeles" and is commonly held to be L.A.'s oldest suburb. Many prominent L.A. pioneers, including Albert Sidney Johnston and Dr. John Strother Griffin, built stately mansions in this neighborhood on the eastside bluffs of the L.A. River. The industrial boom of the 1880s and '90s transformed the area into a center of thriving blue collar commerce. It became the home to a large community of Italians, Irish, and Germans -- many of whom worked at the factories and warehouses in the neighborhood.
In 1897, a new employer came into Lincoln Heights. The Los Angeles Brewing Company (also called the Eastside Brewery) opened a plant at 1920 North Main Street on the shore of the L.A. River. Sales were good, and in 1903 it was reported that the Brewery had "broken ground on a five-story malt house at its plant." 2 That same year the Edison Electric company began building a "mammoth" new power plant, designed by legendary architect John Parkinson. Situated behind the brewery, it was heralded as "one of the most perfect electric plants outside Chicago." 3 It featured a "battery of eight boilers" and high-tech Curtiss turbine engines. Its 150 foot tall cement smoke stack soon towered over the neighborhood.
In 1907, longtime brewer George Zobelein bought the controlling interest in the Eastside Brewery from Max Kuehnrich. The Bavarian born Zobelein was a "straightforward, liberal and progressive citizen" who strongly supported the national brewers unions. 4 Jobs at the "quaint, Bavarian style" 20-acre Eastside plant were highly coveted by the residents of Lincoln Heights. According to the L.A. Times, brewery workers were "among the city's best-paid and had excellent working conditions... Lunch periods at Eastside were paid...and vacation benefits were among the most liberal available." 5 Workers also loved the hourly, seven minute "beer breaks" where they could help themselves to free, unlimited refreshment. Lincoln Heights native George Morrow was thrilled when he got a job at the Brewery. "They were the best paid and had the best working conditions," he recalled. "Everybody looked up to them." 6
Prohibition did not slow the brewery down. Instead of brewing beers like Old Mission Malt, Eastside, and Old Tap Lager, it switched to producing soft drinks and near-beer. At midnight on April 7, 1933, prohibition officially ended. The Eastside plant was at the center of the celebration. Actor Water Huston gave a congratulatory speech, and Jean Harlow broke a bottle over the first truck in thirteen years to roll out of the plant stocked with beer. The Zobelein family continued to run the brewery until 1948, when Pabst purchased the complex for $14 million dollars. After extensive renovations and expansion, the new Pabst plant was formally dedicated in 1953. Lt. Governor Harold J. Powers cut the "traditional Pabst Blue ribbon" 7 under an American flag raised in the courtyard. The 40-foot high "Pabst Blue Ribbon Sign" erected at the plant soon became a mile marker for those driving the busy Golden State Freeway.
Pabst's closure of the brewery in 1979 further depressed the already shaky infrastructure of Lincoln Heights. Starting in the 1940s, almost the entire Brewery workforce began to move out to the safer and more affordable Valley suburbs. Recent immigrants from Mexico and Central America moved into Lincoln Heights. The Pabst Brewery was purchased in 1979 by entrepreneur Arnold "Whitey" Carlson and his sons, Steven and Arnold (the former Edison Plant property was purchased later). According to Whitey's granddaughter (and current Brewery manager) Kristen Carlson:
In the early years, there was a lot of demolition. Fermenting tanks, kegs and equipment were being removed, many buildings were torn down, and bricks were sold. We started out with a couple of commercial tenants; a trucking company and a broom factory.
But the combination of eager artists, forward thinking owners and the 1982 passage of the Artist-in-Residence code was about to ferment a community with output much more exciting than a useful broom.
A Blank Canvas
Studios were interspersed amidst working industry while other buildings were vacant. The neighborhood was far wilder, even dangerous, and the artists who occupied the spaces braved as pioneers nightfalls that were more exposed and unpoliced than they are today. This meant rents were low, cars were asking to have their tender glass pierced, and roving bands of irritable youth ruled the night...The old boiler giant was filled to the brim in every corner with dimly lit installations, flickering cascades of candle wax dusted with cool passageway breezes, performance artists hidden in arched alcoves. The furnace was an intimate sitting room with a sprinkle of strung lights that felt like the comfort of a little cabin, with a circular skylight, whose opening to the sky one could feel...
--Robert Seitz, a tenant at the Brewery 8
In 1982, the city of Los Angeles passed the Artist-in-Residence code, which mandated that artists could rent studios in industrial zoned buildings. The Carlsons decided to turn the 16-acre Brewery into an artist colony, and set about finding tenants. According to Kristen Carlson, "We placed an ad in the paper and received such an overwhelming response that we literally had to take the phone off the hook. And that's when we began the decade long process of turning the buildings on site into artist live/work spaces." The early decades in this "isolated enclave" were youthful and gritty. Long-time resident Ted Meyer remembers, "When I first moved in, there were more students. People moved in while finishing art school or just after graduation." Galleries, architects, metal foundries, and various artistically inclined businesses also moved in, standing side by side with artists' lofts. Members of the Carlson family lived on the property and became an integral part of the community.
Over the years rents have gone up, though the lofts that are occasionally available are still of the same basic mold. Many residents have lived at the colony for years, and new residents tend to be wealthier and more established than their predecessors, which bothers some in the arts community. According to Kristen Carlson, the coveted spaces are "a blank canvas, a raw space where artists can create the type of living environment they seek." Residents take great pride in transforming their living spaces. Kristine Schomaker, president of the Brewery Artwalk Association, relates what her home is like:
I live in what is probably the quietest and most peaceful place at the Brewery. My front door is down an alley way that is lined with trees, green plants, pink jacarandas, succulents, and more. My building is over 100 years old and was once a gum ball machine factory. I have 40 foot wood slatted ceilings, a brick wall, skylight and concrete floors and it offers the perfect vibe for creativity. Down our walkway, my neighbors and I often sit outside and hang out. Each building has its own personality.
The Brewery's fame grew exponentially with the increasing popularity of the biannual Artwalk. The Artwalk began in the '80s as an informal celebration of the community's output. It slowly grew into a major event, which now attracts over 10,000 people. The opportunity to show and sell your work to the greater L.A. community entices many artists to move to the property. It also serves as motivation for creation. "It puts pressure on me to have a new work every 6 months to show," Ted Meyer relates. "I might slack off otherwise." Much like Mardi Gras and other giant festivals, some residents are overwhelmed by the biannual onslaught and choose to go out of town on Artwalk weekend. Yet, according to former resident Phillip Horvath, interacting with Artwalk visitors is one of the most inspiring things about living at the Brewery:
[A group of youths] walked in, looking all gangster and intimidating. A few minutes later, they were sharing how they took the bus from South Central because they wanted to check out the art. They were showing my friend (who was an elfish, thin healer dressed in all white) their tattoos, and some others were drawing with the kids on the table with crayons that I had let out to keep children engaged. Seeing that beautiful transformation was a heart warmer and reminder that art is something anybody can relate to. And the kids ... One of my favorite moments was when two kids who had been in my loft and whose drawings I had put up on my wall walked out hand in hand and the older boy of around 6 or 7 looked at his younger sister ... and proudly said to her, "He said we can be artists."
There are few rules at the Brewery. "You have to be an artist to be a resident," Kristen Carlson says. "No dogs and no musical instruments. Really, every rule we have is about keeping neighbors happy. I tell residents all the time: if you're not bothering your neighbors, you're probably not bothering us." The most beloved resident, by far, seems to be L.A. artist, musician, and notorious curmudgeon with a heart-of-gold Llyn Foulkes, who has acted as mentor to many of his neighbors. Neighbors often borrow supplies from each other, and collaborate on projects. We have people of all different specialties here, Ted Meyer says, "and if you need help, an opinion, something fabricated- someone here can do it."
Of course, disputes do occur. "This many highly creative people living in one city block can also make for some interesting, and at times frustrating, neighbor disputes," Kristen explains, "like: my neighbor has been making noise until all hours of the night working on their art and it's keeping me up." However, sometimes these disruptions can lead to magical experiences. Bruce Dean remembers:
My youngest son (he was then 10) was staying with me. We were awakened by periodic explosions that were rattling the windows. We looked out and saw fireballs traveling down the length of the parking lot. We got dressed, went downstairs and found a crowd gathered around a giant robot. The robot was built to battle other giant robots and was practicing his fireball attack.]]> The Most Neighborly Place I Have Lived
Sometimes walking to the mailbox can take an hour because you run into people you know and end up talking.
--Kristine Schomaker, artist and resident of The Brewery
There are defunct railroad tracks outside my front door and there are always visitors. The communal spaces are celebrated. We have rooftop movies and spontaneous concerts in one of the laundry rooms. There is also a surprisingly normal rhythm to living here. We have groups that play golf, and ride bicycles, and do yoga and go rock climbing and play volleyball. There is a group that reads poetry and another that tends a communal garden ... My friends are here, my restaurant is here,my bar is here. There is a small park here. There are bbq's, and live music, movies and art openings. Of course, we all leave and enjoy the city but there is an inclination to stay.
--Bruce Dean, artist and resident of The Brewery
It is hard to define just what the Brewery experience is like. Kristine Schomaker says, "Some people compare the community to a college fraternity or sorority. Sometimes there is drama, sometimes wild parties, but most of the time it is about family and supporting each other." Bruce Dean calls it "an interesting combination of unforgiving urban industrial pragmatism and a kind of small-town naivety." Kristen Carlson compares it to "one living, breathing organism made up of 500 or so highly individual parts." Philip Horvath relates it to "a campus or an edgy art school with individual self-administration." At the end of the day, perhaps the best word for the Brewery Art Colony is simply this: Home.
1 "Beer to flow this morning" Los Angeles Times, April 7, 1933
2 "The Eastside" Los Angles Times, August 24, 1903
3 "East Los Angeles, Good progress" Los Angles Times, Sept 7, 1903
4 James Miller Guinn, "A History of Southern California and an Extended History of Los Angeles and Environs" 1916
5 "L.A. brewery was the toast of its times" Los Angeles Times, September 2, 1997
6 "L.A. brewery closure illustrates pabsts waning fortunes" Los Angeles Times, October 9, 1979
7 "Pabst dedicates it la brewery" Los Angeles Times November 18, 1953
8 rseitz.com
Inside the maze-like, scuffed women's locker room, ladies in various states of undress bustled in and out, drying their hair, opening their personalized lockers, or sleeping on daybeds set up by the sauna. Raven seemed to know everybody, and everywhere we went there were pleasantries and shared histories. We walked through the quiet hallways of the Club's public hotel, located on the top three floors of the building, and a cleaning lady let us into a darkened, elegant bedroom. But it was the third floor, recently remodeled by designer Tracy Beckmann, that really knocked my gym socks off. "Everything Tracy touches for us turns to gold," Raven said as we walked through the plush, clubby library, filled with paintings by American landscape masters and accented with rich woods and lush fabrics. There was a to-die for ballroom, a CEO ready bar, and a restaurant with a plentiful breakfast buffet spread out for hotel guests and club members to enjoy.
The third floor is just the beginning of an ongoing multi-phase, multi-year renovation that will transform and modernize the entire building. The sketches for the new facilities, created by the top-notch firm of SRK Architects, show a future Los Angeles Athletic Club straight out of some kind of James Bond fairytale. If it's anything like the third floor, members may be hard pressed to ever venture back into the reality of the jittery surrounding city streets.
Amusement Free of Taint
The Los Angeles Athletic Club is, in fact, one of the leading organizations of its kind on the coast, ranking next to the Olympic Club of San Francisco. Its influences are good morally and physically, inoculating a better and more vigorous life while furnishing amusement free from taint. It ought, therefore, to receive, as it has hitherto done, the moral support of the best elements of the community.
--Los Angeles Times, November 17, 1885 1
Members now have at their disposal in the club rooms two fine billiard tables, a fine piano, a reading room (supplied with all the prominent illustrated papers and magazines, as well as the daily papers, both local and eastern), also a handsomely furnished card room. No wine or liquor of any kind is allowed in the club rooms, and gambling is prohibited.
--Los Angeles Times, November 17, 1885 2
The Los Angeles Athletic Club was officially birthed by a group who considered themselves the "best young men the city contained." 3 The city in question, Los Angeles, was still a dusty, Wild West outpost with few social outlets available to the decidedly young populace. The first official meeting of the L.A.A.C. was held September 8, 1880, in the downtown law offices of one of these "best young men," a lawyer named Frank Gibson. James B. Lankershim was voted the club's first president, and F.A. Gibson became vice-president. Modeling themselves as a "purely American" version of Germanic health and wellness clubs like L.A.'s Turnverein Society, the L.A.A.C.'s initial charter list boasted 53 members.
The fledgling group rented a "large bare hall" in the old Arcadia block and installed a few pieces of gym equipment. Athletic practices were organized twice a week. Maurice Newmark was proud to be the first member to receive a black eye while sparring with fellow member Joe Binford. Over the next two decades, the club would move three times to bigger and bigger digs, becoming an integral part of the rapidly expanding city's A-list scene. Annual field days, where members competed with other local athletes and clubs in track and field events, bicycle races, and even tug-of-war competitions, attracted thousands of spectators. At "Ladies Nights," eligible young women were invited into the rooms to watch "blushing" members of the club sing, box, juggle clubs, perform routines on the trapeze and horizontal bar, and do gymnastic stunts that ended in "artistic pyramids." The nights ended with dancing till the wee hours of the mornings.
By 1889, membership had reached nearly 500 men. One of these members was Frank A. Garbutt, who joined the club at only fourteen. He remembered his early days thusly:
"What a lump of ice that membership committee appeared to be. They did not look at you. They looked right though you. They froze the very marrow of your bones by their cold aloofness. But what a difference when they finally decided you were good enough to associate with the elect. The frigidity was replaced by a compensating warmth that made the atmosphere of the club delightful. You were a member of the L.A.A.C. What greater stamp of approval could one ask for?" 4
Garbutt was not the only future civic leader to become a member of the L.A.A.C. The club's rolls soon included names like Otis, Chandler, Huntington, Doheny, Eaton, and Garland. With Chandler and Otis at the helm, it is no surprise that the Los Angeles Times consistently praised the club in newsprint. They also participated in field days, and one Times reporter couldn't help but poke fun at a rival paper's unfortunate representative:
...The reporter's race found only two fleet footed scribes to toe the scratch. Mr. Briggs of the Herald was the first to appear in a gaudy uniform of black shirt and old gold knee-trunks and looked for all the world like a runner. He disappointed his many lady admirers who came to see him win his maiden American race, by finishing a bad second to Mr. Benjamin in the fair time of 12 seconds. 5
As tennis, football, boxing, and handball grew in popularity in the mid-1890s, the club continued to expand. But fads are fickle, and by 1900 the club's rapid expansion led to serious financial trouble. On Jan 5, 1901, the old L.A.A.C. officially died.
Eleven Floors of Club Wonderland
In a gorgeous spectacle with the very social elect of Los Angeles arrayed in almost barbaric splendor, the new clubhouse was formally thrown open. The miracle of mixing athletics with society was accomplished.
--Los Angeles Times, June 15, 1912 6
It was an interesting sight to see men of all ages in their neat exercising costumes, each earnestly working to develop his body in some manner.
