tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-318353672024-03-18T22:13:45.843-07:00O.C. History RoundupInformation and photos for people interested in the history of Orange County, California.Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.comBlogger1415125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-61475898439937533252024-03-16T08:00:00.000-07:002024-03-16T08:00:00.131-07:00O.C. Q&A: Street History Edition, Part II<p><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHgdEsW4bQXf5cPXzbtOvYE2dbOx0vX40P-vxgqxxSP7Ej6mDGdhay8aGzt0G59uJwOh-HzEt6VGtJ8VhaUTMoZ5nu5VTZxAGlLReugI9RtQLOnAdZTQaFQNBJCeu63iNk8PGeJy1mq3UmlozYeaU63dcHGjWQMNSEhfuwr2zxJ0HSSCKjaz-/s600/Culvers%20Corner,%20Irvine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="344" data-original-width="600" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHgdEsW4bQXf5cPXzbtOvYE2dbOx0vX40P-vxgqxxSP7Ej6mDGdhay8aGzt0G59uJwOh-HzEt6VGtJ8VhaUTMoZ5nu5VTZxAGlLReugI9RtQLOnAdZTQaFQNBJCeu63iNk8PGeJy1mq3UmlozYeaU63dcHGjWQMNSEhfuwr2zxJ0HSSCKjaz-/w400-h229/Culvers%20Corner,%20Irvine.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fred Culver's impressive home at "Culver's Corner," in Irvine.</i></td></tr></tbody></table></b><b><i>Q: Who was Irvine’s Culver Road named for?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Hunchbacked lima bean farmer Fred M. “Humpy” Culver is immortalized on the map of Irvine. His lease on the Irvine Ranch was located on the State Highway (now the I-5 Freeway) where it intersected Trabuco Road and today’s Culver Road. “<a href="https://www.ocregister.com/2012/10/26/l-byron-culver-to-speak-sunday-of-family-and-irvine-history/">Culver’s Corner</a>” – marked by Humpy’s home and windmill – also marked the spot where the arrow-straight highway finally made a bend, infamously sending many early automobile drivers into the ditch or worse. The name Culver’s Corner remained long after Fred’s death, at the age of 31, in 1918. Many other members of the Culver family also worked on the Ranch, including Fred’s brother, blacksmith Willard “Gimpy” Culver. Gimpy earned his nickname when he was shot in the leg serving in the posse who fought the Tomato Springs Bandit in 1912. His blacksmith shop is now Knowlwood’s restaurant on Sand Canyon Ave.</p><p><b><i>Q: Why do many of Orange County's major North/South streets have a little wiggle at Garden Grove Blvd?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Overlaying a flat grid (USGS township, range, sections, etc.) on a spherical surface (Earth) results in numerous places where the grid doesn't match up well. Every so often, the grid -- along which many major roads are aligned -- gets out of kilter. And that's PART of the issue here. </p><p>The larger issue though, is that each town used to be distinct, with miles of open land between each community. The roads were never intended to connect, so no thought was given to how they might connect someday. Only as the towns/cities grew to meet each other (with boundaries becoming identifiable only if there's a sign posted), did such things matter. Gradually, many of the larger streets were connected and in the 1960s there was a major effort to unify the names of these newly-joined streets. For instance, what was once Harbor Blvd., Palm Dr., Fullerton Rd, and Spadra Rd. are now all Harbor Blvd. What's now Beach Blvd is another good example of a street that once <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2008/03/eli-hedley-midway-city-and-beach-blvd.html">had many more names</a>.</p><p>Garden Grove Blvd isn't the only spot with "wiggles" created by joining different streets together, but it's probably the most obvious example when looking at a map of Orange County</p><p><b><i>Q: Why is downtown Anaheim cockeyed on the map?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> In 1859, prior to the arrival of the first colonists from <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2022/03/anaheims-birthplace-lutgens-hotel-san.html">Los Angeles Vinyard Society</a> to Anaheim, the Society's surveyor, George Hansen, began preparing the land for them. After obtaining rights to an easement across Bernardo Yorba’s adjacent ranch, Hansen built an irrigation ditch which brought water down from the Santa Ana River, and then laid out the colony of Anaheim on the same angle as the ditch. To this day, the heart of Anaheim still has this cockeyed orientation. Hansen divided the land into town lots and vineyard lots – all within the boundaries of North, South, East and West streets. He also oversaw the planting of 400,000 vines, as well as some fruit trees.</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="color: #666666;">[Thanks to Nick Popadiuk, Jerry Howard and Mike Martin for their questions.]</span></p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-21131615927607502992024-03-09T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-09T22:09:11.699-08:00A glimpse of Ruby’s beginnings<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj0jLCyketo4SuKJE4icw2e6JTvj5AokXgKYgvvahOjikp7Rnh7rluICyHjqh4iyYs5wrzG1463I5iJEdxmGxHYWJyWDmMbaIaBskp_a-WGFbazDNiA78SjBPIPcL4YrJrZZboX1gczJMzhmULGypPjTeLJPcH9KQbsYnrLLzSlpm7vMS0w_lT/s1883/rubys2013%20balboa%20pier.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1115" data-original-width="1883" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj0jLCyketo4SuKJE4icw2e6JTvj5AokXgKYgvvahOjikp7Rnh7rluICyHjqh4iyYs5wrzG1463I5iJEdxmGxHYWJyWDmMbaIaBskp_a-WGFbazDNiA78SjBPIPcL4YrJrZZboX1gczJMzhmULGypPjTeLJPcH9KQbsYnrLLzSlpm7vMS0w_lT/w400-h236/rubys2013%20balboa%20pier.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The first Ruby's Diner, Balboa Pier, Newport Beach. (Photo by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>All Southern Californians know Ruby’s Diner and many have happy memories of time spent there with family or friends. Based in Irvine, the casual dining chain has deep Orange County roots. I just stumbled across an interesting article from the Ruby’s early days (see below) and thought I’d share it here. But first, a bit of background…</p><p>The first Ruby’s Diner opened on the Balboa Pier in Newport Beach on Pearl Harbor Day, 1982 – just days after a massive storm pounded the end of the pier and threatened to demolish the place. The little building that rode out that storm was an award-winning design by Thirtieth Street Architects of Newport Beach, built specifically for Rubys on the bones of the pier’s old bait shop. The two founders of Ruby’s, Douglas Cavanaugh, Jr. and Ralph Kosmides, were Tustin residents and pals from their days at Foothill High School. They just thought the diner would be a fun hobby. The two worked both the kitchen and the register on opening day. They ran out of ground beef and made $63 before the doors closed that evening.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGesnlELBHKdSdIQSR1ClL-09XnLGUKtxnY2o1jLBFxae6Q88tKyGqg4lJuQXUSYNpYjTDl7ZeIGUfsMB58F8PeOLVjNINAe4CLwGo4VQ6_LrW05q7gQJdXKUPFaoIFKJPjB6A9NpN_kMlY_Kbi7wPqUiS_Hp_fhme3_RNghxkph82oTvUZxWo/s1240/Ruby's%20Diner,%20Balboa%20Pier,%201980s%20001.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="973" data-original-width="1240" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGesnlELBHKdSdIQSR1ClL-09XnLGUKtxnY2o1jLBFxae6Q88tKyGqg4lJuQXUSYNpYjTDl7ZeIGUfsMB58F8PeOLVjNINAe4CLwGo4VQ6_LrW05q7gQJdXKUPFaoIFKJPjB6A9NpN_kMlY_Kbi7wPqUiS_Hp_fhme3_RNghxkph82oTvUZxWo/w400-h314/Ruby's%20Diner,%20Balboa%20Pier,%201980s%20001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ruby's Diner, Balboa Pier, 1980s.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Less than five months after Ruby’s opening, the May 20, 1983 edition of the <i>Daily Pilot </i>featured an article about the diner by Jolyn Wayne, entitled, “The End of the Pier: Ruby’s is a return to ‘good ol’ days.’” Extensive excerpts follow:</p><p></p><blockquote>Ruby’s is a modern version of a 1940s diner. Its galvanized metal exterior glistens in the sunlight. At night, a bold red neon sign, bearing the restaurant’s name, glows from above. …The décor inside consists of shiny chrome tables and ruby red upholstered booths. Original Coca Cola signs adorn the walls. Memorabilia, such as an old-fashioned cash register and gum ball machine, rest on the counters and are operable. The music of Glenn Miller and other big bands plays in the background. An outdoor, upper deck, called “Ruby’s Flying Bridge,” provides a spectacular view as well as space for some jitterbugging to the sounds of the big bands.</blockquote><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-m5w6q69Tgxdvka182MG2mBuwNHc7_NQlgqquqdMRAaVkfok2o1lpoqfchX8SH-jg2JladFGSickrBx7TTo5ob3rHQPNSINTpHi4HRd9yGMhEh6sgYcbyGaHZHjaEh-GBc4N65Qg2dE1in1dUZqYOLaNFKj1Go5WHcL73EeHGzcR_YDVYnuHY/s1543/Dave%20Cavanaugh%20and%20Ralph%20Kosmides%20(R)%20b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="1543" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-m5w6q69Tgxdvka182MG2mBuwNHc7_NQlgqquqdMRAaVkfok2o1lpoqfchX8SH-jg2JladFGSickrBx7TTo5ob3rHQPNSINTpHi4HRd9yGMhEh6sgYcbyGaHZHjaEh-GBc4N65Qg2dE1in1dUZqYOLaNFKj1Go5WHcL73EeHGzcR_YDVYnuHY/w400-h231/Dave%20Cavanaugh%20and%20Ralph%20Kosmides%20(R)%20b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cavanaugh (L) and Kosmides (R) at Ruby's, Balboa Pier, May 1983. (Photo by Lee Payne)</i></td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><blockquote>The owners and creators of Ruby’s are native Californians, Doug Cavanaugh and Ralph Kosmides. According to 27-year-old Cavanaugh, it was the Rendezvous Ballroom that inspired him to create Ruby’s. Before it burned down, the Rendezvous was one of the last bastions of the swing era in the Newport-Balboa area. “I wanted Ruby’s to be an extension of that past era for all of the community to enjoy,” says Cavanaugh. </blockquote><p></p><p>[Blogger’s note: The Rendezvous opened in 1928, burned in 1935, was rebuilt, and ended with another fire in 1966. Along the way, this popular venue served as an incubator not just for big band music (and a dance called the Balboa), but later for the genre of music known as surf rock.]</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm55_QR0u6ZewCMXEOMJAmQE2BVKK-f5JhQXY0HqA_tmVFiCJYWj7yYhjKe4TVYFO2tq9JDOCD_-koiXymEAIWdf2nqqapjau5ezEWA02XPwejoyXMAFOeaHzAdVX_hq_p0jiuV4X7wGxCUS8UEzDzA0z-CIocQPYACsXkVXoVEelT7W0TqWmG/s954/Rendezvous%20Ballroom%20ca%201940s.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="954" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm55_QR0u6ZewCMXEOMJAmQE2BVKK-f5JhQXY0HqA_tmVFiCJYWj7yYhjKe4TVYFO2tq9JDOCD_-koiXymEAIWdf2nqqapjau5ezEWA02XPwejoyXMAFOeaHzAdVX_hq_p0jiuV4X7wGxCUS8UEzDzA0z-CIocQPYACsXkVXoVEelT7W0TqWmG/w400-h348/Rendezvous%20Ballroom%20ca%201940s.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rendezvous Ballroom, near the foot of the Balboa Pier, circa 1940s.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><blockquote><p>A former builder and contractor, Cavanaugh recounts how he and his family all pitch in to help with the construction of Ruby’s: “everything from the framing to the plumbing.”</p><p>His parents encouraged him greatly. As a tribute to his mother,<a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2020/01/shooby-dooby-down-to-rubys.html"> Ruby</a>, the restaurant bears her name…</p></blockquote><p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7lSjqSnIgIJsuEMsl47nUDWmzh1WLJ4ZSkx4WcLxN70u4SVEb-M97s3Pj3qQbHXKna3xgatDpFpQfE0aq-GGHV85n2ASTc10i-UVUutlKV52TGRTfUkkanlStJJBKZlRC5oJP7zyPFT_G2IHV5RtqJihLmG6PJYz2pa7l55jxdqvS3q_sRxh/s1146/Rubys%201b.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="1146" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7lSjqSnIgIJsuEMsl47nUDWmzh1WLJ4ZSkx4WcLxN70u4SVEb-M97s3Pj3qQbHXKna3xgatDpFpQfE0aq-GGHV85n2ASTc10i-UVUutlKV52TGRTfUkkanlStJJBKZlRC5oJP7zyPFT_G2IHV5RtqJihLmG6PJYz2pa7l55jxdqvS3q_sRxh/w400-h196/Rubys%201b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ruby's, Balboa Pier, May 1983. (Photo by Lee Payne)</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><blockquote><div>“It is very touching for me to remember how my father was able to witness the completion of the restaurant shortly before he died,” Cavanaugh said. </div><div><br /></div><div>The construction was no easy task. It started from a shell of a building where the old bait and tackle shop once stood…</div><div><br /></div><div>The specialties at Ruby’s include “The Bleus Burger,” a burger topped with bleu cheese, “The Wedge Burger” and “The Pier Burger.” Among some of the other favorites are clam chowder, chili and hot dogs. Cavanaugh boasts that no artificial ingredients are ever used in the food. Hours are from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m. weekdays except Mondays, and 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays. </div></blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjllP96iMyWDCpAqSXBQaVQQili5otaL5R3PrBoCYcQgYuOSlQMATjWYQP-Qy92u9gx3S4VMZ7MLYk0aTyE4bFdSa29eja7_uoEgTFmiYRGF78wF1GzJ_xaNHKkfMpHjuJcZFarvJqS6mUQeQ8OkFTNqFl5FkTLVaLtrr_fcNA1Ey5E_dfknA/s1130/Rubys%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="780" data-original-width="1130" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnjllP96iMyWDCpAqSXBQaVQQili5otaL5R3PrBoCYcQgYuOSlQMATjWYQP-Qy92u9gx3S4VMZ7MLYk0aTyE4bFdSa29eja7_uoEgTFmiYRGF78wF1GzJ_xaNHKkfMpHjuJcZFarvJqS6mUQeQ8OkFTNqFl5FkTLVaLtrr_fcNA1Ey5E_dfknA/w400-h276/Rubys%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ruby's, Balboa Pier, May 1983. Cavanaugh and Kosmides on left. (Photo by Lee Payne)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><blockquote>What are some of the owners’ future plans for Ruby’s? They hope to offer jazz concerts every weekend on the pier. With the city’s permission, they plan a gala event in July with Les Brown and his Band of Renown entertaining on the upper deck….</blockquote><div>The article draws a great picture of a soon-to-blossom business in its earliest stages.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Over the next several decades, Ruby’s Diner grew into a successful chain of at least 42 restaurants, mostly located in Southern California, but also in the first stages of a planned nation-wide expansion. They already a handful of restaurants in states as far away as New Jersey. Ruby’s was known for consistently high-quality food, clean and cheerful restaurants, good service, and classic American fare without the downsides of greasy-spoon diners. According to other interviews with Cavanaugh, his childhood experiences at Disneyland inspired Ruby’s “cleanliness, orderliness, service.” It was hard <i>not</i> to like Ruby’s, and their restaurants always seemed busy. It appeared they’d cracked the code and couldn’t fail.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2jSSKNkkSpBl1Bel2cM5CeIx4fOpKgUeLDRIzKaij6KW5DJU770m8hWocN0-VCQAZAMnjWxOovpnGZ7wWSpSE-S55zFplSVYUpE7bHRmz5baSVF48Lsx2JviUC-tjaJ1bsPUV5xvMI1MU3uXvUYi_Wo9TzktaB6WisjLDhxsjRKZ3uQyF1Ku/s1434/rubys%202009%20tustin.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="921" data-original-width="1434" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO2jSSKNkkSpBl1Bel2cM5CeIx4fOpKgUeLDRIzKaij6KW5DJU770m8hWocN0-VCQAZAMnjWxOovpnGZ7wWSpSE-S55zFplSVYUpE7bHRmz5baSVF48Lsx2JviUC-tjaJ1bsPUV5xvMI1MU3uXvUYi_Wo9TzktaB6WisjLDhxsjRKZ3uQyF1Ku/w400-h258/rubys%202009%20tustin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ruby's Diner in Tustin, 2009. (Photo by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>But trouble began as early as 2012, when Ruby's Diner, Inc. borrowed money to buy out some of its partners in a long-running dispute. A variety of other financial hits followed. By 2018, the company owed over $14 million to its creditors and declared bankruptcy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then, in 2021, the trustee for their Chapter 7 bankruptcy filed a $35 million lawsuit against Cavanaugh and Kosmides for using Ruby's reputation, expertise, funds and personnel to obtain a lucrative contract for two (non-Ruby's) restaurants at Crystal Cove State Park: The Beachcomber and The Shake Shack. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDh8iQLzSgMImNb1w02tX6VH2lfnM9-j1BoT6VRpEHHirv2gImUg2ufAnqN8ql720RkCPBE8pNXxjwIHOfIyRakNut7WaCbuRmzV40UtOW8wPhZV8jgUrsSs-W9I-Z6-FoVDbsxqk7iBnU29cop64mNeq0GGZUz0crxUFhQ6y9dv3GRCHF0Fpe/s1335/rubys%20shake%20shack%202010%20slapping%20the%20logo%20on%20it%20didn't%20solve%20the%20problem.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="1037" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDh8iQLzSgMImNb1w02tX6VH2lfnM9-j1BoT6VRpEHHirv2gImUg2ufAnqN8ql720RkCPBE8pNXxjwIHOfIyRakNut7WaCbuRmzV40UtOW8wPhZV8jgUrsSs-W9I-Z6-FoVDbsxqk7iBnU29cop64mNeq0GGZUz0crxUFhQ6y9dv3GRCHF0Fpe/w311-h400/rubys%20shake%20shack%202010%20slapping%20the%20logo%20on%20it%20didn't%20solve%20the%20problem.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Shake Shack in 2010. Slapping a Ruby's logo on it didn't solve their problems.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Once the Crystal Cove contract had been awarded to them, they made the two restaurants part of <i>other</i> businesses they personally owned, depriving Ruby's of the assets and helping push Ruby's over the edge into bankruptcy. They also gave themselves loans of over $1.5 million from Ruby's funds and later called the loans "distributions" in an attempt to avoid repaying them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Successful Ruby's franchisee Steven L. Craig provided a cash infusion to save the chain. In return he took the title of chairman, along with 60% ownership of Ruby's Diner, Inc. Cavanaugh and Kosmides initially retained the remaining shares, but soon sold their stake to pay for the expensive battle over the Crystal Cove situation.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiM6mtzfEGRPGc3CfbzSnZXtGX8dSBKn1DKEteDPlRORN3NqcsWDxm2YeQVuBI4LjTK4K0s_GxNIZ0yTRDqdqBiKE_N_yvFHQHfJlAv8aIv5ZnOVJLgVevctJhTYuuFe4VGTQ7uvgDYPqZfOIeSwQGdMFTmexzR_u4JrY9zpmcDrZtWJSP5Lil/s1726/rubys%205-points%202009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="1726" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiM6mtzfEGRPGc3CfbzSnZXtGX8dSBKn1DKEteDPlRORN3NqcsWDxm2YeQVuBI4LjTK4K0s_GxNIZ0yTRDqdqBiKE_N_yvFHQHfJlAv8aIv5ZnOVJLgVevctJhTYuuFe4VGTQ7uvgDYPqZfOIeSwQGdMFTmexzR_u4JrY9zpmcDrZtWJSP5Lil/w400-h189/rubys%205-points%202009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ruby's is the perfect tenant for Anaheim's restored historic Five Points building.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>By 2023 – after years of financial woes and waning quality – the chain was down to only 14 restaurants (including the original on the Balboa Pier). By early 2024, it seemed an effort was being made to bring the quality of the food back up to par, although those familiar with the chain’s older (and much lengthier) menus could clearly see major changes. Still, even with a different menu, different ownership, and fewer restaurants, perhaps Ruby’s can make a comeback and eventually return to its glory days. They filled an important niche in Southern California’s restaurant landscape, and they could again.</div></div><p></p></div>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-30704890388469521752024-03-02T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-03T12:43:46.778-08:00O.C. Q&A: San Juan Capistrano Edition<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmIq3yHPE9gzgNopq4Jg7GL49uQez9KIhVb4bvxIj7_tIS2_PAuXVLy8fm3kO_17iI65WA6ybnZi5N4dYriVqF_brPeeGJFqAyRjmfWB_oOidZ0D6pN8QnOttozihw2jtdW5jQCEvVMOt4_TesTl32dBZE-3vVrS1Ej4w_TTIENS2eefwaCfa/s1435/SJC%20-%20Santa%20Fe%20depot,%20ca%201890s.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1435" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmIq3yHPE9gzgNopq4Jg7GL49uQez9KIhVb4bvxIj7_tIS2_PAuXVLy8fm3kO_17iI65WA6ybnZi5N4dYriVqF_brPeeGJFqAyRjmfWB_oOidZ0D6pN8QnOttozihw2jtdW5jQCEvVMOt4_TesTl32dBZE-3vVrS1Ej4w_TTIENS2eefwaCfa/w400-h216/SJC%20-%20Santa%20Fe%20depot,%20ca%201890s.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Santa Fe Railroad Depot, San Juan Capistrano, circa 1890s.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b><i>Q: I hear Abe Lincoln gave Mission San Juan Capistrano back to the Church. Did he visit Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b> Definitely not. The Mexican government ended the Mission system in the 1830s and put the land in private hands. But soon after California became a state, petitions were made to the government to return the Missions to the Catholic Church. In 1863, while embroiled in a few other historic events you may have heard about, Lincoln signed documents (in Washington D.C.) returning California’s missions to the Church. </p><p>The way some folks around here carry on, you'd swear Abe had stopped for a beer at the Swallows Inn on his way down to ring the bells. There are stories that Lincoln <i>planned</i> to finally visit California after leaving office. Sadly, he never had the opportunity.