Note: This is an encore post from 2006.

Nov. 10, 1907
South Pasadena

What sort of monument do we leave for real estate developers? For John B. Althouse, who built hundreds of homes in the Wilshire district, as well as the West Adams district and the San Gabriel Valley, the answer might be nondescript offices and vacant lots.

Here’s the house he built for himself at Oxley and Fremont in South Pasadena, a few blocks from my home. In fact, I pass the corner every day.

Here’s another one he built on Manhattan Place.

Don’t rush out to look for them, though. They’re gone, although the wall around Althouse’s home survived.

Born in Baltimore, Althouse died in July 1939 at the age of 72 at his home, 230 S. Gramercy Place. He arrived in Los Angeles in 1886 and spent 37 years in the real estate business after operating a fruit store at 1^st and Main Streets for many years. He constructed hundreds of homes in the Wilshire district and was one of the first members of the Los Angeles Realty Board.

(Update: All links are broken). What’s this? One has survived in the West Adams district, 1415 S. Gramercy Place. Also read here. And here. Zillow link.

Update: Further research reveals the home of Daniel T. Althouse, a partner in Althouse Brothers, at 2125 S. 4th Ave., where he died of blood poisoning in 1914.

The one-page fact check of Karina Longworth’s “Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes’s Hollywood” was even more successful than I expected. Well done, Brain Trust. Grade: Fail.

Ready? Here we go:

Here is the RFK Community Schools, via Google Earth, built on the footprint of the Ambassador Hotel. Do you see the ocean? Do you think the hotel had “an unobstructed view straight through the building and 15 miles out to sea?”

Item: A Dec. 9, 1918, article in the Los Angeles Times said:  “Provision is made for over 600 guest rooms, from every one of which will be visible either the ocean or the mountains.” (A bit of advertising hype, I would say).

Item: The Ambassador Hotel opened at midnight on New Year’s Eve 1920, delayed from the original target date of December 1919.

Item: Rudolph Valentino wasn’t a movie star at the time. His breakout film was “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” shot in 1920, but not released until March 1921, after the Ambassador opened. Movie folklore kicking around the Internet says — erroneously — that the palm trees of the Cocoanut Grove were from “The Sheik,” filmed in the summer of 1921 and released Nov. 20, 1921, after the hotel opened.

Item: The Hollywood sign didn’t exist in 1921, and when it was built in 1923 it was the Hollywoodland sign.

Item: Los Angeles before the aqueduct wasn’t a desert, despite the line in “Chinatown.”

Item: The Ambassador, shown above, was not an example of Spanish architecture. A Los Angeles Times article from Dec. 9, 1918,  when the proposed Ambassador was called the California Hotel, said: “Architecturally, the plans follow Italian lines.” The Los Angeles Conservancy lists the hotel as Mediterranean Revival and Streamline Moderne.

Item: The Ambassador was a little less than six miles south of the Hollywoodland Sign. Not eight.

You might not know the architectural style of the Ambassador, or when “The Sheik” was filmed. But it is basic Los Angeles literacy to know that the Hollywood sign said Hollywoodland for many years. There is simply no point in reading a book from an author who makes such rudimentary errors and fails a one-page fact check; you’ll just have to unlearn everything.

Nov. 13, 1947: Little Miss Cornshucks is at the Last Word, 4206 Central Ave. The Last Word opened in July 1947 and seems to have closed in 1951. Or at least it was no longer advertising in the Sentinel.

On the jump: Columnist Edward Robinson writes about the Rev. John L. Branham and his plans to build a church at 50th and Main streets.

Note: This is an encore post from 2006.

Nov. 18, 1907
South Pasadena

Calvary Presbyterian Church at Center (now El Centro) and Fremont was dedicated in a service featuring prominent local religious leaders, including Dr. John Willis Baer, president of Occidental College.

The Times notes that the original church building was located on Columbia Street, but the location was inconvenient, so the church bought the Nazarene Chapel on Center.