--Los Angeles Times, April 9, 1912 7
On January 3, 1906, a group of businessmen and civic leaders led by sober, industrious, sports mad Frank Garbutt brought the Los Angeles Athletic Club back to life. By February 4, a new clubhouse featuring handball courts, a gymnasium, Turkish baths, a game room, and ladies quarters was opened. The L.A. Times swooned: "Membership has been filling up in an unexpectedly rapid rate all week, some of the most prominent business men in the city being now on the rolls." 8 Newly popular sports like basketball, touted as "faster even than football, clean and calling for the finest of condition," and motor sports brought a fresh energy to the club. 9 But greater things were in the works. By May, 1906, it was reported that steps were already being taken "toward securing a suitable lot upon which to erect a three-story building with accommodations for 1500 members, the ultimate goal of the club." 10
In 1907, (the same year the club became a member of the Amateur Athletic Association, greatly increasing its prestige) investors, again headed by Garbutt, bought a lot at 7th Street and Olive for $450,000. In 1911, construction began on a "magnificent eleven story Los Angeles club block" on the lot. Designed by famed architects John Parkinson and Edwin Bergstrom, the $650,000 Beaux Arts Style building was every sporting gentleman's dream. There was a gymnasium Garbutt claimed was "the best in the world," boxing rings, half a dozen handball courts, a library, a beefsteak room finished in "rugged brick", a ballroom, a bar, a dining room, and upper floors with living quarters for single members. Garbutt boasted that there were "fourteen ways to enter and leave the gym," including "by means of sliding poles." 11 Most magnificent of all was the sixth floor pool, said to be the first of its kind in the country. Henry Huntington is said to have suggested the Olympic sized pool be placed here instead of the basement, so that beneficial natural light and air could come in. According to the L.A. Times:
Yesterday when the great plunge was filled with water, so perfectly had every strain been provided for that not a rivet started and this tremendous load of over 1,500,000 pounds, produced no more effect upon the massive Athletic Club building than the filling of an ordinary bath tub. 12
Members like haberdasher James Oviatt were so excited they could not even wait for the elevators to be installed before they moved into the club. The new L.A.A.C. formally threw open its doors during a three-day extravaganza starting June 13, 1912. At a dinner that weekend given for over 600 prominent Angelinos:
The great building was a-gleam with thousands of lights...Elevators seemed to lay violent hands upon the gay appareled throng as it arrived and whisked them away to the mysterious heights of the building from which came the seductive strains of Arend's famous orchestra. As the handsomely gowned guests arrived in the lounging room on the 3rd floor there were many impromptu receptions. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and the most candid curiosity was shown in the glances directed here and there at the different points of the lounging rooms. Captains of finance gathered in little groups and looked admiringly about at the beautiful sight and forgot to talk business. Hundreds of superbly gowned ladies wandered here and there and peeked timidly into the closed buffet and card room, which is the inmost lair of the clubman. 13
The L.A.A.C. immediately became one of the wonders of Los Angeles and a haven for clubby frat types and serious athletes alike. It was also home to many men-about-town, including a young comedian named Charlie Chaplin. He arrived in 1914, and soon moved into the expansive club:
It was the headquarters of all the bachelors and businessmen in town -- an elaborate club with a large dining room and lounge rooms on the first floor which were open to the ladies in the evening, and a cocktail bar. I had a large corner room on the top floor, with a piano and a small library, next to Moses Hamburger, who owned the May Department Store (the largest in town). The cost of living was remarkably cheap in those days. I paid 12 dollars a month for my room which gave me the use of all the facilities of the club, including elaborate gymnasiums, swimming pools, and excellent service. All told I lived in sumptuous style for seventy give dollars a week, out of which kept my end up in rounds of drinks and occasional dinners. There was a camaraderie about the club that even the declaration of the First World War did not disturb. 14
During the 1920s, the club's popularity exploded as sports and leisure became a national obsession. Former Tarzan, Johnny Weissmuller, trained in the famed pool, as did famous female pioneers like Dorothy Poynton and Georgia Coleman (women, though not technically members, were allowed to train at the facilities). The L.A.A.C. began to greatly expand its portfolio, eventually running the star-studded Riviera Golf Club and several other athletic clubs. Clubmen like William May Garland were also extremely influential in bringing the 1932 Olympics to Los Angeles. The older generation also seriously nurtured up and coming stars in track and field and water sports for the upcoming games. An L.A. Times reporter remembered being summoned to a meeting at the club where:
...Three Mercury [club's mascot] orators desired the hungry scribes to know that the L.A.A.C was building for the future -- the future in this particular case being the Olympic games of 1928-1932. After satisfying the inner man, we went away with the idea that the L.A.A.C. had started a big movement and that in a few years the palpitating public could reasonably expect to hear great things of the mercury athletes. 15
The reporters' expectations were not disappointed. L.A.A.C. athletes medaled ten times in the 1928 Amsterdam Olympics. During the heady days of the 1932 LA Olympics, L.A.A.C. athletes medaled 21 times, and the L.A.A.C water polo team won the bronze. These champions included several women. The clubhouse itself was also part of the fun -- it played host to a ball welcoming Olympic hostesses and competitors, and a "smoker" for newspapermen from around the world.
The Winged Foot
"We really emphasize the history," he says. "It's like you've stepped back in time, and it creates a distinctive style."
--Cory Hathaway, 2002 16
The 1930s were hard on the L.A.A.C. and its satellite clubs (most of which were eventually shed or closed). As Garbutt aged, his son-in-law Charles F. Hathaway took an increasing role in running the club. Swimming stars like Ester Williams trained at the facilities, and comedian Harold Lloyd was a regular at the handball courts. Garbutt, the club's tireless champion, died in 1947. In 1948, the L.A.A.C sent the largest number of athletes of any institution in the U.S. to the London Olympics. These athletes medaled eleven times. That year, the club's serious financial setbacks were finally resolved. In 1949, after the death of Charles, his son Frank Hathaway became club president. As downtown declined in the post-war years, the shabby but still respected club become a haven for business people increasingly bewildered by the dangerous surrounding streets.]]> Women were officially allowed membership in the club in the 1960s. The building was remodeled in the 60s and again in the 70s, when the upper bedrooms were converted into a hotel. The 1960s renovation reduced the pool's length and hopeful Olympians stopped training in the facilities. In 1977, the L.A.A.C. became home of the John R. Wooden award, one of the most prestigious awards in all of collegiate sports. The award is presented at the club every year, and has been won by college basketball stars including Phil Ford, David Robinson, Tim Duncan, Michael Jordan, and Tyler Hansbrough. The club no longer feels like the exclusive haven of cigar chomping businessmen. There are jazz nights and lecture series, and childcare is provided to harried parents who come to take one of the many Pilates or spinning classes offered.
The L.A.A.C. is still run by the Hathaway family. With the lux $10 million renovation in progress, it seems the L.A.A.C. is sure to be a downtown staple for another 100 years, appealing to a new, co-ed breed of sociable, athletic Angelenos.
Further Reading: "Our First Century: The Los Angeles Athletic Club 1880-1980," by Betty Lou Young
1 "LAACA an organization that cultivates muscle" Los Angeles Times, November 17, 1885
2 Ibid.
3 Betty Lou Young, "Our First Century: The Los Angeles Athletic Club 1880-1980", pg. 17
4 Ibid., pg 55
5 "Young athletes: a fine day of field sports yesterday" Los Angeles Times, November 25,1887
6 "Society graciously gives its approval athletic club" Los Angeles Times, June 15, 1912
7 "New LAAC gym opens" Los Angeles Times, April 9, 1912
8 "Opening day is tomorrow" Los Angeles Times, February 4, 1906
9 "Basketball and boxing" Los Angeles Times, May 6, 1906
10 Ibid.
11 "500 sketches" Los Angeles Times, October 30 1911
12 "Grand swimming plunge in new athletic club" Los Angeles Times, October 2, 1911
13 "Society graciously gives its approval athletic club" Los Angeles Times, June 15, 1912
14 Betty Lou Young, "Our First Century: The Los Angeles Athletic Club 1880-1980", pg. 92
15 "Los angeles athletic club junior track athletes loom as future Olympic" Los Angeles Times, July 10, 1927
16 "Historic club seeks secret of youth" Los Angeles Times, November 11, 2002
There is a quiet elegance about this expertly kept, city-run museum -- inside and out. The lawn is shaded by giant jacarandas and eucalyptus, there is a lovely rose garden, and several outbuildings (including a large barn) that serve a variety of social and educational purposes. The main Greek Revival-style house, with its deep porch and widow's walk, is like something out of a Southern Living postcard. The house's interior is lovingly restored, and filled with beautiful period furniture, artifacts and clothing -- including dozens of pieces owned by the Banning family. The guided tour was led by a charming and knowledgeable older lady. And there were Christmas decorations in every room -- always a seasonal plus.
In the basement ballroom, by the large dancing pavilion built by later generations of Bannings, was an exhibit called "Improbable Gateway: The Los Angeles Transportation Legacy," detailing the important history of transportation in Southern California. There could be no more perfect place for this exhibit. The man who built this lovely home was responsible for many of early SoCal's great transportation strides. In some small way, his efforts are the reason many thousands of us now travel to Los Angeles from all over the world, to make a new life and build a new home- one that almost always echoes the one where we started.
A Man of Large and Liberal Ideas
"Mr. B is a rapid man, forever in a hurry and doing the business of a half dozen of men."
--Major Edward D. Townsend, an officer in the service of the army's Adjutant General's Office 1
"No man in our State has given so many banquets and balls, dinners and receptions as he." 2
"Active, energetic, irrepressible Phineas Banning," called by many "the father of the Los Angeles harbor" and the "transportation king," was born in 1830, on an unassuming farm outside of Wilmington, Delaware. 3 One of eleven children, he was descended from a long line of enterprising New England pioneers who were related to the famed DuPont family by marriage. However, his father was not a great success, so Phineas, at age 13, left a difficult farm life to join some of his siblings in Philadelphia. After working as a clerk in his brother's law offices, he eventually became a packer and shipping clerk at a wholesale import shop. Through this job, he met a merchant who hired him to accompany a large shipment of merchandise out to the wild frontiers of California. In 1851, at the age of 21, Phineas made his way to San Pedro Bay by way of Panama, and quickly found work as a clerk in the quiet, muddy port community of San Pedro (20 miles north of tiny Los Angeles), where:
...There were two mud scows, a ship's anchor and a fishing boat, a multiplicity of old broken down Mexican carts, a house, a large haystack and mule corral, and our friend the gallant [boat] Laura Bevan, floating swan like at her anchorage...4
Phineas immediately saw the possibilities of a more connected Southern California. He began a stagecoach line with a partner, running passengers and freight from San Pedro to Los Angeles. A quick study, he became an expert and fearless stagecoach driver, prompting one friend to comment that Banning "could ride farther and with less fatigue than any man I ever knew." 5 He also controlled a landing at the port and began dreaming of a dredged deep water port that would transform the region. In 1854, with his charm and powers of persuasion, he convinced a group of friends to buy 2,400 acres of Rancho San Pedro to further his goals. He also found time to woo a young Missouri native named Rebecca Sanford, who was the sister of a business associate. Legend has it that he fell in love with her instantly and courted her every weekend until she consented to marry him. No doubt she was impressed with what she saw. According to all accounts, rugged, handsome Phineas cut quite the imposing figure:
It is impossible to describe my astonishment when Banning was pointed out to me; for I knew absolutely nothing of the rough methods in vogue on the Pacific Coast. There stood before me a very large, powerful man, coatless and vest less, without necktie or collar, and wearing pantaloons at least six-inches too short, a pair of brogans, and socks with large holes; while bright-colored suspenders added to the picturesque effect of his costume. 6
Marriage and the birth of eight children (only three survived to adulthood) did not slow Phineas down. He and Rebecca quickly became the preeminent entertainers in the region, hosting many "sumptuous" dinners filled with "wine and wit," and throwing legendary Fourth of July parties featuring Phineas' long winded and amusing speeches. In 1857, Phineas bought 640-acres of waterfront property from his friends. In 1858, he founded the port city of New San Pedro on a portion of this land. He eventually renamed the town Wilmington, after his birth place, built wharves, warehouses and infrastructure on the site, and brought his numerous employees over from San Pedro.
The Civil War was a boon for the fledgling town, which one unimpressed visitor called "a village of shanties," featuring a great number of questionable saloons. The staunchly pro-Union Phineas (Rebecca was pro-Confederate) was already a genius at securing government funding for his projects and (allegedly) cleverly overcharging. He received many government contracts, including ones for hauling supplies to Yuma, the Central Valley, and Salt Lake City on rough Indian roads that would eventually become the approximate routes of our modern day freeways. He also convinced the Army to build a federal base and depot in his new town. This outpost, named the Drum Barracks, brought a flood of business to the town and Phineas' numerous enterprises. By 1865, the now "General" Phineas was the largest single tax payer in Los Angeles County and was elected to the state senate (where he served until 1869).
It was only fitting that the "mayor, councilman, constable, and watchman all rolled into one" of Wilmington would build the biggest and most luxurious home in the town. 7 In the spring of 1864, construction began on a three-story, white-clapboard Greek-Revival house that was probably based on homes from Phineas and Rebecca's eastern youth. Phineas had rows of eucalyptus trees planted to surround the home. The estate boasted a large library, many imported furnishings and tapestries, and its very own artesian well. Only two miles from the port of Wilmington, this home soon became the first place many travelers to Los Angeles encountered. The home was also the site of frequent "regales," where champagne was "always on tap" and guests danced in the extra-wide downstairs hallway.
The Ancestral Home
It is the purpose of the Banning brothers to carry out the desire of their father in making this the ancestral home of the family in the western country.
--Los Angeles Times, Oct. 31, 1909 8
Gorgeous flowers in profusion were in all the rooms, their fragrance lending a Riviera like atmosphere. The drawing-room, where Mr. and Mrs. Banning received, is in yellow, and long stemmed yellow roses with tulips shading into old rose were used. A Dresden effect was carried out in the dining room with its old fashioned furnishings and the ballroom, where guests danced to snappy music, was like a summer house with vine-covered trellises... With 400 guests, the women in chic spring frocks and with the dashing uniforms of naval officers and the floral arrangement, the scene made a delightful picture. And guests strolling in the gardens over rustic bridges spanning tiny little streams, and assembling in groups in the Japanese tea house, gave additional charm to the scene.
--Los Angeles Times, May 14, 1922 9
As he got older, the overindulgent Phineas' large frame tended to a "Falstaffian rotundity," according to one friend. Rebecca died in 1868, due to complications from childbirth. Although heartbroken, this did not slow the grieving widower down. Phineas pushed through a bond, funding the construction of the region's first railway, linking San Pedro Harbor to Los Angeles. It opened within a year. In 1870, he married a young, vivacious, and decisive woman named Mary Hollister, who soon gave birth to two girls, and became the area's premier hostess. Phineas went to D.C. to lobby for the construction of a Wilmington breakwater, so that his long held dream of a deepwater port could become a reality. According to the L.A. Times, this lobbying was a success: "...by 1873, enough money was available to start construction. Over the next 10 years, Banning dredged and improved the harbor, expanding its operation with the Southern Pacific Railroad." 10
Phineas would not live to see his dream of a deep water port completed. His last decade was a busy one, and many of his assets were sold to the Southern Pacific Railway. In 1876, he helped bring the Southern Pacific Railway to Los Angeles, linking the growing city to the rest of the country. He continued to live large -- Mary remembering that he "required a half a pint of champagne with peaches and cream" by his bedside table every evening. 11 Although many contemporaries charged him with corruption, an obsession with honorifics and an oversized ego, no one could doubt "just how much this section has been indebted to him." 12 After his death in San Francisco in 1885, his body was brought back to his Wilmington estate for funeral services. In Wilmington, it was a day of intense mourning:
Businesses and schools were closed, fishing boats idled, lighters lay at anchor in the bay, all the plows and harrows were stopped while people came with banners and badges to pay honor to the remains of the departed General. 13
Phineas had enjoyed a close relationship with his three sons William, Joseph, and Hancock. The brothers soon took over the family's numerous enterprises. A simmering feud between the boys and their opinionated step-mother soon boiled over, and Mary departed for more sociable Los Angeles with her daughters, Mary and Lucy. For a time, Joseph and his wife, Katherine, who was also his first cousin, lived at the Wilmington estate with their young family. Both Joseph and William had fallen head over heels in love with Katherine, but in the end she had chosen Joseph to be her husband. Although William never married, it seems the brothers were able to get past this unfortunate triangle, and William was the couple's frequent house guest.
In 1892, the Hancock brothers bought Catalina Island and began developing it into a resort property. The sons were able to realize their father's dream of a port of Los Angeles in San Pedro and Wilmington. A breakwater was built in 1899. In 1895, Joseph and Katherine moved out of the Wilmington homestead for homes in Los Angeles and Catalina Island. A Banning employee named Andrew Young moved into the mansion with his family and resided there for almost a decade. The Bannings still owned the home however, and had a strong nostalgia for it. When the brothers' beautiful, wild, half-sister Lucy was at her most willful, William even offered to move Joseph and his family back to the homestead to help rehabilitate her in the family's ancestral home. This offer was not accepted.]]> The brothers continued in business together, but feuds between Hancock, his wife -- L.A. society leader Anne -- and volatile Joseph and his strong-willed Katherine meant relations were often strained. It was left to the even-keeled, unmarried William to act as peacemaker, dubbing the feud among his family, "the war between the states." In 1908, a property division agreement in the family landed the Wilmington homestead in the possession of Hancock and Anne. To create the perfect country home for the socially, politically, and philanthropically prominent Anne, major renovation of the grounds began. The basement was transformed into a grand ballroom, an outdoor dancing pavilion was added, and a Japanese garden and outdoor amphitheater were constructed. Anne soon began throwing large entertainments at the house, including numerous debutant teas, balls and charitable entertainments. The home was soon at the center of L.A.'s aristocratic social life, as it had been a generation before. During WWI, Anne's influence grew when she founded the "Grey sisterhood" of female volunteers. She also came up with the idea for Red Cross Shops, which were operated to benefit the war effort.
