Monday, September 17, 2018

The Orange County Plain Dealer

Our Anaheim/Nixon/Disneyland friend Jason Schultz just added another 4,000 scanned pages of the Anaheim Gazette to the many old Anaheim newspapers he’s digitized and made available at This amazing resource includes a brief history of the Gazette, and I thought Jason might also appreciate brief histories of some of the other Anaheim papers. Naturally, I began with the most obscure.  Here’s a slightly longer version of my history of the Orange County Plain Dealer, which Jason may or may not decide to use…

The Orange County Plain Dealer was launched in January 1898 – briefly in Fullerton, before moving to Anaheim, depending on which accounts one reads. Although it covered North Orange County generally, the newspaper’s focus was Anaheim-centric to the point that it was often incorrectly called the Anaheim Plain Dealer. The paper was originally owned and edited by James E. Valjean, the former editor of the Portsmouth (Ohio) Blade, a Republican, and the inventor of an improved stomach pump. He bought a small local paper called the Independent and built the Plain Dealer on its bones. The name of the new paper may well have been inspired by the Cleveland Plain Dealer in his previous home of Ohio. Once the new Orange County Plain Dealer became established, Valjean’s wife, Sarah Jane, moved from Ohio to Anaheim to be with him. In 1913, he made Earl R. Abbey (future Orange County Coroner) manager of the paper.

Shortly after a destructive fire at the newspaper plant and just prior to Valjean’s death in 1914, Abbey became the Plain Dealer’s publisher. Fred A. Chamberlain, also an employee of the paper, became editor. They purchased the paper and remained until 1916, when Paul Vincent Hester (editor) and Rolla Ward Ernest (manager) became the paper’s new co-owners and operators.

Ernest, going through an ugly divorce and looking for ways to lower his alimony, tried to sell his interest in the paper to Hester in 1923.  But Judge Cox put the kibosh on the sale.

On May 8, 1925, publishers Ernest and Hester sold the entirety of the Plain Dealer (by now an afternoon daily paper) to John S. Baker and his son-in-law, Anaheim Bulletin publisher Lotus Harry Loudon, for $35,000.  The afternoon daily was purchased with financial help from Loudon’s friends, developers Alfonso Bell (tennis star, oil tycoon and namesake of the communities of Bel Air, Bell, and Bell Gardens) and Phillip A. Stanton (politician who founded Seal Beach, Huntington Beach and Stanton). Louden and Baker immediately merged the Plain Dealer with the Bulletin.

Lotus H. Louden
A $90,000 libel suit against the Plain Dealer by Rev. James Allen Geissenger of the White Temple Methodist Church contributed to the newspaper's sale. The Plain Dealer had accused Geissenger of supporting the Ku Klux Klan’s recent takeover of Anaheim’s city government. However, hard evidence to support this claim could not be produced in court. The court forced Ernest and Hester to make a large payment to Geissenger, print a retraction on the front page (of the very last issue) of the Plain Dealer, and agree not to engage in newspaper work for at least fifteen years. Handing the reigns over to Loudon as publisher may have been one final slap at Geissenger and his associates, since Loudon was also an ardent adversary of the KKK. (Loudon was also a co-founder of the Anaheim Halloween Festival – where, he reckoned, dressing up like a bed-sheet ghost was more acceptable.)

Today, scattered issues of the Plain Dealer, beginning April 1898, can be found at the library at University of California Irvine's Special Collections. More complete runs of the Plain Dealer, from Sept. 1902 to March 1903 and from Jan. 1919 to May 1925, can be found on microfilm at the Anaheim Heritage Room. Of this latter collection, all but the issues from April 30, 1919 through December 1920 are now available at

Monday, August 20, 2018

More than a Big Boy combo plate

Bob's Big Boy, quite literally, gave me my first vision of what the world was like.

No, really.

I was born legally blind, but nobody (including me) knew it for a while. Unintentionally, I disguised the problem behind surprisingly effective coping mechanisms. And of course I didn't know that vision COULD be anything other than a haze of fuzzy shapes and colors. So I had not complaints.

