Thursday, July 30, 2020

Birch Street

South Birch St., Santa Ana, circa 1910
Someone recently asked if any of Orange County's many Birch Streets are named after the anti-communist John Birch Society. 

Actually, the Birch streets, lanes, roads, etc, located in the cities of Orange, Brea, Fullerton, Anaheim, Newport Beach and Santa Ana all predate the 1958 founding of the John Birch Society. 

Specifically, Birch Street in Brea is named for Albert Otis Birch of the Birch Oil Company, and Santa Ana's Birch Street and Birch Park are named for his family.
Promotional flier for the John Birch Society, 1960s
Orange County's other Birch streets -- located in Irvine, Yorba Linda, Mission Viejo, Fountain Valley, Cypress, Aliso Viejo and Westminster -- are in areas where all or most of the streets are named for trees.

In other words, no. There's no connection.

But all the above-named cities DO have fluoride in their water supply, so don't let your guard down, patriots!

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

Nita Carman of Laguna Beach

Nita Carman (right) reprises her role as suffragette in Anaheim, 1969 (Pomona Progress Bulletin)
Suffragette and civic dynamo Nita Carman – the namesake of Nita Carmen Park in Laguna Beach -- was born Juanita Howland Day to Frank and Lucia A. Day in Martin, Minnesota on June 19, 1885. Frank A. Day was editor of the Fairmont Sentinel and had served as Lieutenant Governor of Minnesota and as secretary to Governor John A. Johnson. The well-connected family’s activities made frequent appearances on the society pages of the Minneapolis Star-Tribune.
Nita graduated from Fairmont High School in Fairmont, Minnesota in 1903, attended Grinnell College in Iowa, and went on to graduate from the University of Minnesota in 1908 – an era when few women attended college. She later took additional summer school courses at the University of California.

According to the plaque in Nita Carman Park (located directly across from her longtime home), Nita "traveled and taught [English and grade] school in Puerto Rico, Hawaii and China" in the years before World War I, and "she championed women's right to vote.”
Sign and plaque at Nita Carman Park, Laguna Beach. (Photo by author)
It's unclear precisely what Nita's personal involvement was in the fight for women's voting rights, but growing up in a political family certainly prepared her for a life of civic involvement. It’s also known that in the late 1910s she was a member of the College Women's Club in Minneapolis -- a group that strongly supported the suffrage movement. The club sponsored speakers and lobbied elected officials. When Minnesota became 15th state to ratify the 19th Amendment, on Sept 8, 1919, the club marched in caps and gowns as part of a large parade through St. Paul. Their celebratory march was undeterred by the driving rain.

On June 25, 1921 Nita married Ernest Clark Carman, Assistant Attorney General of Minnesota. A year later, their son, Ernest Day Carman was born in Minneapolis.
Nita Carman in the Sept. 13, 1908 Minneapolis Star-Tribune
Nita’s introduction to Laguna Beach came through Miriam Hedges Smith, a friend she’d made while traveling. In a 1968 interview conducted by Donna Demetriades of the Laguna Beach Community Historical Society, Nita remembered that Smith “came here in about 1923 or '24, I think. She had a little office down on Broadway. ...She did real estate. She's the reason I'm here because she and I went to the Orient together in 1916. We started out from Honolulu. We didn't know each other but we just happened to get the same ship. And we were on this ship forty days. . . . I went on to China and Peking for a year, and she stayed on a as a secretary to a businessman in Yokohama. I came home in 1917 -- the year the war broke out. [But first Miriam] came to Peking for a month and we came home together."

Around July of 1927, Ernest and Nita moved to Los Angeles. Ernest’s twin brother, Earle, had already practiced law there for a number of years. Ernest soon accepted a good position with the law firm of Goudge, Robinson & Hughes, where he specialized in Federal court receivership and reorganization work. Nita began making occasional trips down to Orange County, visiting her friend Miriam and staying on the beach at Laguna’s “Tent City.” She fell in love with the town.
In front of American Legation, Peking, L to R: Unnamed rickshaw “cabbie,” Juanita Day, Mrs. Paul Renisch, Miss Stearns, Zona Hill. Photo from The Arrow of Pi Beta Phi, June 1917. Nita was a lifelong active member of the Pi Beta Phi Alumnae Club.
Recalling a later visit to Laguna, Nita said, "My sister came out from Minnesota. She'd been very ill and she had her three children with her. I'd say we were the original 'Easter Weekers.' Because in 1930 . . .or ‘31... I wrote to Miriam Smith and said 'We want to come down for Easter Vacation.' And she got us one of those little tents down near the corner of Broadway and Coast Highway. And they had those cots where the sides fold down. My sister had her three children and I had my one child, and we came down Easter week. It was gloomy [weather] part of the time, but we had a lot of time and we went different places and the children played on the beach."