But the area around this "country estate" was changing. The port of Los Angeles was officially founded in 1907 with the creation of the Los Angeles Board of Harbor Commissioners. Wilmington was annexed into Los Angeles in 1909. By the 1920s, the port of Los Angeles was the busiest harbor on the West Coast. The massive industrialization of the area made the neighborhood surrounding the homestead become increasingly unsafe. As early as 1923, Hancock reported having to fire his shotguns to scare off unsavory characters. Hancock died in 1925. The family, unable to bear the great burden of running the estate, offered to sell it to the city for use as a park. In 1927, a bond referendum was passed, and 21-acre "Banning Park" was born.
A Place for Family, Friends and Fellowship
My favorite remembrances are the ones I heard from our surviving family members who remember events that took place in the residence before it was sold to the City of Los Angeles. It was their stories on how the home made them feel special and was always a place that they looked forward to returning to. A place for family, friends and the fellowship that was shared within the home. Hearing those sentiments always brought a real connection for me and helped to strengthen the interpretation that we provide to our visitors.
--Michael Sanborn, director of the Banning Residence Museum.
After decades of sporadic use, including stints as a USO club in World War II and headquarters of Wilmington's annual Wisteria festival, the house was renovated in the 1970s by a non-profit group called Friends of Banning Park. It was reopened as a historic site in 1974. In 2001, it was designated as a historic-cultural monument by the Los Angeles City Council. In 2011, the Improbable Gateway Museum was opened by the city. Today, the Banning Residence Museum offers tours Tuesday-Thursday and Saturday-Sunday. The museum hosts many school groups. Many special events are held on the grounds and in the beautifully restored historic barn, which features a newly constructed replica of a Banning stagecoach. According to director Michael Sanborn:
Our stated mission is "Preserve History, Promote Education and Inspire the Entrepreneurial Spirit." Being able to communicate to our changing demographics in Wilmington and the greater Los Angeles area that history is inclusive and not exclusive. We need to make sure that our community feels that they are a part of the story of Wilmington and that the history of Phineas Banning is their history, too.
For more information about the Banning Museum, visit: www.thebanningmuseum.org
Special Thanks to Michael Sanborn and the Banning Museum.
Further Reading: "Grand Ventures: The Banning Family and the Shaping of Southern California," by Tom Sitton.
1 Sitton, Tom. "Grand Ventures: The Banning Family and the Shaping of Southern California," p. 42
2 Maurer, David. "Colonial Homes 25.4" (Aug/Sep 1999): 98-105
3 Sitton, Tom "Grand Ventures" p. 42
4 Ibid. p. 34
5 Ibid. p. 42
6 Ibid. p. 41
7 Ibid. p. 127
8 "Old place improved" Los Angeles Times, Oct. 31, 1909
9 "Brilliant scenes of other days at Banning House" Los Angeles Times, May 14, 1922
10 Maurer, David. "Colonial Homes": 98-105
11 Sitton, Tom "Grand Ventures" p. 146
12 Sitton, Tom "Grand Ventures" p. 150
13 Maurer, David. "Colonial Homes": 98-105
I stood in the packed Spanish style courtyard late one night with a group of equally eager new friends, who had all come from other places to make some sort of artistic dream come true. A couple of drinks in, I was eager to tell everyone that I knew the owners, but I quickly realized it didn't matter. At the Cat and Fiddle, everyone belonged. Everyone was family. Everywhere there were groups from different parts of the globe laughing and talking, hoisting a pint in the air, getting a little rowdy.
Over the years, I would occasionally return to the Cat and Fiddle, and always feel at home. When it was announced that the Cat had been forced out of its lease and would be closing its current location on December 15, I got invitations from no fewer than three very different groups of friends, all arranging one last meet up at their favorite haunt. Rich rockers, poor hipsters, intellectuals, artists, preps, and jocks all considered it to be a very important place in their lives. A week ago, I visited this incarnation of the Cat and Fiddle for the last time. My friends and I laughed and hugged and even sang a song or two. It was a very good night.
Pub Life
On the first night in his new role as a publican, British rock bass player Kim Gardner was so anxious to make the classic [last call] announcement "Time gentlemen, please!" that he stood on a high bar stool to say it. "I got smacked right in the head by the ceiling fan," Gardner said. "It was on high speed, too."
--Los Angeles Times, April 16, 19881
"That boy will do anything for a pint."
-- Kim's step-dad
Kim Gardner was born in Dulwitch, England, in 1948. He grew up with his mother and grandparents. In his early teens, Kim moved to West Drayton, England. It was here that the good-natured, gregarious Kim met up with Ronnie Wood, a neighborhood boy who would become a legendary member of the Rolling Stones. They began jamming together and would become lifelong friends and early collaborators. Kim soon dropped out of school and took to the road in a van, playing in pubs all over England and Germany. Over the next few years, he played bass in a series of highly influential rock and roll bands, including the Birds, the Creation, and Ashton, Gardner and Dyke, whose single "Resurrection Shuffle" was a hit on the European charts in 1971.
Kim's life changed forever in 1973, while he was in New Orleans recording and touring with Jackie Lomax, the first artist signed to Apple Records, the Beatles' music label. He was hanging out in a bar on Bourbon Street when he met Paula, the owner of a vintage clothing store in the French Quarter called "The Cocky Fox." "It was a really good bar,"( L.A. Times Cat & Fiddle Is a Pub's Pub With a Kicked-Back Feel June 26, 1996) Paula remembers. Kim soon came to Los Angeles on a record contract, and Paula came to visit him. She never left. Instead, she and Kim began to build a life together (their first daughter, Eva, was born in 1979). Kim continued to tour and to work as a sought after session musician. Business-savvy Paula opened Lily Bleu, a successful shoe store in Santa Monica. In their downtime, they would hang out in bars and pubs with Kim's many famous friends. Eventually, Kim decided to stop patronizing pubs and start one himself. According to his daughter Ashlee:
Dad didn't know how to run a business, let alone a pub. He loved people and people loved him. He was an entertainer and there was no pub around. The closest place Mom and Dad liked to go to was the King's Head over in Santa Monica. So he saw an opportunity.
The first Cat and Fiddle opened at 2100 Laurel Canyon Boulevard in October 1982, two weeks before the birth of twins Ashlee and Camille. After Kim realized he had bit off more than he could chew with his new venture, Paula closed her shoe store to help manage the pub. This led to a long running joke between Paula and Kim. "When Dad was being silly and Mom was upset about something in the restaurant, he always said, "Well, I gave you a job, didn't I?" Ashlee remembers her Mom would reply, "I had a job, and one that I liked very much!"
The pub, which featured a full bar and traditional English fare, soon attracted many British expats, as well as the couple's friends from the world of music and fashion. The pub was so successful that it led to its downfall. Neighbors began to complain of late nights filled with drunk shouting and motorcycles revving. In 1984, vengeful Canyon residents found the site had never been zoned for a bar, and the Cat and Fiddle was forced to find a new home. A Los Angeles Times profile from the time reported:
During the last week of business, faithful customers filled the woodsy-looking pub. Displaced Britons, many of them musicians ... ate fish and chips, usually washed down with a dark beer. Some played darts, but most seemed to be talking wistfully about the closing of their favorite gathering place. A young man with long hair, whose attire seemed an elaborate Hollywood version of a homemade Western style outfit, asked a female newcomer, "Don't you feel comfortable here? That's the kind of place this is. Women can come in here and not feel threatened. Lots of us live in the canyon. We don't want to go up to Hollywood. It's a shame they are making them close." 2
Kim soon found a new place to do business. It was an indoor-outdoor space in a two-story Spanish-style shopping complex at 6530 Sunset Boulevard. Built in 1927 by cowboy star Fred Thomson (husband of famed screenwriter Francis Marion), it had been billed as the first step in making Sunset Boulevard equal to the famed Rue de la Paix in Paris. Over the years, it had been home to popular restaurants like Le Gourmet, Mouling, and Sunset Gardens. Kim was instantly smitten, particularly with the garden-like patio, shaded by palms, eucalyptus, and enhanced by a small gurgling fountain:
"I looked three or four places, but when I saw this one, I got very excited," Gardner ... over a pint of Harp lager ... holding a Marlboro, said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial tone. His eyes twinkled as he quietly sang, "It's got a nice patio." He had uttered the same words to his wife, Paula, when he made the decision to sign a long term lease on the property. 3
The fun had only just begun.
Kim's Club
"Dad liked EVERYONE. The pub was like his own personal playground. He even had a box of toys -- yes a box of toys, like whoopee cushions, fake electric lighters, kaleidoscope glasses, rubber insects. He was constantly playing jokes. The staff were often confused cause they didn't know what he was saying with his thick English accent. They didn't know whether he was telling a joke or being serious."
--Ashlee Gardner
"I don't have any idea what I'm doing. I was bluffing when I started, and I'm bluffing now."
-- Kim Gardner 4
The Gardner family soon settled into a comfortable routine. Paula ran the pub during the day, taking care of the paperwork and payroll. Kim held court at night. The three girls grew up at Cat and Fiddle and other pubs the family frequented on their many trips around the world. Ashlee remembers secretly playing slot machines, and playing with the children of John Entwistle and Ronnie Wood while their parents relaxed and shared a pint. In their high school years, the girls spent many afternoons doing homework at the bar and hanging out with regulars, like those they called Uncle Skip and Uncle George. Employees, like manager Christie Scarafia, became part of the Gardners' extended family. She remembers, "As a 24 year old moving to L.A. and away from my Midwest small-town, the Cat and Fiddle became my home ... Four separate times over the past 21 years I would leave and the Gardners would always welcome me back. I have always loved the diversity of the clientele, from the rockers to the families with their kids, and of course, the famous and almost famous."
This family feeling extended to the pub's many famous patrons, who were able to relax at the Cat and Fiddle. One night found Kim and Eric Clapton playing darts. Always the showman, Kim turned around backwards to throw his last dart and got a bulls eye, winning the game. Rod Stewart would arrive with his entire soccer team in tow. Drew Barrymore and Christopher Lloyd were there all the time. It seems every popular British band that came through Los Angeles stopped in at the Cat, whose menu of bangers and mash, kidney pie, and plowman's lunch reminded them of home. But besides a weekly jazz brunch, an open mic night, and special events, Kim made the decision that the pub would not be a music club. "Then people come by based on who you've got performing that night," he explained. "So instead, I've made this a place to get away from all the music clubs." 5
Kim was the sun around which life at the Cat revolved. "My favorite stories are mostly of Kim," Scarafia says. "He would wander around reciting limericks, sipping a pint with the lads, and just looking to have a laugh with anyone who would join in. If the night wasn't lively enough, he'd get up on the bar and tell a joke or do a little jig with a funny hat -- just get everyone riled up!" At the Sunday jazz brunch he'd sit in as the 'mystery bassist' and jam to Miles Davis' "All Blues."
"Dad was nocturnal," Ashlee says, "so he used to invite regulars, friends, or homeless people walking around our front gates inside for a pint. He would hang out with anyone that would listen to him and his stories."
After Kim died of cancer in 2001, the homeless folks he befriended would occasionally still come in, looking for their non-judgmental friend. Eva was now on her way to being a very successful touring musician, and the only woman honored with her own Fender signature bass. Camille and Ashlee were in college. In 2005, Ashlee became a full-time employee at Cat and Fiddle. Shortly thereafter, she became a partner with Paula. But Kim's spirit lived on. Many years later, Ashlee talked to Sir Paul McCartney and his wife, as they sipped coffee on a bench in the courtyard, before a show down the street. He was one among many who had known Kim back in the day.
The Torch is Passed (Resurrection Shuffle)
"I wind up coming to the Cat on most of my days off. I kind of assumed it would always be there, even as a place I could come back to in the future and bring my kids there, if I ever have any. When I took a job opportunity in Seattle in 2010, I found myself thinking about the Cat all the time. I would call the host and check in and want to know stories. When I came back to Hollywood for a wedding 10 months later, I picked up a few shifts and wound up moving back the next week."
--Danny Riordan, Cat and Fiddle server
Life at the Cat and Fiddle eventually moved on. Ashlee was perfectly suited in her role as the friendly face of the Cat and Fiddle, graduating from USC in business/entrepreneurship and having spent much of her life working in and patronizing pubs of all sorts. Weekly trivia nights, movie nights, soccer viewing parties, and special music events drew new clientele. The 2000s also saw a new group of celebrity regulars, including Thomas Lennon and Ben Garant from Reno 911. Morrissey is another regular. He recently spent the night rocking out with Noel Gallagher in a corner, as Russell Brand chatted with customers at the bar, drinking an iced soy latte. The collegial, fun spirit of the pub is as strong as ever. Longtime customer and family friend Jamie Rarrick remembers:
Halloween ... Camille and I decided to go all out for our costumes, so we rented a full cow costume. I'm talking a giant cow costume, where one is the head and one is the back of the cow. We had also decided to not tell anyone what we were so not even Paula knew. That night the pub had a live band, as they usually do for big parties. We timed it so that we would dance from the front entrance. So there we were, a dancing cow in the middle of the court yard, dancing with the guests, everyone loved it. People were taking pictures. It was one of the times that everyone was having such a great time and celebrating, enjoying each other, such a great crowd.]]> It is fitting that the pub that was the result of Paula and Kim's love story has been the site of so many more. Longtime employee Christie Scarafia met her husband, Rob, at the pub over 15 years ago. Steve and Stacy were aspiring actors and servers who fell in love while working their shifts. Erin was a bartender who was pursued for months by Jake, a patron, until she finally relented (they now have twins). Melanie was a server who met her future husband, Charles, the CEO of a neighboring company, Creative Asylum, through the window on the famed patio. Most recently, Kim, a server, met and married Matt, a director at Creative Asylum. "During this difficult time," Ashlee says, "Mom and I constantly are touched by all the stories and marriages and babies that come from this special location."
This fall, the gentrification of Hollywood finally caught up with the Cat and Fiddle. After their landlords refused to renegotiate their lease, the blogosphere was in an uproar. Protest petitions were started, Facebook pages were formed, and the Cat and Fiddle experienced a huge increase in sales. As always, the Cat and Fiddle staff has stuck together. "All of them are doing such a great job right now with the huge increase in business with the announcement of our closing," Ashlee says. "They are pulling doubles and pitching in wherever they can. I keep hearing from them and have gotten text messages saying: 'We are staying till the end cause we are a family and we stick together.' What a crew."
The Gardners plan to open the Cat and Fiddle in a new location. No doubt, their many loyal customers and staff will follow them, wherever they go. The Cat and Fiddle remains a decidedly family affair. "My twin sister, Camille, will be brought in as a partner in the new location, along with Mom and my fiancé, Justin Raisen," Ashlee explains. "He is a producer and songwriter for today's top up and coming musicians, and some already successful artists will also be involved. The new generation is here to move the Cat and Fiddle forward, and we're ready for it!"
Special thanks to Ashlee and Paula Gardner and the employees of the Cat and Fiddle.
Photos courtesy of The Cat & Fiddle/Facebook, unless otherwise noted.
1 "Oh to sink a pint and sling some arrows" Los Angeles Times, April 16, 1988
2 "City oversight will force pub to close" Los Angeles Times, November 8, 1984
3 "Pub ambience on a patio" Los Angeles Times, July 23, 1989
4 Ibid.
5 Ibid.
And what names they are. Every few minutes, I stumble upon a new story from this eclectic metropolis. There is the stately family crypt of the pioneering Workman family, only a few feet away from the grave of the famous fighter Sugar Ray Robinson and his beloved wife, Millie. There are religious leaders, maverick musicians, and rows of little babies, whose graves are by far the most decorated. In the beautiful yet antiseptic and silent Mausoleum of the Golden West, stained glass windows tell the history of early California.
Atop the hill, the elegantly distressed Grace Chapel is locked. I stand and look at the valley of graves below -- at the rugged crosses and moss covered angels that seem to have been in place for a thousand years. But in reality, the cemetery's history stretches back to only 1905, when Los Angeles was just beginning its ascendancy as one of the most diverse cities in the land.
