Pioneer William D. Lamb

Plans are underway to develop the sites of the defunct Lamb, Arevalos, and Wardlow Elementary Schools in Huntington Beach. The city wants to turn some of the surrounding green space at each site into parks. In all three cases, this is a formality, as locals have been using the land as defacto parks for generations. Some want to see the parks retain the names of the schools. Others want to see new names for the “new” parks. It seems like it might be helpful if more people knew the local historical significance of the  Lamb, Arevalos and Wardlow families. Let's start with William Lamb, for whom the school was named…

William D. Lamb began with very little, but through hard work and determination he became a major rancher and leading citizen in the pioneer days of Orange County. 

William Lamb was born to Anson and Caroline Bartholomew Lamb in Onondaga County, New York on July 1, 1849. His mother died when he was four and he was sent to live with his uncle near Grand Rapids, Michigan. He went to work at an early age, which left no time for a formal education.

At the age of 11, William left Michigan and moved to Chicago, and then to Iowa. There, he worked on grading crews – first as a water carrier and later driving a team of horses. Eventually, he found better wages making bricks in a Mormon town near Omaha.

When William was 14, his father came “up from the south” to meet him, and the two crossed the plains in a freight wagon train to Salt Lake City. Once in Utah, William took a job running a threshing machine and took it upon himself to learn the basics of reading and writing. Soon he and his father went into the lumber and saw-mill business together – a venture which proved quite profitable.

At age 19, William married Elizabeth Holt. Because of their religious differences, neither family attended the civil ceremony. He was a member of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (RLDS) and she was the daughter of a Mormon (LDS) preacher from England.  In 1869, their first daughter, Mary, was born. Later that year, the young family loaded their possessions in a covered wagon and made the arduous journey to California, arriving in October.

Once in the Golden State, William took a job chopping and hauling wood at what later became Lucky Baldwin’s ranch in Arcadia. His work sometimes took him to other parts of Southern California, and it was at this point that he first saw the Santa Ana Valley and decided he wanted to own land there someday.

But for the time being, the Lambs were still living out of their covered wagon. They tried to better their lot by farming in El Monte, but the same drought that famously decimated the Ranchos’ cattle also killed the Lamb’s corn crops.

The family next moved to a canyon near Azuza (once called Lamb’s Canyon), but that proved unsatisfactory as well.

In 1875, they bought a squatter’s claim of 160 acres in Gospel Swamp – about four miles from what would become Huntington Beach. William was one of the men who helped clear Gospel Swamp and develop it into a rich farming area. Along with Baptists, Methodists and others, there was a sizable contingent of RLDS families in the area, so he must have felt right at home. He initially raised hogs and corn but later became one of the first sugar beet growers of the county. (Orange County's sugar beet industry would eventually grow large enough to support five large sugar factories.)

In 1879, the Lambs and a bunch of their neighbors were thrown off the land after a federal court determined that the land was not legally theirs.

Undeterred, Lamb bought 160 acres in the Newhope area (on today’s Santa Ana/Fountain Valley border) for cultivation, followed by 200 acres near Garden Grove for raising cattle (branded with a simple "L"). In 1892 he added another 720 acres of the Rancho Las Bolsas to his holdings. His land within today’s Huntington Beach included the entire section from Magnolia Ave. to Brookhurst St. between Adams Ave. and Garfield, as well as land east of Brookhurst between Yorktown Ave. and Garfield.

William Lamb was employed as the general custodian of the enormous ranch of Colonel Northam of the Stearns Rancho Co. Lamb employed fourteen men to do much of the work. Lamb also served as manager of the Rancho Los Coyotes and as special manager for Rancho Las Bolsas and Bolsa Chica. This took in a large portion of western Orange County. Initially, Lamb leased out this ranch land for the grazing of livestock, but he later also leased it for cultivation. Meanwhile, on his own land, Lamb raised grain, beets, and “every product except fruit.”

Even after his time working for Northam ended, Lamb continued to be one of the most significant figures in the western part of the county. He was involved in many local civic matters, including fights over taxation pertaining to the area’s earliest flood control districts. His ranch was well known, the street we now know as Magnolia Ave. was called Lamb Road, and there was even a “Lambs’” stop on the Pacific Electric Railway’s Talbert line at the corner of Bushard and Garfield.