No longer satisfied with beach camping, in 1933, the Carmans purchased Lots 47 and 48 of Tract 746 at the corner of St. Ann’s Dr. and Wilson St. for a summer vacation home. There was nothing on the land when they bought it. Some of the roads already existed, but the nearest paved one was Coast Highway. It was "all an open canyon" around them with no houses nearby, Nita said, “until they put the fill through and the high school… It was just like the bare hills. We bought it from Gigi Parrish Wells. She was then married to Timmy Parrish.”
Assistant Attorney General Ernest C. Carman, Minnesota, 1923.  (Courtesy Hennepin County Library)
Gigi Parrish was a movie actress best known for several star turns in the 1930s. Her husband, George Dillwyn "Timmy" Parrish was a painter, novelist, restauranteur, and occasional playwright. While married to Gigi, Timmy fell in love with his neighbor's wife, Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher, and later married her. M.F.K. Fisher later became a famed food and wine writer.

It appears that construction of the Carmans’ Laguna house was completed by November 1933, although local directories don’t indicate them residing there until 1934. The combined parcel was large enough that they were able to plant a small forest of eucalyptus and acacia trees and still have room to build numerous residential structures. In fact, Lot 47 alone eventually included the following addresses: 584 St. Ann’s Dr., 590 St. Ann's Dr., and 761 Wilson St. The Carmans seemed to use these addresses somewhat interchangeably.
Nita Carman’s home, 560 St. Anne's St. - View from Wilson St. (Photo by author)
Their primary residence, however, remained in Los Angeles, closer to Ernest’s law office. They lived in several neighborhoods over the years, including Wilshire Park and Westwood. They were living in today’s Koreatown in 1939 when Ernest suddenly died of a heart attack. At that point, Nita left Los Angeles with her son and turned their Laguna summer home into their full-time permanent residence.

Getting “right back on the horse” after Ernest’s death, Nita ran for a seat on the Laguna School Board in 1940. She also continued to make improvements to the Laguna Beach property, including an additional duplex in 1941.
Nita Carman’s home, 560 St. Anne’s Dr. (Photo by author)
According to the plaque at Nita Carmen Park, she became "a respected community leader... Her hospitality was legend. Possessed of wit, humor, intelligence and an insatiable curiosity, she contributed immeasurably to the charm of this community."

Nita threw wonderful garden parties, had many friends, and continued to travel all her life. She was active in the Woman's Club, the Laguna Beach Garden Club, the League of Women Voters, the local chapter of AAUW, the Laguna Art Association, the Festival of the Arts Association, the Club Español, the Pi Beta Phi Alumnae Club, and the Civic League.
Entrance to 761 Wilson St., Laguna Beach - Leading down into a canyon.
During World War II, Nita became known for her tireless volunteer work for the Red Cross and the USO. She invited military families to stay at her home and, she later said, “USO people stayed with me Saturday nights. Oh, I really had about a thousand people stay at my house during the war.”

The large brick barbeque she’d had local mason Len Watkins build in her yard (just above the badminton court) became the backdrop of countless evenings of hospitality. “I've had thousands at that barbecue,” she remembered, as well as innumerable outdoor “pancake breakfasts.”
Nita Carman at League of Women Voters state convention, Anaheim, 1969  (Santa Maria Times)
Nita Carmen also volunteered as a poll inspector during elections and was known for her involvement in campaigns to beautify Laguna. But perhaps the civic work closest to her heart was for the Laguna Beach Public Library. She was one of the original members of the Laguna Beach Library Association and her work led directly to the founding of the Laguna Beach Friends of the Library.