</p><p><b><i>Q: Is there a connection between Zorro and San Juan Capistrano?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> San Juan Capistrano was where this masked hero first swashed and buckled. New York pulp writer Johnston McCulley set the first Zorro story there: <i>The Curse of Capistrano</i> (1919). Unfortunately, McCulley seems to have gained all his knowledge of Spanish-Era California from encyclopedias, and his descriptions of Capistrano are decidedly vague. </p><p>When that same story was turned into the first Zorro movie – Douglas Fairbank’s <i>“The Mark of Zorro”</i> (1920) – portions of it were shot in San Juan Capistrano. The town also appeared in many of Zorro’s later on-screen adventures, including Disney’s popular 1950s TV version. </p><p><a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2019/06/mark-of-zorro-in-rancho-santa-margarita.html">Zorro</a> doesn’t return to Capistrano quite as often as the swallows, but it’s still worth watching for the mark of the Z.</p><p><b><i>Q: How did Capistrano end up with a huge Swallows Day festival but no swallows?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> In the 1920s, the Mission's <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2021/04/father-osullivan-and-spanish-flu-in.html">Fr. St. John O'Sullivan</a> helped spin the story of the cliff swallows' 6,000-mile, clockwork-like annual migration into a romantic legend. In 1930, O'Sullivan's version of the tale was published in the book, <i>Capistrano Nights</i>, becoming a P.R. juggernaut. In the book, he credited his dear friend (and the last full-blooded Juaneño/Acjachemen) José de Gracia Cruz -- better known as Acú -- as the source of the story. </p><p>The swallows' habit of returning around March 19th each year was readily apparent to all. But Acú shared a local folktale about it with O'Sullivan: The swallows supposedly wintered in Jerusalem each winter, carrying twigs as flotation devices on which they occasionally rested during their long flight across the Atlantic. They returned each year, timing their arrival to St. Joseph's Day. </p><p>(We now know that the Swallows migrate to and from Argentina, not Jerusalem. And even at the time it was doubtful whether birds were interested in the Roman Catholic liturgical calendar. But their migration is remarkable nonetheless.)</p><p>After the publication of <i>Capistrano Nights</i>, media coverage of the swallows' return brought increasing crowds to town each March 19th. The hit song, "When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano," further fed the flames. </p><p>In 1937, Capistrano High School principal Paul Richards launched what's now Fiesta de las Golondrinas to entertain the visitors. Originally featuring contests, games, and dancing, the event grew to include a trail ride and, beginning in the late 1950s, the equestrian Swallows Day Parade. </p><p>The swallows themselves still migrate but they skedaddled to the suburbs when downtown congestion and development drove them out. </p><p><b><i>Q: What’s special about San Juan Capistrano’s Hidden House Coffee building?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> The spare, single-wall construction of the Olivares House, at 31791 Los Rios Street, reflects the scarcity of lumber before the railroad arrived in 1888. The cottage’s past ownership included San Juan pioneer names such as Forster, Rios, and Yorba. But Delfina Manriquez de Olivares (1896-1976) was its best-remembered owner. </p><p>Known for her hospitality, Olivares’ home was a neighborhood gathering place. She didn’t buy the house until 1947, but her local roots ran deep: She was a descendant of mason Isidro Aguilar, who’d overseen the construction of the Mission’s stone church in 1797. In 1970, the city’s historical society dubbed her the town Matriarch—a title she held until her death. </p><p>Thanks to legendary historical preservationist <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2022/01/ilse-byrnes-1927-2022.html">Ilse Byrnes</a>, the Olivares House, along with the rest of California’s oldest neighborhood—the Los Rios District—is now on the National Register of Historic Places.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-90823408048064718362024-02-24T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-03T12:50:58.742-08:00O. C. Q&A: Newport Beach Edition<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCMg2ljRPHAKflSmc6TC2inIKg2PbR2ahCjtqd6aQT9SSibXsbMSRWRD4VDuwiZPHGtfnjGo3RqlRkMpaqXPdWHfzLLKkklhwNZjNf0lqITo14wnqu65TVzqFPWRH3ASZ5S8Gr4IIqHqVhMCGVvE6TKArm9HKEU1S9kSGT5EZnxAKfIjd8h2u/s3170/Newport%20Beach%20Pier,%20circa%201906.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1913" data-original-width="3170" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCMg2ljRPHAKflSmc6TC2inIKg2PbR2ahCjtqd6aQT9SSibXsbMSRWRD4VDuwiZPHGtfnjGo3RqlRkMpaqXPdWHfzLLKkklhwNZjNf0lqITo14wnqu65TVzqFPWRH3ASZ5S8Gr4IIqHqVhMCGVvE6TKArm9HKEU1S9kSGT5EZnxAKfIjd8h2u/w400-h241/Newport%20Beach%20Pier,%20circa%201906.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>McFadden's Wharf (Newport Beach Pier), circa 1906.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b><i>Q: Why are so many things in Newport Beach named "Balboa?"</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> When the town of Balboa was founded in 1905, the neighboring community of Newport Beach was already well-established just down the peninsula at the foot of what’s now the Newport Pier. Balboa soon lent its name to its own Pavilion, to an adjacent island, to a hotel, and to the peninsula on which both towns stand. Balboa was created by the Newport Bay Investment Co., whose president named it in honor of Spanish explorer Vasco Núñez de Balboa. Once a deadbeat, stowing away on ships to avoid paying his debts, Señor Balboa ended up the first European to see the Pacific Ocean. Actually, he ended up beheaded for treason, but that’s another story.</p><p>In 1906, Newport Beach, Balboa, West Newport and East Newport banded together to incorporate as the <i>City</i> of Newport Beach. It could just has easily have been named the City of Balboa. But in 1940, a referendum to rename the city Balboa was decapitated at the polls. </p><p><b><i>Q: Is there a rule against skimpy bathing suits in Newport Beach?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> No, municipal code only dictates that one must cover one’s naughty bits and then defines which bits those are. There were once stricter rules, but that ended badly. </p><p>In 1923, wealthy and eccentric Newport pioneer Tom Robinson needed a hobby. He soon discovered an old unenforced ordinance declaring “the distance between a woman’s swim skirt and kneecap must not exceed 10 inches,” and creating the position of city bathing suit inspector. Robinson, 68, appointed himself to the vacant job and City Hall went along with it. </p><p>Soon Robinson was on the beach, measuring women’s exposed thighs using the width of his two hands. A visiting Santa Ana woman clobbered him, but he was undeterred. In 1925, Newport’s women successfully petitioned for the removal of both the ordinance and the inspector. With his groping days behind him, Robinson quickly became a recluse, fell ill, and in late 1926 ended his life by walking into the ocean fully clothed. </p><p><b><i>Q: Are there any remains of the 1953 Boy Scout Jamboree encampment?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> During the 1953 National Jamboree about 50,000 Boy Scouts and their leaders -- from every state and more than twenty nations -- camped at a site that stretched from MacArthur Blvd. to Upper Newport Bay in what's now Newport Beach. What remains today are Jamboree Road (built for the event), the flagpole at the Newport Sea Scout Base, and something more...</p><p>In the 1970s, archaeologists began studying a site in Newport occupied by native peoples some 9,500 to 4,300 years ago. According to archaeologist Henry Koerper, they soon found strange artifacts. Seemingly ancient arrowheads turned out to be made at the Jamboree, while seemingly modern beads proved to be ancient. They also found souvenirs and trinkets brought by Scouts from all over the world to trade with other Scouts. </p><p>Imagine how confused archaeologists will be when they excavate this site again in another 9,500 years.</p><p><b><i>Q: What’s that separate little island on the west side of Balboa Island?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Collins Island was created in 1906 while developer William Steppe Collins was turning an existing mud flat and sediment dredged from Newport Bay into today’s Balboa Island. He built a home called White Swan for himself on the separate, one-acre Collins Island, which he connected to the larger Balboa Island with a pedestrian bridge. His neighbor around the bay nicknamed White Swan "Collins' Castle."</p><p>Collins Island was purchased in 1938 for about $32,000 by iconic actor James “You Dirty Rat” Cagney. During World War II, Cagney leased White Swan to the Coast Guard for use as their Newport headquarters. </p><p>When "Collins' Castle" was demolished in 1953, the upper floor was moved to 2072 Placentia Ave. in Costa Mesa, where it still stands today. Longtime local journalist William Lobdell recently figured out this connection in his <i><a href="http://newportbeach-podcast.com">Newport Beach in the Rearview Mirror</a></i> podcast.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-33528873608419156182024-02-17T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-03T12:55:03.624-08:00O.C. Q&A: Native American Edition<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PFxcSIZYFzKtHKqsElU6LJe-LJFranoO4PN-9OgnDdknT86PBqfeFaBbCBX0E8XYL1g8Q6ix_kZuq91DDaS1bwR5Xejr6MyXpV8mcbnmUF8yFX3AJYqgvbICmHpNXSUrFj6DtiOxbOtMIAy004VS9FH923nyGv20QLdT79CVNc8Sds4OF9uN/s1791/17%20Chief%20Clarence%20Lobo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1791" data-original-width="1168" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PFxcSIZYFzKtHKqsElU6LJe-LJFranoO4PN-9OgnDdknT86PBqfeFaBbCBX0E8XYL1g8Q6ix_kZuq91DDaS1bwR5Xejr6MyXpV8mcbnmUF8yFX3AJYqgvbICmHpNXSUrFj6DtiOxbOtMIAy004VS9FH923nyGv20QLdT79CVNc8Sds4OF9uN/w261-h400/17%20Chief%20Clarence%20Lobo.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Acjachemen Chief Clarence Lobo (1912-1985)</i> </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b><i>Q: What happened to the Indian tribes who lived in Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> From the Mission system, to European-introduced diseases, to the Indian "removals" that continued into the 20th Century, California Indians have dwindled in number dramatically. But they're not gone. You probably cross paths with Tongva (a.k.a. Gabrielino) and Acjachemen (a.k.a. Juaneño) people -- the two main native groups who lived here when the Spanish arrived -- more often than you know. Over the centuries, most have intermarried with the Spanish, Mexican, and American families who settled here. But if you ask around, it's not difficult to find families whose Orange County roots go back at least 2,000 years. </p><p>What's more mysterious is what happened to the so-called "Millingstone Horizon" culture (known earlier as the "Oak Grove" culture) -- People who lived here thousands of years before the Tongva and Acjachemen arrived, and who didn't leave a forwarding address.</p><p><b><i>Q: Have any local Indian words stayed in our dialect?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b>The only one most folks know is "Niguel" -- and even that word was likely altered to suit the Spanish ear and tongue. Niguel (or something similar) began as the name of a spring on Aliso Creek, and a nearby Juaneño Indian village. The name was later attached to the surrounding area and, in the 1840s, to the Rancho Niguel. Much, much later, the Rancho's name was co-opted by various housing developments and the City of Laguna Niguel. There's some uncertainty about the actual meaning of the word, although Acú (one of the last full-blooded Juaneño) and later anthropologist/archaeologist Stephen O'Neil both indicated that the word probably refers to a young woman. Their opinions trump the shakier theory that "Niguel" means "the place where ziggurats become white elephants."</p><p><b><i>Q: Who were the very first people to live in Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> While we don't know with any certainty, let me explain about a longtime contender for that honor,...</p><p>In 1933, Laguna Beach teenagers Howard Wilson and Ed Marriner found bones, including an oddly shaped skull, exposed by construction excavation along St. Ann's Drive near Pacific Coast Highway. Howard's mother didn't want a skull in the house and repeatedly tried to throw it away. Howard always fished it out of the trash when she wasn't looking. (Every boy with a mother and a comic book collection will instantly recognize this scenario.) In the 1960s, the skull was brought to the attention of famed paleoanthropologist Dr. Louis Leakey who determined that it was more than 17,000 years old, and perhaps as old as 40,000 years. That would have made "Laguna Woman," as she's known, one of the the earliest Americans ever discovered. </p><p>However, <a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/53881470e4b04631a5e04ebb/t/5e3ee2b399dd6e23d8b07bd4/1581179571872/Laguna+Woman+update_011420_Final.pdf">later testing</a> with more sophisticated methods showed Laguna Woman's skull to have been no more 5,500 years old. At that point, she dropped from contention as the earliest Orange Countian. Stone tools and other artifacts show there were people living here at least 9,000 years ago.</p><p><b><i>Q: Why did Juaneño Chief Clarence Lobo dress like a Plains Indian, when California tribes' actual traditional attire was very different?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b> Even Lobo's friend, historian Jim Sleeper, teased him in his <i>Third Orange County Almanac</i>: "You still wearing that Sioux headdress, Clarence?" But Lobo knew exactly what he was doing. </p><p>I covered this in my lecture on "<a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2023/09/san-juan-capistrano-1860-1960.html">San Juan Capistrano, 1860-1960</a>" at the Mission last August, but the story is worth retelling... </p><p>"In 1946, Clarence Lobo became Chief of the Juaneño or Acjachemen native people. After generations of his people gradually fading from view and being absorbed into the larger population, Lobo brought attention to the tribe’s uniqueness, culture and history. He fought for native rights, tribal recognition by the government, and a better understanding among his own people of their roots. </p><p>"After many instances of traveling to meet government officials only to be ignored, he realized that he needed to LOOK like an Indian chief to get the attention of the white man. He adopted an elaborate headdress of the Sioux variety, along with the other colorful beadwork and trappings of plains Indians. Those who knew anything about California Indians snickered, but it worked. He was no longer ignored."</p><p>All those (primarily white) government officials ushed him into their offices immediately, because he <i>looked</i> like the kind of Indian they recognized from Hollywood movies. This, in turn, gave Lobo the window he needed to plead his case.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-54122297946063775612024-02-10T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-03T12:55:21.491-08:00O.C. Q&A: Coastal Edition<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1kfLMiVP_RVfrLo1V0o4XB-p-cHEjeMs9AG7tyx2kZ4od8eoFvVagRdEeGEqpMhXIlclOX4LX4mTw2Xy2uONz33G2GHdB0mSBM3hZ1sA0vKf1F6DUKujrBl1m3sLcd-cFwcnn21CanNQ_XLjneGoAtjUGFvbrX3XwiLkFMw0IyvEbiqx4I2R/s1114/Charles_Brown%20from%20Steve%20Lawson.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="644" data-original-width="1114" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1kfLMiVP_RVfrLo1V0o4XB-p-cHEjeMs9AG7tyx2kZ4od8eoFvVagRdEeGEqpMhXIlclOX4LX4mTw2Xy2uONz33G2GHdB0mSBM3hZ1sA0vKf1F6DUKujrBl1m3sLcd-cFwcnn21CanNQ_XLjneGoAtjUGFvbrX3XwiLkFMw0IyvEbiqx4I2R/w400-h231/Charles_Brown%20from%20Steve%20Lawson.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wreck of the Charles Brown, Laguna Beach, 1933 (Courtesy Steve Lawson)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b><i>Q: Are there any shipwrecks off Orange County’s coast?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> There are a handful, including the Elsie I. Built in New Jersey in 1943, the 150-foot Navy landing craft was unromantically dubbed the LCI(G) 465. With a crew of 70 and armed to the teeth as a gunboat, she earned four battle stars, taking part in the liberation of Guam, the Philippines and Okinawa, and even survived kamikaze attacks. </p><p>After the war, she was purchased by Ivey Sparks of Huntington Beach, who renamed her the Elsie I (get it?) and used her as a deep-sea sport fishing barge. In 1949, she was purchased by Shorty Ingersoll (the ship’s captain) and Herb Berry, who continued the business.</p><p>On April 29, 1951, the Elsie I was anchored a half-mile off of Goldenwest Street when a storm capsized her, killing bargemaster Wade Showalter. During a salvage attempt the barge broke in two and sank 3 1/2 miles off Huntington Beach. </p><p>Today, the wreck acts as an artificial reef, thriving with marine life. </p><p><b><i>Q: Was Costa Mesa originally called Goat Hill?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b> The Goat Hill name dates to the opening of Newport Harbor High School in 1930. The Costa Mesa students derisively referred to Newport Beach as "Mackerel Flats," and the Newport kids belittled Costa Mesa by calling it "Goat Hill."</p><p>The mudslinging nicknames still live on via the Goat Hill Tavern and Fairview Park's small-scale Mackerel Flats & Goat Hill Junction Railroad.</p><p>Meanwhile, there are a number of REAL placenames (not jokes) that are part of Costa Mesa’s history. The city includes the historic communities of Fairview, Paularino, Harper, and arguably the southern portion of Gospel Swamp. </p><p><b><i>Q: Sunset Beach doesn't look like our other beach towns. Why?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> From the enormous neon swordfish at Sam’s Seafood/Don the Beachcomber to a life-sized painting of Superman suspended over a (now missing) phone booth, and from multi-million-dollar homes to tumbledown cottages, the Sunset Beach landscape is unique. Like many unincorporated communities, the town became home to a lot of unconventional people and eclectic businesses. Looser restrictions allowed it to organically develop its own character. </p><p>Sunset Beach sprang up in 1904 along the new Pacific Electric Railway tracks between Seal Beach and the Bolsa Chica wetlands. Against the wishes of many of its 1,000 independent-minded residents, it was absorbed into Huntington Beach in 2011. </p><p>The town’s best-known landmark is an 87-foot-tall water-tower-turned-house. The tower was built in 1945 and supplied water to Sunset Beach and Surfside until 1974. Anesthesiologist Robert Odell and college math teacher George Armstrong bought the tower and converted it into a luxury three-level home in the mid-1980s. Inside you'll now find such amenities as a 7-foot firepit, a 145-gallon built-in fish tank, a Jacuzzi, a steam bath, two master suites and a wine cellar. The home has had numerous owners since then. Maintenance costs are high and it's not the most practical place to live.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-67615483598849263742024-02-07T01:00:00.000-08:002024-02-10T09:39:02.893-08:00Prohibition and Booze in O.C.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwxg40Fst6Ml1hDYZ9w-hZTDZWm_2FYZ_BrYC0yOjiWnaAtz5atLc0S-hFAgdap3L5wRhqDdzUWTvtvylgmLDIkF7iJ8G97gDrUp-0-kikBNZqSXxNFtLX8brJ7876CbcWlCtPH-8mVuZkIba3GkakoooSe1hCVqOM-AJQnvYUjJD3gtqLe5c/s5677/Sheriff%20Jernigan%20destroys%20contraband%20liquor,%203-31-1932.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="5677" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxwxg40Fst6Ml1hDYZ9w-hZTDZWm_2FYZ_BrYC0yOjiWnaAtz5atLc0S-hFAgdap3L5wRhqDdzUWTvtvylgmLDIkF7iJ8G97gDrUp-0-kikBNZqSXxNFtLX8brJ7876CbcWlCtPH-8mVuZkIba3GkakoooSe1hCVqOM-AJQnvYUjJD3gtqLe5c/w400-h254/Sheriff%20Jernigan%20destroys%20contraband%20liquor,%203-31-1932.