I was three when the problem was identified. My mother was *horrified* that she hadn't caught the problem earlier, even though the pediatric ophthalmologist told here there was no way she could have done so.     
An example of Bob's "Chula Vista" building design. This one in L.A.
When the big day arrived, my parents and I drove down to El Toro (that's Lake Forest to carpetbaggers) to pick up my very first pair of uber-thick prescription glasses, which would (and still do) correct my vision from horrible to 20/20.

We immediately went just down he street to Bob's Big Boy for lunch. There -- unlike the short ride over in the backseat of my parents' Olds Cutlass -- I could finally SEE something! In fact, I could see EVERYTHING!

We'd been to identical Bob's restaurants many times before. It was one of architectal firm Armet & Davis' earthy "Chula Vista" designs for Bob's, which combined the design genius they'd perfected in earlier googie coffee shops with a strong theme of Early California and the Western Ranch House.

But every detail was new to my eyes! The first clear visual impressions I had were of my parents, subtropical plantings, a big George Nelson clock and benches, stained glass windows, "Spanish" wrought-iron light fixtures, decorative Lucite booth dividers, spacious Naugahyde booths, rotating racks of refrigerated desserts, and intriguing framed art depicting the vaqueros, dons and adobes of Early California. Every image was new and amazing to me.
Bob's bank and comic book. The comics were dumb, but I always wanted one.
I kept pointing out the simplest things to my mother, in awe -- Restaurant features I'd walked past dozens of times before and never noticed, like the simulated wood grain of the tabletops and the shiny metal air conditioning vents.

"Look! Look! There are plants INSIDE the building!"

Mom had tears in her eyes. But I was too busy LOOKING at EVERYTHING to notice.

Leaving the restaurant after lunch, I noticed (also for the first time) the large outdoor statue of Bob and ran over to give him as big a hug as my three-year-old arms could muster. It was a ritual I would repeat many time in my early childhood, (and possibly a few times as an adult).
Phil Brigandi and I visiting a Bob's on Glenoaks Blvd, Glendale in 2008.
Through dumb luck, I grew up surrounded by great architecture, including many gems by the Neutras: The Huntington Beach Central Library, Orange Coast College, the Mariners Medical Arts Building (where my pediatrician's office was located), and even a Neutra-knock-off elementary school. I regularly rode my bike past Schindler's Lovell Beach house and I enjoyed the breathtaking designs of Disneyland.

And of course I've been to restaurants with better food and service than Bob's. Even in its golden era, Bob's was never trying to be a fine dining experience -- just a top-notch coffee shop.
Bob and I on my 44th birthday -- In Toluca Lake, California
But still,... No building quite hits me emotionally like a Bob's Big Boy in original condition.

Oh, I know the franchises are now inconsistent and sometimes disappointing. (The one in Orange deserved to close.) And they don't serve my favorite silver goblet milkshakes nor the julienned vegetable (with barley) soup I loved. But just being IN a vintage Bob's is always a bit of a happy homecoming.

Can I trace my love of coffee shop architecture, double-deck burgers, colorful roadside signage, giant fiberglass advertising figures, and George Nelson clocks back to my first clear visual impressions? Can I trace my first step toward a career as a California historian to that moment?

Well, it certainly didn't hurt.

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Bud Hurlbut exhibit at Orange County Archives

A proud Bud Hurlbut in front of his new Calico Mine Ride, 1960.
Buena Park’s Wendell "Bud" Hurlbut (1918-2011) was an entrepreneur, designer, and unsung giant of the amusement park business. He introduced ideas that became industry standard, he restored vintage attractions, he created Riverside’s Castle Park, and he crafted beautiful miniature trains. Only Hurlbut’s modesty prevented him from being as famous as Disney’s Imagineers. Locally, he is best remembered for the many rides he designed, built and operated for Knott’s Berry Farm, including the Calico Mine Ride and the Timber Mountain Log Ride. Such attractions were foundational to the engineering, business operation, and artistic design of the modern theme park. Walt Disney himself borrowed ideas from his friend Bud, as did later generations of Disney theme park designers.

