A Visit to Old Los Angeles and
Environs.
23. Long Beach (Part
2).
by
Brent C. Dickerson
Copyright © Brent C. Dickerson
Index to Episodes (click here)
Long Beach—Downtown and
Uptown; Signal Hill.
• The next morning, it was
mainly we men-folk, and Anna, walking the streets of Long Beach; Mother
declared that if the baby didn't have at least one day without being
carried through the streets, he would turn into a suitcase. Minnie
meantime announced her intention of familiarizing herself with "the finer
points of tennis" outside the hotel. We left the hotel, and started
walking east on Ocean Boulevard past the city park, where the buildings
began again at its corner with Pacific Avenue.
• As we started walking, young Frederick Johan ran to the middle of the street between the parallel trolley lines. "Just as well," said Papa from the sidewalk, loud enough so that FJ could hear; "the good thing about children is that they can always be replaced." FJ just smiled to himself and continued his observations.
• The next street, Pine Avenue, seemed to be the main street of downtown Long Beach. The trolley station was located there; and the pier was essentially an extension into the water of Pine Avenue.
• Seeing Anna and young Frederick Johan step towards the pier, Papa said, "Folk, we are taking the inland route today," continuing that we'd all enjoy the "amusement zones tomorrow together—that is, unless the baby starts growing handles and latches again." Charley said, "I shouldn't think that Minnie would have mastered any part of tennis by then." "Not if the players are quick on their legs," I added, as Anna bit her lip. And so we looked inland from the intersection of Pine and Ocean.
• We walked a few yards past the intersection, and turned to look back at the corner with Pine, the trolley station, and the hotel in the distance.
• Young Frederick Johan—who could rarely be kept at ground level for long—wanted to go up to the bell-tower at the bank building at First and Pine, "to make observations," as he put it. "That means, 'to look around,'" said Charley and I in unison to each other. Papa and Anna took the occasion to sit on a bench on the street and watch the comings and going of the people on the trolley, while meantime the three of us walked into the bank. "Let's not shell peanuts this time," said Charley. It was 10, and the bank had just opened. The sharp smell of after-shave and macassar oil hung in the air. Several of the tellers looked up from their counters at us. Nearby, behind a parlor palm, a substantial middle-aged man with a pince-nez and a melancholy look sat at his desk, sighing. "Sir," started I, as I was closest to him... "Gentlemen," said he, "please don't ask if you may go up into the belltower." Young Frederick Johan stepped forward and said, "May we go up into the belltower?". The man sighed again; and I thought I saw a tear form in one eye. Suddenly, a voice boomed from behind us. "Why, certainly you may, gentlemen. It would be our pleasure! Wilkins, take the gentlemen up." "Certainly, sir," said our melancholy Wilkins, as he grabbed a key-ring off a nearby peg; "follow me." As Mr. Wilkins explained to me, his was the misfortune to have the desk nearest the door; and "every trolley-load of people carries at least two parties who want to be taken up to the belltower, which has become the major part of my duties at this bank. When my family writes to me from Indianapolis, expecting me to announce that I am now the vice-president of this bank, imagine my feelings when I have to report to them that I spend my day ushering tourists up to the confounded belltower, as my columns of beautiful figures in my ledger wait impatiently at my desk. What's more, I am supposed to interest these people in taking out an account as I lead them down the stairs again. Now, you tell me, gentlemen—what are my chances of success in interesting folks visiting from the four corners of the earth in starting an account with the First National Bank at the corner of First and Pine in Long Beach? It's a hard fate, I tell you—a hard fate!" By then, we had reached the roof, and had looked north along Pine Avenue for only a moment when Mr. Wilkins shouted, "Do cover your ears, gentlemen!", with the tower chimes sounding off immediately after. We heard a shout from down below, and saw Anna and Papa waving up to us.
• The Pine Avenue School, a few blocks north, was visible. Young FJ found a close-up view of it at a postcard shop the next day.
• Noting our interest in the surroundings, Mr. Wilkins put his anguish aside for a moment to remark that, "Fifty years ago, there was nothing here but a shepherd's hut." "Exactly fifty years ago?", queried young Frederick Johan. "Approximately fifty years ago," answered Mr. Wilkins. Charley remarked, "That would be about when Papa was your age, FJ," which set FJ to thinking. "You're in from Los Angeles...?" Mr. Wilkins asked, continuing—upon our nods—"Perhaps you saw a particular Temple Street there? That Mr. Temple used to own this whole area"—he gestured vaguely around—and then sold out to the Bixbys. They're still around. They built that big hotel down the other side of the park." We sensed Mr. Wilkins' impatience to be back at his figures, and so took our leave; as we went out the door, a gentleman with a rather large family—I thought I saw two sets of twins—stopped me and said, "Excuse me, but how is it you got up there?", pointing to the bank's roof. "Well," I said, "it's very restricted; we only got up because my brother here built the clock you see there. Isn't it a nice one?" The man walked up to Charley and said, "Sir, that's a fine piece of work. Thank you!", and then herded his family off towards the pier. Later at dinner, Charley said he should have asked out one of the man's daughters. "She might have asked you about clocks!", said Papa. "I could speak to her at great length about getting 'all wound up'," said Charley. Mother set down her water-glass and gave Charley a severe look, while Minnie said, "Charley, could you explain that? I don't know what you mean at all." Papa cleared his voice, and said, "Surely you all remember the pocket-watch I gave Charley when he left for college?". "Most assuredly," said I, winking at Charley, who was blushing slightly. Returning to our walk down Ocean Boulevard: We crossed to the seaward side of Ocean, walked nearly a block east, and looked back at the corner of Ocean and Pine.