The church, which cost $10,000 ($205,235.70 USD 2005) incorporates much of the old First Presbyterian Church of Pasadena, which was at Worcester Avenue and Colorado Street, The Times says.

Fortunately, this church is still standing and I’ll post some shots once I get the film developed.

In other news, Police Chief Kern talks frankly with The Times about the crime wave that is gripping the city.

Destruction from last year’s San Francisco earthquake has deprived career criminals and hobos of their usual winter quarters, so they are heading to Los Angeles, Kern says. In addition, layoffs across the Southwest have sent waves of the unemployed to Southern California.

“From the railroad detectives and mining men of large interests I have learned that nearly all of the railroads are discharging men from all their departments. Men are also being thrown out of work at the mines in Arizona, New Mexico and Nevada,” Kern says.”

“It enormously complicates the police problem and makes life in Los Angeles more dangerous,” the chief says. “To a very large extent they are men who are not in the habit of saving money and they arrive here broke and out of work. The next step is crime.

“I learn from the County Jail that many of the vagrants coming there to serve time are mechanics and workmen who have never been arrested before.”

Kern advocates the creation of a state police department charged, among other duties, with searching all trains entering California to clear them of hobos and vagrants.

Now pay attention:

“OWING TO THE ENORMOUS TERRITORY COVERED BY THIS CITY OUR MEN CAN’T BEGIN TO PATROL IT. WE OUGHT TO HAVE MORE POLICEMEN. I KNOW THAT SEEMS TO BE A CONSTANT CRY, BUT THERE ARE ACTUALLY DISTRICTS OF THIS CITY WHERE A POLICEMAN WOULD BE A CURIOSITY.”

I swear, this should be carved over the doors of the new LAPD headquarters.

Read about the history of Pasadena Presbyterian Church here.

Note: This is an encore post from 2006.

Nov. 24, 1907
Monrovia

The Times real estate section takes a look at what was then the distant suburb of Monrovia, 22 miles from downtown Los Angeles. The writer notes the increasing use of concrete and stone, explaining that the cost of lumber is forcing builders to use other materials. The writer also notes the broad, shaded verandas of three featured homes as well as the outlines of their roofs.

The story highlights the home of B.R. Davisson on East Orange Avenue, H.M. Slemmons (or Slemon) on North Myrtle Avenue and the home of John C. Rupp at Ivy and Greystone, built for $6,500 ($133,403.21 USD 2005).

Without exact addresses, it would be difficult for me to locate the Davisson and Slemmons homes, but I took a pleasant drive out to Monrovia recently to look for the Rupp house and was happy to find that it is still standing and in beautiful condition. In fact, it was nice to discover that the neighborhood has quite a few well-maintained historic homes; a contrast to the condition of the houses I located in Pico Heights.

I had a brief chat with the homeowner who gave me a tour of the grounds. He said that Rupp, a financier, built the home for his wife, but that she decided it was too far from Los Angeles and wouldn’t live there. That’s apparently true, because Rupp put the home on the market in 1911.

Note that the ad for the home mentions a solar heater. I have no idea what this was and the homeowner didn’t know anything about it. Obviously a subject for further research.

The homeowner also mentioned the Monrovia Old House Preservation Group, which has a website and offers a self-guided tour. I cannot vouch for these folks, but it does sound interesting and the area has some lovely old homes.

To get to the Rupp house, take the Foothill Freeway and get off at Santa Anita in Arcadia. Turn north and go to Foothill Boulevard and then turn right (east) and then left on Ivy. The home is at 269 N. Ivy. While you’re there, look at the large stone house on the northeast corner, built in 1894. I’ll post some pictures when I get the film developed (we’re old school around here).

Jack Donovan on the porch of his home, “Picture-Play Magazine,” April 1923..

From its beginnings, the Hollywood film industry has constructed elaborate sets and facades before demolishing them to build something else, such as David O. Selznick burning down old sets and gates still standing from the 1932 film “King Kong” to create the massive conflagration for his 1939 epic “Gone With the Wind.” Most studios just pulled down the unneeded materials and threw them away, while sometimes selling off odd pieces of sculpture or paintings they no longer required or wanted.