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sheriff Jernigan and deputies destroy contraband liquor at the Fruit Street Yard, 1932.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">During Prohibition -- from 1920 to 1933 -- it was illegal to make, sell, or transport alcoholic beverages in the United States. Prohibition in Orange County, California was a study in contrasts. On one hand, forty-two miles of largely unpatrolled coastline attracted rum runners. But in many local communities, the roots of temperance and prohibition went back generations prior to the Volstead Act’s attempt to take the “roar” out of the “Roaring ‘20s.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Orange County’s origins followed closely on the heels of the development of the Prohibition Party, the Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU), and other anti-alcohol organizations backed (in many cases) by various Protestant denominations. Many of these groups had formed in part as a response to the many traumatized Civil War veterans who had returned home, self-medicated for their PTSD with alcohol, and thereby created a national epidemic of beaten women and children.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMXnh23T_8_hvwHLD8aUIkE_JsN3PVNWAdpf-LWFqRg_fSUIZiWZ4GJ9qX6-akbEw8b5oL5oKn8zXKYjX1okWsxnIdjVJIr1PNmEZyDqAnkwpWFL2l53fHieabfaIrSqJ7XAf6TblO2z6GMyx3IrkK_LKkt-C5BIkqz6NXIfCXnYMGYq9ncVv/s1024/Exchange%20Saloon,%20132%20W%20Center%20St,%20Anaheim,%201908.%20Proprietor%20William%20Stark%20(at%20the%20end%20of%20the%20bar)%20was%20mayor%20from%201920%20to%201923.%20(Photo%20courtesy%20Anaheim%20Heritage%20Center).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="1024" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIMXnh23T_8_hvwHLD8aUIkE_JsN3PVNWAdpf-LWFqRg_fSUIZiWZ4GJ9qX6-akbEw8b5oL5oKn8zXKYjX1okWsxnIdjVJIr1PNmEZyDqAnkwpWFL2l53fHieabfaIrSqJ7XAf6TblO2z6GMyx3IrkK_LKkt-C5BIkqz6NXIfCXnYMGYq9ncVv/w400-h285/Exchange%20Saloon,%20132%20W%20Center%20St,%20Anaheim,%201908.%20Proprietor%20William%20Stark%20(at%20the%20end%20of%20the%20bar)%20was%20mayor%20from%201920%20to%201923.%20(Photo%20courtesy%20Anaheim%20Heritage%20Center).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">T<i>he Exchange Saloon, 132 W Center St, Anaheim, in 1908. Proprietor William Stark (at the end of the bar) would serve as mayor from 1920 to 1923.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At the same time, there was pushback against the "drys" from Catholics, German Lutherans, Episcopalians, ardent hell-raisers, and others who felt the government had no business legislating either alcohol or morality. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As early as 1894, the Orange County Board of Supervisors tried to instate an anti-saloon ordinance, but voters shot it down. The battle over liquor was at the very heart of our local politics, and a candidate’s success usually depended on whether his stance on the issue matched that of the residents of his town or district.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Like much of America, this left Orange County as a patchwork of “wet” and “dry” communities, depending on local attitudes. People in dry towns like Brea visited wet towns like the former German vineyard colony of Anaheim to “tie one on.” Further south, Seal Beach thrived as a legal wet resort. Huntington Beach began with the intention that no liquor would ever be permitted within its borders, but found itself at the opposite end of the spectrum when the oil boom brought thousands of “roughnecks” to town.</div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSP2lc-c6GRnhEADh8C350wtRH5xGvx-Iu7KmSaYGLfMNLOYOKaevjsmSamzOz9j-DHFYX1nnO8ROWW0xWIUaln91KU6ctvRqJ-s1DNCYSKbrtoDdDuWTmXSu6LZMgsg2Kwl4fAhovUZkuhoN5pjolMyfutgS3ibI8z8-y91FC_9HPvUbKtIkJ/s7461/WCTU%20parade%20float,%20Santa%20Ana,%20ca%201900%20-%20FA4251.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5162" data-original-width="7461" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSP2lc-c6GRnhEADh8C350wtRH5xGvx-Iu7KmSaYGLfMNLOYOKaevjsmSamzOz9j-DHFYX1nnO8ROWW0xWIUaln91KU6ctvRqJ-s1DNCYSKbrtoDdDuWTmXSu6LZMgsg2Kwl4fAhovUZkuhoN5pjolMyfutgS3ibI8z8-y91FC_9HPvUbKtIkJ/w400-h276/WCTU%20parade%20float,%20Santa%20Ana,%20ca%201900%20-%20FA4251.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Santa Ana parade float sponsored by Women’s Christian Temperance Union, circa 1900. (Courtesy First American Corp.)</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">“Orange…was incorporated in 1888 solely to keep out saloons,” the <i>Los Angeles Times’ Orange County Edition</i> explained in a 1976 retrospective on local politics. “By 1903, Santa Ana would pass a Prohibition ordinance that would last… thirty years... On the other hand, Fullerton would be incorporated in 1904 as a means of retaining the saloons...”</div><p>This somewhat chaotic, localized approach was swept away in 1920 when the 18th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution and the Volstead Act went into effect, banning most alcohol nationwide. Almost immediately, people found ways around the law: smuggling, making home-brew booze, and going to secret “speak easy” saloons which served alcohol and also sometimes catered to other vices like gambling. With an approximate 700% profit margin, criminals had the most to gain from prohibition and gangs took over various regions of the country, often fighting each other for territory. </p><p>But unlike Al Capone’s Chicago or mob-run New York, Southern California never had a powerful organized crime syndicate or czar running everything. There were many local bootleggers running operations large and small. They tended to respect each other’s “territory” and seldom created the kind of gang violence seen “back east.” </p><p>The thinly populated coast of Orange County was a popular place for smuggling. Large boats from Canada or Mexico would anchor far out in international waters. Speedboats would offload cargo from these liquor boats and make deliveries to hush-hush delivery points all along the coast. <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2023/03/when-al-capone-tried-to-buy-rancho.html">Al Capone even made a trip out from Chicago</a> to make a serious but failed attempt to purchase the entire Rancho Santa Margarita -- almost certainly for its unguarded Mexico-adjacent coastline.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsUDrNSlcsPjfFPa9917XConMIUKbt-Z31YfoBtLq5JbHlwD-dKlMAx36WXJAEN8DsqFS1t9mhzooCTk0MyczwW5hshOmQrbkXBNxVVT0LVVaxYgIFVQs_qL-GhEWDTMPaxFP1wHaHZ-Efp8X0NforYoy2g2c1SC8k2fwj2mAg20x8jpQwHt2/s1588/Confiscated%20bootlegging%20equip%20at%20PD%20station,%20Jan%207,%201932,%20HB%20News%20Jan%207,%201932%20bootleg%20warehouse%20708%20Huntington%20ave.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1291" data-original-width="1588" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsUDrNSlcsPjfFPa9917XConMIUKbt-Z31YfoBtLq5JbHlwD-dKlMAx36WXJAEN8DsqFS1t9mhzooCTk0MyczwW5hshOmQrbkXBNxVVT0LVVaxYgIFVQs_qL-GhEWDTMPaxFP1wHaHZ-Efp8X0NforYoy2g2c1SC8k2fwj2mAg20x8jpQwHt2/w400-h325/Confiscated%20bootlegging%20equip%20at%20PD%20station,%20Jan%207,%201932,%20HB%20News%20Jan%207,%201932%20bootleg%20warehouse%20708%20Huntington%20ave.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bootlegging equipment confiscated from a warehouse at 708 Huntington Ave., Huntington Beach. (Huntington Beach News, 1-7-1932)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>As it was, local fishermen were often recruited as rum runners, a job which came to have almost a folk-hero-like aura about it. Many doubled their incomes this way. They’d often come ashore at night, amid the cliff-sheltered coves around Laguna, at Alamitos Bay or Anaheim Landing, anywhere south of Salt Creek, or at the piers in Seal Beach and San Clemente. Sometimes trucks were waiting for the delivery and sometimes cases of liquor were hidden in the sand or among the bushes for later pick-up. Locals who happened to see the activity knew enough to look the other way, a practice which, as historian Doris Walker put it, often “netted them free bottles” and kept their liquor cabinets “among the best-stocked around.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Locally, Tony “the Admiral” Cornero – with help from his brother Frank -- ran one of the most successful bootlegging operations, using a shrimping business as a cover. Seal Beach historian Larry Strawther identifies at least two other operations also smuggling booze on the north coast of Orange County: “The City Hall Gang (so named because of its very strong influence at Los Angeles City Hall) was led by Marvin ‘Doc’ Schoulweiler and L.A. gambling kingpin Milton ‘Farmer’ Page. Getting a larger and larger foothold were the Black Hand Sicilians (with their New York and Chicago roots)..." </div><div><br /></div><div>Los Angeles organized crime historian J. Michael Niotta responds that he's unsure "if the Page brothers ever bootlegged. I believe their outfit specialized in hijacking rum runner shipments once they got loaded onto trucks." </div><div><br /></div><div>"Plenty of <i>legal</i> operations were exploited as well," Niotta writes, including pharmacies that were sanctioned by the government "to produce and sell medicinal whiskies and vineyards [that were] allowed to produce wine for religious ceremonies. My great grandfather had several businesses that were legally allowed to purchase alcohol for making hair tonics and perfumes. They then converted it to drinkable liquor and sold it in bulk to resell bootleggers. Plenty of other slick plays were in motion."</div><div><br /></div><div>As Prohibition dragged on, the game of cat and mouse between bootleggers and law enforcement as well as a little head-butting between rival criminal operations took many twists and turns. </div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, most Orange Countians purchased and consumed their bootleg liquor surreptitiously throughout Prohibition. A knowing wink to the right storekeeper – or often the local pharmacist – could get you a bottle easily enough. Most of the “good stuff” smuggled through O.C. was destined for Los Angeles. But Orange Countians were sometimes stuck with pure grain alcohol or homemade “bathtub gin,” both of which tended to induce vomiting even when mixed with soda or grapefruit juice. Still, it was good enough to keep places like Seal Beach and Balboa full of tipsy weekend revelers and to fill the local jails. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOc0fF3eWEG2_izbsHswn_p-3rILw0kIhpW4iU2s7DkYaGPgR9-QB560e6pCJiKAjP3vT12JTZIpG2w1S0xJ3QV4yK8LkAqaT8jrsR6Ubc9n9XrmlPHLezmHCCv5Rp-LNu-eY9OJXt-uvEqFf75bCDMJS8LjPJb-N84u4WWwMv_lx6DZ7-k_i/s6306/Balboa%20%20Aug%201928.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3833" data-original-width="6306" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOc0fF3eWEG2_izbsHswn_p-3rILw0kIhpW4iU2s7DkYaGPgR9-QB560e6pCJiKAjP3vT12JTZIpG2w1S0xJ3QV4yK8LkAqaT8jrsR6Ubc9n9XrmlPHLezmHCCv5Rp-LNu-eY9OJXt-uvEqFf75bCDMJS8LjPJb-N84u4WWwMv_lx6DZ7-k_i/w400-h244/Balboa%20%20Aug%201928.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Balboa, Aug. 1928. During Prohibition, Balboa was a “wide-open town” with minimal enforcement of liquor laws.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Not all bootlegging was done secretively. Judge Robert Gardner, who grew up in Balboa, remembered, “you could unload your illegal liquor at the city dock... One of my most vivid recollections of Balboa in the early twenties is that of sitting on the railing of the city dock and watching [bootlegger Tony Cornero’s] rum runners in action. …[Around midnight] a long line of black sedans would line up on Washington Street. The drivers would get out and stand around and smoke cigarettes… Then I would hear the muffled, rumbling roar of high-speed motors idling up the bay. Pretty soon, sleek, powerful speedboats would come into view and moor at the city dock. The drivers of the cars would pick up the cases and load them into their cars. When all the cases were loaded, the drivers would take off for Los Angeles. It was all very open.” </div><div><br /></div><div>Gardner would then run down to the Green Dragon soda fountain where he worked, to welcome the smugglers for a late night snack. The “tough-looking, unshaven bunch, attired in watch caps and pea jackets” stacked their rifles and “gorged themselves on sundaes, sodas, banana splits, malts, everything we had.” </div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, being so open would backfire, as Frank Cornero (Tony’s brother) was arrested by the Feds during one such Balboa delivery. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, writes Strawther, Tony Cornero “bribed officials in Laguna Beach and Seal Beach,” sometimes throwing as much as $25,000 worth of cash in bundles into the windows of parked police cars. It’s not hard to imagine that this may have gone on in other communities as well.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxgg9D0xC7UIIfCn0snBQQO5gYnnR5uF5_blTMDgAs3gLfTF34ePBBpdkl7c_dfyPD8_65uJm5f41s5otMSU50Aawti_8hPQve2QN4zKzVrCsF0LyWkPLJDR2P2p2rO5dQ7gfdRby-Bgge9DZhayQIM5-NQ9NzkRUk0BS9P53h-5yxbV2y9U-/s2224/Jewel%20City%20Cafe,%20Seal%20Beach,%20ca%201921.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1263" data-original-width="2224" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxgg9D0xC7UIIfCn0snBQQO5gYnnR5uF5_blTMDgAs3gLfTF34ePBBpdkl7c_dfyPD8_65uJm5f41s5otMSU50Aawti_8hPQve2QN4zKzVrCsF0LyWkPLJDR2P2p2rO5dQ7gfdRby-Bgge9DZhayQIM5-NQ9NzkRUk0BS9P53h-5yxbV2y9U-/w400-h228/Jewel%20City%20Cafe,%20Seal%20Beach,%20ca%201921.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Jewel City Cafe, Seal Beach, circa 1921.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>By late 1922, Seal Beach was “the wettest spot in Southern California,” according to the <i>Los Angeles Times</i>. Already considered “wide-open,” its reputation was solidified during the wild Prohibition era. In addition to wholesome fun on the sand and at the Joy Zone amusement park, Seal Beach was also a hotbed of liquor, prostitution, gambling and other vice. Sweeps by Orange County Sheriff Sam Jernigan's deputies, sometimes netting hundreds of gallons of booze and dozens of arrests – barely made a dent in the crime.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once Pacific Coast Highway was completed, many vice-bent Angelenos would drive down to Mexico for a weekend of drinking and gambling. Beachside lunchrooms and refreshment stands in Orange County towns like San Clemente became popular stop-offs for travelers. Unfortunately, auto wrecks from inebriated drivers coming <b><i>back</i></b> from Tijuana also became common.</div><div><br /></div><div>Danni Murphy of the Orange County District Attorney’s office wrote that the D.A. “hired detectives to attempt to purchase liquor in ‘blind pig’ establishments, places… pretending to be engaged in some legitimate business activity. Raids turned up everything from pints of raw corn liquor to complete and sophisticated stills… First offenders were allowed to plead guilty to illegal possession of alcoholic beverage and were fined $500... ‘Repeaters’ were charged with unlawful sale and usually sentenced to six months in jail.” At the end of these trials the booze was sometimes poured down a manhole near the Courthouse or at the County Yard, “as a message to the rest of the public. Apparently, one defendant escaped a jail sentence when his attorney grabbed the jar containing the alleged liquor and drank it right in front of the jury. With the evidence destroyed, the judge had to dismiss the case.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Prohibition had been controversial from the start, but it became <i>less</i> popular with each passing year. Although dramatically lowering the rates of cirrhosis, prohibition increased crime, imposed a set of moral values on citizens who didn’t uniformly share those beliefs, and kept local government from collecting vast sums in taxes.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-MZWvZ8DLZPZhydbxhyphenhyphenaSn3ZNL1YbpSPlyMqGo9rzj5q2UftCJzivKi34gTklJIxnrThe1Kl1oWeii2R22wa1oCMK3LvycPDiqJVDeVicjn6VwrQpdUw8su7TUqqj68gTI3BpGnV87whKgfqwBvlWuMv-Q7JNhiuBi6Hs-llxGuhn_bzjYr1/s2100/1920s%20Jernigan%20&%20Prohibition.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1651" data-original-width="2100" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-MZWvZ8DLZPZhydbxhyphenhyphenaSn3ZNL1YbpSPlyMqGo9rzj5q2UftCJzivKi34gTklJIxnrThe1Kl1oWeii2R22wa1oCMK3LvycPDiqJVDeVicjn6VwrQpdUw8su7TUqqj68gTI3BpGnV87whKgfqwBvlWuMv-Q7JNhiuBi6Hs-llxGuhn_bzjYr1/w400-h315/1920s%20Jernigan%20&%20Prohibition.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>O.C. Sheriff Sam Jernigan (center, in glasses) watches illegal liquor being poured down a manhole. Such contraband was often stored in the Old Courthouse basement until the bootleggers’ trial was complete.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>“The Noble Experiment” of nationwide Prohibition ended with the repeal of the 18th Amendment by the 21st Amendment on December 5, 1933. Orange County’s south coast, which had fared better than many areas during the Great Depression, went into an economic slump. But the fishermen went back to fishing full time and found the fish population had rebounded significantly during the years they’d been busy smuggling booze. Meanwhile, divers would, for many years, find large amounts of liquor on the ocean floor – no doubt dumped by rum runners when the Coast Guard came after them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Back on shore, bars and liquor stores opened their doors and alcohol once again flowed in restaurants, casinos, clubs and private residences. Legal booze was here to stay.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i>(This article is largely based on several of my articles that were published elsewhere in the past. Special thanks to Southern California organized crime historian Richard Warner for his sage advice and to J. Michael Niotta for his insights.)</i></div>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-29453569193662767092024-02-04T21:46:00.000-08:002024-03-03T12:55:56.983-08:00O.C. Q&A: Huntington Beach Surfing Edition<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_bCNKs_nvCpgfSVV_szjy15CD2_fhZLwlbip0HL_D3M0FvDQiwpZ73HEnzubEmqJNKajp_AgsmNCq3ORHV8g83ScD8Had1lfOW7af19bLZ3kDLP0dp_RVtGPdD2vd6wUE8zERtPVg77fyUkcl6t9pkAToxg11JOm250a2yFwXm3Vy_LaE6Q_/s551/surfingpier2008.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="551" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_bCNKs_nvCpgfSVV_szjy15CD2_fhZLwlbip0HL_D3M0FvDQiwpZ73HEnzubEmqJNKajp_AgsmNCq3ORHV8g83ScD8Had1lfOW7af19bLZ3kDLP0dp_RVtGPdD2vd6wUE8zERtPVg77fyUkcl6t9pkAToxg11JOm250a2yFwXm3Vy_LaE6Q_/w400-h271/surfingpier2008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Surfer on the south side of the Huntington Beach Pier, 2008.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Q: How did “The Trolleys” surf break, off Huntington Beach, get its name?</i></b><p></p><p><b>A:</b> Tall tales and the sea go hand-in-hand, but there’s a least a little reality to this backstory. First of all, The Trolleys (sometimes called Trolley Cars or Box Cars) is a surf break about a mile out from the “Huntington Cliffs,” just south of <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2014/04/golden-west-vs-goldenwest.html">Goldenwest Street</a>. The waves only break there maybe twice in a decade, when conditions are exactly right: high waves, low tide, etc. These same conditions also make it nearly impossible to reach The Trolleys, reinforcing its legendary status.</p><p>In the 1960s, “Red Cars” from the defunct Pacific Electric Railway were dumped into the sea to create artificial reefs off the Redondo Beach and Hermosa Beach piers. In addition to drawing marine life, they also created surf breaks way out in the ocean. The rumor began that Huntington’s Brigadoon-like break was also the product of dumped trolleys. This tale was probably reinforced by the unused Pacific Electric tracks surfers still had to cross on their way to the water. However, the break is actually created by a sand bar which accumulated over an oil pipeline. Admittedly, undersea Red Cars make a better story. </p><p><i><b>Q: Isn’t “Surf City” just a fake name dreamt up by Huntington Beach P.R. people?