• Going east along Ocean, the next corner was with Locust Street; office buildings were starting to give way to houses...
• ...But a block inland, it could have passed for a street in downtown Los Angeles! Here, we're looking west on 1st Street towards Pine Street and the park.
• But we liked the fresh sea breezes, and so returned to Ocean Boulevard. The Hotel Del Mar was located at the northwest corner of the next intersection eastwards, the intersection of Ocean Boulevard and American Avenue [later to be renamed "Long Beach Boulevard"].
• Turning around instinctively to see the view which the guests at the Del Mar would have had, we looked down from the top of the cliff to where beachgoers had left their horses—not very far from the auditorium! "The sea breezes," said young Frederick Johan, "will disperse any horse-smells inland rather than blow them into the auditorium." "I should rather hope so," said Anna.
• The suggestion of horse-smells dispersing inland made us all turn in that direction; and thus it was that we looked north up American Avenue, the Hotel Del Mar at the left of our view. "Nice wide street," yawned Charley, adding, "Wonder if it's for demonstration, or if people come out sometimes."
• On the pretext of looking for "people," we walked a block inland, where young Frederick Johan cajoled us all to climb to the top of another building, where a somewhat bemused janitor unlocked the hatch to the roof, making us promise that we would not throw ourselves over the side. First we took in the view West. We could see the park, the Hotel Virginia, and—in the distance—San Pedro and the Palos Verdes peninsula.
• Then we looked north over the city towards Signal Hill.
• We continued our walk east on Ocean Boulevard towards the next intersection, that with Elm Street. First we walked past "The Mun" ("What's a 'Mun'?", asked young Frederick Johan)...
• ...Adjoining which, just beyond, at the intersection with Elm Street, was "The Munholland" ("What's a 'Munholland'?", asked young Frederick Johan; Charley answered, "It's like a 'Mun,' except with wooden shoes.").
• On nearby Atlantic Avenue was—the Atlantic Avenue School. "What?", quoth I, "not the Munschool?"
• After all our walking and climbing, Anna—with her eye on Papa—said that she was quite tired out, and sat down on the curb, "leaving us fairly well at longitude Nowhere and latitude Nothing," as Papa described it at dinner that night. Charley suggested that we return hotel-wards, and pass the afternoon around the pier. "Nay," quoth Papa; "that's for tomorrow." I spoke up: "We could place ourselves in the lap of destiny and chance." "You mean there's a poker parlor here?", asked Charley. Anna gave him a strange look. "I know what he means, folk; 'tis what your thumb is for." Now Charley gave Papa a strange look. "Hitchhike!" cried young Frederick Johan. And so we took turns putting on our respective best demeanors for drivers going our way. As it happened, it was my own manly and elegant extremity which succeeded in arresting the attentions of the driver of . . . a brick-cart—a two-horse brick-cart—who said he was going a couple miles east, climb on, the horses won't know the difference. As the horses plodded along eastwards, we entered the residential area; and even there the built-up area was thinning out the farther we went. We got off where there was a park on one side of the street, and the cliffs and beach on the other. Looking west along the shoreline, we could barely make out the pier near the hotel.
• Young Frederick Johan disappeared into the shadows to tally the number of species of trees in the park.
• Meantime, Anna and Papa reclined on a bench near a fountain in the park.
• Charley and I scouted passers-by on the boulevard, he sighing for bathing beauties making their way to the beach across the street and down the cliff, and I sighing for you of course dear.
• While all of this was going on, Papa engaged a red-haired man in conversation—Anna later reported that he was the only red-haired man she had ever seen without a single freckle on his face—the upshot of which was that we all were to be motored first to Signal Hill back of town, and then all the way 'round to our hotel. At dinner, Minnie asked for an explanation of how this came about. Papa took a deep breath, and began, "Minnie, there . . . " "I can finish that statement, if I might," interjected Mother, as Papa nodded assent; "The answer is, 'Minnie, there is a fellowship of the cigar!'. Am I correct, Mr. S?". Papa beamed, and sat back in his chair. "You are correct, Mrs. S." Minnie sniffled, looked blank, and stuck her fork into a spiced carrot; "I see," she said. On the way around the east end of town, we drove past a sheep ranch. The red-haired man said, "You were just in Bixby Park; you're staying in a hotel Bixby built; and this is the Bixby sheep ranch."
• From east of town, we drove around to the back of Long Beach. Signal Hill is pretty much given over to oil.
• Sometimes there is a "gusher."
• Sometimes it catches on fire. "Not this again!", exclaimed FJ.
• And sometimes it happens at night.
• The red-haired man—who was something less than talkative—said, "Seen enough?", and drove us back to downtown and our hotel via nearby American Avenue.
Return to Long Beach part one; or on to Long Beach part three Pier and Pike.