One of the first to find value in the old bric-a-brac and leftover props and set pieces was bon vivant and jack of all trades, handsome Jack Donovan, young Irish American actor and man about town. Following green principles and practicing “reduce, reuse, and recycle” long before it became a necessity, go-getter Donovan bought unwanted old movie sets and props from small independent studios or bankrupt companies that he combined to create architecturally diverse bungalettes for Hollywood types looking for quaint and attractive homes in which to live. In a way, the driven young man could be called one of the first Hollywood home flippers.

Mary Mallory’s latest book, “Living With Grace: Life Lessons From America’s Princess,”  is now on sale.

Jack Donovan’s bungalow court “Winged Victory,” “Picture-Play Magazine,” April 1923.

Never one to sit still, the charming Donovan jumped from hobby to hobby and idea to idea, never seeming to settle on one, often to his detriment. Born in Chicago in 1894, Donovan began his career working as a property man at the Famous Players-Lasky Studio before becoming an assistant at the Keystone Studio and then assistant cameraman at Morosco, per the July 29, 1922, Camera magazine. While working at Morosco the busy Donovan supposedly also studied law at the University of Southern California Law School. Donovan landed his first acting role in an Al Christie comedy before gradually moving into drama or more serious productions. Somewhere along the way he also found time to become a licensed architect.

He lived at home with his mother Jeanette at 419 S. Lorraine Blvd. in what is now Hancock Park during the late 1910s, where they entertained and also threw parties on their yacht before he joined the Army’s aviation service in World War I. After the war, he hosted and attended galas frequented by people like Bebe Daniels, Mabel Normand, Tom Moore, Clarence Badger, and John Considine while still dabbling in pictures and attempting to go into independent production making films starring himself and his pet parrot and bulldog.

While that failed to catch on, he did appear opposite such stars as Bessie Love in the Ida May Park film “The Midlanders” and in films directed and produced by Allen Holubar and Lois Weber. During his time at the Lasky Studios, Donovan often visited the set and prop building departments during his time off from filmmaking, and supposedly occasionally helped construct sets, per trade reports.

Jack Donovan on the cover of Camera!, July 29, 1922.

Donovan’s real love and skill lay in design, both interior and exterior. He concocted an elaborate home at 6633 Sunset Blvd. for he and his mother in 1919, an elaborate estate with gardens called Canary Cottage, where they entertained society and motion picture people. At the same time, his sense of blarney helped charm journalists into extolling his skills.

As the July 29, 1922 Camera magazine wrote, “To meet him is to contact a young man distinctly different from the usual type of this day and age. Possessing an inherent sense of art values, he has been able to combine it with an amazing practicality and mechanical skill. Ambitious always, he has, notwithstanding, realized the advantage of building a sure foundation. The moving pictures offered the opportunity.”

Myrtle Gebhart wrote in her June 1923 Sunset magazine article entitled “Scrapped From the Movies” that young Donovan lacked the funds to develop his bungalow court but realized that utilizing sets and properties scrapped from smaller independent studios would achieve his dream at a fraction of the cost. Using $2,000 in Liberty Bonds and a few hundred dollars he has saved as his initial down payment on the Sunset Boulevard property, Donovan mortgaged the first lot and sold some of his furniture and his mother’s jewels to obtain building funds.

He purchased lumber for his first bungalow for $200 from a wrecking company, then decorated and furnished it with studio props. Donovan rented each little 4-5 room bungalow for $125 to $150 a month, which he used to buy adjoining property.

Donovan purchased complete or part sets before they were dismantled, everything from heavy wooden doors, iron gates, stained glass, paneling, light fixtures, railings, hand-painted ceilings, tiled mantels, parts of stairways, bath with sunken shower; silverware and candlesticks, bronzes, windows, and furniture of all types. He also bought material from antique and junk shops which he repurposed and refinished.

A Jack Donovan home, Sunset Magazine, 1923.