(You can find the obituary I wrote for Bud on
Bud shows model of proposed Log Ride to Walter Knott, 1968. (This model is on display as part of the current Archives exhibit.)
The Orange County Archives’ new exhibit, “Bud Hurlbut: Master of Amusement” is now open in the first floor lobby of the Old Orange County Courthouse and continues inside the Archive’s office in room 108. Photos, drawings, models and artifacts help tell the story of Hurlbut’s colorful career and mark what would have been his centennial year. The Hurlbut Collection is just one of countless collections held by the Archives detailing the history of Orange County. This particular collection includes Hurlbut’s diaries, home movies, photos, business records, and much more.
Bud Hurlbut with one of his miniature trains at Knott's Lagoon, circa 1960.
The exhibit will be open to the public from 8:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., Monday through Friday (except on holidays) at the Old Courthouse at 211 W. Santa Ana Blvd, in Santa Ana, California. The exhibit will also be open from 10am to 3pm on the following Saturdays: Aug. 18, Sept. 22, Oct. 20, Nov. 17, and Dec. 15. It will run through at least the end of 2018.
Tony Baxter of Imagineering, me, Bud Hurlbut,and artist Kevin Kidney in 2007.
My personal thanks to Steve Oftelie, who spraymounted more photos and text panels for this project than any human being should ever have to spraymount. Thanks to the Old Courthouse Museum for giving us the exhibit space. Also thanks to Ken Stack of Stack's Liberty Ranch for loaning us two of the many miniature carousel horses that once graced Bud's desk as well as a framed blueprint of the Calico Mine Train engines. Thanks also to Adam England of the Muckenthaler Cultural Center for loaning me a (fake) box of dynamite. You'd be amazed how animated the security folks in a government building get when you stroll in with a wooden crate marked, "Danger! Explosives!"

Monday, June 11, 2018

Another bit of old Balboa goes under the knife

Balboa Bikes 'N" Beach Stuff, 601 E. Balboa Blvd., Newport Beach.
Seeing this old building in Balboa with the “Green Fence of Death” around it set off all kinds of alarm bells for me. However, it seems the front portion of the building is being saved even though the back portion is being rebuilt with additional stories added. It’s not ideal, but it beats total demolition by a bunch.

I remember stopping in here in the early 1990s, when it was still a bike rental shop, and finding the staff extremely helpful. I’d ridden my own bike (as I did most weekends) down from Huntington Beach and was on my way toward the Balboa Island Ferry and the rest of my journey down the coast when I got a flat tire. The folks in this shop graciously helped me patch the tire, put it back on the bike, and got me on my way at no charge. Aside from that, all I knew about the building was that it was old and that it had interesting wood floors that sounded a bit hollow and creaky. Now, having my attention drawn back to the building by this construction, I wanted to know more. Here’s what I found,…
Gus' Sea Shell Café, Balboa, circa 1929
The building was constructed around 1929 as the latest incarnation of a popular Balboa café owned by Gus Tamplis (a.k.a. G.B. Temple). Tamplis was born Kostantinos Basilion Tempelis in the small village of Kastria, Greece in the early 1890s and came to America around 1907. When he was naturalized in 1918, he legally changed his name to Gus Basilion Templis. It was under this name that he soon enlisted in the U.S. Navy. He served as a ship's cook during World War I and was honorably discharged in late 1921.

In 1922, Tamplis opened “Gus and Tony’s The Sea Shell” near the Balboa Pier at 105 Main Street. The café specialized in Mexican (“Spanish”) and Italian fare and rapidly gained a large following. By 1923 it was known simply as Gus’ Sea Shell Lunch. By 1924, it was called the Sea Shell Café, and had moved to a somewhat larger space next door at 107 Main. According to the L.A. Times’ (Celebrate!, Vol. 2 historical supplement, Oct. 16, 1988), "…Everybody called him Gus Gus... He spoke with a thick accent,… and usually he only answered direct questions with a 'Yes Yes’ or a 'No No.’ Hence 'Gus Gus.'"