</b></i></p><p><b>A:</b> Maybe, but it’s also part of a rich tradition. The first and last time Huntington Beach had a non-commercial name was 1900, when it was called <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2021/05/an-unsolved-mystery-in-early-huntington.html">Shell Beach</a> or just "the beach at Santa Ana." </p><p>In 1901, Philip Stanton and his partners bought the land to develop a resort town. He named it Pacific City, hoping people would think it resembled then-popular Atlantic City. A year later, Stanton sold, and railroad magnate Henry Huntington bought a controlling interest. Huntington added some snazzy tourist amenities and immediately began work on a link to his Pacific Electric Railway. The place was pragmatically renamed Huntington Beach. </p><p>In 2004 the nickname “Surf City USA” was trademarked for use in a worldwide tourism marketing blitz. Got a better name? Buy the whole town -- the way Mr. Stanton or Mr. Huntington did -- and the naming rights could be yours!</p><p><b><i>Q: Aren't the Surfing Walk of Fame and the Surfers' Hall of Fame, on opposite sides of Main St. in Huntington Beach, a little redundant?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Probably, yes. But they have somewhat different criteria and methods for induction. And what's wrong with having twice as many nice things to say about skilled sportsmen? Anyway, as you might expect from a bunch of laid-back surfers, the rivalry between the two award organizations is pretty friendly. Sometimes, when they honor the same notable surfer during the same year, the two groups even split the airfare for the inductee.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-26360472748916286772024-01-27T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:30:29.595-08:00O.C. Q&A: Santa Ana Mountains Edition<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTIEtyqg1e9uK0-eP4lLAcaD8toFz5yF0Dr0bUNefssWr91ZRc4goRcftU5mtyaYXbTlps-RnV0Fz67LwPmPGzSZi9DvjFx9N04jPeB3qwKXCUame5ea3P5sg2XvL6Ui6hyBegE6eoAQqv03rHJ_a8mIm1G6RV_yi_g_9p46WmababX8PrnEPR/s1024/Modjeska%202009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="631" data-original-width="1024" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTIEtyqg1e9uK0-eP4lLAcaD8toFz5yF0Dr0bUNefssWr91ZRc4goRcftU5mtyaYXbTlps-RnV0Fz67LwPmPGzSZi9DvjFx9N04jPeB3qwKXCUame5ea3P5sg2XvL6Ui6hyBegE6eoAQqv03rHJ_a8mIm1G6RV_yi_g_9p46WmababX8PrnEPR/w400-h246/Modjeska%202009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from Modjeska Peak, July 2009 (Photo by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Q: Why do you call the prominent double-peak in the Santa Ana Mountains "Old Saddleback" and not just "Saddleback?" </i></b><p></p><p><b>A: </b> According to the late great historian Phil Brigandi, we call it “Old Saddleback” because that’s been its name since the 1860s. </p><p>The distinctive silhouette of <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2009/07/ascending-old-saddleback.html">Old Saddleback</a> is made up of Santiago Peak and Modjeska Peak, the highest summits in Santa Ana Mountains. In the last half-century, it's been popular to apply an abbreviated "Saddleback" moniker to schools, businesses, churches and even the Saddleback Valley. But the mountains don't change. They even appear on <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-orange-county-logo_21.html">our county's logo</a>.</p><p>Historian Don Meadows wrote, "No paisano would ever think of shortening the name. It is always OLD Saddleback to those who love the country." </p><p>Dropping "Old" from the name is like saying "Frisco" instead of San Francisco: Locals will inspect you for bruises left by your fall from the turnip truck.</p><p><b><i>Q: Is there any gold to be mined here in Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b> There's gold in them thar Santa Ana Mountains! But probably not enough to make searching for it worthwhile. </p><p>Perhaps the most notable of the many prospectors who learned this the hard way was Fullerton's Jacob "Jake" Yaeger. In 1886, while hunting game in Trabuco Canyon, he stumbled across an outcropping of gold ore. </p><p>By 1922 he had spent $125,000, and the best years of his life, digging over 5,000 feet of mine tunnels, (and an additional 1,900 feet just to drain water out of the mine). He worked by candlelight, with rattlesnakes, bears, and mountain lions as his neighbors. Jake remained optimistic right up to his death in 1928, but he never found enough gold to pay for even a fraction of his efforts.</p><p>Currently, there’s another fellow who claims he’s found a bit of gold ore in Lucas Canyon and has staked a claim. But if history and geology are any indicators, it’s probably best not to hold your breath waiting for a second California Gold Rush.</p><p><b><i>Q: "Carbondale” is listed as one of Orange County’s California Historical Landmarks. What is it?</i></b> </p><p><b>A: </b> Located near the mouth of Silverado Canyon, the town of Carbondale simply disappeared. Ramon Mesquida found coal here in 1878 and told a few miners who were still lingering in Silverado after the silver boom. They formed the Santa Clara Coal Mining Co. and their biggest customer was the Southern Pacific Railroad. Coincidentally, it turned out the railroad already owned the land the miners claimed. </p><p>The Railroad took over in 1881, and a boom town quickly sprang up. Modestly named Harrisburg by mine superintendent Tom Harris, it had a store, saloon, hotel, school, and miners’ shacks. But there was already a Harrisburg, California, and so it was renamed Carbondale. Like <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2019/05/silverado-days.html">Silverado</a>, Carbondale’s boom went bust and the town was nearly empty by 1883. Carbondale died when the saloon closed, but spasmodic attempts at mining continued until 1917. </p><p>Today, the only signs of Carbondale are historical plaques outside Calvary Chapel of the Canyons. [<b><i>Update:</i></b> Mountain maven Mike Boeck posts that the Bond Fire of Dec. 2020 burned away enough brush to expose a remaining small portion of one of Carbondale's buildings. He says the mine itself still exists "on the north side of the road,"but that the approach is too clogged with brush for even an experienced bushwhacker like himself to access it.]</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-45556563997742728852024-01-20T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:30:48.151-08:00O.C. Q&A: Street History Edition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlRcWR6sbTCOTjCmEUPYe-qQT0qscNkjK_O9qiJv5ajc_jh-CwOkNtKAdvwflocDjzLxN_-beBJkroL4NssPLWJVGj7JwgBclhVw89YwFzCWLvWvxt0c4D5vsajmbDL9qJj-NLgVrN5_GD6nZir6ZfO-G01Mcrbx618xZqCuEkkUxmEpb40yC/s1024/Chapman%20Old%20Mission.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="936" data-original-width="1024" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlRcWR6sbTCOTjCmEUPYe-qQT0qscNkjK_O9qiJv5ajc_jh-CwOkNtKAdvwflocDjzLxN_-beBJkroL4NssPLWJVGj7JwgBclhVw89YwFzCWLvWvxt0c4D5vsajmbDL9qJj-NLgVrN5_GD6nZir6ZfO-G01Mcrbx618xZqCuEkkUxmEpb40yC/w400-h366/Chapman%20Old%20Mission.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Orange crate label from Charles C. Chapman's Old Mission brand.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b><i>Q: Why are there two major avenues named for Mr. Chapman in Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b> They are named for two different Chapmans. Chapman Avenue in Fullerton is named for Charles C. Chapman, a pioneering Valencia orange grower who also made a fortune in oil and real estate and became the first mayor of Fullerton.</p><p>Chapman Avenue in Orange is named for L.A. Attorney Alfred B. Chapman, who, along with his partner, Andrew Glassell, founded the town of Orange (which they originally called Richland) in 1871. </p><p>If that clears things up, allow me re-confuse you: Chapman University, not far from Chapman Avenue in Orange, is actually named for Fullerton's Charles C. Chapman.</p><p><b><i>Q: Why do streets change direction from straight to diagonal when crossing Newport Avenue in Tustin and Costa Mesa?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Blame the Mexican Governors of early California. The shift in angle is based on the alignment of the Irvine Ranch. Newport Avenue/Boulevard essentially runs along the western edge of the old Irvine Ranch. The ranch boundary, in turn, paralleled the western boundaries of the Mexican Ranchos that once occupied the same land, beginning in the late 1830s and '40s: Rancho San Joaquin and Rancho Lomas de Santiago. Land grabs shifted the boundaries a bit over the centuries, but the principle remains the same: Everything's cockeyed on the Irvine Ranch. </p><p><b><i>Q: How did the Imperial Highway get its name?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> It doesn’t seem all that magnificently imperial, does it? Actually, the Imperial Highway once followed the old Butterfield Stage route from the Imperial Valley to Los Angeles. The valley, in turn, was named for the Imperial Land Co., which had developed much of the desert there into a productive agricultural region. Highway construction began in 1930 and – with a Great Depression and a war intervening – ended in 1961. The Orange County section was completed in 1937. Today, the highway is largely superseded by freeways and only retains its "Imperial" name from regal El Segundo through majestic Yorba Linda. </p><p><b><i>Q: Does Lake Forest have its own Muppet-filled Sesame Street?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Sort of. The Kimberly Gardens mobile home park, on Muirlands Blvd, near El Toro Park, includes the following streets: Kermit Drive, Big Bird Lane, Muppet Way, Sesame Street, Grover Lane, Oscar Way and Cookie Monster Lane. Disappointingly, it looks just like any other trailer park. Sesame Street debuted on PBS in late 1969 and was almost immediately popular. Kimberly Gardens was carved out of the orange groves in early 1972. Sadly, the character Mr. Snuffleupagus was only just being introduced, or we could have had one of the all-time greatest Orange County street names!</p><p>As themes go, Muppets are good. By contrast, the Moore Homes tract – laid out in 1960 along Warner Ave. in Huntington Beach – has cigarette brands as street names, including Viceroy, Camel, Kent and Salem. Even in the smoking-friendly 1960s, it garnered a few raised eyebrows and the nickname "Tobacco Row."</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-18663521260168807852024-01-13T08:00:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:31:01.966-08:00O. C. Q&A: Sea Life Edition<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNnmn6G4Edo3axJ0t7ernOqxfcTXYzTLA724RXxsq7fOYr3cLK_S70mPqB1cLLkbVgorYAHCOLG4Zww8VL8mwQuJXgrRHas-mgaNyDCKsqmLC8xKH6qEUbZ7RAhJNahhyphenhyphenjnE9xRCuadg2QzpOLkQJezX-amyvYSbKIwFqhQGeo6jWudErYYdM/s1957/whale%20LAT_Nov_20_1961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1957" data-original-width="1608" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNnmn6G4Edo3axJ0t7ernOqxfcTXYzTLA724RXxsq7fOYr3cLK_S70mPqB1cLLkbVgorYAHCOLG4Zww8VL8mwQuJXgrRHas-mgaNyDCKsqmLC8xKH6qEUbZ7RAhJNahhyphenhyphenjnE9xRCuadg2QzpOLkQJezX-amyvYSbKIwFqhQGeo6jWudErYYdM/w329-h400/whale%20LAT_Nov_20_1961.jpg" width="329" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Wanda the Whale is captured in Newport Harbor, 1961.</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><b><i>Q: I've heard that the first killer whale in captivity came from Newport Harbor. True?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Surprisingly, it's true. In November 1961 a team from L.A.'s Marineland of the Pacific spent nine hours struggling to capture a female orca in Newport's turning basin. About 5,000 locals stood on shore and cheered for the whale to escape, shouting "Ole!" each time she evaded the ropes and nets. But ultimately Wanda (as the whale was soon named) was hauled ashore, loaded onto a flatbed truck and driven to Marineland, where they dubbed her kind the "most vicious animal on land or sea." Wanda lived for two days in a large tank before dying from old age, pneumonia, gastroenteritis, and stress brought about by her capture. Rather than apprehending a vicious killer, they'd only harassed a dying, gassy, old lady.</p><p><b><i>Q: How did the Dana Point Festival of Whales begin?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> The boundlessly energetic Doris Walker (1933-2011) was Dana Point's foremost "town booster" for almost half a century. Along with writing the definitive books on Dana Point's history; writing for newspapers, magazines and newsletters; and founding the town's historical society, she also launched the <a href="http://FestivalOfWhales.org">Festival of Whales</a> in 1971 to highlight the brand new Dana Point Harbor. The festival marks the annual return of gray whales. Today it includes whale watching, art festivals, street fairs, a parade, exhibits, contests, and more. The 2024 festival will be held March 1-3.</p><p><b><i>Q: Are grunion (and "grunion runs") a thing of the past in Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Technically, no. Although the busier and more crowded our coastline becomes, the less appealing it is to these silvery little fish. Still, millions of them come up on our shores to spawn, but only on sandy, south-facing beaches and only at night, during high tide, during full and new moons between March and August. In short, they’re ridiculously finicky about having exactly the right mood for sweet fishy love. </p><p>But gathering grunion with your bare hands in the surf during the "grunion run" is as much a part of Southern California lore as the Double-Double, beach bonfires, and Cal Worthington's dog, Spot. Catching grunion is banned in April and May, and those over age 16 need a fishing license. If you go, play it cool. Lights, noise, and other hubbub ruin the romantic mood and can end the big fish orgy before it begins.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-65979563566936783592024-01-06T16:00:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:31:41.122-08:00O.C. Q&A: Irvine Park Edition<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxM8-D5wH8ioBsHucDWzqSXOK2OrWeC9c6WWa6QUT957_oXNthfGiT2Yk4LImyK4kx2jN3aRUQVQ8DhowauvsOVDq379g-jbPm4NJeO6kaxyVl97Nx4K80pL-AH5TYMKpSNi0-QKceQm7FJwlRzFSxpv6GxWABofxEcu85t2BA-P5NH6d6-0_d/s3514/OC%20Park,%20Irvine%20Lake,%20pm%201924,%20DD.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2775" data-original-width="3514" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxM8-D5wH8ioBsHucDWzqSXOK2OrWeC9c6WWa6QUT957_oXNthfGiT2Yk4LImyK4kx2jN3aRUQVQ8DhowauvsOVDq379g-jbPm4NJeO6kaxyVl97Nx4K80pL-AH5TYMKpSNi0-QKceQm7FJwlRzFSxpv6GxWABofxEcu85t2BA-P5NH6d6-0_d/w400-h316/OC%20Park,%20Irvine%20Lake,%20pm%201924,%20DD.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Circa 1920 photo of the 1914 <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2008/06/irvine-park-boathouse.html">boathouse</a> at Irvine Park. (Courtesy Don Dobmeier)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><i>Q: I found an old photo labeled “Orange County Park,” but I can’t find it on a map. What gives? </i></b><p></p><p><b>A: </b>They didn’t mislay a whole park. It just got a name change. In 1929, it was renamed <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2008/08/irvine-park-orange-county-park.html">Irvine Park</a>, in honor of James Irvine, II, who donated the land to create this first county park in 1897. From the 1860s, when people first started picnicking there, until it became a park, this spot simply was known as “the Picnic Grounds.” </p><p><b><i>Q: What are oldest living things in Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b>According to the late great Orange County Historian <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2012/09/jim-sleeper-orange-countys-historian.html">Jim Sleeper</a>, the "gnarled old live oak trees in Irvine Park" are the county's oldest residents. (And no, they are not regulars at Polly's Pies.) At Sleeper's request, the State Department of Forestry took core samples, revealing some of the larger oaks to be almost 800 years old. When they first sprouted, Genghis Kahn was terrorizing Central Asia, and Gothic architecture was becoming popular in Europe.</p><p><b><i>Q: Why are there peacocks at Irvine Park?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> In 1910, Albert A. Leake became superintendent of the new <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2013/03/easter-hill-fluffy-concrete-and-guys.html">Marcy Ranch</a>, headquartered near Newport Avenue and Marcy Drive, north of Tustin. He not only maintained the citrus and avocado trees, cattle, and buildings, but also a park that he kept stocked with swans and peafowl (peacocks and peahens). The descendants of the peafowl were still around in the 1960s, finding shelter in the stables at the adjacent Peacock Hill Riding Club. When the club evolved into the Peacock Hill Equestrian Center and moved to Irvine Park in 1980, owners William and Kathryn Warne brought the peacocks with them. In 1987, about 24 of the noisy birds haunted the park. Now there are well over 100. </p><p>“They’re pretty,” said the equestrian center’s current owner, Robin Bisogno, “but there are way too many of them." She politely ignored offers of peafowl recipes, but suggested it might be possible for people to adopt some of the birds. If you want some large, loud, dumb, but beautiful birds, this may be your chance.</p><p><b><i>Q: How long has there been an “Orange County Zoo” at Irvine Park?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> In 1919, J. A. Turner of the Santiago Hunt Club began raising red foxes in cages at the park for hunting purposes. The 1920, the addition of pens for deer and a lethargic alligator made it a zoo. Animals added later included monkeys, birds, and Horatio the pancake-loving bear. Enclosures were scattered around the park. </p><p>The zoo lost steam when the park closed during WWII. In 1969, many animals were released during a flood. In the early 1970s, efforts began to consolidate the enclosures into one area, and in 1984 a new zoo facility was opened, focusing primarily on native California animals.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>More Reading:</b> For the definitive history of Irvine Park, see the<i> <b>hardbound</b></i> edition of Jim Sleeper's book, <i>Bears to Briquets: A History of Irvine Park, 1897-1997</i>. </p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-41497362853397156672024-01-02T18:30:00.000-08:002024-01-02T18:30:00.136-08:00Post-holiday community bonfires<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOWdDCE_3nNkJB1fcUAzOqhceDaVBtBgHpbjJkpqlmDoryRUgpNPxt4f3oT2aQnuLkg-x_ura7y07zsK7a_zZFQtoFmsLCxatVT5EKAJqWmPtJuQLVpkjhVF22GVgt8lFjIH2ZwrV61O05XMKxoIikIme3jKrKCxBqACMw59sbSxLf21ag8gn/s2115/Eastbluff_Dr__NB_1970_Reg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1479" data-original-width="2115" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOWdDCE_3nNkJB1fcUAzOqhceDaVBtBgHpbjJkpqlmDoryRUgpNPxt4f3oT2aQnuLkg-x_ura7y07zsK7a_zZFQtoFmsLCxatVT5EKAJqWmPtJuQLVpkjhVF22GVgt8lFjIH2ZwrV61O05XMKxoIikIme3jKrKCxBqACMw59sbSxLf21ag8gn/w400-h280/Eastbluff_Dr__NB_1970_Reg.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Christmas tree bonfire, Eastbluff Dr., Newport Beach, 1970.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>From the 1950s into the early 1970s, many Orange County communities held large municipal bonfires of Christmas trees in early January. Generally, these events were sponsored by community organizations like the local Jaycees or Women's Club. In many cases, the city or waste management company would help by collecting discarded trees from the curbs in front of homes and bringing them to a central point like a park for the fire.</p><p>Local communities holding such events included Santa Ana, La Habra, Tustin, Brea, Stanton, Westminster, and Leisure World (now Laguna Woods). Sometimes as many as 6,000 trees were burned together. By 1970, Newport Beach was holding large bonfires at five locations throughout town.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohDfrQ0hc_NS0EM8ruCzMUX1F-5d2er4JQo2bMl4fj0Gm-pMXbMy0U4lEWIdsMJUNxFxgu8dZFeg1OiAT0UcJbzW-jfa2PSgwqtzKA2ZW3IZy8hsn8HPjSHG9IBCrz7N44yOy4TqULk-l5m9tcP_xPd5XYib8PzZEDnfBVihmYaQNux2ILnc0/s1948/Operation%20Safe%20Flame%20Jan%204%201964%20Tustin%20News.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="1948" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohDfrQ0hc_NS0EM8ruCzMUX1F-5d2er4JQo2bMl4fj0Gm-pMXbMy0U4lEWIdsMJUNxFxgu8dZFeg1OiAT0UcJbzW-jfa2PSgwqtzKA2ZW3IZy8hsn8HPjSHG9IBCrz7N44yOy4TqULk-l5m9tcP_xPd5XYib8PzZEDnfBVihmYaQNux2ILnc0/w400-h206/Operation%20Safe%20Flame%20Jan%204%201964%20Tustin%20News.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The "Operation Safe Flame" bonfire, Tustin, January 4, 1964.