Prices were minimal; heavy wooden doors and scrolled iron gates cost fifty cents each; six truckloads of studio properties cost $15; genuine copies of medieval monastery doors he purchased for a $1 each; and a stained-glass window from a Los Angeles cathedral cost Donovan a few dollars. Before installing, Donovan completely repainted and sometimes retextured each piece.

The July 16, 1921, “Camera!” magazine reported that Donovan had completed a cluster of little bungalows behind the Sunset Boulevard house called “Rendez Vous Dis Artistes (sic).” Such performers as Virginia Browne Faire, Jacqueline Logan, and Scottish novelist Lorna Moon resided in the cute bungalettes, all creatively decorated by Donovan.

By March 25, 1922, “Camera!” described the bungalow court. Called “the Studio Gardens,” this eclectic court featured Rex Ingram, director of “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” and his wife, Alice Terry, living in a quaint English cottage, along with such other residents as actress Mae Busch, First National executive W. K. Bush, directors Clifford S. Wheeler and Fred Sittenham, and writers John Clymer and E. M. Grace. The court featured a mix of English and French architecture with a rose arbor leading to each little home.

Each of the eclectic bungalettes featured a cathedral ceiling and each tiled mantel appeared in movie scenes. Gothic doors the duplicates of famed cathedrals and monasteries around the world graced the entrance of each home. Most of the furniture came from studio set departments, which Donovan had completely refurbished. One front door was composed of an enormous slab of oak intricately carved with inscriptions of the crusades and appeared in a Bebe Daniels film. Another set of hand-carved doors came from Katherine MacDonald pictures. A bungalow even featured a sunken bathtub prominently displayed in a Wanda Hawley movie.

The interior of a Jack Donovan home, Sunset Magazine, 1923.

The bungalow court earned the name “Winged Victory Gardens” in the April 1923 “Photoplay,” in which Donovan joked that one woman resident did not recognize that parts of her house came from a film on which she worked. The magazine described the cute little spread: “His “Winged Victory Gardens,” the quaintest court in this township of unique bungalow courts, consists of six bungalettes grouped about a central manor house in which Jack lives with his mother. The general ensemble is of early English design, though each tiny house is of different architecture.”

That same year the ambitious Donvoan planned even greater architectural designs, announcing plans to construct an elaborate French chateau in Santa Monica Canyon on San Vicente Boulevard. As he completed the mansion in 1924, he put the Canary Cottage and its bungalow court up for sale, with the property soon demolished and replaced by the Blessed Sacrament Church.

Donovan and his architectural exploits make for fascinating reading, as described in a series of posts on Steven Vaught’s excellent Paradise Leased blog, which goes into detail on the chateau and criminal proceedings Donovan suffered with actress Mae Murray over a Brentwood house.

Jack Donovan lived life to the hilt during the celebratory, early days of the roaring 1920s, a mesmerizing character seemingly plucked from the movies, creating architecture as colorful as any dreamed up for motion pictures.

Here’s the former Calvary Presbyterian Church in South Pasadena, now the Grace Brethren church.

Note: This is an encore post.

Nov. 30, 2006
Los Angeles

I don’t think anyone who knows both of us will ever confuse me with Nathan Marask; certainly not when it comes to architectural photography. In fact, I don’t really do architectural photography. I take snapshots of buildings—and lousy ones at that. Nor do I have Nathan’s charm in wangling my way into historic structures (see the 1947 Project entry on the “Cafeteria of Doom!” for example)

But I do have a couple of pictures to share.

And here is the home of early 20th century developer Daniel T. Althouse, 2125 S. 4th Avenue. Click on the photo to enlarge it. Aren’t these window frames cool?


Here’s where I really blew it. I got to the Rupp home in Monrovia late in the day and since the building faces east, the sun was behind the house, burying it in deep shadows. Obviously I flunked architectural photography 101. That, plus the lavish landscaping, make it difficult to see much of the house. Trust me, it’s cool.



On the other hand, I did find myself behind this incredible car getting off the Ventura Freeway on my way to Fry’s in Burbank. It looked like a stainless steel torpedo. And who’s that driving it? Why it’s Jay Leno, who gave me a big smile and a “V”-sign as we cruised Hollywood Way. This is his “tank car.” Note the serious tailpipes. They are loud.