In 1929, Gus Gus moved again to a new location at the Corner of Palm Street and Central Ave. This move was a wise and calculated decision. This put the café directly across the alley from the new and wildly popular Rendezvous Ballroom. The Ballroom played host to some of the biggest musical acts in the country, as well as providing a home for new talent on the way up. By the late 1930s, the Sea Shell café (now serving mostly seafood and) and bar was well-established as was the place where the ballroom crowd congregated.
The Rendezvous Ballroom (the Balboa Pier would be to the right)
During World War II, Gus' cafe was also often the meeting place for the local USO executive committee. It also was the site of the first meeting of the Newport Harbor chapter of the Kiwanis Club in early 1941.

By 1952, Gus was living on Balboa Island and still owned a café somewhere, but it didn’t seem to be called the Sea Shell, and it definitely wasn’t at the corner of Palm and Central (by now called Balboa Blvd) anymore. The building at that location was now selling bamboo and rattan gifts. Later it would become a bicycle rental shop.

Gus Gus died Aug. 22, 1954 and is buried at Fairhaven Memorial Park in Santa Ana.

As for the fate of the old café building,... well,... Keep an eye on that corner!

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

Anaheim's Original Pancake House

Something about fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon and fresh squeezed orange juice really fires up the imagination. Perhaps that’s why the lore behind Anaheim’s Original Pancake House (1418 E. Lincoln Ave.) has evolved rather fancifully over the years. Urban legends range from the building dating to the 1800s to the building having once been a mortuary. Nope and nope. But the real story is interesting, too.


The home that eventually morphed into the Original Pancake House was built in 1910 by Fred W. and Maria M. Lee.

Fred Lee had been a prominent merchant, sheep rancher, and investor in mining, timber and real estate in Yellowstone County, Montana. He’d also served as a County Commissioner, Grand Jury member and County Clerk there. Assuming there weren’t two men named Fred W. Lee in that part of Montana in the early 1900s, it appears he got  entangled in the infamous range wars between the sheep farmers and cattle ranchers. In any case, a local Fred W. Lee ended up spending 1903 in the state penitentiary for setting fire to a neighbor’s stockpile of hay.

Perhaps because of that awkward situation, or perhaps for his asthma, he and Maria left Montana for California around 1910 along with his ailing mother, Harriet Malvina Lee. It appears Fred had the little house built for his mother, and they lived there with her for some or all of the remaining two years of her life. She died of senility in Anaheim in 1912 and was buried across the street, at the Anaheim Cemetery.

The house was then bought and sold several times until someone finally really settled in for any length of time. Citrus rancher Frank (Francis) Norbert De Cock (1864-1939) and wife Mary (Maria) De Cock purchased it in 1920. The De Cocks were from Iowa, had seven children (including future Anaheim policeman Frank, Jr.), and would live in the house for fourteen years. 
Norbert (Frank Jr.) DeCock, 1954 (Photo courtesy Anaheim Heritage Center)
In 1936, with Frank in poor health and the economy in the tank, the property soon fell into the hands of the First National Bank of Santa Ana. It was then purchased by Casper C. and Nellie A. Reinert who in turn gave it to their son, Afton, and his wife, Mary.  But the Reinerts weren’t there for long, and the house sat vacant for several years during the Great Depression. The house became a rental again in the later 1930s and early 1940s and tenants included Marion E. and Lydia E. Shafer, and Marjorie (Mrs. Clifford B.) Chalenor and her children.

James H. and Anne S. Johnston bought the house in 1942 but sold it in 1945 to the couple who converted the first floor into a restaurant.