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The post-holiday bonfire tradition was an old one that was popular in parts of the Eastern U.S. and was often held on the Twelfth Night of Christmas, accompanied by community caroling. The idea was to prevent smaller unregulated bonfires throughout town that might pose public safety hazards. (It was not uncommon for groups of neighborhood kids to drag bunches of old Christmas trees to a vacant lot and set them ablaze.) The official community bonfires were also done in the hopes of deterring house fires caused by dried out old trees being kept too long.</p><p>Traditional or not, the AQMD would never let 'em get away with this now.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-30773375040482271182023-12-21T20:09:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:31:55.069-08:00O.C. Q&A: Disneyland Edition<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCabhQXwRFNMhK9LbSIVouRA533K5emHJB3rBZr1rWfCAlCcBRec-ZmXp9lEsK5ugEL4KT5sjYWi3pvFkHKFHpANz3_xX3gOI5GeuODDC0rHvo_urYrkjvxFy1WNf1bsYevX_ThbgB74kHNpWQ4OE30CfNBlcGJuEYQ0QEYepJooRiB_WPum0A/s900/1957_DairyBar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="900" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCabhQXwRFNMhK9LbSIVouRA533K5emHJB3rBZr1rWfCAlCcBRec-ZmXp9lEsK5ugEL4KT5sjYWi3pvFkHKFHpANz3_xX3gOI5GeuODDC0rHvo_urYrkjvxFy1WNf1bsYevX_ThbgB74kHNpWQ4OE30CfNBlcGJuEYQ0QEYepJooRiB_WPum0A/w400-h310/1957_DairyBar.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Dairy Bar in Tomorrowland, 1957 (Courtesy Dave DeCaro, <a href="http://Davelandweb.com">Davelandweb.com</a>)</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><b><i>Q: Which Disneyland attraction was the biggest flop?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> The short-lived, twenty-million-dollar <a href="https://yesterland.com/lightmagic.html">Light Magic</a> parade (1997), with step-dancing, child-frightening pixies is a contender for this. But does a parade count as an attraction? </p><p>Some of the worst attractions were the “filler” stuffed into the still-incomplete Tomorrowland during the first few years Disneyland was open. At least the <a href="https://davelandweb.com/tomorrowland/dutchboy.html">Color Gallery</a>, sponsored by Dutch Boy Paint, let kids mix and match colors and kept its doors open into the early 1960s. </p><p>But the Dairy Bar, sponsored by the American Dairy Association, was a (milk) dud which disappeared in less than three years. It featured static models of futuristic cows watching color TVs and of milkmen making deliveries in helicopter jetpacks. At the spine-tingling conclusion, guests received a glass of milk. Lactose-intolerant guests undoubtedly appreciated the <a href="https://www.waltdisney.org/blog/disneyland-bathrooms">Bathroom of Tomorrow</a> exhibit next door.</p><p>You can read much more about the Dairy Bar and view lots of photos on my pal Dave DeCaro's wonderful <a href="https://davelandweb.com/tomorrowland/dairybar.html"><i>Daveland</i></a> website. </p><p><b><i>Q:. What else, other than "it's a small world," came to Anaheim from the 1964 New York World's Fair?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b> Disney ended up adopting numerous attractions they'd developed for the Fair, including Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln, from the Illinois Pavilion; General Electric's Carousel of Progress; and animatronic dinosaurs from Ford's Magic Skyway. </p><p><a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2010/07/dancing-waters.html">The Dancing Waters</a>, a German water and light show, operated like a pipe organ, was featured at the Fair and was a fixture at the Disneyland Hotel from 1970 into the 2000s. </p><p>Another European import to the Fair, The Wide World In Wax, spent 1966 and 1967 at 1850 S. Harbor Blvd. Its columned facade now graces the Hotel Lulu. The museum featured "religious, fictional and historical scenes with over 100 wax figures." Their figure of Moses looked exactly like his driver's license photo.</p><p><b><i>Q: What’s the strangest-ever Disneyland attraction?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> There have been some pips, from the aforementioned Bathroom of Tomorrow to a cow with Mickey Mouse-shaped spots. But it’s hard to top the high weirdness of The Wizard of Bras. </p><p>When Disneyland opened, the Hollywood-Maxwell Brassiere Co. had an Intimate Apparel Shop on Main Street. In addition to racks of unmentionables, the store had a show. The Wizard of Bras -- a talking figure that predated “audio animatronics” -- served as MC for an 1890s fashion show. As the show’s revolving stage turned, “3D” images of models did a nap-inducing strip tease, from turn-of-the-century outerwear to just corsets and pantaloons. The shop closed six months after opening. The storefront, with a porch and a couple chairs out front, can still be found on the east side of Main Street.</p><p>See photos and read more about the Wizard it at my friend Werner Weiss' wonderful <i><a href="https://yesterland.com/wizard.html">Yesterland</a></i> website.</p><p><b><i>Q: Where does the slang term "E ticket" come from?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Orange Countians of a certain age will remember when Disneyland, rather than including all attractions with general admission, sold ticket books. From 1959 until ticket books were completely phased out in 1982, the most popular attractions required an "E ticket." The least popular were A tickets. B, C, and D ticket attractions fell between. Internally at least, Disney still refers to their snazziest rides as "E tickets." Today, this O.C.-born phrase is used nationwide to describe any major adrenaline-producing experience. Examples of real-life E ticket experiences include skating down slopes of Laguna's Third Street, bodysurfing at the Wedge, and making the steep ascent out of John Wayne Airport.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-5425707743329728702023-12-17T12:00:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:32:08.808-08:00O.C. Q&A: Christmas Edition<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dNianG7TitveAfEWxGPf2Y-rRi8wCFXDqDangKGlRZwImeYuTxuTdbz3wWw4_4L-XarO5JxbdWzUvNTsmwptzbUBGiz0aNyE7rC8ykTNSHEDJMtgCatqJCqR0Wz4kTmo1OBfpDvLxxg-z2rc5KR6xmAsEBXGZreAxY7sB11lEMVgMXrwdeNG/s1503/NB1950.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="868" data-original-width="1503" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1dNianG7TitveAfEWxGPf2Y-rRi8wCFXDqDangKGlRZwImeYuTxuTdbz3wWw4_4L-XarO5JxbdWzUvNTsmwptzbUBGiz0aNyE7rC8ykTNSHEDJMtgCatqJCqR0Wz4kTmo1OBfpDvLxxg-z2rc5KR6xmAsEBXGZreAxY7sB11lEMVgMXrwdeNG/s400/NB1950.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Newport Beach City Hall, decked out of "40 Miles of Christmas Smiles," 1950.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div><b><i>Q: Did O.C. have any special Christmas traditions that have now been forgotten?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>A:</b> Yes, lots! But the biggest was "Forty Miles of Christmas Smiles," a town-versus-town decorating contest. All along the Orange County coast, piers, city halls, businesses, homes, boats, churches and schools featured elaborate exhibits. Once, Huntington Beach even turned an oil derrick into a giant Christmas tree and topped a row of oil pumps with Santa's Sleigh and reindeer, so they appeared to fly as the pumps worked. Started during the Depression, the contest was sponsored by local chambers of commerce and the Orange County Coast Association. World War II temporarily halted the event, but it didn't actually end until the mid-1970s, when energy conservation efforts took the fun out of it.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Q: How did Christmas Cove, in South Laguna, get its name?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>A.</b> Certain weather and ocean conditions – which often appear around Christmas – sometimes create a temporary sand bar and surfing break at this small beach near Blue Lagoon and the Montage Resort. According to Laguna Beach Marine Safety Captain Tom Trager, it all began over the holidays during the El Niño years of 1982 and 1983. A few local kids, with two weeks of vacation and a great new surf spot, began calling the beach “Christmas Cove.” Over a decade ago, a lifeguard tower was placed there, and the name became official. The break still reappears from time to time, like Brigadoon.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Q: How did land-locked Villa Park end up with a holiday boat parade?</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div><b>A:</b> In 1981, five teens launched the tongue-in-cheek Villa Park High School Yacht Club. At a 1982 holiday party, one member's father, Chuck Beesley, expanded the idea by proposing "The First Annual Unofficial Non-Sanctioned Villa Park Dry-Land Holiday Lighted Boat Parade," poking fun at Newport's famous traditional Christmas boat parade. Some of Villa Park’s hastily decorated entries were pretty motley. But thousands came to watch 38 festooned boats towed through the streets. The event returned in 1983 but then fell apart. However, people remembered the parade fondly, and in 1998 it was revived in a community effort led by City Councilman Richard Freschi. Today, a lampoon of a tradition has become its own tradition.</div><div><br /></div>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-45098225686715000652023-12-12T18:30:00.000-08:002023-12-12T18:30:00.154-08:00A Kellogg House blast from the past<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcoAbqYzPi_vyMx2TITbChzNn8m_ReeOqFYKnkjdFobJnZ_3II_pjQIH7GgXkzr2R7d6BYWZH3AkNzAKkgGAkvouiOvKWA1gfd2TiROh4IVxDOfvixlwwvY_jTLijeulzJzS4vH0nX3VdfQmDhWKyGaQLOlBLqHn3IVr2pxwQp-49G7IGmJNg/s2048/Kellogg2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1487" data-original-width="2048" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLcoAbqYzPi_vyMx2TITbChzNn8m_ReeOqFYKnkjdFobJnZ_3II_pjQIH7GgXkzr2R7d6BYWZH3AkNzAKkgGAkvouiOvKWA1gfd2TiROh4IVxDOfvixlwwvY_jTLijeulzJzS4vH0nX3VdfQmDhWKyGaQLOlBLqHn3IVr2pxwQp-49G7IGmJNg/s320/Kellogg2019.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The H. Clay Kellogg House, Santa Ana, in 2019.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>I just stumbled across this old <i>Los Angeles Times</i><b> </b>article (below) from January 1, 1994. I apologize for drifting into nostalgia, but A) At least it relates <i>directly</i> to local history, and B) It's my blog, so I can wander off course a bit if I want to. </p><p>Yes, I was briefly focused on history as an area of study at Orange Coast College -- at least until I realized that it paid about as well as my original major: art. I went on to get a degree in communications from CSU Fullerton. That said, working as a "site interpreter" at what's now called the Heritage Museum of Orange County was not my first job in the local history field. But it was another step in the right direction for me. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukAwciSarecrT3omXxlQ96qzDdclkj616-28_ZRK464KE7C46aboVevyVFhPRsjr1pYd5zUfzeApdlV_TFGUbhzexaGakmnsS6xGp_hcH5odvPlQ20eAOad8867l9yEIu1Mpfa-PuByqYOT1ylvLw1uL5zXWWHg0zCvwoMEC62uHpnC9qaEhe/s1967/LAT%20Jan%201,%201994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1967" data-original-width="1388" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukAwciSarecrT3omXxlQ96qzDdclkj616-28_ZRK464KE7C46aboVevyVFhPRsjr1pYd5zUfzeApdlV_TFGUbhzexaGakmnsS6xGp_hcH5odvPlQ20eAOad8867l9yEIu1Mpfa-PuByqYOT1ylvLw1uL5zXWWHg0zCvwoMEC62uHpnC9qaEhe/w283-h400/LAT%20Jan%201,%201994.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>(Click to embiggen)</i></td></tr></tbody></table>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-18295922425584568142023-12-11T20:01:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:32:21.837-08:00O.C. Q&A: Santa Ana Edition<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBh-Nw2ESy-6hJNujpbvBYPPWWtO-p0ezVbEzqYblmbPAjZp12vPyAj7I2uhyphenhyphennqE_NAgkx1SvWV8XaJQichQKuS8dI8l_RIe9oHofXzojVQPmwNSEjmroZZ3R3aHBfPcNQTV8aObvHNesvfgQlorbe6OFlwcI9ibF-jaDgk9uV34qEwxMdoTg/s1194/Santa%20Ana.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="832" data-original-width="1194" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBh-Nw2ESy-6hJNujpbvBYPPWWtO-p0ezVbEzqYblmbPAjZp12vPyAj7I2uhyphenhyphennqE_NAgkx1SvWV8XaJQichQKuS8dI8l_RIe9oHofXzojVQPmwNSEjmroZZ3R3aHBfPcNQTV8aObvHNesvfgQlorbe6OFlwcI9ibF-jaDgk9uV34qEwxMdoTg/w400-h279/Santa%20Ana.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>4th St. at Main, Santa Ana, circa 1940s (Santa Ana Public Library)</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><b><i>Q: Is the City of Santa Ana named for General Santa Anna of Alamo fame?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> No relation. O.C.’s Santa Ana moniker began when our local mountains were “discovered” by the Portolá Expedition on the Feast Day of St. Anne in 1769. The friars in the party named them the Santa Ana Mountains. Days later, the expedition named the Santa Ana River after the mountains it seemed to flow from. Later, the river’s name was applied to Santa Ana Canyon and Santa Ana Valley, through which it flowed. In California’s Mexican era, three local ranchos incorporated the name: Cañón de Santa Ana, San Juan Cajón de Santa Ana, and Santiago de Santa Ana. The name was applied to a couple communities before town founder William Spurgeon attached it to the place we now know as the City of Santa Ana. Aren’t you glad Portolá didn’t come across those mountains on the Feast Day of St. Chrysogonus?</p><p><b><i>Q: How did Santa Ana get its own zoo?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> In 1949 local old-timer J. E. Prentice gave the City of Santa Ana sixteen acres adjacent to his home for a park. There were two provisos: 1) The park had to be named Prentice Park, and, 2) The park had to include a zoo containing no fewer than fifty monkeys. Prentice was fond of monkeys and let four or five of them have the run of his mansion, infuriating his housekeepers.</p><p>During the zoo's construction, the eccentric Prentice harangued construction workers from his porch, shouting, waving his arms, and contradicting the foreman's orders. </p><p>The Santa Ana Zoo at Prentice Park opened in 1952 at 1801 E. Chestnut Ave. Today it includes animals from all over the world. </p><p>In 2008, Prentice's great-nephew threatened to take the land back when the zoo's monkey count dropped to forty-eight. The birth of twin golden lion tamarins saved the day.</p><p><b><i>Q: When and where did Orange County get its first traffic signal?</i></b></p><p><b>A: </b>The earliest I can find is a simple flashing light atop a directional sign at the center of the intersection at First St. and Main in Santa Ana. This “lighthouse flash signal” proved a road hazard and lasted only a few days. The next attempt occurred a few blocks away, when “automatic traffic signals” were installed at the intersections where Fourth St. crosses Main and Broadway (then the county’s commercial hub). Instead of lights, these signals had arms marked “Stop” and “Go” which swung into view on alternating cycles, accompanied by a bell. By 1939, when Fourth and Main got the town’s first modern red-yellow-green lights, people were sick of the bells. </p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-83828625042940564822023-12-08T19:51:00.000-08:002024-03-06T23:32:33.287-08:00O.C. Q&A: Sports Edition<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLILH18_0LPd-6B962OzpZOJbUNILrA_Eym0ROdqS6g1krgOsspFUhxj7SKExkQ7hKAxUS-HvimtC3Uq60x_dTLwj81CfLGk0hCFvpF67hupWBIK0PMW_crBH6KSl3f4-KOK8qet_B1O869JR1PPEimZcn9pbYk2GttQUL9UVBedjGf5Wy_eX/s1024/LosAlamitosRaceCourse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="1024" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLILH18_0LPd-6B962OzpZOJbUNILrA_Eym0ROdqS6g1krgOsspFUhxj7SKExkQ7hKAxUS-HvimtC3Uq60x_dTLwj81CfLGk0hCFvpF67hupWBIK0PMW_crBH6KSl3f4-KOK8qet_B1O869JR1PPEimZcn9pbYk2GttQUL9UVBedjGf5Wy_eX/w400-h215/LosAlamitosRaceCourse.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Los Alamitos Race Course concept art by Ken Nichols, circa 1951.</i></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><b><i>Q: Why isn’t the Los Alamitos Race Course in Los Alamitos?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> It almost was. The racetrack opened in 1951 and two petitions for the annexation of the racetrack were filed on Oct. 17, 1955: One from the City of Los Alamitos and the other from Cypress. According to author Larry Strawther, Cypress offered to forestall a turnstile tax for years and to connect the track to city sewer and water immediately. Los Alamitos made no such offers. Track owner Frank Vessels may also have been annoyed with Los Alamitos blocking his effort to sell 77 acres for a mortuary and cemetery earlier that year. Vessels signed both petitions but found a way to delay Los Alamitos' petition, making it arrive at the County Recorder an hour and two minutes later than the Cypress petition. The loss of the track is a sore point in Los Alamitos to this day. </p><p><b><i>Q: Where were the Orange County venues for the 1984 Olympics?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> I smell a driving tour! Venues included CSUF's gym (handball), the Anaheim Convention Center (wrestling), Irvine's Heritage Park Aquatic Center (pentathlon - swimming), and the Coto Valley Country Club and Coto de Caza Equestrian Center (more pentathlon). Olympic cyclists' route through Mission Viejo began eastbound at Olympiad Rd. near Lake Mission Viejo, then turned right on Marguerite, left on Los Alisos, left on Mustang Run, right on Crucero, left on Hidalgo, left on Vista del Lago, right on Marguerite, left on La Paz, and left on Olympiad, back to the beginning. </p><p><b><i>Q: Was skimboarding actually invented in Orange County?</i></b></p><p><b>A:</b> Laguna Beach lifeguards originated the sport in the late 1920′s, using round pieces of plywood to slide down the sand on the shallow wash of receding waves. Skimboarders at Victoria Beach in the 1960s popularized the sport. Eventually, skimboarding spread around the world and now boasts professional competitions. Most of the top pros still come from Laguna. Interestingly, you can skimboard anywhere there's water: From beaches that are too dangerous to surf, to lakes, to wet grass. If grandpa spills his bourbon, the grandkids can skim the resulting puddle.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-1536467919536100112023-11-20T17:30:00.000-08:002023-12-13T22:09:03.584-08:00When pigs fly...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hxFvwAoqKo8T5cmmm7C4uSoX9Poqa_0rIr6vRkx3Pj_0_yMLb6iGiBWi7HX_WrjkkELUt7NiF8O7pPdzQKHW6aFW11Sr5urhDuBa6Pv4-UcX8_3aT-qQR6tw_MzAPIdyYSCYcTcrHzejJR8LP_UbP49U83LU7jedUnkmhB2UXAaiAywr1ZzC/s1024/pigchatgpt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0hxFvwAoqKo8T5cmmm7C4uSoX9Poqa_0rIr6vRkx3Pj_0_yMLb6iGiBWi7HX_WrjkkELUt7NiF8O7pPdzQKHW6aFW11Sr5urhDuBa6Pv4-UcX8_3aT-qQR6tw_MzAPIdyYSCYcTcrHzejJR8LP_UbP49U83LU7jedUnkmhB2UXAaiAywr1ZzC/w400-h400/pigchatgpt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This image is the result of the author's first attempt to use ChatGPT.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In the annals of aviation, little is mentioned about the first American pig to FLY. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In February 1919, in the wake of World War I, Bluford Callaway Baxter of Placentia – a farmer of sweet potatoes, Valencia oranges and pigs – extended a strange offer. If an Army aviator would land at his ranch on E. Orangethorpe Ave., pick up a pig, and fly said pig to San Diego, then "the boys at [U.S. Army] Camp Kearny" could KEEP that pig. Strangely enough, the boys at Camp Kearny were interested. However, the land around Baxter’s ranch was so heavily planted that no plane could safely land there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But Baxter REALLY wanted to see a pig fly. So he waited for the 5th Victory Loan Campaign's “flying circus” air show in Orange County that April and repeated his pitch. The show was a way to advertise and sell war bonds, travelling the land with a team of pilots and crew totaling around fifty. Six planes were to perform aerial stunt shows over Anaheim, Orange and Santa Ana on April 24th, with the pilots selling war bonds at each venue after each performance. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Baxter made the terms of his deal less onerous this time. He would bring one of his prize Poland China pigs to the pilots at McFadden’s Field in Santa Ana and they would fly it around for a while (not all the way to San Diego), at which point the pig would then be given to the “the boys” at March Field—an Army Air Service flight training base in Moreno Valley. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The flying circus welcomed the idea and on April 24, 1919, Bluford’s dream came true: A pig flew! (Presumably, this was one of his more adventurous pigs.) <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnrXVygo562jcI9BQTmGZFTHPSdg-eOHRPNZsaqGis_3RHAdQt285Nq_E_qkppRrVa89K1liv4psCsR7U_nousKBYhUTViwHCveuHrYfyoFWaj-PnMuzqF_lADFw7yOXNcH18xjXhOfczvhyphenhyphen49rEo_J8Ree9ZvGhEZmGHGy_ys4osuErZtPxEC/s1109/citruspig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="1109" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnrXVygo562jcI9BQTmGZFTHPSdg-eOHRPNZsaqGis_3RHAdQt285Nq_E_qkppRrVa89K1liv4psCsR7U_nousKBYhUTViwHCveuHrYfyoFWaj-PnMuzqF_lADFw7yOXNcH18xjXhOfczvhyphenhyphen49rEo_J8Ree9ZvGhEZmGHGy_ys4osuErZtPxEC/w400-h349/citruspig.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Soaring over Orange County (Pig courtesy <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/wentzelepsy/4435803492/">Larry Wentzel</a> via <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">CC 2.0</a>)</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Late that afternoon, Lieut. Fred Hoyt (flying instructor and flight commander of the squadron) put the pig in a box, strapped the box into his airplane, and took off toward Anaheim. (Hoyt didn’t even have to claim the need for an “emotional support pig” to get clearance!) The plan was for a quick round-trip. But mechanical trouble required an emergency landing in Orange and a quick repair before taking off again for Santa Ana around 6:30 p.m. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">All through the flight, Hoyt executed a series of tailspins, loops and other aerobatic feats to wow the locals. The pig was not harmed but suffered from a remarkable bout of air sickness that lasted for some time after the flight had concluded. </div></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaNI2xC1SpUG8qYmJY4N0SphMQ_ui9fVL8S1vimiYtoY_iIlrcFGAc0JZeqoblnUdrxt_GRifwFRNsLDFjlr8NFx58irbc-bB_WYJ6tMH-K7yORSZjVvexXCpdkolWmyQ1p4Oq3Nh9GItwCxAOxNfYRIc8ezs9NnLJkvo9GCUa4ddIPXsu-5CN/s5249/Fred%20Day%20Hoyt,%20ca%201919%20LoC.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5249" data-original-width="3879" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaNI2xC1SpUG8qYmJY4N0SphMQ_ui9fVL8S1vimiYtoY_iIlrcFGAc0JZeqoblnUdrxt_GRifwFRNsLDFjlr8NFx58irbc-bB_WYJ6tMH-K7yORSZjVvexXCpdkolWmyQ1p4Oq3Nh9GItwCxAOxNfYRIc8ezs9NnLJkvo9GCUa4ddIPXsu-5CN/w295-h400/Fred%20Day%20Hoyt,%20ca%201919%20LoC.jpg" width="295" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Fred Day Hoyt, circa 1919 (Courtesy Library of Congress)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The pilots gave the pig a nickname and made him their mascot at March Field. Baxter was so pleased with the day's events that he also offered to send a large pork meal (presumably a different pig) to the fliers' barracks once they returned home. </p><p>Meanwhile, the aerial show over Orange sold $12,500 in bonds, the show over Santa Ana raised almost as much, and Anaheimers bought $40,000 in bonds that day. The planes also made passes over Fullerton and Huntington Beach, but it's unknown if those fly-bys resulted in any patriotic investment.</p><p>But back to the flying pig…</p><p>To be clear, this was not the first pig ever to fly. The first was a piglet named Icarus II, who was a passenger on a 3.5-mile roundtrip over the Thames Estuary in England aboard the Short Brothers Biplane on Nov. 4, 1909. However, the pig over Orange County was the first porker to fly in the United States.</p><p>Four months later, on Aug. 20, 1919, another pig, a Duroc-Jersey named Florrie, was a passenger aboard a plane in La Grange, Georgia where the local press proclaimed her the "first flying pig." But Orange County had already established American porcine air supremacy.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPlqb9qsxsRcoHmBEcbmhOMKhWr5EsOgeg0WmRK37MBqfBeF_27Lf59NGS5-ggr_MKLlWD-6BfpUXI0MxMiF01kDQ8IKtT-vBIMy19gGcx7oRO_yomkkM-BfuvxTNkrRYRF7ibUe6AyEgggyk8mWraXODvYGldEKbSAN2Scpfrxqvkwjv8gu3/s950/Pig%20Zoomars%202008%20CLJ.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="950" data-original-width="830" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPlqb9qsxsRcoHmBEcbmhOMKhWr5EsOgeg0WmRK37MBqfBeF_27Lf59NGS5-ggr_MKLlWD-6BfpUXI0MxMiF01kDQ8IKtT-vBIMy19gGcx7oRO_yomkkM-BfuvxTNkrRYRF7ibUe6AyEgggyk8mWraXODvYGldEKbSAN2Scpfrxqvkwjv8gu3/w350-h400/Pig%20Zoomars%202008%20CLJ.jpg" width="350" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A similar pig (perhaps a distant cousin) in San Juan Capistrano.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-75032581049064370232023-11-19T18:14:00.000-08:002023-11-19T18:14:22.378-08:00Orange County’s Missing River<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd84r6HLnKfnycIs-LtUHezVQNJPY6htTdCzJZ_l_XFBiLh2AnUAx6KizeOhwHJ-Fhicmwd4oMX67_dctvpZ1XEpm5s05V_tcavHlu1uPhULIGnSQUOJmIKfG-lYUgzRpxl50TSZN2HMjY-E8hgrnbjKAGZqGegLXh6KSuEfFMQkBvw19D7tcS/s570/01%20Seal%20Beach_USGS_1935.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="570" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd84r6HLnKfnycIs-LtUHezVQNJPY6htTdCzJZ_l_XFBiLh2AnUAx6KizeOhwHJ-Fhicmwd4oMX67_dctvpZ1XEpm5s05V_tcavHlu1uPhULIGnSQUOJmIKfG-lYUgzRpxl50TSZN2HMjY-E8hgrnbjKAGZqGegLXh6KSuEfFMQkBvw19D7tcS/w400-h253/01%20Seal%20Beach_USGS_1935.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>The Freeman River disappeared from Orange County in the early 20th Century. Attempts to preserve it repeatedly escalated to armed conflict and finally ended up in the State Supreme Court. Some of the richest men in America once controlled it, only to have it become the domain of Sea-Monkeys. But for all that, few today have ever heard of this river-gone-AWOL. </p><p>To tell the story of the Freeman River, one must first look to the Santa Ana River.</p><p>To Orange Countians, the Santa Ana River is THE river. And rightly so. It is, by far, the county’s largest watercourse. And it’s been the lifeblood of the agriculture – from Yorba Linda to Anaheim to Huntington Beach – which underlay almost all of Orange County’s growth and development prior to World War II. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpy-fFnEMfIaCwzhgjAJIw9oRMQxQ6u-7obh_u-AnjhlRmekVztMJ5fs-lES6o6MgrnlPth-A6kfdM2GTFiSUCfs1lTHsLV25_197JkEoDO3nL3h7EiWULc__ckcQwfkK3iT-OklUlT7zTx0cnspU3Crs4BW6APcD5Xg_J2dGAQ_DorODsu7PR/s1600/20231119_160417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpy-fFnEMfIaCwzhgjAJIw9oRMQxQ6u-7obh_u-AnjhlRmekVztMJ5fs-lES6o6MgrnlPth-A6kfdM2GTFiSUCfs1lTHsLV25_197JkEoDO3nL3h7EiWULc__ckcQwfkK3iT-OklUlT7zTx0cnspU3Crs4BW6APcD5Xg_J2dGAQ_DorODsu7PR/w400-h300/20231119_160417.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Talbert Lake -- now part of Huntington Beach's Central Park -- was just one of the water sources that fed the Freeman River. (Photo taken in 2023 by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table>In the millennia before engineers began to channelize, dam, and otherwise tame the Santa Ana River, it remained wild and free, with no permanent defined boundaries between the mouth of Santa Ana Canyon and the Pacific. It generally cut a path down through some part of the Santa Ana Valley. But in particularly rainy years it could change course dramatically and empty into the sea anywhere from Newport Bay to Alamitos Bay. <p>Many of the Santa Ana River’s historic routes retained a certain amount of subsurface water flow or marshiness long after the river proper moved on. But one of these routes to the sea was particularly notable for having a strong flow of surface water – largely supplied by natural springs – even when the Santa Ana River’s course had drifted miles away. First cut by, and then abandoned by the wandering Santa Ana, The Freeman River – also sometimes (and perhaps more accurately) known as Freeman Creek, Bolsa Chica Creek, or Bolsa Creek – took on a life all its own. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjso8_ELYBOW5ehxxAqbWxc3zaL3GlwrUm9pQYDHeAsYGA1eqDnpITwZmnzFkBmNbakGKrMxD3Q34zqrq2Fwa3gG6qTEFuhpsOqtw-1r8TyMY6qkEDMw6wwSgWOqixEocZmE6UhV1qpRKG8gDqPZSSsQUS8rl2Umh3Eq83Mnn22Bsx27EAUTWFc/s787/02%20Freeman%20River%20-%20Two%20branches%20span%20Sect%2034%20and%20into%2035,%20Stearns%20Rancho%20Map,%201869%20LAPL.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="787" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjso8_ELYBOW5ehxxAqbWxc3zaL3GlwrUm9pQYDHeAsYGA1eqDnpITwZmnzFkBmNbakGKrMxD3Q34zqrq2Fwa3gG6qTEFuhpsOqtw-1r8TyMY6qkEDMw6wwSgWOqixEocZmE6UhV1qpRKG8gDqPZSSsQUS8rl2Umh3Eq83Mnn22Bsx27EAUTWFc/w400-h343/02%20Freeman%20River%20-%20Two%20branches%20span%20Sect%2034%20and%20into%2035,%20Stearns%20Rancho%20Map,%201869%20LAPL.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A detail from an 1869 map of the Stearns Ranchos shows two branches of the Freeman River.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The Freeman River was usually significantly deeper than a man was tall and was the primary source of fresh water entering the Bolsa Chica wetlands. Local pioneer, real estate man and civic leader Tom Talbert later recalled it as “a short river but one which carried a considerable volume of water. It headed in Westminster and carried the storm drainage." On rare occasion, in times of heavy flooding, the Freeman would again become a tributary of the Santa Ana River. </p><p>“In the days… when the country back of Huntington Beach was lush with willows, springs and peat bogs, a beautiful river originated in several large springs just south of Westminster,” said historian Don Meadows. “It flowed south by southwest, passed just west of Wintersburg, swept along the western base of the Huntington Beach mesa and entered the sea through Bolsa Bay. It was named for J. G. Freeman, who owned some of the land across which it meandered.”</p><p>It seems that numerous Freeman family members lived in the area over the years, including Walter Joseph Freeman and his wife Chloe; and rancher Archibald C. Freeman, who helped organize the Lomita Land and Water Co. in an effort to protect farmers’ water rights.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJcLqbv0-V9Gvtl9rXGzUbicS3lhPNGfTwCa9SLhGpNxJxCh7ymJG8Bgyc1mgfYrLu7h15Uoo7uAl4Dn5RxBsCF-DQNEo3_376GtO6NuywLYId6uZ3x-2a2aLBkbA-Onn469-JvvZd85zq8QGeJDg2tfwlL2825JjUjlvy-EeSXKn-B-7pf-5/s1600/20231119_154655%20Edwards%20St%20and%20Talbert%20Ave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="1600" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJcLqbv0-V9Gvtl9rXGzUbicS3lhPNGfTwCa9SLhGpNxJxCh7ymJG8Bgyc1mgfYrLu7h15Uoo7uAl4Dn5RxBsCF-DQNEo3_376GtO6NuywLYId6uZ3x-2a2aLBkbA-Onn469-JvvZd85zq8QGeJDg2tfwlL2825JjUjlvy-EeSXKn-B-7pf-5/w400-h178/20231119_154655%20Edwards%20St%20and%20Talbert%20Ave.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Freeman once cut through this area near the intersection of Edwards St. and Talbert Ave. in Huntington Beach. (Photo taken 2023 by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>According to Amigos de Bolsa Chica board member and former Huntington Beach Mayor Vic Leipzig and longtime environmental columnist Lou Murray, the Freeman River “flowed year-round, deriving most of its water from the peat springs in what is now Central Park. At least one branch of Freeman Creek may have originated in an artesian spring in the old town of Wintersburg, on present-day Ocean View High School property near Warner Avenue and Gothard Street. …Freeman Creek flowed through what is now Central Park, with additional water coming from the springs in Talbert Lake and Blackbird Pond [now in Shipley Nature Center area]. …Freeman Creek appears to have entered the Bolsa Chica lowlands near Edwards Thumb [now an oil field southwest of the intersection of Edwards Street and Talbert Avenue]. From there it meandered around to the end of Springdale [Street], where there is still a freshwater pond. …At times, the Santa Ana [River] shifted course and joined Freeman Creek to flow out through the Bolsa Chica outlet at Los Patos [near Warner Ave.].” (<i>Los Angeles Times</i>, 3-20-2003)</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihg7WoVEu34i044UQBxwMVJKxqN-1KnDeY0DkDPzPrwFAUfiWsvaz91NUW1PZocH0pukBlskUS114Ursgdyojgw1ca8CFxyfhMZ_bzjRjEDqOSMr5_Gh2xX0KJR34WB6NU0Miztj1eeORQl0ekc7exG7QrE0kjaVaqWro7B56LCaEkjvLK5K2B/s1597/03%20End%20of%20Springdale%202012.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1597" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihg7WoVEu34i044UQBxwMVJKxqN-1KnDeY0DkDPzPrwFAUfiWsvaz91NUW1PZocH0pukBlskUS114Ursgdyojgw1ca8CFxyfhMZ_bzjRjEDqOSMr5_Gh2xX0KJR34WB6NU0Miztj1eeORQl0ekc7exG7QrE0kjaVaqWro7B56LCaEkjvLK5K2B/w400-h272/03%20End%20of%20Springdale%202012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View from the end of Springdale Ave., 2012. (Photo by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The celery farmers of the surrounding peatlands used the Freeman River both for fresh water and as a navigable stream (using small boats) down to Bolsa Bay and the coast. Some collected oyster shells to feed their poultry and (in a time before good roads) others just rowed down to enjoy a picnic at the beach. Along the way, they often shot a few ducks or caught a few fish for dinner. Their assumption was that being navigable, the Freeman and Bolsa Bay were public property (that is, they belonged to the Federal Government) and could not be owned or modified by the Bolsa Chica Gun Club, which claimed much of the wetlands as their own. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwp_oBlkk6KUvnioBjUc2d6xafMozC5NVbKTmH7UBz-w_EGdM5fPybMDT_JTRKOafQ6FC6BuTCISIPR6863pd8_qFiJZdVrLoTDOr-R2x1XGOykqTPqeXAZ4SukiTix2U6gWkApcGX3bs9mGOzc9GtV8H7tA3SNHwN4Eimy7HL3b8Nb67_zeE/s1213/04%20Bolsa%20Chica%20Gun%20Club%201933,%20USGS%20photo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="1213" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwp_oBlkk6KUvnioBjUc2d6xafMozC5NVbKTmH7UBz-w_EGdM5fPybMDT_JTRKOafQ6FC6BuTCISIPR6863pd8_qFiJZdVrLoTDOr-R2x1XGOykqTPqeXAZ4SukiTix2U6gWkApcGX3bs9mGOzc9GtV8H7tA3SNHwN4Eimy7HL3b8Nb67_zeE/w400-h250/04%20Bolsa%20Chica%20Gun%20Club%201933,%20USGS%20photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bolsa Chica Gun Club clubhouse, 1933. Santa Ana Herald editor Dan Baker wrote, “The club is made up of men who have never tilled the soil but doubtless have soiled many a till.”</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">However, the Bolsa Chica Gun Club – founded by Count Jasco Jaro von Schmidt and composed L.A. and Pasadena multi-millionaires with familiar names like James Slauson, Henry Huntington, and Edward Doheny – soon hired Tom Talbert to dam the Freeman River as a way to improve their duck ponds. The project cost $10,000. The dam, finished around January 1900, was some fifty feet wide and rose twenty feet above the water line. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Almost immediately, the Orange County Board of Supervisors declared that “the dam built across the outlet of Bolsa Chica Bay by the Bolsa Chica Gun Club [is] a public nuisance and a damage to the lands in the upper portion of the Bolsa drainage district." The Board initially instructed District Attorney R. Y. Williams "to bring an action in the name of the People of the State of California to abate said nuisance and obstruction." </div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE888iMxioznTEwSIup9ao61UB13N7PMUwpJqBBw2sMynruddOLO5FcS3JIeJnGiDqUj6l_PZ79140KEWhuD4-8B4hSLgiu260BTnFX7QmYRxzHxnUoPOCqL1Y2FbI2dT40JhwvWAHsUyr0tgpZjIikV62YXn83MnDIn2pokCe1xBwLn9rwdmQ/s1068/05%20-%20The%20Dam%201903%20LAT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="1068" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE888iMxioznTEwSIup9ao61UB13N7PMUwpJqBBw2sMynruddOLO5FcS3JIeJnGiDqUj6l_PZ79140KEWhuD4-8B4hSLgiu260BTnFX7QmYRxzHxnUoPOCqL1Y2FbI2dT40JhwvWAHsUyr0tgpZjIikV62YXn83MnDIn2pokCe1xBwLn9rwdmQ/w400-h233/05%20-%20The%20Dam%201903%20LAT.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A rather murky image of the dam from the Los Angeles Times, 1903.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>But local farmer Frank R. Hazard accurately observed that the County had, in fact, no intention of moving ahead with this action in a manner timely enough to make a difference. In a letter to the <i>Santa Ana Herald</i>, Hazard called out the officials involved and described the damage already being done by the dam: </div><div></div><blockquote><div>“Bolsa Chica Creek is a channel some 300 feet wide and 10 feet deep. It was formerly the best breeding ground for mullet known on this southern coast; always a great place for oysters and other shell fish; the best place for fishermen to procure bait; a good harbor for fishing and pleasure craft; much frequented by people as a pleasure resort, for fishing, boating and bathing. There always was quite a crowd there on Sunday. It was also the best hunting ground in the county; but the greatest importance was on account of the drainage it afforded for the Peatlands.</div><div><br /></div><div>"It is this creek that the association of wealthy men has excluded the right of way to and obstructed the navigation of, killed all the fish, killed all the oysters, destroyed the breeding grounds of the mullet, destroyed the harbor and monopolized the shooting. There was great indignation from the start, but the brilliant legal light [District Attorney] whose duty it is to look after the interests of the people said that the club men had a deed to the bay. There is no such deed known to the County Clerk. The same 'electric light' of the bar claims that the channel is not navigable water, although there are hundreds of men now living who are willing to testify to having navigated it.”</div></blockquote><div></div><div>The dam caused the bay's natural entrance from the sea to become sanded in, which began the process of drying up the wetlands. It also clogged up the Freeman River itself with backed up silt and mud. Adding insult to injury, the Gun Club also installed fences across the river and began ejecting anyone who came near the club grounds. </div><div><br /></div><div>Frank Hazard was hardly the only Peatlands local angered by the hijacking of the Freeman. Soon, the celery farmers were tearing down the Club's fences -- sometimes right in front of armed guards from the Club. The <i>Anaheim Gazette</i> referred to it as the “Uprising of the Webfeet.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrzqx0nN1xhaqjK86254tomxiMDJ9YihcyJ4Ww5VXnhDnmgOFRz7-HUDu_0DJ0r9skCEtn8sywK9ReYkwA5Yg5qOvPH4BXommdp44yIXP0YMZYkOQXK0a3SCmBwaEb3ukVqMMnqfLF6p7YU4_m6lkpA0X_WGvGJuNuK3qXxlpHT0enCU3i2k4/s1270/06%20Dennis%20McGirk%201903%20LAT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="991" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrzqx0nN1xhaqjK86254tomxiMDJ9YihcyJ4Ww5VXnhDnmgOFRz7-HUDu_0DJ0r9skCEtn8sywK9ReYkwA5Yg5qOvPH4BXommdp44yIXP0YMZYkOQXK0a3SCmBwaEb3ukVqMMnqfLF6p7YU4_m6lkpA0X_WGvGJuNuK3qXxlpHT0enCU3i2k4/w313-h400/06%20Dennis%20McGirk%201903%20LAT.jpg" width="313" /></a></div><div>One of the leaders among these Peatlands farmers was Dennis McGirk, whose celery farm was “only a biscuit throw from the edge of the Bolsa Chica hunting preserve," wrote the <i>Gazette</i>. "The annual profits from his farm [are] probably about equal to the dues of one of the members of the gun club. Dennis is not a duck shooter himself. He does not care to boat on the lake which the millionaires have fenced off. He believes, however, that the gun club has appropriated land that actually belongs to the United States government.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Another farmer, Iowa native John H. Cole, whose land sat on the bluffs overlooking the Bolsa Chica Gun Club, had also been a bitter enemy of the Club until he was hired as their head keeper and detective.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NfoqpNWvtVRz_ypsMwM0I8CWhOA1chIYH4V49-UcaO0E62Ew_WMVOahivWTk2VRvlqwMXWoHRLFbveAVdwgdnruoA7MbauCTLS3bA-Xv3B0uNpEHtoPpPVYEJK66dlGcgD-y6WnwAphUo_jEUsZg7R8_BunornMIPfZsoEH8bW-g8N4_e29k/s770/07%20J%20H%20Cole,%20Club%20detective%201903%20LAT.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="770" data-original-width="557" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NfoqpNWvtVRz_ypsMwM0I8CWhOA1chIYH4V49-UcaO0E62Ew_WMVOahivWTk2VRvlqwMXWoHRLFbveAVdwgdnruoA7MbauCTLS3bA-Xv3B0uNpEHtoPpPVYEJK66dlGcgD-y6WnwAphUo_jEUsZg7R8_BunornMIPfZsoEH8bW-g8N4_e29k/w289-h400/07%20J%20H%20Cole,%20Club%20detective%201903%20LAT.