Note: This is a clip I did in 2006.

Note: This is an encore post from 2006.

Dec. 2, 1907
Los Angeles

The Times real estate section features an apartment building at 2nd Street and Figueroa—no point in even going to look for it. But there’s also a large ad for the Erkenbrecher Syndicate’s Glendale Valley View Tract.

An unknown development today, the Glendale Valley View Tract is located west of Central Avenue in Glendale and north of Riverdale on what was once Judge Andrew Glassell’s vineyards. Part of it is apparently occupied by the Glendale Galleria, but some homes remain south of what is now Colorado Boulevard and was then 6th Street.

“Planted by Judge Glassell to vineyards some 30 years ago,” The Times said in 1907, “and kept by him in the highest possible state of cultivation, the Glassell vineyard of 146 acres was looked upon and pointed out as the ‘show place’ of the Glendale Valley.”

The homes are modest and the streets are narrow, probably not what Henry Huntington and L.C. Brand had in mind when they tried to acquire the property, “looking upon it as the choicest of subdivision property in that entire section,” The Times said.

The development offered five miles of oiled streets, curbs and sidewalks. The ads noted that the neighborhood was closer by streetcar than the West Adams District.

Here’s what the neighborhood looked like then:


And here are some homes today:

The Hollywoodland Sign, in a photo published in the Los Angeles Evening Herald, Dec. 8, 1923.

Note: This is an encore post from 2017.

Originally constructed as a publicity gimmick and branding symbol to help generate sales for a real estate development, the Hollywood Sign is now a worldwide icon just as powerful as Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, and the Statue of Liberty, signifying a land of glamour and opportunity. Myths have always existed about it, from the date of its construction to how the city of Hollywood obtained it. After in-depth research by both historian Bruce Torrence and myself, we can conclusively say the sign was constructed in late November and early December 1923, and illuminated in that first week of December.

Like me, a California transplant involved in history, research, and writing since I was child, Torrence has always been fascinated by Hollywood history, perhaps because his two famous grandfathers contributed much to it. His paternal grandfather, Ernest Torrence, starred in many classic silent films such as “Steamboat Bill Jr.” and “Peter Pan” after a successful career as an opera singer. His maternal grandfather C. E. Toberman could be called the builder of Hollywood for his construction of so many iconic structures around Hollywood Boulevard. Bruce began a photo collection of Hollywood in 1972 with thirty photographs, which has blossomed into thousands. He employed these photos in writing one of Hollywood’s first detailed history books in 1979 called “Hollywood: The First 100 Years.”
Hollywood at Play: The Lives of the Stars Between Takes, by Stephen X. Sylvester, Mary Mallory and Donovan Brandt, goes on sale Feb. 1, 2017.

Both of us are dogged in searching out facts and details to get Hollywood history right, made much easier with the opening of newspapers through microfilm and now digital searching, along with such great digitized sites as the Media History Digital Library and Variety Archives at the Margaret Herrick Library. We look for multiple citations to back up evidence, and especially primary evidence, such as documents, building records, and films, and secondary sources like newspapers, magazines, and books. Getting history right often means correcting yourself, as I admit I fell into the trap of claiming the Hollywoodland Sign was constructed in July 1923. After years of research by both of us, we have discovered the missing pieces clarifying the history of the sign.

When I began writing my Arcadia Publishing book “Hollywoodland” in 2010, I began searching out the history of the development and its world famous sign. Few if any period sources could be found providing a detailed, accurate history of the Hollywoodland Sign, even the Los Angeles Times, owned by one of the five partners of the Hollywoodland development. No newspaper reported the actual day of the beginning or completion of construction, but thanks to discovery on the history of Hollywoodland publicity chief L. J. Burrud, I began slowly piecing the puzzle together.
L.J. Burrud, Hollywood Publicity Man

Hollywoodland developers Tracey Shoults and S. H. Woodruff announced the opening of the real estate tract in late March 1923 newspapers. They focused mainly on the newspapers of record for Los Angeles, like the Times and Examiner, attempting to appeal to upper middle class and rich businessmen and entertainers. Since Times publisher Harry Chandler was one of the partners, the newspaper provided ample free publicity of the site in multiple stories virtually every day of the week, often with photographs. With real estate booming all round the city, sales initially took off, but the real estate men realized they needed special publicity to help brand their neighborhood as the “supreme achievement for community building” for people of discriminating taste.