Wilber Wade Parker (1909-1947) of Anaheim had married soda jerk Dorothy May Close of Santa Ana on Aug. 25, 1939. They settled into a home on Philadelphia St. in Anaheim with his two children from an earlier marriage, Arthur and Sharen. In Oct. 1942, Dorothy purchased Finch’s Café at 242 W. Center St. Later Wade and Dorothy ran the Parker House Café at 120-122 E. Center St. In 1945, they also bought the property at 1418 E. Center. They initially just lived there and continued to run the Parker House Café. But in November they sold the business, presumably to focus on opening a new restaurant at 1418 E. Center.
The Dorothy-Wade Café (Photo courtesy Original Pancake House, Anaheim)
Sometime in 1946, their Wade Dorothy Café began operating in the future Original Pancake House. In the directories of the day, Dorothy Parker was listed as the proprietor of the café, which went by a variety of names: The Dorothy-Wade Café, Dorothy & Wade's Restaurant, the Dorothy & Wade Dinner House, etc.

By 1953, the proprietor signed her name as Dorothy Parker Ford on building permits for an addition to the building. She expanded the café 18 feet west, enlarging the kitchen and dining area. Public restrooms were in a separate building out back.


Meanwhile, up in Portland, Oregon, the groundwork was unwittingly being laid for the café’s future. Alpenrose Dairy salesman Ray C. Birkland had just found a pair of friendly regular customers in Lester Earl “Les” Highet (1897-1985) and Erma Emma Marie Hueneke (1908-1968) – the owners of a popular new restaurant called the Original Pancake House.
Les Highet and Erma Hueneke
Although Highet had only a second-grade education, he learned the restaurant business working his way up through the kitchens in hotels and taverns across the Pacific Northwest. By 1953, he’d saved enough to open the Original Pancake House. Two years later, the first franchise has was spun off in Salem, Oregon by his initial business partner, Erma Huenke and her family.

“My father, [Les Highet,] figured out how to market the food of middle-class European housewives to a mass audience,” Ron Highet told Portland Monthly magazine in 2009. “The average person at that time had never seen big, fluffy pancakes with apples and cinnamon—at least not in a restaurant.”

In contrast to the self-taught Les, his wife, Doris Highet, was a medical doctor with a PhD in biochemistry. Her expertise, the Highets claimed, was the secret to their success. Doris found a way to break down the gluten in the wheat flour used in their batter. Her secret formulas for the restaurant’s five main batter types (German, French, Swedish, buttermilk, and waffle) resulted in pancakes that were consistently “light, airy,” and with excellent “flavor and body.”  Only franchise owners and prep cooks are allowed to see these recipes.
Les Highet serves breakfast at the original OPH.

Birkland watched the growth of the Original Pancake House with interest – especially when the they began to spin off franchises in 1955.

That same year, back in Anaheim, Disneyland had opened and a booming local tourist industry was beginning to unfold. But old fashioned roadside cafes and hash houses weren’t bringing in the traffic they once had. In 1957, Dorothy tried to rekindle public interest in her business by redecorating and rebranding her place as Dorothy Wade's "Gay 90s" Restaurant.
Newspaper ad, 1957.
But the new name and theme didn’t help, and in 1958 Dorothy (now also known as Dorothy M. Brothers) sold both the property and all the cafe's fixtures and equipment to Ray and Anita Cadonau Birkland, who by then had purchased the rights to open what would be the fifth Original Pancake House franchise from Highet and Hueneke. (Today there are more than 100 in the chain.)

The Birklands did major reconstruction and remodeling before opening their restaurant, although the bones of the old 1910 house were still under there somewhere. Ray and Anita lived upstairs and handled every detail of the restaurant’s operations personally downstairs. Ray was great with the customers and a well-liked figure, but was a bit of a tyrant in the kitchen according to even some of his most admiring employees. Things had to be done a certain way – the right way!

The Birklands hired Ronald A. “Ron” Voll as a cook. Years earlier, Voll, fresh out of the Marine Corps., had started washing dishes at the original Original Pancake House location and quickly moved up the ladder. He later moved to Southern California and they sought him out to help them at their new franchise. Voll started work at the Anaheim restaurant on opening day as a cook and would have a long career there. 