Modern photo showing portion of Lamb School yard to be saved as a park.

Around 1905, William fell ill and soon Elizabeth assumed the management of the family ranch. All their land was put in her name in 1909. 

William D. Lamb died of pneumonia at his home on March 13, 1911 and was buried in the old Santa Ana Cemetery. His obituary in the Santa Ana Register called him “one of the substantial farmers of the West section." Another characterized him as "a pioneer of the lowlands section," and yet another called him a "wealthy Orange County land owner." He left two daughters and three sons: Mrs. Mary Levingood, Mrs. Laura Harper, Walter D. Lamb, Hugo Lamb, and Earl D. Lamb.

Elizabeth fell seriously ill in 1916 and spent two months at San Juan Hot Springs for her health. She recovered and continued to manage the ranch, with help from her daughter and son-in-law, Laura and Gregory Harper. She finally left the ranch and moved to a house at 521 S. Broadway, in Santa Ana in October 1925. She died there at age 85 on August 27, 1935 and her death was mourned on the front page of the Register. She was survived by five of her children, eleven grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren.

The Lambs’ name once appeared on a large ranch, a major road, a railway stop, a canyon, and a school. Today, all that remains is a fraction of an old school yard unofficially called “Lamb Park.” And even that may not last for much longer. 

The fact that “most folks don’t know local history” is too often used as “proof” that such history is unimportant and unworthy of consideration or preservation. (“If nobody remembers it, then it can’t be important!”) But as the teachers at Lamb, Arevalos or Wardlow schools would have told you, ignorance is a curable condition. And the cure is for all of us to be curious and to read, research, uncover and share the history in our own backyards.

For more about the Lamb family, see Pioneer Memories of the Santa Ana Valley, Vol. XVIII: Recollections of My Life in Orange County by Lois (Lamb) Winter Long, published by the Ebell Society of the Santa Ana Valley in 2000.

More crate labels

In response to my last post, attentive reader Randall Bliss sent me some images from his collection of citrus crate labels. I thought I'd share a few of them here, beginning with this beautiful 1920s Cal-Oro butterfly label from Santa Ana-Tustin Mutual Citrus Association. I'll keep my comments to a minimum and just thank Randall for sharing.

I've seen Carnival Brand before, but never noticed that the carnival in question was likely the big annual California Valencia Orange Show, which was held where La Palma Park now sits in Anaheim from 1921 to 1931.

You don't see a lot of California Indians on crate labels. And here's another one who isn't. Even the Pala Brave brand label depicted a guy in a plains Indian headdress. Colorful, but wildly inaccurate. Knowing little about the Mohawk, I don't know how inaccurate this 1930s label art is.

Just a nice 1930s lemon crate label I hadn't seen before. Thing I had to Google: "Albion" is an ancient name for the island of Great Britain.

Orange County farmers always hated seeing thistle plants popping up, since they're damn difficult to eradicate. But on this 1930s label they're used as a symbol of Scotland for the Caledonia brand from Placentia Mutual Orange Association.

There are at least three versions of the Searchlight label, each showing a warship from its respective era: the 1920s, the 1930s, and this one from the 1940s. What struck me about this particular version is the yin/yang "Orange County Quality" label, which I wasn't previously familiar with. I think I need to have that little emblem turned into stickers. You could slap those suckers on all kinds of stuff.

Orange County citrus crate labels

Crate label of Charles C. Chapman of Fullerton, who popularized the Valencia orange. (Image courtesy Orange County Archives)

The Orange County Archives just opened a small exhibit about local orange crate labels on the first floor of the Old Orange County Courthouse, 211 W. Santa Ana Blvd., in Santa Ana. This was made possible by the recent donation to the Archives of hundreds of Orange County fruit crate label images by collector Tom Pulley.

For over half a century, the citrus industry –led by the Valencia orange – drove the economy of Orange County and covered our landscape with over 75,000 acres of sweet-smelling citrus groves.

Among the most enduring symbols of that era is the orange crate label – a functional and promotional bit of ephemera that now holds a warm spot in the hearts of collectors, historians, art enthusiasts and the nostalgic.