On September 7, 1923, Woodruff turned to Lake Arrowhead press man L. J. Burrud to devise unique ballyhoo gimmicks to land stories and photographs of the Hollywoodland development in newspapers and magazines across the United States. Copying tactics from his past as a newsreel cameraman, actuality and documentary filmmaker, Burrud conceived of one of the first mass media campaigns to brand the special nature of the community. Besides planting stories in newspapers, the publicity man shot a film documenting construction of the Hollywoodland demonstration home, arranged for sports motor cars to traverse the rough, unpaved hills, and even created a Hollywoodland Community Orchestra to play grocery store openings and radio shows.

In later years, advertising man John Roche claimed in interviews that Times publisher Harry Chandler asked him to design a gigantic billboard visible from miles away, but it seems strange that someone would wait decades to state such information. Unfortunately no paperwork from the Hollywoodland development exists, so until it shows up, there is no definitive proof of who conceived the look of the sign and when. While virtually all other major real estate developments built thin, red-colored name signs, Hollywoodland’s would be gigantic 45 foot letters spelling out the world Hollywoodland, making it much more visible all over Los Angeles. Falling back on his filmmaking experience, publicity chief Burrud conceived the brilliant idea for newsreel coverage documenting the construction of the sign, a gimmick to help announce the opening of their stupendous development to the world.

Holly Leaves, November 1923.

I discovered that construction of the Hollywoodland Sign began in November 1923, after finding a photograph taken from the Hollywood Athletic Club published in the November 16, 1923 Holly Leaves revealing a barren hillside above the development, devoid of any sign or construction equipment. Fox Movietone newsreel footage exists of the Hollywoodland Sign’s construction, revealing workers, mules, and caterpillar tractors laboring to carry sheet metal, telephone poles, pipes, and chicken wire up the precipitous slopes to build the giant sign in a jagged line on the steep hill.

Realizing that filmmakers usually employ a slate in front of their footage listing title, date, and running time, I contacted Greg Wilsbacher, director of the Fox Movietone Newsreel Collection at the University of South Carolina, to inquire about a slate or paperwork for the newsreel footage shot of this event. Wilsbacher revealed that cameraman Blaine Walker shot the Sign’s construction, stating that the undeveloped negative arrived at the Fox Movietone Newsreel office dated “November 27th-23,” with the punch record of the New York Fox office also showing a late November 1923 date. Train travel across the United States took approximately three days at that time, meaning the footage would have departed Los Angeles on November 27 and arrived at the end of the month. As Wilsbacher also stated, a newsreel cameraman’s job was to get unique footage first and rush it to production offices for immediate distribution to theatres, meaning Walker filmed it immediately before sending it off to New York.

Not only were the developers constructing an enormous billboard to advertise Hollywoodland by day, but also one to blaze its name at night. They hired Crescent Sign Company to devise a way to build the Sign on the hill, and Woodruff hired Electrical Products Corporation to illuminate it with electric lights, creating what the December 9 Los Angeles Examiner calls the “largest electrically outlined word in the world.”

Historian Torrence discovered the actual date of first illumination when investigating when the letter “H” was actually blown off the Sign after a question posed by a reader. He, I, and everyone else mistakenly believed the letter was demolished by winds in 1949, though his examination of Los Angeles Herald Examiner and Los Angeles Times proved it actually happened in 1944.

A worker stands in crossbar of the letter “D” in the Hollywoodland Sign, Practical Electrics, September 1924.