When Anaheim’s Original Pancake House began advertising heavily in early 1961, their hours were 6am to 8pm. Over time, it must have become clear that it didn’t make financial sense to remain open after 2pm -- their now long-standing closing time. But for those who love breakfast food for dinner, it seems a cruel twist that one of the best restaurants in town isn’t open at night.

On May 25, 1963, a major fire broke out in the kitchen, heavily damaging most of the first floor interior. Everyone escaped unharmed, but portions of the building had to be reconstructed. While they were at it, a large new addition to the front of the building was added, including the current entry room and waiting area, restrooms, front dining area, and a large A-frame façade that makes the building easily identifiable from the street.
Detail from elevation for 1963 redesign of the building. (Click to enlarge)
When the Birklands finally retired in 1986, they continued to own the property and to live upstairs. But Ron and Nancy S. Voll took over the business. Ray Birkland continued to help out and acted as unofficial greeter. Meanwhile, Voll expanded the business and added another location in Yorba Linda.

Around 2000, the Birklands moved back to Portland, and in 2002 Ray Birkland died, leaving the property to Anita. She sold the property to the Volls two years later. The Volls retired in 2006 and transferred ownership to their sons, Adam and Gary. "I'm going to miss a lot of it," Ron Voll told the Orange County Register. "I've made an awful lot of friends.”

Anita Birkland passed away in Portland in 2013. As of 2018, the owner of the Original Pancake House property in Anaheim was Apache Productions Inc., of San Juan Capistrano.
Original Pancake House, Anaheim, 2014 (Photo courtesy ARG)

Around 2014, a report on the Original Pancake House’s historical status was compiled by Architectural Resources Group for the City of Anaheim. The report noted that although the 1963 addition may prevent the old house underneath from being considered a “Historically Significant Structure,” the fact that the addition itself is more than 50 years old may qualify the whole shootin’ match as a “Citywide Historically Significant Structure.” The report also indicated that the circa 1958 pole sign out front may, on its own merits, qualify as a Historically Significant Structure “due to its representation as a significant style of signage and its being a significant visual feature of the City.”
Panoramic view from the waiting area, OPH, Anaheim (Photo by author)
[Thanks to Jane Newell of the Anaheim Heritage Center, Christine Nguyen of the Anaheim City Planning Dept., Anaheim City Councilman Steve Faessel, the Orange County Archives, and historian Cynthia Ward for their help with this article.]

Monday, May 14, 2018

Neon History (Event!)

La Palma Chicken Pie Shop sign enters Museum of Neon Art. (Photo by Adriene Biondo)
The art and history of neon on our local roadsides will be the topic of author J. Eric Lynxwiler’s eye-popping program at the Orange County Historical Society’s Annual Dinner, June 14 at the Phoenix Club, Anaheim.  He’ll also highlight the work of the Museum of Neon Art, which saves favorite signs like La Palma Chicken Pie Shop’s giant chicken. Enjoy good food, fun, a silent auction, and an amazing speaker. Members and non-members welcome. Register by May 31. To register or for more information, visit
Linbrook Bowl, Anaheim. (Photo by Chris Jepsen)
 I'm really looking forward to this! Hope you can be there!
Restored sign at Fun Zone, Balboa, Newport Beach.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

F. B. Silverwood and Our State Song (Part 10)

Senaida Sullivan, 1965
 [Continued from Part 9]

More than twenty five years after Silverwood's death, Senaida Sullivan, state music chairman of the Native Daughters of the Golden West, with support from her organization and the Al Malaikah Shrine, led the lobby to have "I Love You, California" made the official state song. Many other state songs had been posited over the years, but none of the others had staying power. Senator Jack Tenney and Assemblyman Frank Lanterman (who loved playing the song on pipe organ) made the case to the California State Legislature. In 1951, their resolution passed. However, equivocating politicians had reworded the language to make "I Love You, California" “an” official state song, but not “the” official state song, leaving room for future waffling.
Silverwoods president Stephen C. Bilheimer (right) cuts ribbon at first Orange County store, at the Broadway Center on Euclid Ave. Anaheim, April 5, 1957.
In 1984, Assemblyman Dan Hauser authored a bill to officially make “'California, Here I Come,” our state song. It was defeated 41 to 30. Hauser complained that “I Love You, California” should be relegated to “state hymn or even better, funeral dirge.”