This 1949 photo shows packers at the Yorba Linda Citrus Association’s packing house, including Judy Ledford who was looking directly into the camera. (Photo courtesy Orange County Archives)

More than simply identifying the type and source of the fruit inside each crate, the labels were a key branding and marketing tool.

The railroads brought boxed California citrus to big cities “back east,” where sample crates were put on display at fruit auctions. This was the moment the fruit crate label was created for. As hundreds of wholesale buyers perused countless samples, the colorful labels made each brand and grade easily identifiable, even across an enormous, crowded auction house. Most labels were seldom seen by the public, but were meant for these buyers, who bought anywhere from 30 boxes to multiple boxcars of oranges in a single transaction.

Arnold C. "Pete" Counts loads crates of oranges onto a railroad car at the Yorba Linda Packing House, circa 1949. (Photo courtesy Orange County Archives)

The sun began to set on citrus crate labels in 1956 when packing houses switched from wooden crates to cardboard boxes. And over the next ten years – as property values rose, the population boomed, “quick decline” disease struck groves, and property tax rates changed – the citrus industry fizzled out in Orange County.

The central portion of this new Orange County Archives exhibit shows the “life-cycle” of a crate label, from design and printing, to crate assembly, to the fruit-packing process, to the railroad cars, to the eastern fruit auctions, to neighborhood retail outlets, and finally finding new life in the creative reuse of old crates.

Earl Nickles, who grew up on the Tuffree citrus ranch in Placentia, loaned a “Shamrock” packing crate from Placentia Mutual Orange Association for the exhibit. (O.C. Register photo by Jebb Harris)

Also examined are the three styles or eras of label art seen between 1885 and 1955.

Another section of the exhibit highlights the ways labels were used to delineate qualities and sizes of fruit – visual cues that were clear to middlemen, but not to the general public. For instance, the Goldenwest Citrus Association of Tustin depicted its various qualities of fruit via naval ranks, from Admiral at the highest quality down to the lowly Sailor brand.

Also discussed are the many portraits of pianist Dorothy Ferguson painted for Anaheim Orange & Lemon Association labels by artist Joe Duncan Gleason in 1919. (There’s a story there, folks!) The packing house that used these labels was recently converted to an upscale food court called, naturally, The Packing House.

Fruit on display at Prescott Ranch Market, Highway 101 at 5th St, Tustin, 1940s. (Photo courtesy Orange County Archives)

Finally, the exhibit provides examples of Orange County itself providing the inspiration for local fruit crate label illustrations. Local spots depicted on citrus crate labels include Three Arch Bay and Bird Rocks in Laguna Beach, Hewes Park in El Modena, Lemon Heights and Red Hill in North Tustin, Old Saddleback, Mission San Juan Capistrano, and rural Anaheim.

After the exhibit whets your appetite for more box art, feel free to visit the Archives and ask to see the rest of the collection.

Laguna Beach on a Villa Park label. (Image courtesy Orange County Archives)

Long ago, some detractor called me “a crate label historian,” meaning that I only write about a falsely sunny and cheerful Orange County, as depicted on citrus labels. Certainly, there’s plenty of non-bile-laden history to be found in these parts, and I’ve written about a lot of it. But I’m not sure, for instance, how the stuff I’ve written about floods, earthquakes, arson, racism, murder, crime, and the demolition of historic sites would translate as crate label art. It’s just not Sunkist’s style.

Frankly, there is much to be learned from old crate labels. They tell us something about the history of agriculture, art and advertising, and about the locations depicted in their illustrations. Crate labels also provide a fine springboard for talking about the people, places and ideas that Americans once found important or appealing. But as much as I’d like to accept the mantle of “Crate Label Historian,” that title more appropriately belongs to Gordon McClelland and Jay Last, who wrote the defining books on this subject. Without their work, exhibits like this (and far more elaborate past crate label exhibits) would just be collections of pretty pictures.

Walnuts: The Mother of Invention

Drying walnuts on the Katella Ranch, near Anaheim, circa 1905.

Oranges get all the press. Even though they drove our economy for over half a century, they were hardly Orange County's only successful crop. The walnut, for instance, was big business here for decades. The walnut also fueled some impressive horticultural and mechanical creativity in these parts. 