In 1969, Nita Carman was among a handful of surviving suffragettes honored in Anaheim at the California state convention of the League of Women Voters. She posed for photos in 1919 attire (provided by Disneyland) and placards promoting women’s suffrage. “We may be octogenarians, but we're not antiquarians,” she told the audience at the ceremony.
Nita Carman Park as seen in 2020. (Photo by author)
When Nita died at a Laguna Beach nursing home on August 29, 1972, it was front page news. “Laguna activist Nita Day,” said the Laguna News Post, “was interested in everything civic.”

Only four months earlier, on May 1st, a smiling but mostly quiet Nita Carman had attended the dedication of the Laguna Beach park named in her honor. Nita Carmen Park was located on land donated by Laguna Beach High School, behind its Guyer Field baseball diamond. Nita’s son, Day, (by then an attorney himself) donated money and trees for the development of the park.
Dedication of Nita Carmen Park, 1972. In 1983, Day Carman and his wife, Laguna artist Debby Carman, also helped pay for the addition of Leonard Glasser's "Two Figures/Sunbathers" modern sculpture to the park. (Laguna News-Post)
She was pleased to see the land turned into another attractive park for her beloved community. But seemed less certain about the name.

"I'd like to see many more little parks like this throughout Laguna," Nita said at the dedication. "They should be named after those who have done so much more than I."
Nita Carman at the dedication of Nita Carman Park, 1972. (Laguna News-Post)
(Many, many thanks to the lovely and brilliant Stephanie George, whose encouragement, amazing genealogical and historical research skills, detailed editing, and tremendous patience elevated this article from "short and sweet" to a project with more depth and value.)

Monday, July 27, 2020

Rob Richardson (1961-2020)

Robert L. “Rob” Richardson passed away on the evening of July 26, 2020. He was (among so many other great things) a serious local history expert – especially when it came to the subjects of railroads and his beloved hometown of Santa Ana. He wrote the books Railroads and Depots of Orange County (2009) and Orange County's Pioneer Architect: Frederick Eley (2001). He served on the Santa Ana Historic Resources Commission, he spoke numerous times before the Orange County Historical Society, and he was a go-to source for information and photos relating to early Santa Ana.

Rob was a Santa Ana kid through-and-through. From being a helpful neighbor, to leading charitable groups, to serving as City Councilman, Rob did just about everything humanly possible to preserve what was best about his city and tried to make it even better.

Usually, prolonged exposure to the twin monsters of politics and bureaucracy either drives good people away from public service or turns them into monsters themselves. Rob was one of those rare exceptions; he remained authentic, humble, committed, gentlemanly, and an all-around good guy.
Rob Richardson as a Santa Ana High School senior, 1979.
New Santa Ana has posted a good obituary for Rob, in which they list some of his innumerable accomplishments and correctly observe that his passing “marks the end of an era.” The Register also published a good article about him. I won’t try to recreate or rehash those articles here, but please go read them.

Rob battled multiple sclerosis and other health problems in recent years and was an amazing fighter. Last year, he fell seriously ill while on vacation and his prognosis looked grim. Everyone was braced for the worst. But he bounced back to his old self in a surprisingly short amount of time.

Soon thereafter, in February 2020, Rob invited me to come along to a meeting of the Los Angeles Corral of Westerners as his guest. We carpooled up to Alhambra with Brett and Don Franklin. Rob knew I was still sort of reeling from the death of Phil Brigandi, and he thoughtfully invited me to be part of this storied historical group in which both he and Phil enjoyed participating. Rob was his old self that evening and we had far-ranging discussions. I officially joined Westerners as a direct result of his invitation.
With friends at the L.A. Corral of Westerners, Feb. 2019.
But later that month Rob was suddenly struck with another health crisis. Again, things looked grim and many feared the worst. But, fighter that he was, Rob again made an amazing comeback and in recent weeks was calling friends (at least the ones whose phone numbers he could remember) from his hospital bed and was making impressive progress in rehab. He’d hoped to be home again soon. Sadly, that was not to be.

I was given Rob’s phone number at the hospital on Friday evening. I fully intended to call him on Saturday, but did not do so. Honestly, I’m feeling really bad about that.  But I’m glad to have memories from better times: Helping a gleeful Rob load his car full of free history books; chatting after meetings; analyzing old Santa Ana maps and photos with him at the County Archives; solving the world’s problems over lunch at Norm’s (where the entire staff knew his name and order); or puzzling out endless little historical mysteries via email.