Largest in the World, Also the Finest
One of the most striking features of the grounds is the entrance gate, built in a great semi-circle, three hundred feet in diameter and constructed of dazzling white California granite...The gate, as the picture shows, is divided into three sections, one large entrance for the use of buggies and automobiles and two small ones for pedestrians. A small fountain, always flowing, plays between the gates. Through the entrance, a general view of the park-like grounds can be had, with the superintendent's residence and the beautiful chapel looming up in the foreground as the most striking features.
-- Los Angeles Times, March 25, 1906 1
In 1905, Inglewood was a sleepy, unincorporated hamlet two miles southwest of downtown Los Angeles. That year a group of local businessmen, including Mark G. Jones, R.H. Raphael and P.W. Powers, formed the Inglewood Cemetery Association. They bought a 320 acre parcel of land "on a slight knoll overlooking Los Angeles and Pasadena" with "fine views of the city and the ocean" right outside of Inglewood. The association had lofty goals, and proclaimed the cemetery park would be "the largest in the world" and "the finest in the world." 2
Improvements were made in the "New York lawn plan" style to some of the grounds. The park featured many modern conveniences. It had its own water plant to keep the grounds green and lush. There was an Inglewood Park stop off the Redondo Electric Railway, making travel time from L.A. clock in at around thirty minutes. In the back of the chapel was a crematory. Refrigerated vaults were built into the hillside for the many "eastern people" whose bodies needed to be held until family and friends could make arrangements to ship them back east. The park would also be endowed, and plots purchased, so bereaved family members had the comfort of knowing "that their dead loved ones will not be removed." 3 The first superintendent of the park was Captain Lomais, who for many years had been in charge of the sprawling Evergreen Cemetery in Boyle Heights.
The first burial was on July 26, 1906. The park quickly became the chosen resting spot for many of Southern California's early aristocracy. It also became the site of religious pilgrimage. Thornton Chase, the first American to convert to the Baha'i faith, was buried at Inglewood after dying in L.A. on Oct. 1, 1912. Abdu'l-Baha, the head of the religious group, had been on his way to meet Chase. On October 19, Baha and a group of fellow Baha'is took the train to Inglewood Park where they covered the recently dug grave with flowers while chanting sacred prayers. He instructed all Baha'is who travelled in America to visit Thornton's grave, and then gently kissed Chase's headstone. Within a year, Chase's widow estimated that over 1000 Baha'is had visited her husband's grave. Today, numerous Baha'is are buried around the monument erected to Chase.
In 1913, the park's directors continued their tradition of innovation when they announced plans "to revolutionize methods of burial in the Los Angeles vicinity." 4 The California Mausoleum Company, formed by a group of Pasadena businessmen, began construction of Southern California's first community mausoleum (heretofore reserved for the elite), which would "compare favorably with that of any structure in the world. According to the L.A. Times, the 1200 crypt structure of granite, cement, marble, bronze and art glass would be unbelievably high tech:
Absolute dryness will be secured by draft, giving ventilation and the entire separation of the walls of the building from the interior of crypt portion. Each crypt will have its own intake and outlet ducts through which dry air laden with strong antiseptic will be kept constantly in motion. Decay will thus be made impossible. 5
As its name suggests, Inglewood Park was not only a burial place, it was also a public meeting place. One particularly dramatic social event occurred in December, 1917, when the Order of the Elks Lodge 99 gathered at their burial plot, as Earl Houck, the "blind baritone", sang sweetly in the background:
With the solemn tolling of a bell, the folds of a beautiful silk American flag dropped last night at Inglewood Cemetery at 11 o'clock, the symbolic hour of the Elks Lodge, and a gigantic statue of a bronze elk was seen silhouetted against a cloudy and rain laden sky as 8000 members of the Benevolent and Protective Order of the Elks of Los Angeles Lodge No 99 and visiting members stood with heads bared to witness the unveiling. This is the largest elk's statue in the United States, and the ceremony held last night was in connection with the acceptance of the magnificent monument, which rests on a granite base on a burial plot owned by the L.A. lodge. The statue stands thirty feet high, from the ground to the tip of the antler. 6
This was not the first song that was sung at Inglewood Park. And it was certainly not the last.
City of the Dead
The reason our new racetrack was named Hollywood Park instead of Inglewood Park was fear that the bettors might confuse it with Inglewood Cemetery, and the effect might not be cheering. But there will still be expensive "funerals" there.
--Los Angeles Times, June 11, 1938 7
The "modern age" tore into stately and serene Inglewood Park on June 21, 1920, when it was badly damaged by an earthquake caused by the Newport-Inglewood Fault. The L.A. Times reported on the damage:
The Jones tomb near the chapel is badly twisted, its columns being cracked and moved out of line until it appears that the tomb is about to collapse. Down on the side hill below the tomb a tall marble shaft is toppled over. Another monument with a large granite cross lies in a heap upon the mount, and here and there about the slopes are headstones bowled over upon the grass. The roof of the cemetery chapel was caved in by a falling chimney and a house near the entrance of the cemetery has a big hole in the roof where the chimney fell through. 8
The bustling urban jungle of Chandler and West was on full display in the comings and goings at Inglewood Park. Beneath a nameless granite stone, decorated with only an etching of a small grey mouse, lay the infant child of Charlie Chaplin and Mildred Harris, his teen bride. Nicknamed "the little mouse," the child was born with severe deformities and only lived three days. Soon after the death, the Chaplins became entangled in a very public and very vicious divorce. It was reported that Mildred, an actress, would often rush off whatever set she was working on and visit the little grave alone. She would place flowers on the grave, while her mother and soon- to- be ex duked it out in the court of public opinion.
A few years later, the cemetery was visited by another pretty teenager -- "enamored runaway girl" Estella Bruce, a 17 year old blinded by the silver screen of Hollywood. According to the L.A. Times, "the lure of a celluloid future" had proved too great, causing her to leave the modest home she and her mother Carrie shared in Los Angeles. She changed her name and disappeared into her new life. Three months later a distraught Carrie was struck by a car during a rainstorm and killed. The Bruce family was unable to locate Estella, and Carrie was buried without her favorite child's knowledge. Three days later Estella was located, and she made her way to her mother's grave.
The dreams of fame were turned to gall. She stood, racked by emotion, and sobbed out her tragedy. "It is over. I have lost everything and I am to blame. My dear dead mother, my dear little mother, my dear little mother, my dear little mother!" 9
There were comedic turns in the cemetery as well. In 1923, the same year a new mausoleum opened at the cemetery, a honey salesman called Mr. Walker awoke in Inglewood Park.
After pinching himself to make sure he had not entered the great beyond, Mr. Walker launched an investigation of the events leading up to his unusual resting place-while alive. He unearthed a succession of shocks. In the first place friends informed him he was married. Moreover he was told he had assumed the ties that bind nearly a month previously. 10
Mr. Walker claimed to have amnesia and to not remember his marriage to Bessie I. Dickey. The Judge granted Mr. Walker an annulment, much to the displeasure of the new Mrs. Walker, who remembered every single detail of their courtship.
There were darker goings on as well. In 1922, M.B Mosher, a constable and member of the Ku Klux Klan, was killed after a nighttime raid he and other Inglewood citizens had illegally launched against a Spanish bootlegger and his family. The town was sharply divided over the assault, and the morning of his funeral, according to the L.A. Times, "before the first spadesful of earth fell upon the lowered casket, the spirit of the clan had expired, as far as Inglewood was concerned." 11
In 1932, the cemetery was again touched with Hollywood tragedy when it played host to the funeral of MGM executive Paul Bern, who had shot himself at the home he shared with Jean Harlow. A reporter described the chaotic scene:
Less than 50 persons were in the chapel. More than 1000 milled about outside. [Jean Harlow] sat in a small room connected with the chapel by an archway in which hung a heavy drape of purple coloring ... From behind the drapes separating the widow and other relatives could be heard low sobbing, as the services proceeded. When the blonde widow alighted for a limousine, leaning heavily on the arm of her stepfather, Marino Bello, she was in tears. She showed evidence of much weeping, her eyes being swollen and reddened. When she left, again leaning against her parent for support, she was crying openly and staggering. Bern's sister, Mrs. Frederike Marcus, broke down on entering the chapel and screamed hysterically, "He's gone! Where have they taken him?" She moaned and sobbed violently when permitted to view the body in a flower banked casket and again screamed when she was driven away. 12
In 1931, Ringling Brothers' star Alfredo Codona erected a large memorial to his wife, the equally famous aerialist Lillian Leitzel, who had died as the result of a fall in Copenhagen months before. A large ceremony, with many stars of the Big Top in attendance, was held for the statue's unveiling, which the L.A. Times explained:
Faces and figures in the marble conform to those of the artist and her husband. A marble cord with a broken ring beneath the figure tells the story of the tragic fall during a performance at Copenhagen. 13
Six years later, Codona went mad and fatally shot his second wife before turning the gun on himself. He was buried next to Leitzel's ashes near the monument he had erected for "the only woman who ever loved me." 14
A Choir of Angels
I love you in a place where there's no space or time I love you for my life, you are a friend of mine And when my life is over, remember when we were together We were alone and I was singing this song to you
-- "A Song For You," my favorite Ray Charles song, written by Leon Russell
It was not all doom and gloom. Many of the people buried at Inglewood Park -- which expanded exponentially with the construction of new mausoleums -- lived long lives, filled with purpose. Mrs. Hancock Banning, who founded the Assistance League and organized relief efforts during World War I, and Ettie Lee, a teacher whose genius in real estate enabled her to found a string of progressive boys homes, rest at Inglewood. Julia Crawford Ivers, one of the first female motion picture directors, who worked prolifically at Paramount during the silent era of film, was buried at the cemetery. When Fire Captain Elwood H. Henry was killed saving a small boy, his last wish was honored with a final trip to Inglewood Park in a fire truck.
During the '60s and '70s, Inglewood Park became increasingly a part of the Black community, and a place for members to come together and bury their dead. During the 1980s, the park also became a place of celebration, hosting services on Martin Luther King Day, and a speaker series, featuring talks on Black history. In 2002, Lady Sala Shabazz, a local legend and historian who founded the Black Inventions Museum and wrote many books on Black history, was interred at Inglewood. In 1998, the legendary Tom Bradley, Los Angeles' first Black mayor, was buried at the cemetery.]]> Inglewood Park is the final resting place of musical legends -- Big Mama Thornton, Percy Mayfield, Etta James, Chet Baker, Billy Preston, T-Bone Walker, and the incomparable Ray Charles and Ella Fitzgerald. When jazz pianist Alton Purnell passed away, his friends threw him a true New Orleans Style funeral, with "a brass band to play dirges going in and happy music coming back." Many fans make pilgrimages to the graves of James, Charles and Fitzgerald, whose crypt in Sunset Mission Mausoleum features a single musical bar.
Sadly, in 2003, gang turmoil infringed on the peace of the cemetery during the funeral of a 19 year old man. The shoot-out began when two rival gang members passed each other in the mausoleum and began shooting. Policemen (who are always sent to a suspected gang member's funeral) joined in the gunfight. A funeral director stated "it was chaos, complete chaos," as hundreds of mourners scurried for cover. Luckily, no one was seriously injured. 15
Today the cemetery retains its peaceful and respectful atmosphere despite its enormous size. Two new projects, the Garden of Chimes and the Grandview Mausoleum and Lawn, are currently being constructed. The recently completed Sunset Mission Mausoleum has space for 30,000 interments. It is the largest Mausoleum in the country. Over 300,000 people are currently interred at Inglewood Park, and with the massive amount of space supplied by new memorial gardens and mausoleums, it seems that number will only increase.
1 "Large, beautiful cemetery" Los Angeles Times, March 25, 1906
2 Los Angeles Times, November 26, 1905 "Largest in world also the finest"
3 "Large, beautiful cemetery" Los Angeles Times, March 25, 1906
4 "For housing dead: immense granite and marble mausoleum" Los Angeles Times, February 23, 1913
5 "For housing dead: immense granite and marble mausoleum" Los Angeles Times, February 23, 1913
6 "Elks, in mystic rites unveil large statue" Los Angeles Times, December 3, 1917
7 "Lee side of L.A.: Hollywood Park" Los Angeles Times, June 11, 1938
8 "Cut Inglewood loss in half" Los Angeles Times, June 23, 1920
9 "Sobs error on silent grave" Los Angeles Times, December 13, 1925
10 "Honeymoon in cemetery" Los Angeles Times, June 29 1923
11 "Bury klan spirit with constable" Los Angeles Times, April 27, 1922
12 "Rites marked by simplicity" Los Angeles Times, September 10, 1932
13 "Famous aerialist to start last rest" Los Angeles Times, December 2, 1931
14 "Waltz theme of circus act played at Codonas funeral" Los Angeles Times, August 4, 1937
15 "Gun fire at Inglewood cemetery injures" Los Angeles Sentinel, October 30, 2003
In the past decade, the arrival of some of L.A.'s most innovative restaurants, hip bars, and progressive art galleries have transformed the long-depressed area. This transformation is the result of multiple city initiatives and the work of developers like Gilmore Associates. But this is not the first time this neighborhood has been a hub of culture and good food. "By the mid-1890s, 4th & Main was the center of Los Angeles commercial life," says social historian Richard Schave of Esotouric. "Main was a 24-hour street: banks, bars, restaurants, theaters -- the world in a street, a street which never slept."
Other banks and businesses soon followed, as did several large hotels. The Van Nuys (now Barclay) Hotel opened in January 1897, and boasted guest rooms with telephones, richly decorated carpets, oak and maple furniture, and a "neat device for the electrical heating of curling irons" that was thought to be of special interest to the ladies. But the real life of the hotel was in the public rooms, especially the dining room, which would become famous under the management of Baron Long. As the L.A. Times reported:
"The dining hall fronts Main Street... One side of the dining room will be a European-plan café and the other side a dining room on the American plan. There are 34 tables in the room. The silver to be used in this department is especially fine. Solid oak is the wood used in the chairs and tables, the latter being upholstered in Russian leather. In the kitchen, car tracks are used to carry eatables to and from, and in the cooking department, stoves, ranges, etc. are the latest improvements in those lines. The grill room and bar are not yet finished and will be opened later. Romandy's Orchestra has been engaged to play at the hotel during meal hours."
The bankers, businessmen, and government officials who flooded the neighborhood during the first decades of the 20th century were eager for entertainment, hearty food, and strong drinks. Nearby department stores like Coulter Dry Goods Co., Desmond's, and Hales brought in daytime shoppers, while theaters like the Hippodrome (built in 1916), the Belasco, the Orpheum, and the Follies (next to the Barclay) made the area the center of L.A. nightlife.
The Follies was run by the fascinating Lillian Hunt, a "human dynamo," who, Schave says, "staged all new shows with completely new costumes every week." There were eclectic restaurants for every taste and budget: Al Levy's, Fred Harlow's, the uber-expensive Victor Hugo's and the five cent hot dog stand next door to it. But no downtown eatery was more storied than the Good Fellows Grotto, which Schave calls the "greatest eatery the city will ever know."
Good Fellows Grotto was opened in July, 1905, by Matteo C. Dujmovich, a former gambling and variety show manager originally from Yugoslavia. As early as 1909, it was reported to be "well known as a resort for actors and men about town."
"Nestled between the Barclay Hotel and the Follies Burlesque Theater, its intimate and richly-upholstered interiors -- with their curtained "family" booths on the south side -- were the living room for the city's politicians, business leaders, creative artists, and arbiters of taste," Schave says. "Governors and presidents dined there. Diners could take advantage of a secret entrance into the Follies burlesque theater." Everyone from Sarah Bernhardt to Jack Dempsey ate at the steak, chop, and seafood house during its almost 50-year run. According to the L.A. Times:
The elder Dujmovich proved a successful restaurateur from the start. All his steaks were charcoal broiled. His bouillabaisse, lobster thermador and boiled crab were quick favorites. For luncheon, his filet of sole and cracked crab remained popular to the end. Joseph Scott and the criminal trial wizard Earl Rogers led parades of lawyers from courtrooms to the restaurant.