It’s said the first walnut trees in Orange County were planted in the orchard at Mission San Juan Capistrano in the late 1770s. In 1858 a few more walnut trees were planted between the vineyards in Anaheim. Usually the English walnut was grafted onto the rootstock of the hearty local native black walnut species.

J. R. Congdon of Santa Ana planted the first English walnuts (18 acres) in Orange County for commercial purposes in 1870 at San Juan Capistrano. His friends and neighbors thought he was,… well,… nuts. But in 1877 he harvested his first crop, which yielded 6,000 pounds of walnuts. It was the beginning of a major local industry.

Throughout the 1870s more farmers across Orange County began to experiment with the growing of walnuts. And in the wake of Pierce’s Disease, in the late 1880s, many dead vineyards in Anaheim and elsewhere were replaced with walnut groves. Among those who moved to the area and jumped on the walnut-growing bandwagon were John and Margaret Rea, whose Katella Ranch was named for their daughters, Kate and Ella.

Fertilizing the Thornburg walnut orchard, Orange County, 1938.

The English walnut (Juglans Regia), and variants thereof, remained the variety of choice in Orange County until the development of the Placentia Perfection walnut. This new hybrid of four species, often called the Placentia walnut or a “budded” walnut, was developed by George Hind of Placentia around 1890. Based on its success, Orange County became one of the biggest walnut producing regions in America.

Other varieties of walnuts were also developed here but generally did not prove as popular. For instance, Henry F. Gardner of Orange developed a variant he called the Klondike walnut which grew “as large as lemons.” But who wants lemon-sized walnuts? (No one.)

In 1898, the first cooperative walnut marketing organization in Orange County was formed: The Santa Ana Valley Walnut Growers Association. Soon, more growers associations and walnut packing houses would spring up throughout the area.  To improve the reliability of price and product quality, fifteen Southern California walnut grower associations banded together in 1912 to form the California Walnut Growers Association.

Ultimately the once-popular Placentia walnut proved susceptible to blight (which struck in the 1910s), and husk fly and navel orange worm, (which struck in the 1920s).

By the mid-1930s, the costs of maintaining a walnut grove in Orange County were about 10 times higher than in Northern California, where heartier varieties thrived. Our local farmers began moving toward more profitable citrus and truck crops. By the late 1950s, only about 800 acres of walnut groves remained in Orange County. The last of our commercial groves, like so much of post-war Southern California agriculture, was pushed out by suburban development in the 1960s.

Migrant walnut pickers camp at Miraflores (near today's Anaheim Stadium).

During its heyday, our thriving walnut industry also led to success for one of Orange County’s early inventors.

Walnuts are harvested by knocking or shaking the nuts off the trees. In an article in the Orange County Historical Society’s 1932 Orange County History Series journal, Santa Ana rancher Harry W. Lewis wrote,

“No machine has been developed that will shake the trees as well as a Mexican with a long pole having a hook on the end. Then grandmother, mother, big sisters and all the children, except the last baby, filled the cans with nuts picked from the nice smooth ground.”

Those gathering the nuts ended up with aching backs and with fingers stained black by the walnut husks.

Shucking walnuts in Santa Ana, 1911. Photo courtesy Orange County Archives.

Once the nuts were gathered, they were spread out and dried in three-foot by six-foot trays, arranged on racks. In later years, the nuts were dried with heaters or dehydrators. Once cured, they were sent to the packing house for bleaching, polishing, sorting, grading and bagging for market.

Parts of this process could be turned into assemblyline-type productions. But the job of actually stooping and picking up the nuts in the groves remained stubbornly labor-intensive. There had to be a better way.

Johan Franke. Photo from Santa Ana Register, Oct. 25, 1918.

Johan Friedrich Franke, a native of Nordhausen, Germany living in Santa Ana, found that better way.

Here’s an excerpt from the 1918 patent application for what Franke called his Boss Walnut Picker:

“With the use of my walnut picker an operator may pick walnuts from the ground among the grass and weeds and leaves and at the same time stand practically erect so as to move freely over the ground.”