I know there will be many tributes to Rob Richardson in the coming weeks. I assume half of Orange County has good memories of him. These are a few of mine.

Thursday, July 23, 2020

The first In-N-Out in Orange County

In-N-Out Burger, on N. Bristol Ave., as seen in 2018. (Photo by author)
Orange County's first In-N-Out Burger location, at 815 N. Bristol St. in Santa Ana, was demolished July 21, 2020. The family-owned chain—launched in 1948 in Baldwin Park by Harry and Esther Snyder and now headquartered in Irvine—didn’t add this first Orange County branch until 1975, the same year it added milkshakes to their notoriously brief menu. This Santa Ana restaurant opened with little fanfare, no indoor seating, and short drive-thru queues that failed to anticipate Orange County’s impending In-N-Out love affair.

Even the casual observer has seen the handwriting on the wall for this location for years now. First of all, it was almost the only remaining structure on that side of the block that hadn't already been removed for Bristol’s seemingly-eternal road-widening project. Secondly, the traffic for their two drive-thru windows had been regularly backed up into the street and blocking traffic for so many years that the city finally gave In-N-Out its own dedicated lane of Bristol. The lane helped, but was clearly an unwieldly kludge that couldn't last forever. So the ax has finally fallen on a building of little architectural note but of significance to the evolution of O.C.’s tastes and identity.

In-N-Out says they'll open a replacement next door on a larger parcel of land featuring more parking, a drive-thru with triple the capacity, outside seating for forty, and a larger kitchen.

When the discussion of Orange County's first In-N-Out comes up, it is often confused with Kwik Snak, which was once located at 1001 S. Main St., in Santa Ana. Alex “Big Al” Molnar bought an unremarkable “In and Out Drive-In” (no relation to today’s chain) in 1951 and turned it into a fast food favorite of local junior high and high school kids.
Al Molnar's Kwik Snak drive-thru was nicknamed "In and Out."
After it was renamed Kwik Snak, everyone still called it “In and Out.” Molnar greeted customers by name and mentored a lot of young locals. The stand was ahead of its time, using drive-in theater speakers and a microphone to take orders from cars. After he retired in the 1980s, Molnar continued to be an honored guest at many Santa Ana High School reunions. And in 1984 the Righteous Brothers, former customers, hired Molnar to run “Al’s Diner” in a corner of their 1950s-themed club, “The Hop.” Molnar died in 2004, but happy memories of him live on.

Sadly, we can't go to the Kwik Snak anymore, but we'll be back at the N. Bristol In-N-Out when it reopens in January 2021.

[Update: The newly rebuilt In-N-Out at the old Bristol St. location actually opened in the waning days of the COVID-19 pandemic, on April 1, 2021. The site of the old building is now part of the parking lot, with the new building constructed slightly to the north.]

(Note: Parts of this article are based on shorter blurbs I wrote for Orange Coast magazine in 2015 and 2016.)

Monday, July 20, 2020

Sleeper on the Valencia Hotel

The Valencia Hotel, Anaheim, as it appeared in the 1920s.
Fire destroyed Anaheim’s historic Valencia Hotel on March 4, 1977. I was once the kind of place where Hollywood stars like Bebe Daniels, Wallace Beery and Mabel Norman stopped for the night. But by the late 1970s, the Valencia was in rough shape and was already slated for demolition as part of the city’s "redevelopment" plan. During the conflagration, two firemen suffered minor injuries, one tenant was hospitalized for smoke inhalation, and other tenants escaped with their lives but not their belongings. Looking back on the hotel’s past, local historian Jim Sleeper (whose work is always worth revisiting) penned the following article for the March 26, 1977 edition of the Anaheim Bulletin:

The Saga of an Anaheim Landmark
Jim Sleeper

TRABUCO CANYON – Word having reached these parts that the Valencia, that grand old lady, has expired in a blaze of glory, I am fearful lest the story of her birth may pass with her. Considering that she occupied a corner which for 105 years was the most successful hotel site in Anaheim, readers might enjoy a bit of nostalgia.

As old-timers know, the story of the Valencia is inextricably tied to that of its predecessor, the Commercial and both to their long-time proprietor and genial host, John B. Ziegler.