"After much study, the Community Redevelopment Agency determined that the best way to save whole city blocks of blighted and nearly abandoned 19th and early 20th century downtown buildings was to finance developers in the purchase of entire blocks that could then be rehabilitated as a 'unit.' Around 1997, Gilmore Associates approached the CRA about financing a large-scale redevelopment project of the sort that the CRA had already determined would be beneficial to downtown development. The agency was game to invest. The city passed the Adaptive Reuse Ordinance for downtown in 1999, smoothing the way for commercial buildings to be converted to residential. The CRA did some heavy lifting with financing, and by 2001, the intersection around 4th and Main had been converted to residential, and creative businesses were moving in and enjoying deeply discounted rent. This was the model developed by and enabled by the CRA, and it proved a success."
The beautifully restored buildings (75% of the original turn-of-the-century structures still stand) became high priced apartment houses and retail space. The art scene, bolstered by the monthly downtown art walk, flourished. Many younger, upwardly mobile residents moved into buildings such as the historic San Fernando Building. Chef Josef Centeno --who opened his restaurant Baco Mercat on Main Street in 2011 -- was one such resident. He explains, "I already was living and working downtown and loved it. So opening downtown made sense... This neighborhood is my home, and it's the place where I started Baco Mercat. When I opened the second restaurant, Bar Ama, I didn't want to be far from the first restaurant, and then when I opened the third restaurant, Orsa & Winston, I didn't want to be far from the first and second...The neighborhood attracts an eclectic crowd from all over the city and neighborhood locals, too -- lots of artists and professionals both."
As more and more restaurants open, and more and more people flood the area each night, you can almost see the ghosts pouring out of Good Fellows and into the streets, excited to be in the middle of it all. Once more, in the words of Centeno, "the Old Bank District/Historic Core has become a destination."]]>
At the corner of Arroyo Boulevard and Busch Gardens Drive, I stop my car in the midst of another affluent neighborhood. I am in search of the ruins of the once world famous public gardens of Adolphus and Lilly Busch, of "Budweiser" beer fame. The weeping willows and jacarandas, which dip down to the mostly dry riverbed of the Arroyo Seco, are a living testament to the park's legacy. There are little bits of magic all around -- the old metal fence, a concrete water fountain made to look like a log, and part of a pergola. There are sweeping stone terraces (the stone sourced from the Arroyo) that have been repurposed by homeowners as outdoor eating spaces and play spots. In one lucky yard, there are trickling stone pools that once stood in front of a long gone attraction known as the "Mystic Hut." The famed Old Mill (a recreation of the Banbury Cross Mill in England) still stands, but it is hidden away on private property, a fairyland for a lucky few.
From private to public, and back to private -- this cultivated land has been admired by millions of people in the last 110 years. Simply drive down the streets and you will sit up a little straighter, breathe a little deeper, and reflect on what a magic Eden California can be.
The Most Heavenly Place
Now, Fraser, I want you to make for me the most heavenly place on the face of the earth. Use your best judgment and all the skill you have. Hire all the men you need, go to all the expense you wish, send the bills to Lockwood. But understand, I must have the most beautiful gardens, the most artistic grounds and the most attractive park to be found anywhere in the world. I don't want any imitations of other parks or grounds. This place must be original, must be unique and must be par excellence.
--Adolphus Busch, 1910 1
I know Adolphus Busch very well and I wonder if he would like to turn these gardens over for a golf links. I would like to play golf here and sit down under those beautiful trees when I got tired.
--President Taft, while visiting Busch Gardens, 1909 2
Gilded age baron Adolphus Busch made his fortune quenching his adopted country's thirst. Born in Germany, he came to St. Louis as a young man. In 1861, he married another German native, Elisa "Lilly" Anheuser, and went into the brewing business with her father. He introduced the process of pasteurization to brewing, which meant that his beers could travel cross country. In 1878, he created "Budweiser," a pale ale palatable to the American masses that was named after a Bohemian town. The company flourished, as did the Busch family. Adolphus and Lilly (known as "Lady Bountiful" for her generosity) had thirteen children and were, by almost all accounts, a happy and devoted couple. They loved nature, children, and the Germanic fairytales of their youth. The family lived part of the year in their mansion at One Busch Place outside St. Louis, and often travelled to Villa Lilly, their palatial lodge near Wiesbaden, Germany.
As part of the new American aristocracy, it was only natural that the Busch family should make their way to Pasadena. By the turn of the century, Pasadena was the wintering spot of the upper crust, with grand hotels like the Hotel Greene and the Hotel Raymond filling up every "season." In the spring of 1904, Lilly and Adolphus decamped to Pasadena for the winter, arriving in their lush private Pullman car. They purchased "Ivy Wall," an 1898 English style manor covered with creeping vines on Orange Grove Boulevard. Families like the Wrigleys and the Gambles would soon join the Busches on Orange Grove, leading it to be called "the mile of millionaires." For the next few years, Adolphus would continually buy up more and more land around "Ivy Wall" and the Arroyo Secco River. Luxury realtor E.H. Lockwood acted as his agent. It is said that Lockwood had long envisioned a grand garden in this area, and the Busches were enthusiastic partners with a fat pocketbook and dreams of creating a private fairyland for their extended family.
Work on the approximately 14-acre formal "upper gardens" began almost immediately. Robert Gordon Fraser, a landscape architect originally from Scotland, devoted much of his life to the project and lived in a cottage on the property for many years. In 1906, work began on the informal, 16-acre "lower gardens." By 1906, the Busch Gardens were the talk of Southern California and informally opened to inquiring visitors.
Busch's sunken gardens were one of the sights for visitors this season, and if the present ideas are carried out, another year will see the crest of Arroyo for a mile or more transformed into a sylvan paradise. Not only will great lawns be put in, but rare trees will be brought from foreign lands and delicate shrubs and vines will be planted to lend color to the landscape. Floriculture and arboriculture have received an impetus during the last year that augurs well for the artistic appearance of Pasadena. 3
The gardens' construction also began a somewhat fierce competition for "horticultural supremacy" among the millionaires of millionaire row. In the spring of 1906, the L.A. Times looked forward to an "exciting battle of millions," quoting one neighbor's vow to try to outdo Busch's rapidly expanding gardens. Much of the big work was often held off until the winter season, since Adolphus took "active interest in the work" and liked to "have it done under his personal direction." A great "sea wall" was constructed, boxing in the Arroyo Secco, which picturesquely wound through the lower gardens. In the summer of 1909, the gardens' gates were officially "thrown open to the public" free of charge. To control the crowds, the city furnished two patrolmen -- one for the upper garden, and one for the lower. The gardens quickly became one of the must see attractions in Southern California. In October of 1910, it was reported "fully 5,000 people" had jostled in the park on one day.
At times it seemed that every walk in both gardens were crowded with sightseers, in addition to this every seat was filled the greater part of the time. The day was delightful and almost everyone was out of doors. In addition to this the street cars were crowded. Thousands of people came from points outside of Pasadena to see the beautiful spots which are more charming this year than ever before... The California street car line was crowded all the time. In addition to the cars, hundreds of people availed themselves of the public carriages and automobiles with signs on them that said Busch's Sunken Gardens. Considerable complaint was made by the out of town visitors on account of the inconvenience they went to in finding their way to the beautiful place. 4
Although the gardens became a public place, they were still a very personal, private endeavor. Lilly added statues of characters from the fairytales of Hans Christian Andersen to delight her grandchildren, and hosted local orphans for Easter egg hunts that included poultry dyed the same color as the eggs. Adolphus also built many things on the property especially for the grandchildren's enjoyment. According to the L.A. Times, the construction of the working reproduction of the Banbury Cross Mill and its surrounding waterfalls came about thusly:
Nothing is undertaken, no plans are made, without due consideration for the grandchildren. Their happy laughter and the prattle of their nursery rhymes are his especial delight... Said one of the grandchildren last spring while playing around his grandfather's chair, "Where is Banbury Cross? I would like to see it," said the child. "That settles it," said Mr. Busch, "We will have a reproduction of Banbury Cross built right here on the grounds. There is nothing like it to be found anywhere and we will have it. Send for Fraser! 5
The mill held another attraction for Busch. From his private den on the upper floor of his house, he had a view of all that had been created in the name of "beauty:"
From this hill the entire Busch estate can be overlooked, the sunken gardens in the immediate foreground; to the north the beautiful "blossoms" flower gardens; to the west the gardens on top of the old hill; to the south the small orange orchards and on in the distance the Arroyo Gardens which lie beyond Grand Avenue. 6
On Oct 10, 1913, Adolphus Busch died at Villa Lilly in Germany. The grand gates to Busch Gardens were closed the day of his funeral. But they soon reopened under Lilly's care, and new statues appeared -- Cinderella in her kitchen, Little Red Riding hood in a gingerbread house, and Snow White with her seven dwarves. The fairytale would continue, at least for a while.
A Fairy Bower of Flower Land
A series of steps lead down from the main entrance into a fairy bower of flower land. Trees, shrubs, flowers, blossoming vines and singing birds all act together to complete the charms cast upon every lover of the outdoors. Here and there are little shady dells connected by winding pathways which seem to wander aimlessly about, crossing streams, climbing hills and leading finally to some sheltered resting place where comfortable rustic seats invite one to tarry a bit. 7
...None seemed more real or more domesticated than figures of the "little people" who looked as if they might have just stepped out of the stories of Hans Christian Andersen, nodding as one passed, pointing, whispering, and in many instances holding mugs of foaming fluid. 8
The gardens continued to be a place to see and be seen, free of charge. In 1915, it was reported that 1,500,000 people had visited the gardens in a single year. Over 50 gardeners were on the payroll.
Lilly continued to spend winters at Ivy Wall and to take a keen interest in the gardens, especially the fountains, aviaries, and bronze and marble statues. But the outbreak of the First World War changed all of that. Though Lilly was an American citizen, two of her daughters had married German nationals. She was visiting her daughters when the war began, and the difficulty of wartime travel and ill health kept her in Europe for longer than she had intended. In the spring of 1918, while Lilly was in Havana on her way home, it was announced that the government had seized all of her properties, including Ivy Wall and its famed sunken gardens. In December, the matter was cleared up. She proved she was a citizen of the United States and not a secret supporter of Germany. She returned triumphantly to Ivy Wall, telling the Los Angeles Times: "I am delighted to return to Southern California...I know I shall have a happy season here."
With prohibition came more headaches for the Busch family. The Busch Gardens' elves had to drink "Bevo," the Anheuser-Busch Company's version of non-alcoholic beer, instead of Budweiser. The gardens, which had been open to the public seven days a week since 1912 at a cost of around $50,000 annually, were temporarily put up for sale and closed. Although some of the gardens were sold to developers, Lilly found a way to keep her husband's dream alive -- but the days of free fun were over. In 1920, the Pasadena Hospital Association was given the use of the remaining gardens for the year. From 1921-1928, the American Legion of California was given charge of the gardens. In return for helping run the gardens, the Legion received proceeds from the new entrance fees, which were still incredibly cheap. The booming film industry began to use the beautiful grounds as an ideal outdoor set. A working farm also operated on the property, supplying those who worked there with holiday turkeys and fresh eggs.]]> Lilly's death in 1928 threw the gardens into fresh turmoil. She had forgotten to make provisions for the "most artistic and extensive privately-owned parks on the western continent." The gardens were closed again. The last day they were opened, a reporter walked the grounds before the gates shut at 5 p.m.
The shadows of trees collected from distant parts of the earth will continue to cast entrancing shadows on the ponds and the lawns, the elfin plaster and bronze figures of Mother Goose lore will still smile and smirk, but from the standpoint of George W. Copping, 85-year old Civil War veteran, who has patrolled the estate for 25 years, "The gardens are sure dead without kids and folks in them. The thing that hurts me is that thousands of people who live right here have never seen that tree in the gardens which grew from a slip cut from a rare weeping willow tree on the grave of Napoleon at Longwood, St. Helena. And children now being born will never see the Banbury Cross Mill on the east side of the gardens... 9
But ironically, the Depression gave the gardens a third and final chance at life. In 1933, the gardens were again given over to a charity -- this time the Unemployment Relief Group. Over 10,000 people attended the reopening, which featured pony rides, boxing, circus performers, movie stars and a fashion show. In 1935, the Legion again took control of the park. The venue was still a popular spot, playing host to the Pasadena Flower Show, local dog shows, and even more Easter egg hunts. The park finally closed for good in 1937, but it continued to be used in countless motion pictures. These films include classics like "Gone with the Wind," "Citizen Kane," "Frankenstein," "The Barrett's of Wimpole Street," "The Adventures of Robin Hood," 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," and "Saratoga Trunk." In 1939, Hedda Hopper recounted an amusing incident during one such film shoot:
At Busch Gardens location Clark Gable waited in his car with his stand-in. When the garden gateman, who's been on that job for years, walked over to Gable's car, peered in, and saw them, he asked "which one of you guys is Gable?" 10
A Legend Reborn
After the gardens were closed to the public, the Busch family continued to sell them off piecemeal to high end developers, many of whom made a point to utilize the leftover beauty of the place in their design. Ivy Wall was sold in 1948, and is now a well-kept apartment complex. In the 1960s, Anheuser-Busch reimagined Busch Gardens -- opening theme parks in Van Nuys, Houston, Williamsburg, VA, and Tampa, FL. Today, only the Williamsburg and Tampa locations remain. As a child, I went to the Williamsburg Busch Gardens several times and was delighted by the cheesy magic I encountered there. But now, I think I much prefer the ruins of the original Busch Gardens, or better yet, a home on the land, with stone-terracing winding though my property. Now that, my friends, would be a real adult fairytale come true.
1 "Half million more just spent by busch" Los Angeles Times, October 16, 1910
2 "Pasadena 'heaven' to the president" Los Angeles Times,October 13, 1909
3 "Busch starts competition: millionaire revives interest in gardening" Los Angeles Times, April 7, 1906
4 "Lose way to Busch Gardens: many persons disappointed in the search" Los Angeles Times, October 24, 1910
5 "Half million more just spent by busch" Los Angeles Times, October 16, 1910
6 Ibid.
7 "One of our quaintest show places" Los Angeles Times, August 21, 1926
8 "Enchanted gardens" Los Angeles Times, December 2, 1928
9 "Busch gardens gates closed" Los Angeles Times, September 1928
10 "Hedda Hopper" Los Angeles Times, March 23, 1939
This week I had the great fortune of touring the newly restored house with the wonderful curator Jeffery Herr. The interiors were a revelation. The green-gold walls, the beautiful custom wood furniture, the sleek angles and glasswork spoke of a time of artistic collaboration and innovation. But what we talked about mostly was the woman behind the house. For behind these elegant modernist lines was a fascinating and complicated story, and at its center, a woman whose dreams were often dashed by bureaucracy, difficult collaborators, and herself. Though it didn't happen until decades after she died, many of her best laid plans for this hilltop eventually came true.
A Female Don Quixote
Art is the soul of the people. One cannot look on visions like this without having visions of one's own. Without visions, we are only ants, and our communities only ant hills.
--Aline Barnsdall 1
I believe I could best describe her as a sort of 'female Don Quixote' always jousting at windmills -- a dreamer.
--Betty "Sugartop" Barnsdall 2
Aline Barnsdall was born in Bradford, Pennsylvania on April 1, 1882. Her father, Theodore, was a wildly successful oilman. Her mother, Angela, was an unfulfilled artist with severe depression. It was not a happy marriage. Unconventional from the start, Aline was not close to her mother and constantly butted heads with her more traditional sister, Frances. But Aline unequivocally worshiped her father. "I love his zest for life and his great human friendliness and humor," she explained. "He always wants everything on a big scale. He is the grandest of fathers." 3 As soon as she could, Aline was traveling the world, often accompanied by her father. "I was with him more than any of the family," Aline bragged, "because I too loved to move about and travel." 4
And travel Aline did. She was untroubled by the traditional expectations of a woman of her class, stating: "There is a new kind of woman in the world today." Perhaps the sad life of her mother (who died in 1907) encouraged Aline to pursue her artistic dreams. She became fascinated with the experimental theater movement that swept Europe in the first decades of the 20th century and used her considerable income to give herself a first rate education. She studied theater in Italy under the great actress Eleonora Duse, went to Berlin to see Max Reinhardt's famous theater, and frequented the small theaters of London. She had no interest in marriage and had a long term relationship with Lawrence Langer, an attorney with a similar love of the theater. Imploring Langer to live on her terms, she told him "Let's not philander -- let's be honest and direct, and live together!" 5
In 1913-14, the couple's progressive interests brought them to Chicago and New York. A particularly inspiring haunt was the famous Fine Arts Building in Chicago. The ornate building housed Maurice Browne's pioneering little theater (which was decorated like a small Greek temple) and the offices of Margaret Anderson, the mastermind behind the influential avant-garde literary journal, The Little Review. She also met the revolutionary communist Emma Goldman, who became a lifelong friend and beneficiary of Aline's financial kindness when she was deported to Russia.