The picker consisted of a long pole with a metal cone on the lower end. On the bottom of the cone was a walnut–sized hole with thin metal prongs on four sides. A little applied pressure would allow a walnut to be pushed up past the prongs into the cone above, but the prongs were just sturdy enough to keep the nuts from falling out once collected. It was then a snap to lift the pole and tip the cone full of walnuts into a larger container.

Illustrations from Franke's walnut picker patent, 1918.

Ads for Franke’s walnut picker in the Santa Ana Register asked, “Why break your back?”

Franke had first moved from Germany to Austin, Texas and then moved with his family to Santa Ana in 1887. He’d once been a farmer, but in Santa Ana he worked for 13 years as a glazier for the Griffith Lumber Co. In retirement, he developed a good reputation in Orange County as a piano tuner and he also tinkered with inventions.

Johan Franke manufactured his walnut pickers at his son Rudolph Franke’s nursery, at the northeast corner of Bush St. and 3rd St., beginning in the Summer of 1918. Initially, that was the only place one could buy the pickers. They cost $1.25. But word traveled fast and within a couple months they were being sold at most local hardware stores.

Phil Brigandi with walnut picker at La Habra Historical Museum.

In April 1919 Franke was issued a patent for the picker, and by that summer there was enough demand that he stepped up production considerably. Soon, the manufacture and sale of walnut pickers became his primary source of income. Sadly, he died in a gas heater explosion in Jan. 1922, but his sons continued to make and sell his invention.

Our local walnut industry is now long gone. But occasionally one of Franke's walnut pickers will drift out of an attic or a basement somewhere to puzzle today's non-agricultural Orange Countians. Once identified, they serve as an important reminder not only of pre-urban Orange County, but also of the fact that our agricultural past was hardly limited to citrus.

Happy New Year

...to everybuddy

Wiwish you a Merry Christmas

...and a happy new year!

Los Pastores in Orange County

Residents of La Habra’s Campo Colorado in 1934, costumed for Los Pastores – a Christmas-season Mexican folk drama (Photo courtesy Orange County Archives.)

If you grew up in California, you already know about La Posada, Christmas tamales, and the beauty of flickering luminarias. But I must admit that this gringo had to do a little digging to figure out what Los Pastores (“The Shepherds’ Play”) was about and its origins. Here's some of what I've come across thus far...

In medieval Europe, “miracle plays” were acted out by clergy as a way of teaching Bible stories to the illiterate masses. Eventually, those same masses began performing the plays themselves. But the storylines, characters and details of these folk dramas changed and became cheekier and racier over time. The Church banned these plays in the 15th Century.

In Spain, such plays were called autos del Nacimiento, and despite the ban, they were pressed into service again in the 16th Century to teach Bible stories to the illiterate natives of the New World. What was probably a relatively unadulterated version of Los Pastores (from the Church’s point of view) was used by Spanish missionaries in Mexico to relate the story of the Nativity.

Again, Los Pastores – sometimes called La Pastorela – was adopted by the public, and performances were moved to the town square. And again, the storylines, characters, and details of these folk dramas changed and gradually became more comical and entertaining. What had been a straightforward story of shepherds traveling to Bethlehem became a comedy. It was sort of the “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead” version of the Nativity.

Although many versions exist, Los Pastores generally involves lazy, dim-witted, bumbling shepherds who can barely be talked into getting off their butts to go see the new Savior. As they travel, they are alternately protected by angels and tempted by the Devil and his minions with various distractions. An irascible hermit encountered along the way helps the shepherds stay the course. The story ends with the shepherds delivering gifts at the manger and the Devil admitting defeat.

Los Pastores was first brought to Alta California by the Franciscan missionaries. One version of the play was written in 1803 by Fr. Florencio Ibanez of Mission Nuestra Señora de la Soledad. Some have cited this as the first play written and performed in our state. And it certainly made its way to our own mission town of San Juan Capistrano.  At a 1922 meeting of the Orange County Historical Society, member Bessie Carrillo shared José Juan Olivares’ stories of 1850s Capistrano, including a mention of the Los Pastores players visiting "some of the houses," where they "always found a good dinner prepared for them."