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><div>The farmers claimed that the dam not only made the river impassable but also backed up the streambed, clogging the river with mud, making the water stagnant, and bringing a season of typhoid pneumonia to the area. They also said the U.S. engineers had declared the river to be under the auspices of the federal government and that thirty feet on either side of the stream had long since been deeded to the Bolsa Irrigation District. </div><div><br /></div><div>By 1903 the river was only 2 1/2 feet deep. In late fall of that year, John Cole was out patrolling one day and heard someone again tampering with the Club's fence across the river. He rushed down and found a group of twenty farmers -- all armed -- attempting to cut the fence down. A good deal of yelling followed. Cole pulled his pistol and several farmers responded by raising and cocking their guns. Cole, outnumbered, could only stand by while the farmers finished pulling apart the fence. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5hudVyGa4hGis1kJ7zL1MGvMDaONzRxcZSB4tZEMGfCMJqrMmjYxboKqqpR8_Ig7oL62XFgEezkpD0Dzgr7MTiTs9boljyQajVfbIyOUx1MAu9RiDDvD3ZgfMaLFFzxFtXiODtsD34w3KCS3222hgMms5YJ1H8l6e9BocgTucqviCNj7KbHU/s861/08%20Southern%20California%20Sheet%20No%201_1901_250000%201910%20edition.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="861" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5hudVyGa4hGis1kJ7zL1MGvMDaONzRxcZSB4tZEMGfCMJqrMmjYxboKqqpR8_Ig7oL62XFgEezkpD0Dzgr7MTiTs9boljyQajVfbIyOUx1MAu9RiDDvD3ZgfMaLFFzxFtXiODtsD34w3KCS3222hgMms5YJ1H8l6e9BocgTucqviCNj7KbHU/w400-h306/08%20Southern%20California%20Sheet%20No%201_1901_250000%201910%20edition.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This detail from a 1901 USGS map already shows the Freeman becoming more of a wet area than a stream.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Soon after, there was another incident in which Cole ran into W. H. Barton, a Westminster-area farmer who was hunting on the Club's grounds. Cole ordered him off the property, but Barton responded by drawing a revolver on Cole and threatening to kill him. Cole ceded that round also.</div><div><br /></div><div>Something of a peace conference between the officers of the Bolsa Chica Gun Club and a couple spokesmen from the local farmers was set for Thanksgiving 1903. But instead of one or two farmers, forty to fifty of them showed up with shotguns and blazed away at waterfowl as they crossed the Club’s property on the way to their meeting. Negotiations were brief and unproductive.</div><div><br /></div><div>In early December, Frank Hazard, poled a launch up from the ocean to the Club's dam and formally demanded to be allowed to pass. Obviously, his demand could not be met, but he'd made his point.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xtpBV_mfaBDUHxT4EKURbfT3SY0W8DBAzBPowMjvzFoqNWJEPeF1axj7SNpM_TdIu_LO_cnmQYoA_QuBNZgcU9US9FQXPqmWf5LeOaVho0rssMGqPPv1ADc4EdFURCwOPXAGtWJ5xttwsiOCTXOOIfCutFhM_JncOV2MlAqR7miSDU-JCbtw/s917/09%20Boathouse%20and%20kennels%20on%20freeman%201903%20LAT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="298" data-original-width="917" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1xtpBV_mfaBDUHxT4EKURbfT3SY0W8DBAzBPowMjvzFoqNWJEPeF1axj7SNpM_TdIu_LO_cnmQYoA_QuBNZgcU9US9FQXPqmWf5LeOaVho0rssMGqPPv1ADc4EdFURCwOPXAGtWJ5xttwsiOCTXOOIfCutFhM_JncOV2MlAqR7miSDU-JCbtw/w400-h130/09%20Boathouse%20and%20kennels%20on%20freeman%201903%20LAT.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A boathouse and kennels along the Freeman River, 1903.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>In another instance, Cole "accidentally" fired off his revolver while shooing away two boys who were on the Club's land. This incident caused quite a ruckus among the locals. Facing off with armed adults was one thing. Firing guns to scare away children was another. </div><div><br /></div><div>On another occasion, it was a Club member, headed out to shoot ducks, who came across one of the area's richest farmers, Jeff Lewis, wading in the now-shallow river. The member asked Lewis if he knew whose land he was on. "Yes," Lewis responded, "[it] belongs to a relative of mine." "Who's that?" asked the hunter. "Uncle Sam," said Lewis.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNUFncy3toIed0jI-TWWlhZehVA_V_FWBC6Pdh32bYAIN1Lwkqd33ZlS_U_f0SCfbPADCueukl_me6gm7Qfex4lOSeL9knuDFeDTouFvKj0AEkzJg3lzBdz2FOiBXJZb8nlAuDdP2CwUFbeAHj-11cdn5aQ4uPdFzZRE3jkl3pqwT82hCsuI7U/s770/10%20Ladies,%20Bolsa_Chica_Gun_Club%201904%20LAChamberOfCommerce.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="770" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNUFncy3toIed0jI-TWWlhZehVA_V_FWBC6Pdh32bYAIN1Lwkqd33ZlS_U_f0SCfbPADCueukl_me6gm7Qfex4lOSeL9knuDFeDTouFvKj0AEkzJg3lzBdz2FOiBXJZb8nlAuDdP2CwUFbeAHj-11cdn5aQ4uPdFzZRE3jkl3pqwT82hCsuI7U/w400-h234/10%20Ladies,%20Bolsa_Chica_Gun_Club%201904%20LAChamberOfCommerce.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Two women hunting at the Bolsa Chica Gun Club, 1904.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>It was eventually decided that the courts, not gun, were the best way to settle the ongoing dispute. In December a court date was scheduled, and an injunction was filed that kept the farmers off the land until a decision was reached. Prominent Santa Ana attorney Fabius O. Daniel was hired to represent the farmers. The case first went before Judge Z. B. West in Orange County Superior Court.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Dec 18, 1903, the case went to trial. Simultaneously, the Orange County Grand Jury took a look at the Freeman River and recommended against the addition of new bridges or fences across it, as they limited the ability of small boats to navigate the river. Moreover, they strongly encouraged the removal of the Bolsa Chica Gun Club's dam and existing bridges and fences. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Grand Jury's input seemed to make no impact. Meanwhile, the court case dragged through a trial and the appeals process for several years. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieNOrHPK7SCCfhaAb3C9duJqKDDZgwdVv10CufyT4RIW1OpoEwXbeMcBn4sJYKuMgY9ZkZssfWfKISc8sGfGHFcGz2ie2YwAYdC2CeDWz1gEYn3dGjYhFmLnyJv6Zl9wg97yHfW-gtv094rlw-pcc2m7rnhJiAB2zW0EyJ3xA7H_NAtWn-38j/s1290/11%20OC%20Harvesting%20Celery%20in%20the%20Peatland%20agriculture.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1290" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieNOrHPK7SCCfhaAb3C9duJqKDDZgwdVv10CufyT4RIW1OpoEwXbeMcBn4sJYKuMgY9ZkZssfWfKISc8sGfGHFcGz2ie2YwAYdC2CeDWz1gEYn3dGjYhFmLnyJv6Zl9wg97yHfW-gtv094rlw-pcc2m7rnhJiAB2zW0EyJ3xA7H_NAtWn-38j/w400-h233/11%20OC%20Harvesting%20Celery%20in%20the%20Peatland%20agriculture.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Orange County celery farmers bring in the harvest in the Peatlands.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Finally, in 1907, the State Supreme Court ruled that the Freeman River was a drainage ditch, not a navigable stream and that the Gun Club could keep their dam. Of course, the river had been choked down to a drainage ditch from a navigable stream <i>because</i> the Gun Club had dammed it. One also wonders how much of a chance a group of celery farmers stood in court against some of California’s richest and most influential men and their top-drawer lawyers. The controversial ruling proved to later be a major embarrassment to the State Supreme Court and decisions made decades later would contradict it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps in the hope of bringing back the fresh water supply they’d spoiled, the Bolsa Chica Gun Club finished digging a new 1 1/2-mile-long channel for the river in 1908, starting from Bolsa Bay and reaching almost to Wintersburg. (It seems this was something of a forerunner to the East Garden Grove-Wintersburg Channel, which was built in the early 1960s for flood control.)</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnl3g0KFAB1KfZa9534Vuh5KsyMdvE1X6NwLBPRcORXIHFER0Ez-ILOr_Is3TOc5bFu5abeRTqEL15_9gkIakdeKvmKo9aLCoPDRcaNyjMJsqpj6gEElfaGGGF_LQo9r_qtS0pvD04u4CI0kGv6pUBNrBnUvHtafAEY34oM-qY5DLeoEpFC84r/s350/12%20Tom%20Talbert%201912.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="276" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnl3g0KFAB1KfZa9534Vuh5KsyMdvE1X6NwLBPRcORXIHFER0Ez-ILOr_Is3TOc5bFu5abeRTqEL15_9gkIakdeKvmKo9aLCoPDRcaNyjMJsqpj6gEElfaGGGF_LQo9r_qtS0pvD04u4CI0kGv6pUBNrBnUvHtafAEY34oM-qY5DLeoEpFC84r/w315-h400/12%20Tom%20Talbert%201912.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thomas B. Talbert, 1912. For decades, Tom was the go-to guy for nearly everything in the Huntington Beach area. He later served as mayor and county supervisor.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>While a shadow of its former self, for many years the Freeman River still had enough water in it to provide for a limited amount of farm irrigation. Ironically, one of those to see the river’s remaining potential was Tom Talbert.</div><div><blockquote>"About 1916... business in Huntington Beach was at an extremely low ebb,” Talbert wrote in his memoirs. “The [Huntington Beach C]ompany was trying to sell small farm tracts. The struggle for existence by the inhabitants of Huntington Beach became a bit serious. I endeavored to form an irrigation district and file on the waters of the Freeman River so as to bring this water to irrigate our dry mesa lands. I could not stir up great interest, as people considered the expense would be too great to put this project over...”</blockquote></div><div>A survey done by the State in 1918 indicated that even in the dry season, and even in its severely diminished state, the Freeman River still poured 500 inches of water into Bolsa Bay, meaning it put much more fresh water into the Bay during the rainy season.</div><div><br /></div><div>In 1919, efforts were <i>again</i> made to form a 2,600-acre irrigation district to utilize the water of the Freeman River for the Huntington Beach mesa. But the application, proposed by George F. Fowler of Huntington Beach, was never filed with the State Water Commission and the idea fizzled. Disagreements between the local farmers regarding the district’s creation may have been behind some of Fowler’s hesitation to move forward. But there were also other factors as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>“In 1919 the drilling of the first oil well killed any interest in small farms and an irrigation project,” wrote Talbert. “Long Beach then undertook to file on the waters of the Freeman River to meet her domestic needs, but the people of this district stubbornly refused to let this water be taken away.”</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrvK7FLtMgMxVtbW9byplUN7zZNlmmDqSRhXCAV0pd14emJq1E09lyUqWUtcYdU0gxy4ZJJbzo51a3UZUiWtit3_gTZJDfp8IKcpf65WrDjoXKCmcE054tLxdObzlBr8UycpdFxZG4KZg-ol3UKaUA-EkBBOQojWW9GQflUwplhGGPBNVfncQV/s1379/13%20Seal%20Beach_USGS_1935.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1257" data-original-width="1379" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrvK7FLtMgMxVtbW9byplUN7zZNlmmDqSRhXCAV0pd14emJq1E09lyUqWUtcYdU0gxy4ZJJbzo51a3UZUiWtit3_gTZJDfp8IKcpf65WrDjoXKCmcE054tLxdObzlBr8UycpdFxZG4KZg-ol3UKaUA-EkBBOQojWW9GQflUwplhGGPBNVfncQV/w400-h365/13%20Seal%20Beach_USGS_1935.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>1935 USGS Seal Beach topographical map (detail). Note the prominence of the Freeman (center of map) even 35 years after the dam choked it down to a mere shadow of its former self. </i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Thanks to the dam, the digging of drainage ditches, and increased well extraction, the Freeman River continued to diminish over the years, its surface water gradually running down to a mere trickle. Most of the remaining water – much of it now flowing underground -- came from runoff draining from the surrounding farmlands and communities. Only during heavy floods did the river act a little like its old self. Apparently because of these occasional floods, Talbert was able to claim that “a considerable amount of water still flow[ed] into Bolsa Chica Bay" from the Freeman as late as 1952.</div><div><br /></div><div>Few signs of the Freeman River remain today. As Leipzig and Murray point out, “grading, fill and development have made tracing the old creek bed difficult.” A bit of a ditch marking the Freeman's path can still be found running through the Shipley Nature Center in Huntington Beach’s Central Park. And the mouth of the creek – now amid oil fields – has no inlet or outlet. The only water in this stub end of the creek is seawater that seeps in from the surrounding wetlands. And even that water stagnates, evaporates, and becomes so salty that only a few species, like brine shrimp (a.k.a. Sea-Monkeys) can survive in it. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhju20knDOJ0OosqmH6jQ3DQjArRnZenZXQdpBtgmDGeqs3MB5Q5kqXjDzRJ0cIuYhMx-lmUGNwM9t41S6bpe-X_HEtLIAwzNjLAF7sv3OjXAzTnnei7GeT2pVtWMJQg-q3NEe4E_UKNTZ5mGLRDyetIobWA3pIC-3bsPc7LAUVDvhDtASeOYaK/s1683/14%20-%20View%20from%20Linear%20Park%202012%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="1683" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhju20knDOJ0OosqmH6jQ3DQjArRnZenZXQdpBtgmDGeqs3MB5Q5kqXjDzRJ0cIuYhMx-lmUGNwM9t41S6bpe-X_HEtLIAwzNjLAF7sv3OjXAzTnnei7GeT2pVtWMJQg-q3NEe4E_UKNTZ5mGLRDyetIobWA3pIC-3bsPc7LAUVDvhDtASeOYaK/w400-h223/14%20-%20View%20from%20Linear%20Park%202012%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A 2012 view from the Linear Park extension of Central Park, showing an area where the Freeman River once ran. (Photo by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div>Throughout history, Southern Californians have regularly diverted rivers and creeks; built dams and reservoirs, drained lakes, dug irrigation and flood control channels, fudged maps to steal each other’s riparian rights, lied and politicked to steal the Owens Valley’s water, and otherwise drastically altered their water landscape. In the greater scheme of things, the disappearance of the so-called Freeman River may be unremarkable. But the story of the loss of one of Orange County’s top natural sources of fresh water – and human drama that accompanied that loss – is still worth telling.</div><p></p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-37924859335366167832023-11-12T10:00:00.001-08:002023-11-12T10:00:00.140-08:00Free O.C. history books online!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqDyBPiASvz1TMPS66-TbBs3ta9ROxl2_GoFhJ9voA-S4MKLt6R582fHLCPZN7D241p_ZxgoJbL1iMp1mqG7UDKd674MtJN0xBBvLbuUUKbT0UGw2MVQer_mzTe8exi5Zc-KGc7oYQ8u3BeGS2tVnUPkVJb2jLt3WgbRGG5LFDrqJStp8dV3G/s484/modjeska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="336" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqDyBPiASvz1TMPS66-TbBs3ta9ROxl2_GoFhJ9voA-S4MKLt6R582fHLCPZN7D241p_ZxgoJbL1iMp1mqG7UDKd674MtJN0xBBvLbuUUKbT0UGw2MVQer_mzTe8exi5Zc-KGc7oYQ8u3BeGS2tVnUPkVJb2jLt3WgbRGG5LFDrqJStp8dV3G/w278-h400/modjeska.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><br />I've added a list of links to free online local history books in the column of links on the right side of this page. Scroll way down and you'll find them just below my "Land & Property" links. <p></p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-1985461495375157252023-11-10T10:08:00.000-08:002023-11-10T10:08:57.415-08:00San Francisco Cable Cars at Knott's Berry Farm<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN38kPw91DmXpPAj9BLwVSpjLB0efLRY9mrYXIsefv3qpr-98K0DA9KHQtNDfGj6o-WrRbmVot0G_jszFJvXRzRSAMSNWBDAmJptwqNuDGDr4vASbtEouMqA9gM2T19Lpcx3QQwvxTbKdY-8PYXiCT4QgAjcRBINIvHhpgP3imFUQToeepBWt9/s640/CableCarKnottsBerryFarm1965.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="640" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN38kPw91DmXpPAj9BLwVSpjLB0efLRY9mrYXIsefv3qpr-98K0DA9KHQtNDfGj6o-WrRbmVot0G_jszFJvXRzRSAMSNWBDAmJptwqNuDGDr4vASbtEouMqA9gM2T19Lpcx3QQwvxTbKdY-8PYXiCT4QgAjcRBINIvHhpgP3imFUQToeepBWt9/w400-h241/CableCarKnottsBerryFarm1965.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A Cable Car running through the Knott's Berry Farm parking lot, 1965.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>My <a href="https://www.yesterland.com/knottscablecars.html"><b>new article</b></a> about the San Francisco Cable Cars that once operated at Knott's Berry Farm is <a href="https://www.yesterland.com/knottscablecars.html"><b>now available online</b></a> at my pal Werner Weiss' excellent website, <b><i>Yesterland.com</i></b>. <a href="https://www.yesterland.com/knottscablecars.html"><b>Click on over</b></a> for the article and loads of photos.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHsPIiIbhvJIV7q9O7WSSpcP8fFGdbKxssx39Hqx_4EDmGu_u8kzBBSOiJ5D4a0Qu4ebUf6jeHFmkYUc0QQNGYHxb4y6XGLwFOaj5ZO08uIJP-P5lMmMx1GqaljdFol4n2K7tAmisX-8bOmhF24u3Bi29FtjL1mFQ_9y_jCAaZUQq6ib57T6I/s5058/Knott's%20Cable%20Car%20ticket%20front.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5058" data-original-width="3180" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHsPIiIbhvJIV7q9O7WSSpcP8fFGdbKxssx39Hqx_4EDmGu_u8kzBBSOiJ5D4a0Qu4ebUf6jeHFmkYUc0QQNGYHxb4y6XGLwFOaj5ZO08uIJP-P5lMmMx1GqaljdFol4n2K7tAmisX-8bOmhF24u3Bi29FtjL1mFQ_9y_jCAaZUQq6ib57T6I/w251-h400/Knott's%20Cable%20Car%20ticket%20front.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ticket courtesy O C Archives.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-42034642199239242042023-11-07T19:00:00.004-08:002023-11-12T22:37:50.008-08:00The burning of the North Hangar, MCAS Tustin<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGg_zIWB5JsGgvc2FjYSHbMEkbpVuVug2nG4b2r0dShiLcRtxm_MVRpJMsyfoDMYflzUIJV1WAoaDD0OkSsQZcLrsYvfUVcp6MyBweIwojHSj30ZEv3iNAdNcFjj4tptrreXhzzXZeRQqjQi3L8Prs7Eaz-88HKuQkJ07cWAImkV6Whhjp-AtN/s960/Tustin%20Fire%20Dept.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGg_zIWB5JsGgvc2FjYSHbMEkbpVuVug2nG4b2r0dShiLcRtxm_MVRpJMsyfoDMYflzUIJV1WAoaDD0OkSsQZcLrsYvfUVcp6MyBweIwojHSj30ZEv3iNAdNcFjj4tptrreXhzzXZeRQqjQi3L8Prs7Eaz-88HKuQkJ07cWAImkV6Whhjp-AtN/w400-h300/Tustin%20Fire%20Dept.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The early hours of the morning, 11-7-2023. (Photo courtesy Tustin Fire Dept.)</i></td></tr></tbody></table></div><p></p><div>On the morning of November 7, 2023, we lost one of Orange County's most remarkable landmarks to fire. The enormous North Hangar at old MCAS Tustin has been one of the most recognizable parts of the local landscape for more than four generations. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div><br /></div><div>The two Lighter-Than-Air (a.k.a. blimp) Hangars at what was originally Naval Air Station Santa Ana were constructed in only six months in 1942 as part of the effort to protect our coastline from enemy attack. Each hangar is 17 stories tall, more than 1,000 feet long, 300 feet wide, and could house <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2006/12/tustin-lta-hangars.html">six inflated blimps</a>. There are no larger free-standing wooden buildings in the world. They are an important reminder of our military history and a testament to American architectural ingenuity.</div><div><br /></div><div>The base closed after World War II, but was reopened in 1951 (during the Korean War) as Marine Corps Air Station Santa Ana, primarily as a helicopter base. It was renamed MCAS Tustin in the 1980s and closed for good in 1999. However, the Department of the Navy continued to own the North Hangar and leased it out for events, television productions and other uses. <br /><br /></div><div>Possibly the first film shot at the hangars was <i>This Man’s Navy</i> (1945) whose protagonist was a Navy blimp pilot. In 1975, the hangars were used again in the filming of the movie <i>The Hindenberg</i>. Two years later the TV show <i>The Waltons</i> used them in an episode depicting "John Boy's" witnessing of the Hindenberg disaster. More recently, the hangars appeared in <i>JAG</i>, <i>The X Files</i>, A<i>ustin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me</i>, <i>Pearl Harbor</i>, the 2009 reboot of <i>Star Trek</i>, and lots of car commercials. Many Californians probably got to know the hangars best through Huell Howser’s <i>California’s Gold</i>, which dedicated an episode to these enormous historic buildings.</div></div></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47fxRf8qFb1MJ4V2MEyttY_WG2kt85EQ8WH5Mf-EwXAWy4TWHg0jg2ALiinTZF7T6rMx_AjZJDsjpkRm43-Fd8yE_26pGqoei2MNklorwyELWaenkkXRjmOxLi8uXdZZWerhZ98C0_6G44ssUd9GFi2sQmTRPSMr3QHMCj2nr1GIKS0-lKVIB/s3057/north%20hangar,%2011-7-2023%20Leslie%20Stone%20d.