Aline decided she wanted to produce theater, particularly theater for children -- a novel concept at the time. With her father's backing, she teamed with Arthur Bissell to form the Player Producing Company. Together they produced experimental plays in Room 734 of the Fine Arts Building. The first season, kicked off by the satirical play "Consequences," was a great success. Perhaps her most influential production at the Fine Arts Building was "Alice in Wonderland." Aline's belief that children's theater should be for all ages was printed on the show's playbill -- "A play for all children and most grownups." She then took the play to Broadway, where it received inspired reviews.
But Aline had far greater plans. In Chicago, she had met a brilliant young architect by the name of Frank Lloyd Wright. Though he had a bad reputation, both personally and professionally, Aline recognized his genius. She dreamed of creating a theatrical and artistic community -- a creative campus -- like the ones she had encountered in Europe. She hired Wright to design the complex. She also asked him to design a home for her, to be located in the center of the campus. She told Norman Bel Geddes, a young theater designer, of her plans. Geddes was not impressed with Wright, who he found arrogant and uneducated in theater design. When he pointed to flaws in Wright's preliminary design, Wright replied: "I have improved the forms of churches and houses and office buildings, and if left alone I will give you the finest theater in the world. If you are unable to leave me alone, I will not waste my time going any further with it." 6
Aline was equally imperious. When Bel Geddes assumed she would want her theater in New York, she scoffed: "If the theater is again to become a great force in the world, it is going to happen here in America where we have freedom of thought and action. And that too, is why my theater must be in California rather than New York." 7
The Crown of Olive Hill
Being possessed of an incorrigible wanderlust that made me wonder, sometimes, what she wanted a beautiful home for...a restless spirit disinclined to stay long at anytime in any one place, as she traveled over the face of the globe, she would drop suggestions as a warplane drops bombs and sails away into the blue.
--Frank Lloyd Wright 8
If you come up with a dry hole, walk away and look for the next opportunity.
--Theodore Barnsdall 9
While Wright worked intermittently on plans for Aline's proposed community, she decamped for Los Angeles. She and Bel Geddes opened the Little Theater in the Egan Dramatic School, on 9th and Figueroa Street. Soon they had a new partner, Robert Ordynski, "a suave sophisticate" and former assistant to Max Reinhardt, who served as director of the theater (he would later be the first stage manager of the Metropolitan Opera). Aline and Ordynski quickly became romantically involved. The first season at the Little Theater was a great success and brought to L.A. a kind of experimental theater and children's theater never seen before. However, all was not well between the strong willed Ordynski and Aline. But Aline was delighted when she discovered she was pregnant. She would keep the baby -- and raise it alone.
Aline's daughter, Louise Aline "Sugartop" Barnsdall, was born in Seattle on August 19, 1917. The Little Theater had scattered, and Aline traveled the country with her friend Roy George. She visited revolutionary friends like Emma Goldman and was trailed by the suspicious FBI, who would keep a file on Aline for decades. Her beloved father died, leaving her in charge of a large fortune. Though she was consumed by her daughter and other interests, she never forgot about her dream theater community. On June 3, 1919, she bought 36 acres on Olive Hill, a beautiful tract of land in quiet Los Feliz. Though at the time Wright was heavily involved in construction of the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo and consistently at odds with Aline, he designed a grand complex for Olive Hill. According to Wright's plans:
The private residence would be built first. It would be followed by the new theater complex to be built above an artificial lake extending from Hollywood Boulevard at the base of the hill. Reflected in its waters, the imposing main auditorium would rise upon a hillside esplanade, flanked by attendant studios and lecture halls. A restaurant was planned for the theater's roof, and other slopes of the hill would be occupied by residences for actors, artists, directors and others. 10
Construction of Aline's poured concrete home, to be known as "Hollyhock House," began in late 1920. The house was a vaguely Mayan/Japanese style that Wright termed "California Romanza." Wright and Aline's battles continued, and she fired him. The architect Rudolph Schindler was brought in to finish the house. It was a disappointment to Aline. She found the rooms small, the low roofs leaky, and the walls damp. The doors were so heavy that she complained, "I need three men and two boys to help me get in and out of my own house!" 11 Other buildings, including a "director's house," were constructed on the property. Aline spoke freely to the media about the project, partially to quell the worries of Los Feliz locals. When asked if she was selling some of the land for hotel development, she said: "The average hotel is inordinately a vulgarity." 12 She announced Bel Geddes was to be her proposed commune's theatrical director. Aline explained:
The true director of the drama must be a designer, must be able to visualize and to make his own settings. It may seem difficult to obtain the combination of designer and director, but I think that I know the man who will be capable of realizing my plan. 13
However, the plan met setback after setback. Litigation began with Wright over the project, Aline and Bel Geddes had a falling out, and Aline got the travel bug again. In 1923, she decided to throw in the towel. She offered "the crown of the hill," including Hollyhock House, to the city to be used as a library and a park. "I'm giving the property away as a library because I think the community out here deserves and needs one," she explained. Amazingly, the city did not accept the gift until December 23, 1926. The gift included eight acres of land on the top of the hill. The California Art Club was given Hollyhock House for a term of 15 years, and the park was to be named in honor of Aline's beloved father, Theodore. The deed was wrapped in a holiday bow. Since Aline was in Europe, her lawyer delivered a speech to the city council:
[Aline] has a great love of children and she has in the past few years done much in this city for the children along these lines. During all of this time she has had in mind the creation in this city of an art center and recreation building and place for children, entirely different from the ordinary playground, which will develop in the children a desire for the beautiful and the noble things of life, and today she has culminated her thoughts and endeavors in the form of a most beautiful Christmas gift to the city of Los Angeles. 14
The Art Club immediately moved its headquarters into Hollyhock House, and the park became a "beehive of civic activities in art and child recreation." The Little Lattice Theater, an outdoor children's theater built in the park, was the hit of the summer of 1927:
Hundreds of women and children and not a few grown men are weekly visitors to the Little Lattice Playhouse... Since the development of this open air playhouse where the audience finds seats on the terraced turf, the programs have drawn increasing attendance to the extent that three times it has been necessary to enlarge the seating area. 15
The California Art Club had their formal opening on August 31st, 1927. Aline was in attendance and supplied 64 European posters to be exhibited outside for artists and advertisers to study. One review noted: "When you have seen all the exhibits, however, there still remains the best exhibit of all, the building itself. It is, for most people, a new experience. Go outside and walk completely around the house. There are no such beautiful walls in California as these. See how gracefully they rise one above the other and combine with swaying poplar trees. Neither age nor the imitation of age are necessary to make the walls beautiful." 16
A Municipal Muddle
Sometimes I may be wistful and lonely, the less and less as I grow older, but who that is sensitive and dreams and loves beauty is not?
--Aline Barnsdall 17
Sadly, the golden age of Barnsdall Park was remarkably brief. Aline became deeply involved in the fight to free Frank Mooney (he was finally pardoned in 1939), a labor leader who had spent years in jail for the bombing of the San Francisco Preparedness Day Parade in 1916. She offered financial support. She also used the ring of land around the park that she still owned (along the busy roads of Hollywood Boulevard and Vermont Avenue) to advertise his case on giant billboards. Some were designed by the architect Lloyd Wright, Frank Lloyd Wright's son, who had also worked on the construction of the buildings at Barnsdall Park. The signs were changed over the years to promote new progressive causes, much to the chagrin of city hall and the amusement of passing motorists.
Aline was also in a perpetual fight with the city. In 1931, her bid to donate more land to the park ended with several heated Parks Department meetings. She requested the return of the additional lands. Political infighting, suspicion over her liberal beliefs and large wealth, and plain jealousy kept tensions consistently high. She also infuriated many with her demand that no war memorials be built on her donated land. Aline felt enough was not being done with what she had already given, and many agreed with her. In 1940, the city finally returned one of the residences (called residence B) on the hill that she had donated for the use of working women and girls, since nothing had been done with it in nine years. The California Art Club was unable to keep up with the costs of repairing Hollyhock House (Wright's structures are notoriously fallible). By the early '40s the Club had vacated the property, and the Park buildings were in disrepair.
Oddly enough, Aline, the world traveler, spent her last years at 1610 North Edgemont, the home (also designed by Frank Lloyd Wright) that the city had returned to her. She lived there with her twelve cocker spaniels, while Sugartop, now called Betty, lived nearby with her children. Aline and Betty had a contentious relationship. According to Herr, the double-jointed Betty had wanted to be a dancer, but Aline would not allow it, an interesting position for a "free-thinker." She had a better relationship with her grandsons. Always a lover of children, perhaps she took some comfort from the children that played in the unkempt park next door. But her fights continued with the city. In 1945, the fight took on absurd proportions when the city tried to make Aline remove barricades she had erected on her property. She had built the barricades to protect children playing on the hill above from falling into the traffic below. When she refused to take them down, the city did it for her as she protested.
You touch the barricades on my property at your own risk. They were put up to protect children playing on the steep bank in the park. The road is mine until it is dedicated. I demand this be done in 30 days and that a fence be erected along the west side on the park to protect the children! 18
After the barricades were taken down, her dogs romped around the park. The city, out of spite, charged her with failure to obey the dog leash ordinance. Another man claimed one of her dogs had bitten him as he walked up to the park. In the end, Aline paid a $100 fine. She died at her home on Dec. 18, 1946. That same year, Frank's son, Lloyd Wright, renovated Hollyhock House, saving it from almost certain demolition (a fate Residence B met a few years later).
By 1948, Barnsdall Park was so dangerous the local Los Feliz PTA stepped in to clean it up. The city reported that in the past year "50 tramps and degenerates" had been arrested in the park. It seemed Aline's dream had indeed died. But the Park saw a resurgence that year when Hollyhock House became the headquarters for the Clune Memorial Research and the Olive Hill Foundation. A temporary Municipal Art Gallery was built on the hill. After the foundation's successful residency, the city took control of the park. In 1963, it was registered as a National Historic Monument. A Junior Arts Center was constructed in 1967.
In 1971, the permanent Municipal Art Gallery, inspired by plans drawn up by Frank Lloyd Wright shortly before his death, was opened. The gallery included a theater, which no doubt would have pleased Aline. In 1975, the house underwent a $500,000 restoration, again under the direction of architect Lloyd Wright. Numerous restorations have taken place over the years, as have numerous periods of neglect and continual infighting between different government agencies over control of the park. The park still remains a little known gem, a place where children play and the downtrodden sleep.
Information on Barnsdall Art Park and Hollyhock House can be found here.
Information on the L.A. Municipal Art Gallery can be foundhere.
Further reading: "The Oilman's Daughter: A biography of Aline Barnsdall," by Norman M. and Dorothy K. Karasick.
1 Norman M. and Dorothy K. Karasick, "The Oilman's Daughter: A biography of Aline Barnsdall" (Carleston Publishing, 1993) 215
2 "The strange saga of Barnsdall Park" Los Angeles Times, March 15, 1970
3 Norman M. and Dorothy K. Karasick, "The Oilman's Daughter: A biography of Aline Barnsdall" (Carleston Publishing, 1993) 17
4 Ibid.
5 Ibid. 21
6 Ibid. 48
7 Ibid. 38
8 "The strange saga of Barnsdall Park" Los Angeles Times, March 15, 1970
9 Norman M. and Dorothy K. Karasick, "The Oilman's Daughter: A biography of Aline Barnsdall" (Carleston Publishing, 1993) 87
10 "The strange saga of Barnsdall Park" Los Angeles Times, March 15, 1970
11 Norman M. and Dorothy K. Karasick, "The Oilman's Daughter: A biography of Aline Barnsdall" (Carleston Publishing, 1993) 77
12 "Offers home for library" Los Angeles Times, December 7, 1923
13 "Noted woman to build on Olive Hill site" Los Angeles Times, July 6, 1919
14 "Million dollar gift delivered" Los Angeles Times, December 23, 1926
15 "Playground activities" Los Angeles Times, January 22, 1928
16 "Art and artists" Los Angeles Times, September 18, 1927
17 Norman M. and Dorothy K. Karasick, "The Oilman's Daughter: A biography of Aline Barnsdall" (Carleston Publishing, 1993) 209
18 "Park barricades removed by city" Los Angeles Times, March 8, 1945
"I realized long ago that it is only a case of a few years for an actress, before she gradually, sometimes almost imperceptibly, loses popularity, and younger ones start to take her place. Look at some of the one-time famous stars of a few years ago. Whoever hears of them now? Most of them are unhappy and rather bewildered. It's pretty hard to have your life long career at an end...So I decided long ago that I wasn't going to be one of them...The years are not going to bother me as they do so many of my colleagues; wrinkles won't worry me, neither will increasing weight, because as long as I can use my head, it won't matter how I look." -- Thelma Todd
Before Ryan Gosling's Tagine, Eva Longoria's Beso, and Rose McGowan's Dominick's, there was Thelma Todd's Sidewalk Café. But the story of Todd's life as a pioneering businesswoman has long been overshadowed by her tragic death on December 16th, 1935, in a garage above the restaurant that was supposed to secure her future. She was only 29 years old.
Thelma Todd was born in Lawrence, Massachusetts in 1906. An intelligent, personable girl, she trained to be a schoolteacher. But after being crowned Miss Massachusetts in 1925, Thelma was soon on the fast track to Hollywood. Beautiful and vivacious, she found a home at the Hal Roach Studios, where she became a popular personality in slapstick comedies. She was part of a comedy duo with the legendary Zasu Pitts, and later with Patsy Kelly. She would also appear in movies with Buster Keaton, the Marx Brothers and Joe E. Brown. Nicknamed "the Ice Cream Blond" and "Hot Toddy," Thelma was beloved by her co-workers because of her unaffected charm. She was known as a hard-partier on the L.A. social circuit, and was often heard ordering one more round of three fingers of rye, her signature drink.
From the beginning, Thelma seemed to see behind the façade of Hollywood. She despised the casting couch system, and longed to get out of the slapstick movie mill. To relax, she often cooked comfort foods for her friends. Lamb chops cooked "over a charcoal broiler" was one of her specialties. In 1931, Thelma fell in love with the much older, very married director Roland West during the filming of the movie Corsair. The affair ended, and Thelma rebounded by marrying playboy Pat DiCicco (future husband of Gloria Vanderbilt) in 1932. But Thelma and West couldn't deny their attraction, and they were soon back together.
"I have heard so much about the choice foods of those days preceding prohibition when eating was still a fine art. Always I read with great interest about the Bon Vivants of the Gay Nineties, when people dined with pomp and ceremony before they became addicted to grabbing a sandwich, a slab of pie and calling it a meal."
Using Roland's money and Thelma's name, the couple opened Thelma Todd's Sidewalk Café at 17575 Pacific Coast Highway in the summer of 1934. The café, which included a swank full bar, was an immediate hit with the movie elite, who didn't mind the cafe's high prices. There was a private area upstairs called Joya's Room, where customers dined on frog legs and grouse, and where some causal gambling may have been permitted. A typical advertisement for the café read:
"Thelma Todd's Sidewalk Café...serving a Long Island shore dinner, fish with Alison Sauce, unequaled; French-Italian dinner, pancakes suzette, unsurpassed...the reason- from the Savoy-London and the Crillon-Paris comes our chef."
Thelma was the consummate front woman. She was often at the café, sitting behind the counter to make change. Pictures of her posing in the kitchen, or standing in front of the café's marquee were distributed to newspapers and fan magazines. Tips were slipped to gossip columnists that Todd was "studying menus to get ideas for her own beachside café." By October 1935, the café was doing so well that the L.A. Times reported that "Business is so good that Thelma Todd is going to build a new addition to her sidewalk café... She plans to spend approximately $10,000 on improvements."
On the chilly winter night of December 15th, 1935, Thelma attended a party at Café Trocadero thrown in her honor by the 17-year old actress Ida Lupino and her parents. West, who worried about Thelma's drinking, warned her to be home by 2:00 a.m. She laughed and countered that she would be home by 2:05 a.m. That last night she was all business, talking movie ideas with Lupino's father and betting a table of Hollywood heavyweights that they wouldn't come to dine at her café the following evening. Around 3:30 a.m., a chauffeur dropped an unusually pensive Thelma at the café. He was the last person to see her alive.