A number of communities in Orange County still performed Los Pastores in the 1920s and 1930s. Many who had fled the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) came to California, bringing their traditions with them. The biggest and perhaps most popular local Los Pastores production was put on by the residents of the Santa Fe barrio in Placentia. But the play was performed by various groups in many local communities, including Anaheim, Buena Park, La Habra, El Modena, Delhi, and Placentia’s La Jolla barrio.

Shepherds urging Bartolo to rise. San Antonio, Texas, 1893. Photo courtesy American Folklore Society.

“In La Habra, the players went from ‘home to home where the Nacimiento altars [had] been arranged,’” writes Gilbert Gonzalez in his book, Labor and Community. “In La Jolla the Pastorela was given in the main street at a designated hour by the nearby Placentia group. … Traditional foods and singing capped all performances.”

In a 2008 Orange County Register article and again in a 2013 article for Somos Primos, O.C. Superior Court Judge Frederick Aguirre recalled the involvement of his grandfather, Jose Aguirre, who led the annual rehearsals and performances in Placentia from 1920 until his death in 1934. The Aguirres had already performed in the play for decades in Michoacán, Mexico before coming to the United States in 1918.

“For several weeks, nineteen men and two young boys, who played the female parts a la Shakespeare, practiced and memorized their lines at Jose's barbershop,” said Judge Aguirre. “Jesus Ortega, a fellow from Corona, California had memorized the entire “cuaderno” (script of the play). He would sit in the barbershop with one leg crossed over, slightly bent over with one hand on his forehead, smoking a cigarette and patiently reciting the lines whenever an actor forgot his cue or his lines…”

“Bedecked in colorful gowns, grotesque, brightly painted, hand-carved wooden masks, swords and staffs, the entourage would perform at a predetermined home,” said Judge Aguirre. Each performance lasted about two hours.

“…The play was presented at pre-arranged homes several times during the Nativity season,” he said. “After the performance the actors were treated to a Christmas feast of tamales, menudo, beans, rice, greens, fruit, cakes, bunuelos, sweet bread, hot chocolate and spirits. The troupe performed all over Orange County and even Los Angeles County. In 1933 they presented in a home in the Simon’s brickyard neighborhood in Montebello. My Dad who was thirteen years old played the part of Gila, a female Angel… My great uncles Cistos Raya and Marcial Aguirre played shepherds. My uncle Sydney Aguirre and great uncle Luz Guerrero portrayed devils. My grandfather acted the role of Lucifer. He hand-carved and painted the elaborate wooden mask which had a serpent protruding from the mouth.”

Aguirre also outlined the first portion of the Placentia version of the play, beginning with a chorus singing about the joyous arrival of the Savior. The hymn’s lyrics are fairly universal except for the last bit in which tamales are offered to the Holy Family.

“Suddenly Lucifer appears resplendent in a flowing gown with a grotesque, brightly painted wooden mask,” said Aguirre. “He curses his fall from grace, asserts his control over man, then hides when he sees seven shepherds approaching. They are plainly dressed but carry elaborately decorated seven-foot crooks and beaded satchels.”

Tebano, one of the shepherds, enters and proclaims that an Angel appeared to him, announcing the birth of Christ, and telling them all to travel to Bethlehem. The rest of the story unfolded from there.

The performances of Los Pastores in La Habra were so popular that even the rehersals were crowded with the actors family members, who seemed pleased to hear the story again and again. The presentations themselves drew people from all over north Orange County, according to Gonzales: “The group added a procession and singing, ‘led by men [in brilliant costumes] carrying staffs with beautiful colors and adorned with bells.’”

For the 1928-1929 holiday season, two performances of the play were given by a group from Delhi under the direction of adult education teacher Mrs. Jessie Hayden. The group performed one night at the Logan barrio night school and another at the Fairyland Dance Hall, 2701 S. Main St., in Delhi.

“…Most of the cast has been familiar with the various roles for years,” reported the Santa Ana Register. “Members of the cast planned and made their costumes and stage settings,… The Spanish orchestra with Miss Ruth Frotheringham at the piano, presented several Spanish selections between the acts and Miss Henrietta Armendares sang two Spanish songs.”

Devils with shepherd boy. San Antonio, Texas, 1893. Photo courtesy American Folklore Society.

(In 1934, Hayden would complete her master’s thesis at Claremont College: The La Habra Experiment in Mexican Social Education, which would cite her experiences with productions of Los Pastores in Orange County.)