In 1987, to honor the memory of Frank Lanterman, (but because the song was falling out of copyright the following year), freshman Assemblyman Tim Leslie proposed a bill to unequivocally make “I Love You, California” THE state song. The idea was not universally loved. “I can't believe we're doing this,” said Assemblyman Dave Elder. “It might've sounded great on Frank Lanterman's organ after about four drinks -- if you had them, not him.” Assemblywoman Jackie Speier flat-out called it “a terrible song.”
Frank D. Lanterman at the organ.
Yet somehow the measure passed and was put into effect in 1988. It had been seventy five years since Silverwood published the song, but it finally fulfilled its intended roll. It may have sounded leaden to 1987 ears (accustomed as they were to modern talent like Whitesnake, Wang Chung and Kenny G), but its time had finally come.

Silverwood’s chain of stores grew along with Southern California, added women’s professional apparel to their repertoire, moved their headquarters to Santa Ana, and became part of the family of Hartmarx Specialty Stores. They closed after the 1991 Christmas season due to slumping sales.
Silverwoods (on left) at Fashion Island, Newport Beach, circa late 1970s.
In 1924, the year of his death, Frank Silverwood wrote a poem entitled “Just Tell Him Now” that was not only prescient but also seemed to capture his philosophy.

Just Tell Him Now

If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing,
If you like him or you love him, tell him now;
Don't withhold your approbation till the parson makes oration,
And he lies with snowing lilies o'er his brow;
For no matter how you shout it, he won't really care about it,
He won't know how many teardrops you have shed.
If you think some praise is due him,
Now's the time to slip it to him,
For he cannot read his tombstone when he's dead.

More than fame and more than money,
Is the comment, kind and sunny,
And the hearty, warm approval of a friend;
For it gives to life a savor, makes you richer, stronger, braver--
Gives you heart and hope and courage to the end.
If he earns your praise, bestow it;
If you like him, let him know it;
Let the word of true encouragement be said.
Do not wait till life is over and he's underneath the clover,
For he cannot read his tombstone when he's dead.

Indeed, Daddy Silverwood isn’t reading many tombstones (or blogs) these days, either. But we Californians really should return his love by at least remembering him and by singing our state song.
Francis B. "Daddy" Silverwood, 1920.
[Click here to return to Part 1]

Friday, April 27, 2018

Thar she blows!

Okay,... So this has nothing particularly to do with Orange County history, unless you take into account that whales were once hunted off our coast. But I'm posting it specifically with my friend Bob Minty of Dana Point in mind. Bob portrays Richard Henry Dana at events on the Pilgrim, and he's a great collector of information about whales and the old whaling industry. If there's something he hasn't seen yet, perhaps it's this: Whale bone toilet seats!

Yes, we once slaughtered the whales wholesale -- not just for oil and ambergris, but also as something to poop on.  I stumbled across the ad in the pages of the Feb. 1922 issue of The American School Board Journal, which advertised nearly every product a school could want, from fire escapes to crayons.

Update: Bob has already responded: "The term 'whale bone' referred to baleen (not skeletal bones).  They used baleen for anything where we use plastic today."

I then asked him if that meant "whale bone corsets" were actually made of baleen.
Bob Minty at the Dana Point Historical Society, circa 2016.
"Yes," he replied. "Corsets, combs, policeman’s saps, buggy whips, bedsprings, fishing poles were all made from whalebone (baleen). When baleen is heated, it can be bent or twisted to any shape. The only use for skeletal bone, other than fertilizer, was to whiten cane sugar during the refining process.  (C&H Sugar -Terminal Island)."

"Another odd idea was  Mr. Wrigley (of gum and Catalina Island fame) wanted to develop a whale milk farm. They would use Orca whales as 'sheep dogs'.  I have the newspaper article."