The following evening, the party of studio executives came into the café to make good on their bet with Thelma. They asked where she was, and West told them that he assumed she was with her mother. On Monday morning, Thelma's maid found Thelma in a private garage, owned by West, up the road from the café. She was still in the shimmering blue evening dress she had worn on Saturday evening. She sat slumped over, in her Lincoln Phaeton, a little blood dried on her nose and mouth. She was dead.
Her death was a sensation. The media was in a frenzy, as was the movie colony, whose dramatic sensibilities were inflamed by the untimely death of this beloved personality. Tales of murder, suicide, and mob connections began to fly around Hollywood. People suspected West, Thelma's ex-husband Pat DiCicco (to whom she had spoken at the Trocadero), and even the gangster Lucky Luciano, although there is no proof the two ever even met. Many said Luciano had bumped her off because she refused to let gangsters gamble at the café. The tale was made more salacious by the fact that Thelma had recently been sent numerous extortion letters by an insane fan. Although the fan, who signed himself "Ace of Hearts," had been caught, connections between the letters and her death were still irresponsibly made. An inquest, encouraged by a power-mad grand jury foreman and attention seeking politicians, dragged on for weeks.
The story that emerged was more sad than scandalous. The most likely scenario is this. An intoxicated Thelma realized she was locked out of the café, and did not want to wake West up. She probably either walked up the road or the set of winding stairs that led to the garage, to sleep for a few hours until it was daylight. It was cold that December evening, and she probably turned the car on to get warm. She was quickly overcome by the fumes, and died of carbon monoxide poisoning. The coroner confirmed that she was intoxicated, died of carbon monoxide poisoning, and did not have any bruises or cuts that were evidence of a beating or struggle, despite media reports to the contrary.
Only four days after her death, West announced the reopening of the café, in the Los Angeles Times:
We wish to take this opportunity of thanking Miss Todd's many friends and admirers for their kind thoughts during our recent bereavement. We also wish to advise that we are going to endeavor to carry on as Miss Todd would have liked, doing business as Thelma Todd's Inn.
But he soon found Thelma's name now conjured up sadness and unease, not business. He changed the café's name to Chez Roland. Nightclub acts were added, and West found another young hostess, named Queenie Shannon, to be the face of the business for a number of years. He eventually remarried Lola, one of the famous Lane sisters. After his death, Lola gave the café building to Paulist Productions, a popular Catholic production company.
Thelma's death remained the stuff of legend. Years later, both Hal Roach and the actor Chester Morris would claim West had killed Thelma. Morris even claimed West had confessed on his deathbed. Salacious TV movies (one starring Loni Anderson) and books, like the infamous Hollywood Babylon, painted Thelma in a distorted, sleazy light. She is only remembered as a victim of Hollywood. She should also be remembered as one smart cookie.
Further reading: The Life and Death of Thelma Todd, by William Donati.
I am greeted at the unique metal gate (which displays the house's numerical address using pool balls) by the jovial Troy Evans, who has owned the home with wife Heather since 1996. "Do you like the gate?" he asks, as we walk through a front garden filled with potted plants, happy flowers and homemade ornaments. "I have to brag, here is the artist herself." He presents a beaming Heather, who stands on the porch to greet me. We walk into the front parlor, an Arts and Crafts stunner filled with artwork, books and contented warmth. Everywhere there are reminders of Edwin and Anna Hiner, the couple who built this house in 1922 -- paintings, a cornet, photos, and sheet music. Troy points out an original wall mural depicting a group of Rocco beauties playing musical instruments. It was painted by the local artist Jay Steven Ward. He holds up an old copy of Etude magazine that he found in an antique shop on vacation -- it is the same picture, which he surmises the Hiners asked Ward to copy.
We proceed through the bright, antique filled kitchen to the backyard, which is magical. There is a pond with fountains made from brass horns. There is a birdhouse that is painted black, with the word "Nevermore" stenciled on it in white. A tepee, handmade by Troy and decorated with sketches of brightly colored fish, houses Heather's blacksmith shop. Tools and artwork are scattered all around. "Sousa Nook," a cabin like structure constructed by the Hiners, now Troy's workspace, is filled with sewing machines and scraps of leather. Outside, I ask if a particular piece of grillwork is Heather's. "No," she explains, "someone brought it to me. People bring me things all the time, odds and ends that they think I might like to use." As I chat with this devoted, talented couple, I think of the words of columnist Lee Shipeey, who visited the home over 80 years ago. He called the Hiners' residence "the house that love built." 1
Full Toot
Dr. Hiner has a history that is replete with incident, drama and fame. A quarter century ago, his Third Regiment Band concert was heard by President McKinley, and Mrs. McKinley showed her appreciation by presenting Dr. Hiner with a beautiful bouquet of roses. His musical ability is known from coast to coast.
--Los Angeles Times, March 17, 1923 2
When Dr. Edwin M. Hiner and his wife, Anna, arrived in Los Angeles around 1919, they were already in the middle of two long and distinguished careers. "Doc" Hiner, born in Kansas in 1872, was a noted Kansas City band leader, cornet master, and teacher who had led his Third Regiment Band to the Spanish American War. He worked for a time as a dentist to supplement his income. Lee Shipeey, an L.A. Times columnist and native of Kansas City, remembered that "as a kid we were ready at any time to walk a mile to hear 'Doc' Hiner's band" play evening concerts in various public parks. Anna Hiner was a noted soprano and favored soloist of John Phillip Sousa, the famed military composer of such patriotic tunes as "Stars and Stripes Forever." Sousa was a great friend of the couple (he called Dr. Hiner "my brilliant young friend") and visited them frequently. He dedicated his composition, "The American Girl," to Anna. 3
Not long after the Hiners came to town, The Los Angeles Times heralded their arrival:
Dr. E.M. Hiner has been interested in band work and has directed bands all his life, starting at the age of 15. For 30 years he conducted Hiner's Band of Kansas City. He is the head of Hiner's Band School in Kansas City, the biggest institution of its kind in the country and now is in charge of the Los Angeles branch. He has instructed some of the world's greatest artists in band playing and possesses one of the largest band libraries in existence. The dream of his life is to develop the world's greatest brass band [...] He feels that Los Angeles is destined to become the art and music center of the world and hence has chosen this section of the country for the concentration of his efforts toward the goal of his dreams. 4
The Hiners soon became part of the thriving Los Angeles music scene. Hiner opened a school and put new bands together, including a cornet quartet. His bands, which often included Anna as a soloist, were featured frequently on KHJ, the L.A. Times Radio Station. They played music as varied as "Dixie," "In the Cathedral," and "Joy to the World," along with many Sousa marches. Dr. Hiner's version of "Taps" was often singled out for particular praise. So was Anna's singing voice, which a reviewer called "a merry voice, a voice of pleasing range and power, a voice of unusual personality [...] Not only is her voice an asset, but also her smile." 5 In 1924, The Los Angeles Times reported on one radio concert rhapsodically:
Under a big white tent on the roof of the Time's building, thirty five musicians under the direction of Dr. E.M. Hiner yesterday morning gave a band concert in commemoration of Armistice Day. The music touched and thrilled the hearts of thousands of listeners throughout Radioland, inspiring new patriotism and love for those principles which are rooted in the hearts of every American man and woman. Sousa's stirring march "Stars and Stripes Forever" opened the program [...] In the great coliseum of Los Angeles, where people were gathering for the celebration and services to take place later in the day, the thousands who were there rose to their feet as Dr. Hiner's band sent out the opening bars of the "Star Spangled Banner." The western electric public address system installed in the coliseum was reproducing with tremendous volume the program broadcast by KHJ. 6
In 1922, the Hiners constructed a two story Arts and Crafts bungalow on a lot next to a spring, in the heart of Highland Park. They hired the architect Carl Boller, a fellow Kansas City native best known for his designs of movie houses. Highland Park fit the Hiners like a glove. Since the 1880s, the neighborhood had been known for its bohemian population, which included many artists, professors and writers. Sycamore Grove Park played host to many outdoor concerts, while much of the neighborhood's social life centered around the nearby Southwest Museum. The Hiners would soon become a vital part of the cultural whirl of Highland Park, bringing music and artistry to the neighborhood for decades to come.
Work and Love and Enthusiasm
Passing the northern end of Sycamore Grove yesterday, our attention was arrested by a house which seemed to suggest that friendly, simple and very artistic people dwelt there. While we paused, irresolute, a burst of music came from somewhere in the rear. Not radio music but real honest-to-goodness human music. That settled it. We rang the bell. But we got no answer. So we strolled around the house. There half a dozen earnest young men were exercising band instruments, led by an older man who fairly exuded energy and enthusiasm. But at sight of us he stopped. "Why, hello, Lee!" he exclaimed. "I've been wondering if you'd ever find me. I've been intending to call you up -- but have been too all fired busy." "We didn't know you were here," we explained. "We were just attracted by the house and grounds." "Hooray!" cried the doctor. "That pleases us a lot, for Mama and I built this all by ourselves. We drove over into the Arroyo with an old car and brought all the stones for it, and then helped build it, too." 7
The Hiner house was not only a personal home, it was also Dr. Hiner's music school. Most days, boys and girls could be found in the front parlor or backyard, learning to play instruments under Dr. Hiner's loving instruction. The Hiners could often be found across the street at Sycamore Grove Park where they provided music for events such as the annual state picnic for 15,000 Missouri natives, and the annual "Over Seventy Folks Society" reunion. His band led the Easter sunrise service at the Southwest Museum, serenading a crowd of 5,000 with the "Hallelujah Chorus." Dr. Hiner also helped teach schoolchildren at the Museum's twice monthly music appreciation club. He founded the music department at the Los Angeles Normal School, which eventually became UCLA. His teaching methods extended into shaping his students' moral character, and he often utilized them in the improvement of his home:
Everything else here is built by us [Doc and Anna], with the help of some of my boys. I just don't teach boys to play instruments. I teach 'em to work and save money [...] We build all our music racks, our walks, our seats, our barbeque ovens. I give extra instructions to the boys for helping me build things and they all feel it is their place. See our assembly hall over there, Sousa Nook we call it. We built that and Sousa came out to dedicate it. When I bought this place nine years ago it was a public dump, and it's cost mighty little to make it what it is. Just work and love and enthusiasm. I couldn't saw a board when we started. I hadn't an idea of how to mix concrete or lay cement. I've learned so that now my boys learn music and manual training together.8
Of course, the Hiners' world was much larger than the cozy neighborhood of Highland Park. The KHJ children's hour frequently featured kids trained by Hiner, playing both classical and popular selections. Hiner's band performed in Pershing Square, the fiesta room at the Ambassador, and after their great friend Sousa's death in 1932, a memorial concert at the Hotel Rosslyn, featuring musicians who had played under the legendary composer. Perhaps one of Anna's most interesting performances was as Wagner's tragic Brunhilda, staged in Westlake Park. Accompanied by her husband's band, she sang a battle cry from a "burning" boat in the middle of the park's lake, as spectators in canoes rowed all around.]]> During World War II, over 100 of "Doc's" students were in army bands. This made him extremely happy. Interviewed at his home, Hiner told a reporter that he believed that this "war's great march" had yet to be written. "All the war songs written this time have been thrown together primarily to sell," he explained. "There hasn't been any real inspiration in back of them. You have to have a lot of inspiration to write a march." 9 Surprisingly, the grand old bandmaster seems to have written only one tune in his life, a "rollicking number" called "Seabiscuit," in honor of the famous racehorse.
In September 1947, the 75 year old Hiner played a special afternoon concert at Sycamore Grove Park, where he had entertained so many people for so many years. He died at his beloved house in 1948. Anna lived in "the house that love built" until her death in 1969. After that, Everett Moore, her son from a previous marriage, became the owner of the house. He lived there until his death in the early 1990s.
"Many a Saturday, I lay on the lawn of Sycamore Grove opposite Dr. Hiner's house and listened to his band rehearsing the Sousa Marches. I never will forget him standing under the shade of the great oak tree in his shirt sleeves directing the band"
--Frederick Morrison, 1972 10
By the time Everett died, Highland Park had long since become a troubled neighborhood. The Hiner house was designated a Historic Cultural Landmark by the city in 1972, which helped save it from destruction. When Troy and Heather bought the home, they lovingly restored it and revitalized the grounds.
Over the past few years, Highland Park has also been restored and revitalized. Many young, artistic people are moving into the neighborhood, drawn to the wide array of fixer-upper historic homes and the area's creative vibe. In 2005, the outdoor theater in the park was renamed the Sousa-Hiner Bandshell, in honor of the friendship between the two men. After the dedication ceremony, Troy and Heather hosted a party at their storied home. With tears in his eyes, Troy told me how several of Hiner's former students, now in their 70s and 80s, had come to the house. All had worked as professional musicians. One, who had been paralyzed since he was a child, told of how Hiner had carried him to his chair for his lessons. As the students reminisced, the artistic past and present of this enchanted home were together under one very merry roof.
Special thanks to Heather and Troy!
1 "KHJ peace day music charms" Los Angeles Times, November 12, 1923
2 "Irish night of KHJ" Los Angeles Times, March 17, 1923
3 "Lee Side of L.A." Los Angeles Times Jan 20 ,1943
4 "KHJ peace day music charms" Los Angeles Times, November 12, 1923
5 Irish night of KHJ" Los Angeles Times, March 17, 1923
6 "KHJ peace day music charms" Los Angeles Times, November 12, 1923national songs by radio)
7 "Lee Side of L.A." Los Angeles Times, Jan 10 1929
8 Ibid.
9 "Band expert says wars march still unwritten" Los Angeles Times, March 20, 1943
10 "Cultural Heritage Board" Los Angeles Times November 26, 1972
Nothing is less fantastical than a charmless California park on an excruciatingly hot Wednesday afternoon. Last week, an older and more traveled me stood in the middle of the sparsely populated George Bellis Park in Buena Park. The Santa Ana Freeway was in full view. I scrutinized a vaguely whimsical but rundown lamppost that had seen better days, trying to determine if it was left over from Japanese Village and Deer Park -- an "enchanted village" patronized in the 1960s and '70s by thousands of urban Angelenos desperate for wildlife, trees, and fairytales. I passed a utilitarian playground where a weary-looking family of four stood listlessly, next to the swings but not on them. I passed what may be leftover concession stands, now boarded up, and lonely looking people eating lunch at covered picnic tables. I tried to determine if the various species of trees had been planted by the amusement park or by the state, and then I realized it didn't really matter.
I walked next door to the Village Business Park, which was built over part of the amusement park in the late '70s. The business park consists of bright white warehouses and office buildings. A couple of men and women dressed in grey walked by, not smiling, carrying lunch sacks. I found it all relentlessly grim. I wished this area was still purposed for second rate amusement -- with koi ponds, basketball playing bears, and deer running through a make-believe forest that defused the harsh California sun. But then I remembered the stories I had read about the deer's eventual fate. I remembered that animals used for human entertainment often have a distressing life. I guess what I really wanted was to escape. I got back in my sweltering car, turned on some country song about chilling at the beach with your crew, and pretended I was on a tropical island. I immediately felt much better.
Authentically Costumed Kabuki
Where miniature deer eat from your hand, snowy pigeons and doves act like household pets and brown bears perform their comic antics
-- Los Angeles Times, March 8, 1968 1
With buttons you can shape an animal's behavior just as a sculptor shapes clay.
-- Los Angeles Times, June 16, 1970 2
Allen Parkinson was an idea man. After thumbing his way to California, the handsome and charismatic Idaho native worked for Mercury Records as a salesman. In the late 1950s, he developed Sleep-Eze, the antihistamine sleeping aid that launched a thousand imitators. After selling the company in 1959, Parkinson travelled to Europe with his daughter. A visit to Madame Tussaud's inspired him to open the Movieland Wax Museum in Buena Park in Orange County, in 1962. A few years later, a trip to Japan's famous Nara Deer Park led him to open the Japanese Village and Deer Park on 29 acres of land adjacent to the already successful Wax Museum.