In their coverage of the 1931 Delhi production, the Register noted that at least twenty different versions of the play were performed in various parts of Mexico at the time, and that the version director Pablo Lopez had selected came from Zacatecas. It was called “The Coming of the Messiah,” and it included roles for more players than most versions, but it sounds like the storyline was a bit of a train wreck.

It began with Lucifer calling together his vices: Sin, Avarice, Pride, Anger, Envy, etc., and sending them out into the world to wreak havoc in the world. The Register article continues,…

“The next scene shows the shepherds awakening in the cold dawn, calling to one another, joking, complaining of the climate and the scarcity of food. The all pray that God will bless their labors and increase their flocks. Then the shepherdesses go to care for their hens and doves and the shepherds depart.

“The second act opens with a little dove scene between the shepherds and shepherdesses. There is a song, “I Shall Die, I Shall Die, Unless You Comfort Me.” Then Lucindo comes from Bethlehem and all ask news of the Messiah. A present brought for one of the shepherdesses proves to be a rat to frighten her; notwithstanding, there is soon a double wedding and a wedding feast. “Let us go to Bethlehem,” cry the shepherds, but the devil comes and opens a box of snuff to confuse them. The only one he can deceive is poor Bato, who is tempted by food and wine. Bato eats so much that his stomach begins to ache. He sings, “I Am Dying,” but the other shepherds cure him. An angel appears announcing the nativity. The final scene shows the shepherds kneeling in adoration before the manger, singing their glorias.”

Both the 1929 and 1931 Delhi productions were held in January rather than the usual pre-Christmas timeframe. More interestingly, it seems that these particular productions involved, or may have been instigated by, those teaching English and “Americanization” to new immigrants from Mexico. Once again, it was being used as a teaching tool.

But clearly, the schools were not always involved. In her book, Conquests and Historical Identities in California, 1769-1936, Lisbeth Haas described an incident in another Delhi production of the play:

"...A resident related his version of the play to the neighborhood priest orally; the priest then wrote it out into the script, but eliminated those parts he considered irreverent or satirical. Los Pastores was rehearsed in a pool hall donated by a community member... When performing the piece, the actors reinserted all the omitted passages and performed it the way they had in Mexico. The actors even sent to a pueblo in central Mexico for the masks used in the play.”

In a faint echo of the 15^th century, clergy once again tried and failed to reign in the popular folk tradition.

But it was the changing times, not censorship, which brought the local performances to an end in the late 1930s. The play’s undertaking required a great deal of “time, effort and expense,” writes Gonzalez, and the tradition was put on indefinite hold by the deepening Depression, as well as “by the 1936 pickers strike, by the 1938 flood, and finally by the war. The coming of age of the second generation in the 1940s did not include the oral and visual tradition known as the Pastorela.” 

I’m unaware of anyone performing the play in Orange County today, but the tradition lives on in several more professionally staged productions in New Mexico and Texas. A movie version, “La Pastorela,” with Linda Ronstadt, Cheech Marin and Paul Rodriguez was released in 1993.

Watson's home in the crosshairs

Katie Schroeder of the Orange Community Historical Society writes, "You might want to... get the word out. The home of Keller Watson (Watson's Drug Store) is on the chopping block to be demo'd! There is a Design Review Committee meeting tomorrow at 5:30 p.m. [at the City of Orange City Hall] for those opposed of this plan. They want to construct a 22-bedroom apartment complex on the property. Here are the details from Old Towne Preservation Association's website. http://www.otpa.org/drc-meetings---speak-up.html

Longtime researcher of historic Orange properties Andrea Donahue adds, "One of their arguments is: 'No evidence was found that Watson Jr. used his residence for work or important social affairs.' Is that an actual necessary criteria? The agenda item also mentions 'striking interior architecture.' Staff considers 1942 construction to be correct..."

And as usual, city guesstimates prove to be just that: guesstimates.

For those who don't read the comments section below, historian Phil Brigandi passes along the following: "The correct date is 1941. Kellar drew the rough sketches and his builder created the finished plans. 'I just hit on a good style,' Kellar later said. It is a landmark house and one of the few from that era in downtown Orange."