Born in 1863 in Alsace-Lorraine (then French but soon German), Ziegler emigrated to the U.S. at age 17. Within a few years he had established himself as a prominent New York restauranteur. Along with a successful career he also acquired a French-born wife and several offspring. One son proving “sickly,” the family sought relief in the healing balm and temperate clime of southern California—long a “haven for eastern asthmatics and consumptives.”

The Zieglers arrived in Anaheim early in 1905, unfortunately too late to save young John. Burying his grief in work, Ziegler invested in a down-at-the-heels hotel on the corner of Lemon and Lincoln (then Center Street). Built in 1871 by Henry Kroeger—reputedly for $40,000, which was twice what it cost—the Anaheim Hotel, as it was first called, was one of many erected during the first flush of California’s health boom. In its prime, “the salubrity of Anaheim’s weather” kept it filled with “enfeebled tourists”; that is, those sick enough to come west and rich enough to afford it.
Ad for the Valencia Hotel's cafe in the April 21, 1916 Santa Ana Register.

Kroeger’s hotel opened on January 27, 1872, managed by another of the original Mother Colonists, Henry Bremmermann. Noted particularly for the “salubrity of its bar,” the place saw a passing parade of lessees, including former town mayor Max Nebelung. As Anaheim’s charms as a health mecca faded, however, so did the hotel’s patronage.

Eventually, its name changed to “The Commercial”—an indication that its clientele had dwindled from the affluently ill to the itinerant drummer. These brash knights of the road displayed their wares in the “sample rooms” on its creaky second floor.

In 1905 Walter Neipp sold the Commercial to Ziegler. Thanks to the latter’s skill with French cuisine and a well-stocked bistro, the Commercial revived and once again became “the scene of many a joyous social event.”

John Zeigler was a man compounded equally of vim and vision. While the German industry in him made his hotel hum, its austere limitations galled his French sense of flair. In February of 1915, he commissioned Anaheim’s foremost architect, Eugene Durfee, “to spare no pains in working out details for every convenience that is called for in a first class hostelry.”

Zeigler himself drew up the original sketches. These called for a structure fronting 70 feet on Center Street by 103 on Lemon. The building’s first story (of five intended) was to be of red ruffled brick with cream colored artificial stone trim, interspersed with impressive arches. An extravagant dining room was planned to seat 1,000 but costs ultimately trimmed that figure by a zero. Surviving, however, were such metropolitan amenities as “an elegant bar, push-button elevators, a writing room, ladies’ parlor, steam heat and telephones.” In all there were to be 57 sleeping rooms, six private tub baths, 18 private showers and six public ones—for whoever got there first. Uppermost in Ziegler’s dream and the building was a fifth story “glass-enclosed” roof garden, with connecting elevator and private dinging room with a flag pole on top.” This lofty innovation, he explained was to give diners “an exciting vista of downtown Anaheim.” The tab for all this elegance was to run nothing short of $50,000.


Four months after commission, the Valencia came off the drawing board. Durfee’s plan was declared every bit as impressive as his other civic monuments, which included such landmarks as the Odd Fellows’ building, the First National Bank, the Yungbluth, Carroll and Fisher buildings, and the old city hall. Ziegler’s initial idea was to connect his hotel with the second story of the building to its east, then occupied by the Anaheim Bank. This 30 x 70-foot annex was to contain the ladies’ parlor and writing room. Apparently Durfee exercised his architectural prerogative, for that weird-looking appendage never materialized.

Prior to construction, of course, the old Commercial had to come down. Feeling obliged to provide for his patrons and needing an office in the meantime, Ziegler had a sheet iron shed erected south of his lot “as a temporary accommodation for the bar.”

On May 28, 1915, destruction of the 44-year-old hotel began. The papers kindly put its replacement cost at $45,000, though it is doubtful that Ziegler realized that sum from salvage. Most of the Commercial’s materials went for firewood.

Twelve months later, contractor Conliffe pronounced the new Valencia finished. While departing from Ziegler’s original concept (particularly the price—he was $25,000 over budget), Anaheim greeted it for what it was, “quite the smartest looking building in town.”

Saddening to Ziegler, the “glass-enclosed roof garden with connecting elevator and private dining room with the flag pole on top” had to be sacrificed. Also missing were the globe lights sitting on ornamental mounts which outlined the roof, though their bulbless pedestals survived to the hotel’s end. By way of consolation, Ziegler did acquire a good paying tenant in the Anaheim National Bank. It occupied the choice corner spot downstairs.