When it opened in 1967, the "only authentic Japanese Village in the western hemisphere" 3 featured a herd of 200 exotic deer, and ducks, bears, black swans, and a dove pavilion. There was a Japanese teahouse, "vaguely" Japanese food, and an overwhelmingly Asian staff. A 2,500 seat aquatheater, believed to be "the largest inland artificial body of salt water in the world," was constructed in 1969. It was home to a water show with seals, dolphins, and "bears shipped to the village from Hokkaido, Japan." 4
The park was one of many already in the area. Orange County was fast becoming the "great American family fun zone," boasting amusements including Disneyland, Knott's Berry Farm, and Melodyland. 5 Parkinson explained that his park's location, just off the freeway, brought in increased business to the Japanese Village. A "Robot-San" samurai warrior, modeled after park announcer Masa Ikeda, greeted visitors near the pearl lagoon. Ikeda joked that the robot -- who was a few inches taller and could be programmed to speak any language -- prompted his co-workers to say, "they'd rather go out with him than me." 6 The Village offered these kinds of prosaic alternatives to the thrill rides and extreme attractions at other nearby amusements. The park's atmosphere drew rhapsodic praise from L.A. Times columnist Lois Dawn, who visited in 1970:
The buildings are as gay as the tilt of a dancers hand, the gardens a precise bow to the beauty of proportion, the fish, birds, animals are real and the performances are delightful. [There are] Japanese dancers, demonstrations of karate, performing chimpanzees, a bear that swings on a trapeze, and an enchanting dolphin that teases his lovely Japanese mermaid partner, dances with her, and leaps magnificently. The park is ingeniously arranged so that in the midst of a crowd you may wander alone. You may go with everyone in the enclosure with the deer, tame enough not only to eat from your hands but also to nibble your coat...The long system of pools where the off-stage dolphins practice swimming and roll over to show you their wise, sensible, comical faces will also seem like your own private discovery. There are shops, glass blowers, shrines, banners, lanterns-and you may buy an oyster guaranteed to have a pearl for $2.85. The tea ceremony is performed every hour in a tiny garden with tree trunks to sit on and a pretty girl to explain over an out of place microphone. 7
Hundreds of animals called the park home. There was Gunta, the 450 pound somersaulting bear, Newtka the killer whale, and Madras the Bengal tiger, to name a few. They worked in front of audiences most days of the week. The bears played basketball, clapping after each basket. Big Ben, a macaw, roller skated across a platform while his fellow macaw Mumbles did a high-wire bicycle act. Old Gold, the 50 year-old, $700 koi fish, played poker (by swimming to certain cards) with audience members, winning upward of 90% of the time 8
Parkinson hired trainers like Don Smith, "The Dr. Doolittle of Japanese Village," and his wife, Becky. 9 One of his employees was a man named Silverio Nieto, an illiterate Mexican immigrant whose gentle, intuitive way with animals made him a park legend. The trainers used new training methods based on rewarding and encouraging animals instead of using the old methods of fear, pain, and punishment. Smith used a technique developed by Dr. B.F. Skinner called "operant conditioning," which he directed from "an electronic console behind barred doors and a heavy glass window." 10 "It's really quite simple," Smith explained, "you give the animal a job to do, let him figure out how to do it and reward him when he does it. Animals are quick to learn what behavior or trick results in a reward. They'll work like heck. Food is their god, but they also get an electronic tone that means well done for reinforcement." 11
In 1970, "for reasons of health," Parkinson sold the Japanese Village and Deer Park, and Movieland Wax Museum, to Great Southwest Co., a subsidiary of Six Flags Inc. The park continued much as before until 1974, when a "historic lack of attendance" persuaded the management to close the park. According to the L.A. Times,
Closing of the park just as the Christmas season is getting under way had a gloomy effect on the few employees still working Tuesday. They went about their duties almost silently. At a food pavilion, chairs and benches were piled atop tables. In another area, benches once reserved for tourists were taken over by flocks of doves and pigeons. On a stage where acrobats and karate teams had performed, there was only stillness and an air of loneliness. In the deer pens, once a favorite of children, the animals quietly grazed. 12
The Gentle Jungle
Sponsors call it a gentle jungle because the exotic creatures have been taught not to feed -- or feed on -- the human beings
-- Los Angeles Times, June 27, 1976 13
Thus began the darkest chapter of the park's history. Though the public was reassured that all the animals would be cared for at the park until they found a new, safe home -- that does not appear to be what happened. At some point after the parks closure, some of the park's deer "were sent to UC Davis for use in a $50,000 tuberculosis study, and others were destroyed after tests indicated that some of the animals had positive reactions to the TB tests." 14 According to the L.A. Times, gentle Silverio was the one who had to lasso some of the exposed deer so that they could be put down. There were also reports that before the park had closed, animals had been malnourished, and a tiger had mauled a guard. Due in part to these disturbing stories, the park sat empty for two years.
In February 1976, the park was bought by Enchanted Village Inc., and headed by Ralph Helfer, a Hollywood animal trainer who founded the "affection training method of communicating through mutual love, respect and understanding." 15 By May 1976, one hundred men were working on the new attraction, which would include "several hundred animals and a bridge of enchantment which leads visitors to exhibits and attractions." 16 When the "Enchanted Village opened in June 1976, the L.A. Times reported:
Tropical birds, mysterious sounds, sudden, exotic mists [...] At night, thanks to accent lighting, the gentle jungle becomes even more dramatic. The trail leads over the bridge of enchantment. Wind chimes and incense reinforce the magical feeling. Finally, one encounters the personification of the gentle jungle-in bronze -- a majestic lion and his lamb. In the outdoor gentle jungle theater there are demonstrations of what affection training is all about. Shows recreate many of the most spectacular moments from great animal films and will add a few new ones as well: a man being stalked and attacked by a leopard; a bear being wrestled; an ostrich being ridden. The bicentennial tribute to animals is in the 3000 seat theater. It is a tribute to the great animals of America features horses eagles snakes and bears -- along with human singers and dancers. 17
Costing less per person than a first run movie, the Enchanted Village had a decidedly '70s, hippie vibe. There were a number of "happenings" throughout the park. They included "a beautiful girl playing a guitar and singing on a grassy knoll with an enormous lion lying like a kitten at her feet, a man covered with tarantulas, or even a girl entangled by a 75 pound python." 18 Children could pet goats and tortoises at "touching places." However, there were no deer lest the new park be associated with the old park's sins. At the "non-shooting gallery" guests could take pictures of rotating wildlife. Hefler's wife, Toni, led curious journalists through the park while "nuzzling a timber wolf and flirting with a lion and a Tiger named Patty Cake." 19
Journalists were most eager to meet Oliver, a South African primate, whose upright walk and human behaviors (including crying, smoking and a strong attraction to human ladies) led many to incorrectly believe he may be "the missing link." Dubbed a "humanzee," Oliver was already a national star when he arrived at the Enchanted Village. He performed three times a day and "never got stage fright." 20 But even Oliver's star power could not make the Enchanted Village a financial success. The Village went into bankruptcy and closed in 1978. Helfer moved his animals to the OC fairgrounds. Sadly, Oliver passed from trainer to trainer, and then to an experimentation lab where he was kept in a small cage for years. He was finally rescued and spent his old age at an animal sanctuary, dying in 2012.
No More Magic
In July of 1979, ground was broken on the Village Business and Industrial Center, where the amusement parks used to stand. The park's design allegedly followed "a European plan," though its effect is not evident at the visually style-less office park all these years later. In 1986, a group of over 300 former Japanese Village employees attended a reunion organized by Darlene Yoshikwa. "We all hugged each other," Darlene said, "it was heartwarming." 21 I guess that is the best kind of magic there is, and it is 100% real.
1 Los Angeles Times, March 8, 1968
2 "Pushbuttons teach animals" Los Angeles Times, June 16, 1970
3 "Aquatheater" Los Angeles Times, May 18, 1969
4 "Calendar" Los Angeles Times, October 15, 1967
5 "OC Tourism" Los Angeles Times, October, 1973
6 "Robot" Los Angeles Times, August 2, 1970
7 "Roundabout" by Lois Dawn, Los Angeles Times, December 4, 1970
8 "There's a Catch" Los Angeles Times, March 26, 1972
9 Ibid.
10 "Pushbuttons teach animals" Los Angeles Times, June 16, 1970
11 "On training animals" Los Angeles Times, August 22, 1969
12 "Japanese Village theme park in Orange County shuts down" Los Angeles Times, December 4, 1974
13 "Mingling with wildlife in gentle jungle" Los Angeles Times, June 27, 1976
14 "Deer Park was empty" Los Angeles Times, February 4, 1976
15 "New family attraction" Los Angeles Times, June 11, 1976
16 Ibid.
17 Ibid.
17 Ibid.
19 "Mingling with wildlife in gentle jungle" Los Angeles Times, June 27, 1976
20 "Olive is enough to drive an anthropologist bananas" Los Angeles Times, January 26, 1977
21 "People" Los Angeles Times, September 2, 1986
"People in Los Angeles have not acquired the market habit to the extent that people in most other large cities have. On this coast, both San Francisco and Seattle have had large and well patronized markets for years, but here we have been slow about getting them. The Grand Central Market is designed to change this condition." -- Homer Laughlin Jr., 1917
"You can learn a great deal about life as well as about living at the Grand Central Market." -- L.A. Times, December 11, 1928
In July of 1898, a new commercial building of "elegant office rooms" and retail space was opened at 317 Broadway, the hub and heart of downtown Los Angeles. It was built by a man named Homer Laughlin, and designed by famed L.A. architect John Parkinson. The Beaux Arts-style, "absolutely fire-proof" structure promised "plenty of fresh air and sunshine in every room," as well as "unequalled janitor, heating, electric, lighting, hot and cold water services." The building's offices were inhabited by socially important groups such as the Red Cross and the School Board. The retail spaces were home to shops like "the Ladies Tailoring Company," which offered silk-lined jackets made from imported cloth. Perfectly located across the street from Angeles Flight and the well-to-do homes on Bunker Hill, the building was massively expanded to Hill Street, in 1905, to make way for "Ville de Paris," a large dry goods store that aimed to be the next Marshall Fields. Bustling Ville de Paris occupied the ground floor, whose extension was built on a gradual incline, making it possible to see all over the store.
As the population of Los Angeles exploded in the early 20th century, Angeleno leaders increasingly focused on building institutions and public spaces that would make L.A. a first class city, on par with imagined rivals in the East and Northwest. One of the things Los Angeles lacked was a grand produce center -- which many considered ludicrous, given California's fertile fields and abundant crops. In 1917, Homer Laughlin Jr. teamed with noted market man C.A. Goss to open Grand Central Market on the ground floor of the Laughlin Building, the same space once occupied by the "Ville de Paris,"(which had moved to a new location). The Los Angeles Times lauded the space, which would have "every kind of food product" one could think of:
"Many merchants have already signed leases for quarters in the market and the place will present a scene of lively activity from the day it is thrown open to the public. The market will be the largest and best equipped of its kind on the coast. More than 72,000 square feet of floor space are being utilized for the erection of stalls and booths for commodious aisles and promenades. The great room is a block depth extending from Broadway to Hill and having attractive entrances on each of these thoroughfares. Among the conveniences provided will be an information bureau and checkroom for visitors and patrons, a ladies roast-room and a drinking fountain set in a bower of Cyprus trees and greenery. A fully equipped refrigerator system is being installed for the keeping of all perishable products. The basement will be given over to the use of farmers and gardeners for the display and marketing of fresh products from the fields." -- Los Angeles Times, October 21, 1917
The market quickly became a mecca for Angelenos of all backgrounds, as well as a source of great civic pride. By 1926, an estimated forty thousand people flooded the 120 stalls of the gargantuan market daily from 8am to 10pm. Many of the vendors were recent immigrants, "The Japanese flower and produce men, the German chef, the Italian cheese vender and the American grocer, all doing business side by side," said the L.A. Times in 1926.
The patrons were often housewives: from those in the comfortable middle-class to the "less fortunate sister" who had to content herself with shopping in the basement, where the cheaper grade of goods was kept. For wealthier women, these weekly visits to the market were "always anticipated with a certain amount of pleasure" because she could eat a meal she had not cooked herself, and socialize with friends at one of the numerous lunch counters or restaurants within the sprawling complex. The meat was plentiful: there were no fewer than fourteen butcher shops. The fresh, generally high quality produce was consistently sold a few cents cheaper than anywhere else in Los Angeles. A visitor to the market noted, in a 1926 L.A. Times article:
"Mountains of head lettuce, watercress, spinach, beets, shiny carrots, red radishes, and fresh young onions intermingled with splashes of brighter colors from floral and fruit booths, overcrowded aisles and a seething mass of elbowing, pushing humanity, laden down with shopping bags-that is a bird's eye description of one of the largest markets in the world, the Grand Central Market of Los Angeles, which feeds millions of people annually. Every sort of fruit as well as every kind of vegetable grown in Southern California can be purchased here throughout the year. There are, for instance, great quantities of yellow loquats, persimmons, pomegranates, peaches, guavas, oranges, avocados, grapefruit, the lowly apple and all the various kinds of berries that help to make one feel, indeed, as if looking into the proverbial horn of plenty which has so long been consider symbolic of California."
Tourists flocked to the market, buying candied nuts and fruits from Mr. Goss's booth, or perhaps purchasing Flaxolyn, a "harmless natural food laxative," from Jones Grain Mill after they had eaten too many slices of Swift's Premium Ham, on sale at Fox Stall B-2 for 45 cents. Competition between various outlets led to some innovative marketing practices. There was one stall with a sign that read "DON'T STEAL THE GARLIC," to subliminally remind busy businessmen that they sold garlic, just in case their wives asked them to pick it up on the way home from work. Competition also led to some unethical practices, and stall owners were often arrested and fined for displaying large bell peppers or tomatoes, only to bag smaller and less appealing specimens for customers. The Depression and World War II presented their own challenges to the market. The scarcity of meat during the War caused customers to swamp butcher shops whenever they were rumored to have received fresh meat.
Grand Central's retailers and regular customers dramatically shifted along with the changing demographics and growing economic depression of post-war downtown. In 1960, the market was said to have over 250,000 customers each week, and food products from 95 countries. The market had its share of colorful characters, like the man begging outside the market who was found to have over $8000 spread about his person, and the blind man who sold pens. He wore a hat that stated, "they write the best love letters." The Laughlin building became dominated by the market: its upstairs space was largely vacant for years.
The market itself was reinvigorated by a large population of recent immigrants from Mexico and Latin America who moved into the area. By 1968, the proliferation of supermarkets and farmers markets around L.A. had made Grand Central Market a more local affair, with 52 stalls catering primarily to lower income families who lived nearby. Market master Harold Abbot explained to the Times, "We cater to laboring people with large families who want quantity rather than quality, although some of our food is as good a quality as any."
"Bargain meat" like lamb heads and turkey tails shared space with kosher burritos. By 1978, the L.A. Times estimated that around half of the 180,000 weekly shoppers at the market were of Latino descent. A visiting journalist explained:
"The current flavor of the market is Chicano although the produce is distinctly Cosmopolitan- Polish hams, Italian handmade sausage, Japanese chili, Holland edam cheese, German quality wieners, California seedless grapes, Jewish salami and every kind of rice and bean."
Grand Central was more of a meeting place than ever for its regular customers; a place to socialize with people who spoke your language and understood your culture. It was a frequent stomping ground for politicians on the campaign trail, who saw it as a valuable place to meet and be photographed with constituents. It was a place to find exotic foods like baked lamb heads, soft tacos with beef cheeks or brains, and "the most tantalizing assortment of richly colored chili peppers north of the Mexican border." (L.A. Times, 1985.) Vendors supplied affordable, healthy food to struggling families by selling day-old bread, and past "sell-by date" produce. In 1985, it was estimated that food stamp purchases made up 20 percent of sales at the market. That same year, the market was bought by Beverly Hills attorney Ira Yellin, and for over 20 years he and his family lovingly ran the market with an eye toward preservation and sustainability.
The past ten years have seen the resurgence of downtown as a place of hip, trendy businesses and wealthy, progressive residents. With some of the best restaurants in the country now calling downtown Los Angeles home, it is not surprising that the market, now guided by Ira's widow, Adele, has suddenly become a nationally recognized hot spot, featuring notable eateries like Eggslut, Horse Thief, Belcampo Meat Company, Sticky Rice, and Wexler's Deli. This year, irony abounded when Bon Appétit voted the entire market one of the "best new restaurants" of 2014. As Grand Central Market welcomes new, trendy tenants, one hopes they do not abandon the vendors and customers who kept the market afloat for so many years. After all, variety is the spice of life.
See food editor Katherine Spiers' favorite Grand Central Market dishes here.]]>

subset: commoncrawl