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3057" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47fxRf8qFb1MJ4V2MEyttY_WG2kt85EQ8WH5Mf-EwXAWy4TWHg0jg2ALiinTZF7T6rMx_AjZJDsjpkRm43-Fd8yE_26pGqoei2MNklorwyELWaenkkXRjmOxLi8uXdZZWerhZ98C0_6G44ssUd9GFi2sQmTRPSMr3QHMCj2nr1GIKS0-lKVIB/w396-h400/north%20hangar,%2011-7-2023%20Leslie%20Stone%20d.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Note the scale of the fire truck (left) compared to the hangar. (Photo courtesy Leslie Stone)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>From the minute the base closure was announced, there were people who wanted the hangars demolished to make way for new development. But by 2009, OC Parks was dreaming up adaptive reuse options for the hangar as part of a combined historical and regional park.</p><p> In 2012 the Parks Commission approved the creation of a regional park on a large parcel that includes the North Hangar (a.k.a. Hangar 28), the air traffic control tower, and a lot of surrounding acreage. At the time, OC Parks claimed they would preserve and adaptively reuse the historic structures. The Navy had already approved the idea that the North Hangar and the surrounding land would ultimately be handed over to OC Parks. Similarly, the South Hangar and surrounding land would go to the City of Tustin.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx1DmZTTvPPoqCB_xnqMZxPGf4rsZIQ7gIpojC5xB6N6EXGTU23qdX7u3l-wgfCUYAHXYTykXb2S1RDkXCCD03CQzuTDF3w3jZgccI-TVzkXZmz-lt210HwLCtV0gUWfLNgaowZc8Ewej9oiJYiYlcyF1Ql3g7DeX4ttTzTNPwfYK5jjUsO_s/s933/hangar.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="933" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx1DmZTTvPPoqCB_xnqMZxPGf4rsZIQ7gIpojC5xB6N6EXGTU23qdX7u3l-wgfCUYAHXYTykXb2S1RDkXCCD03CQzuTDF3w3jZgccI-TVzkXZmz-lt210HwLCtV0gUWfLNgaowZc8Ewej9oiJYiYlcyF1Ql3g7DeX4ttTzTNPwfYK5jjUsO_s/w400-h266/hangar.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The author in the North Hangar, 2013.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>By 2013, OC Parks was holding meetings and a few public events in the North Hangar to discuss the forthcoming regional park. That's when I finally got <a href="https://ochistorical.blogspot.com/2013/03/tustin-laguna-bruce-sinclair-viola-small.html">the chance to visit</a>.</p><p>I've often heard the phrase, "I can't believe my eyes," but this was the first literal example I've ever experienced. My brain couldn't accept the hangar's enormity when I was standing inside. Looking at a standard-sized row of doors on the far side of the hangar did not help me grasp the scale of the building. I know that sounds nuts, but it really was a surreal experience. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOzZ4tqbol8v1s_eF5Q4e_cOB1zZyi2cGVpPA0-wfpLbBeve6YBzyfB658892BSOZliKir9aGLWlWIQ0FI3hKohJLga9BRjcRtV_w18VnXEEYhL9efY5Bbq7hcg22yqcelqnPB0RBDNgYCPVHSjPNOHPQY8Z9ZNP4GLlEJjHZKFhz3a-ZQc4r/s2295/north%20hangar,%2011-7-2023%20Leslie%20Stone%20c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2223" data-original-width="2295" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOzZ4tqbol8v1s_eF5Q4e_cOB1zZyi2cGVpPA0-wfpLbBeve6YBzyfB658892BSOZliKir9aGLWlWIQ0FI3hKohJLga9BRjcRtV_w18VnXEEYhL9efY5Bbq7hcg22yqcelqnPB0RBDNgYCPVHSjPNOHPQY8Z9ZNP4GLlEJjHZKFhz3a-ZQc4r/w400-h388/north%20hangar,%2011-7-2023%20Leslie%20Stone%20c.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>By late morning, at least half of the hangar had collapsed. (Photo courtesy Leslie Stone)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The park plans stalled when the building was damaged by the wind in 2013, causing damage to an experimental high-tech $35 million dollar zeppelin being constructed inside by tenant Worldwide Aeros. </p><p>The extensive wind damage raised questions about the old hangars' integrity and how costly or even possible adaptive reuse would be. Repairs were not made, and the Navy (which still owns the hangars) did little to no preservation, restoration or maintenance. Finally, in 2021, the Tustin City Council finally put a stake in the heart of the park plans but said they wanted to preserve the site. </p><p>Now, in the wake of the fire, the City says it remains interested in helping preserve the remaining hangar. The undamaged South hangar awaits environmental remediation in advance of any further reuse planning.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEUPU6xU75E4UuFaFfSJGtbiezgB0cR91mpJEJR9ElzmiU7nF-ShgmDX8l69HiasW6T1VweR7fbYDJMgxBIQXNK7p8BVaKOP6ao0pLy91uEPSLUK6JtQWj6M_ZrJU0GTaxirIryZUIrVk5jvDl_6kP4iiEE3HYN9qFLHF55VHqKRqqgzMFOvC/s1080/AQMD.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEUPU6xU75E4UuFaFfSJGtbiezgB0cR91mpJEJR9ElzmiU7nF-ShgmDX8l69HiasW6T1VweR7fbYDJMgxBIQXNK7p8BVaKOP6ao0pLy91uEPSLUK6JtQWj6M_ZrJU0GTaxirIryZUIrVk5jvDl_6kP4iiEE3HYN9qFLHF55VHqKRqqgzMFOvC/w400-h400/AQMD.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>South Coast Air Quality Management District warning, the day after the fire began.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-15906352204496258872023-10-14T22:41:00.000-07:002023-10-14T22:41:54.987-07:00Historic tree cut down for streetcar<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qNXgOlT15HELr34NWV_AOOi-3q5mj4VDTaab3M17q4Mkz9DxRzPnc8U-RU3Ber_Mb4Q3dy4vA6Ruh5wouVzFP6C5PS_oAhX8CbNyxCBtUQYA_N-6j0HvubbPu4s7iFoiMzYBaUC-Y4SdWUFqCsKrmc55t0chh6pl44B_BVdKIVSZkQZxj1Aa/s1649/Courthouse%202%20Pulley.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1340" data-original-width="1649" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qNXgOlT15HELr34NWV_AOOi-3q5mj4VDTaab3M17q4Mkz9DxRzPnc8U-RU3Ber_Mb4Q3dy4vA6Ruh5wouVzFP6C5PS_oAhX8CbNyxCBtUQYA_N-6j0HvubbPu4s7iFoiMzYBaUC-Y4SdWUFqCsKrmc55t0chh6pl44B_BVdKIVSZkQZxj1Aa/w400-h325/Courthouse%202%20Pulley.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tree at Sycamore St. and Santa Ana Blvd. by the Orange County Courthouse, circa 1920s.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>On Tuesday, Oct. 11, 2023, I noticed that one of the historic trees surrounding the Old Orange County Courthouse was being cut down. The tree has been there since 1897 and has always been part of the classic image of this historic heart of our county. </p><p>I talked to the crew and they said the tree was being removed because of the streetcar construction project that's [glacially] working its way through Downtown Santa Ana. The crew returned the following day to HEAVILY prune back the other historic trees along the side of the block facing Santa Ana Blvd. (For now, I'll hope that these <i>other </i>grand old trees survive the attack and return my focus to the <i>excised</i> tree.)<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqyfxXINlaUh-r9FVyB0-YNoHFDGQsiWyh9pyYRf1UhtsGWbdddUemtyoEjUYxH82AFkcCQGtCycDeeIfW9Cj-YZK7AwEsP-6G2gxKVblMPGH9r_9ubpkxSALAEMS0EL1rBs7yG3AEvNnlj3nXh9yzBmN58nrsCI-6WCu3GhiqA1BdFcf9BEJ7/s1554/20231010_084515.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1207" data-original-width="1554" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqyfxXINlaUh-r9FVyB0-YNoHFDGQsiWyh9pyYRf1UhtsGWbdddUemtyoEjUYxH82AFkcCQGtCycDeeIfW9Cj-YZK7AwEsP-6G2gxKVblMPGH9r_9ubpkxSALAEMS0EL1rBs7yG3AEvNnlj3nXh9yzBmN58nrsCI-6WCu3GhiqA1BdFcf9BEJ7/w400-h311/20231010_084515.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The tree is cut down on Oct. 10, 2023. (Photo by author.)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>In the County's Old County Courthouse Historic Park Master Planning Program (1988), Historic Resources Planner Marlene Brajdic wrote, </p><p>"The grounds include specimen trees which are designated on the Orange County Heritage Tree list. [Approved in the mid-1980s.] These heritage trees are Canary Island Date Palms, Camphor Trees, Magnolias and Coco Palms. To enhance the 'County Square' as the property was known, the camphors and acacias were placed around the perimeter in 1897. The magnolias and several date palms were established just following the courthouse construction."</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrENx0yzeizCZiJMrQK_PjQ_RdxBsT2fVkfiND_EQHUpSHluQodtwuoQGA_pmAdD-CKGnTYlBT1MjLevBaP49nsA-UU6LjxXLgMIWyakm5_-27UA5a7Xnc9lDcZxNhtMoJPLbpmaJaKZHUtbk6y5lYuRsR7tipnD2LcFRDhLOsNjZhHM5HQpB/s1829/ca%201898%20-%20Trees%20planted%20by%20convicts%20ca%201897-98%20FAT.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="1829" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrENx0yzeizCZiJMrQK_PjQ_RdxBsT2fVkfiND_EQHUpSHluQodtwuoQGA_pmAdD-CKGnTYlBT1MjLevBaP49nsA-UU6LjxXLgMIWyakm5_-27UA5a7Xnc9lDcZxNhtMoJPLbpmaJaKZHUtbk6y5lYuRsR7tipnD2LcFRDhLOsNjZhHM5HQpB/w400-h256/ca%201898%20-%20Trees%20planted%20by%20convicts%20ca%201897-98%20FAT.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Courthouse Square, circa 1898. The tree is barely visible and highlighted in green on the upper left. (Courtesy First American Corp.)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>While I believe the tree torn out on Tuesday was a magnolia -- which according to Marlene would argue for a date circa 1901 -- early photos seem to indicate that this tree was larger than the other magnolias on the block and thus likely predated them. That would argue that the tree was planted along with the block's camphor and acacia trees by convict laborers in 1897.</p><p>Corroborating that assumption, the photo above shows the Courthouse Block soon after the 1897 construction of the County Jail (upper right) but before construction of the Courthouse began in 1900. The tree is barely visible behind other trees on the upper left. I've highlighted it in green to make it <i>slightly</i> more visible. There are also photos of the tree in situ *during* the construction of the Courthouse in 1900. (See below.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYmtaUKUhWIDil-lqsbNTqsGfWobeEenA6K13m5SouT3nreGtpeFAgZEpCbEvFxnJS4bQMw2Fx8Hx9e6yBB4OLMwotRc_nelQ5xX_ofN1dCymdN9RnrA8udR4SFQoFkv0qYOS2m061l7Q-YpcYCUb9yXDo-weSMme2Ui5eDZ65sKS6K573g6S/s1470/1900%20construction.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1216" data-original-width="1470" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDYmtaUKUhWIDil-lqsbNTqsGfWobeEenA6K13m5SouT3nreGtpeFAgZEpCbEvFxnJS4bQMw2Fx8Hx9e6yBB4OLMwotRc_nelQ5xX_ofN1dCymdN9RnrA8udR4SFQoFkv0qYOS2m061l7Q-YpcYCUb9yXDo-weSMme2Ui5eDZ65sKS6K573g6S/s320/1900%20construction.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Tree appears on far left (highlighted in green) during construction of the Courthouse, 1900.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The heritage trees ringing the Courthouse Block are an integral part of one of the County's most beloved and instantly recognizable historic sites. They bring beauty and an added sense of stability not just to the block but also to the Santa Ana Civic Center and Downtown Santa Ana. They provide homes to a great numbers of birds, bees and squirrels. And they've provided the shady backdrop for countless thousands of wedding pictures over the past 126 years. It's a crying shame to see even one of these trees destroyed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8SPLJwGnNlo-2bjkt9HyIF0PWoMkUAVWZu_lZ3pVXJ14K_tMaAo7Y3RQjr5TI2jXU2JBRUbIsSqNl0nHJ6QsTASKZExpsdbUAB-XAG3ij1gNDDW4qBMXcZqSyFkF0qEd_8O9PxvvVOckcUFV5GkQXT-_2veimzA-8mR3iSEgOkEr_u0gZqkg/s915/Courthouse%20aerial%20c%201910.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="908" data-original-width="915" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8SPLJwGnNlo-2bjkt9HyIF0PWoMkUAVWZu_lZ3pVXJ14K_tMaAo7Y3RQjr5TI2jXU2JBRUbIsSqNl0nHJ6QsTASKZExpsdbUAB-XAG3ij1gNDDW4qBMXcZqSyFkF0qEd_8O9PxvvVOckcUFV5GkQXT-_2veimzA-8mR3iSEgOkEr_u0gZqkg/w400-h398/Courthouse%20aerial%20c%201910.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aerial view of Courthouse Block, circa 1910. Tree highlighted in green.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">The destruction is even sadder when you consider that it was all done to help make way for the 4.15-mile "Trolly to Nowhere" (a.k.a. Orange County Streetcar) project that will cost more than $408 million, which nobody asked for, which has crippled downtown businesses all along the route, which has wasted millions of man-hours in traffic snarls over the past six years, which will ensure horrible traffic problems for decades to come, which can't be efficiently re-reouted (like a bus) when needs change, and which will (like most urban public transit systems) likely end up becoming a deeply unpleasant if not dangerous way to travel. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For what it's worth, innumerable OTHER trees have also been destroyed throughout central Santa Ana to make way for this boondoggle. I just happen to be focusing on THIS tree because it's part of a well-defined historic environment with which I'm very familiar. Consider it a symbol of similar outrages up and down the line.</div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzURHltvPjx_YkV_NKUYDybRLsy8SkAZitOK09UYvWMoxZu9XO6Mb-zr9ADkzJK_wkYRcaDzpIu4fx3Ya0kR5Qvg7IYo-Ddbc8cYHGk2ztscb3JQlTNg7IDyfJLWUmp79i_BRNJvijK6h3ITE6JkRFgcyasMqqBatWyh8JO7CE30sDXg97d-z9/s1854/img905.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1307" data-original-width="1854" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzURHltvPjx_YkV_NKUYDybRLsy8SkAZitOK09UYvWMoxZu9XO6Mb-zr9ADkzJK_wkYRcaDzpIu4fx3Ya0kR5Qvg7IYo-Ddbc8cYHGk2ztscb3JQlTNg7IDyfJLWUmp79i_BRNJvijK6h3ITE6JkRFgcyasMqqBatWyh8JO7CE30sDXg97d-z9/w400-h283/img905.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The same tree, offering shade to Santa Ana Parade of Products participants and their horses, early 1900s.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>If it's ever completed, the new Orange County Streetcar line will connect the Santa Ana Metrolink station (which itself is only reachable from a handful of mostly strategically inconvenient stops in Orange County) and take passengers to that hub of happiness we know and love as the corner of Harbor Blvd. and Trask Ave. in Garden Grove. And I think we all know what awaits us there, <i>right</i>?: An old Yoshinoya, a Shell Station and a check cashing place! Good times!</p><p>With all due respect to those who love rail in all its forms -- Light rail isn't and never again will be viable for Southern Californians. Yes, the Pacific Electric's Red Cars were swell in their day, but not so swell that people didn't switch to automobiles the nanosecond they could afford them. Almost every bit of Southern California evolved around the automobile -- not light rail. As such, there are no hubs. People live everywhere, people work everywhere, people want to go everywhere. One would have to tear down ALL of Southern California and rebuild it to make such a sea change even theoretically workable. Even then, we are almost a century past the point where residents would be content to be confined by the limited travel/commute opportunities represented by public transportation. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5qvO1gdHfMMr8BCWopc-9sVOqqFOOvRu88fy8kwcoJ21dZEIgvWVUOPFS1QiLWRNhulNfAInNWgH5P5hPJlfx4sZgXQ8hv7wuln6r4Zwp5peMp1ZqyI0aWwL7k84084tsXSr9DsI3ioWlrGOplpdUoiiV-CR9AoXZrKvPDvOEr_YOri2xbfy/s1366/Old%20Courthouse,%201979%20PIO34.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="1366" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu5qvO1gdHfMMr8BCWopc-9sVOqqFOOvRu88fy8kwcoJ21dZEIgvWVUOPFS1QiLWRNhulNfAInNWgH5P5hPJlfx4sZgXQ8hv7wuln6r4Zwp5peMp1ZqyI0aWwL7k84084tsXSr9DsI3ioWlrGOplpdUoiiV-CR9AoXZrKvPDvOEr_YOri2xbfy/w400-h224/Old%20Courthouse,%201979%20PIO34.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The same tree is front and (just left of) center in this 1979 photo.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>The only argument that <i>may</i> remain for these electric trolleys is that they will run "clean and green." But even that's bunk. Rather than burning fossil fuel IN the vehicle, the fuel will have to be burned at a power plant and the power transported by inefficient transmission cables to the trolley, wasting much of the energy in the transmission process. And even if we completely destroy the rest of America's deserts and other open spaces with endless windmills and solar farms, the resulting "green" energy will not begin to meet the demand during the lifetime of this trolley system. <p></p><p>It's interesting that in the wake of the lovably Lorax-y environmental movement of the 1970s, the County of Orange created the aforementioned Heritage Trees list and policies regarding the protecting of such trees. (If anyone has a copy, let me know.) </p><p>But today's "environmental movement" isn't all that interested in things like old growth trees. I will leave it to you, dear reader, to decide what they <i>are </i>interested in instead.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYEtB1naJ7EUQnkHwf7MeVG9D35qiv6eYSPdvokREHTMc5ZFqIokCQjZCFb5Ki30LL25iv_PEyDvJsGdUCDqT9YWVMcESK79FBr3s2NVCukAyE1BBYtANU8onHltjCzw601CcEL7_qcZOhv_fG1kqRZuOFqsX7lMTC16yRHiGkizJ3x1NiuCl/s1740/20231010_092259.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1740" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYEtB1naJ7EUQnkHwf7MeVG9D35qiv6eYSPdvokREHTMc5ZFqIokCQjZCFb5Ki30LL25iv_PEyDvJsGdUCDqT9YWVMcESK79FBr3s2NVCukAyE1BBYtANU8onHltjCzw601CcEL7_qcZOhv_fG1kqRZuOFqsX7lMTC16yRHiGkizJ3x1NiuCl/w348-h400/20231010_092259.jpg" width="348" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The view on the morning of Oct. 10, 2023. (Photo by author)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p></p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31835367.post-4751105127596282692023-10-09T23:17:00.002-07:002024-03-06T23:32:48.300-08:00O.C. Q&A: Casual Restaurants Edition<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBOd3y1BTCczEKeew3ZIj-gTZ9vIkacmXcpjcOH79XlrLFUmyFuBnsZFXz_l6VMjx8ttLCtj0Ho-chyphenhyphenUJdrdhVQ5niGHX_44Sd5qiT6PSJ1-RCqAIvIy6nSoINcby3x2RWYFpXmfSnXdpPgFpF-Hn17mDkPS8Uz0pKE9jNcDn8sv-0h9RRr_E/s1300/taco%20de%20carlos%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1145" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBOd3y1BTCczEKeew3ZIj-gTZ9vIkacmXcpjcOH79XlrLFUmyFuBnsZFXz_l6VMjx8ttLCtj0Ho-chyphenhyphenUJdrdhVQ5niGHX_44Sd5qiT6PSJ1-RCqAIvIy6nSoINcby3x2RWYFpXmfSnXdpPgFpF-Hn17mDkPS8Uz0pKE9jNcDn8sv-0h9RRr_E/w353-h400/taco%20de%20carlos%202.jpg" width="353" /></a></div><br /><b><i>Q: I remember a restaurant sign with Carl’s Jr.’s Happy Star wearing a sombrero. Is my memory playing tricks on me?</i></b><p></p><p><b>A:</b> Nope. In 1972, Orange County hamburger king Carl Karcher started a Mexican fast food chain called Taco de Carlos. Menu items included California Burritos (chimichangas), Crisperitos (super-gringo chimichangas), machaca burritos, tacos, and green chile burgers. At its peak, there were 17 restaurants, but the chain fizzled. Karcher sold the restaurants in the early 1980s, but it seems that visions of tacos still danced in his head. In 1994 the first dual-branded Carl's Jr./Green Burrito restaurant opened, and in 2002 Carl Karcher Enterprises bought Green Burrito outright. </p><p><b><i>Q. What's with the old church in the parking lot at Moreno's Mexican Restaurant in El Modena?</i></b></p><p><b>A.</b> I'd love to report that someone formed a religion around Mexican food, but the truth proves almost as interesting. Orange County's first Quaker house of worship was built on that site -- now 4328 E. Chapman Ave. -- in 1887. Sadly, the Friends' building plans didn't take Santa Ana winds into account, and within weeks the place was literally blown apart. The sturdier 1888 replacement building served the Quakers for about 80 years and is now used for events and overflow seating at Moreno's.</p><p><b><i>Q. I remember a pink restaurant with huge portions near Disneyland. What was that place?</i></b></p><p><b>A. </b>That was Garden Grove's legendary Belisle's, on Harbor Blvd. Harvey and Charlotte Belisle opened it shortly before Disneyland opened in 1955. Their enormous portions, vast menu, home cooking, and family atmosphere made it popular. Outside, a large man with a bell or a little person in a chef's hat beckoned to potential customers. Belisle's made a grape and lettuce-free meal for Cesar Chavez and meatloaf for President Reagan. If you wanted something that wasn't on the menu, Belisle's would still try to oblige -- from goat chops to ostrich eggs. The restaurant was demolished by the local redevelopment agency in the 1990s and replaced with a couple less popular chain restaurants.</p>Chris Jepsenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00207321906121901004noreply@blogger.com0