On May 6, 1916, the Board of Trade dedicated the hotel in the Valencia’s posh of somewhat bobtailed banquet room. This was the first affair in a free-flowing, three-day champagne salute footed by Ziegler which one visitor observed “produced more pops than a Mexican revolution.”

That comment was not untinged by envy. It came from a Santa Ana reporter. Anaheim’s penchant for fermented grape juice was long viewed sourly in the county seat, which “went dry” as early as 1903. Nor did Ziegler do much to appease town relations when he boasted in print that his was “the only first-class hotel between Los Angeles and San Diego.” While true, the parched citizens of Santa Ana were not overjoyed to be reminded that their town “couldn’t touch the Valencia with a hotel fresher than 1887.”
Illustration of the Valencia Hotel's ceiling by Diann Marsh.

Never a robust man, except for enthusiasm, John Ziegler enjoyed his triumph but a few years. During his last lingering illness which began in 1918, his feisty French wife took over. Regrettably, she lacked his knack for charming the press. Indeed, after the Plain Dealer came out with an editorial espousing the “dry cause,” she ran owner-editor Paul Hester out of the Valencia, “scratched up his face and dragging him a block through town by the coattails.” Unchivalrously, Hester filed assault charges. To get off the hook, Mrs. Ziegler had to make a public apology in court. Her Gallic sensitivities ruffled by this indignity, she fired off a letter to the Plain Dealer “which contained some rather crisp language.” The charge was revived; this time as a Federal offense as she had used the U.S. mails. But that tremor subsides into insignificance alongside two far more serious upheavals soon to shake the Valencia.

On July 17, 1919, John Ziegler, age 56, died at his home on North Clementine. His demise was attributed to stomach trouble, but all who knew him were convinced that it was actually remorse for what he felt was the passing of gracious living in America. The spirit really went out of him on January 16, six months earlier.

On that day, Prohibition became the law of the land. For Anaheim, it was the end of two great eras.

As for the story that a time capsule containing a bottle of champagne lies buried within the Valencia, that mystery will not be solved until the last brick has fallen. Nonetheless, old buildings have a way of turning up such novelties. In June of 1915, for example, when the old Commercial came down, Art Moore, the contractor, discovered a walking stick hidden between its walls. The cane was about 30 inches in length and weighed about five pounds, its handle woven of rawhide. A card tied to the stick bore the inscription, “Jany., 1897. This cane was used to kill Mr. Rasin in Evenston, Wyo. He was a million Air cattle king.”

Along that line—but happier—one suspects that Anaheim has yet to hear the last toast from John B. Ziegler.


Sleeper’s prediction was exactly right. The time capsule was found, providing the expected wine along with a toast from Ziegler. The capsule was about the size of large soup can and contained copies of the Anaheim Gazette and Orange County Plain Dealer from August 1915, as well as a bottle of Repsold Sparkling Moselle white wine from Napa, California. The capsule also included handwritten notes from John Zieglar, including one which read, "The finder of this bottle may drink the contents and make a toast commemorating those who were instrumental in building this hotel and a toast also for the future of greater Anaheim." Another of Zeigler's notes described the hopeful scene at the opening of the hotel: "This is the beginning of greater prosperity and continued advancement of this thriving little city." 

The wine had turned brown and vinegary, but the suggested toast was made on April 28, 1977. Among those participating in the time capsule opening were the hotel's last owner, Amil Shab, and Zeigler's daughter, Mabel Masterson, who described the wine as "terrible."

Monday, July 13, 2020

Talbert Gap

My old website featured a section devoted to the history of Southeastern Huntington Beach (SEHB) -- an area that was once known as the Santa Ana Gap or Talbert Gap. This river delta between Huntington Beach mesa and the bluffs of Costa Mesa was not incorporated as part of the City until the mid-Twentieth Century.  I just posted a selection of images from that site in a new Flickr photo album:

If you have more images or historical information about the land bounded by Beach Blvd. on the west, the Santa Ana River on the east, Garfield Ave. on the north and Huntington State Beach on the South, drop me a line. I've already constructed a fairly lengthy timeline and would be happy to add more to the story.
View across Talbert Gap from Victoria Ave., Costa Mesa, 1960 (Courtesy O.C. Archives)