While there, he decided to peruse the November/December 1923 Evening Herald to find information on the final days of the Sign’s construction after my discovery of the November date for the newsreel footage. He discovered the missing link, connecting the Sign’s November/December 1923 construction to its first electric illumination. Torrence came across a December 8, 1923 Evening Herald story stating that the sign, “believed to be the largest in the world,…will be illuminated tonight.” The article includes photographs showing the full length of the sign as well as an image of a worker dwarfed by the gigantic letter “D” he stands in.

On Saturday, December 8, 1923, S. H. Woodruff and his crew flipped the switch turning on the illuminated lights which spelled out the words “Holly,” “Wood,” “Land,” “Hollywoodland,” with Woodruff stating in an article in the December 9 Examiner, “it was only fitting that the first blaze of electric lights to shine forth from the tremendous sign should be in commemoration of some important event in the development of Hollywoodland,” namely the opening of Unit No. 4 to sales. In an ironic twist, the Los Angeles Herald and Los Angeles Examiner note the first lighting of the Hollywoodland Sign, while the Los Angeles Times, owned and published by Harry Chandler, one of the major partners in the development, failed to report it.

An ad in the Dec. 12, 1923, Los Angeles Times notes the completion of the Hollywoodland Sign.

Paul D. Howse, president of Electrical Products Corporation, bought an advertisement in the December 12, 1923, Los Angeles Times with an illustration of the electrified sign. He congratulates Woodruff for completing the stupendous sign, declaring “You had the vision to undertake and accomplish the greatest realty enterprise in California…” and then stating, “…We thank you, Mr. Woodruff, for having given us the opportunity to engineer and install this great electrical sign. May your expenditure be appreciated by those who love to see Los Angeles lead in enterprise and really “big” things.

A description of the Hollywoodland Sign in Practical Electrics for September, 1924.

Further sealing the November/December 1923 construction date, the September 1924 issue of Practical Electrics provided me by another historian describes what it calls “the mammoth Hollywoodland Electric Sign” in detail, noting its eight months of display. The article employs some creative hyperbole to state that “the sign is over one-sixth of a mile long, and nearly 4,000 lamps are required to light it.”

It reports that the billboard is visible at a distance of more than twelve miles, supported by a framework of telephone poles 60 to 80 feet high. “Two by six inch timbers, placed 16 to 24 inches between centers, are the horizontal elements of the frame. To this the letters, made of galvanized iron, are nailed. Each stroke of a letter is 13 feet wide. To illuminate the 13 great letters 3,700 10-watt lamps are used, placed along the edge of each stroke….There are 55 outlets to each circuit and the wiring is all open on the back of the structure. Everything centers in a junction box near the center of the sign…Taken on a straight line, the sign is 975 feet long and the letters are 45 feet high.” While the letters were 45 feet high, it’s very doubtful the sign was that long.

While erroneously reported to have been constructed in July 1923, thanks to these discoveries, we now know that the Hollywoodland Sign was constructed in November/early December 1923, and illuminated for the first time on Saturday, December 8, 1923. Paraphrasing Electrical Products Corporation President Paul Howse, Hollywoodland not only conceived the largest electrical sign in the world in 1923, but one that now serves as the iconic representation of Hollywood and its film industry while also reigning as Los Angeles’ most popular tourist attraction today

Note: This is an encore post from 2006.

Dec.12, 1907
Los Angeles

In the gritty, industrial heart of the 8th Ward at Holly Street and St. John, officials are planning a large recreation facility “as an oasis in the wilderness,” The Times says. The building, designed by the firm of Hunt, Eager and Burns, will offer an alternative to “those who have no pleasure grounds but the streets and the saloons,” The Times says, noting: “Happy people are nearly always good people.”

The center was to include a gymnasium, baths, bowling alleys, clubrooms, a stage, a regulation running track and organized athletics “to counter the influences of pool rooms [and] saloons,” The Times says.

The city’s habit of renaming streets makes it difficult to locate the center precisely. As best as I can tell, it was at 1546 St. John, a street that has disappeared but would be the northern continuation of Magdalena past Leroy. The facility survived at least into the late 1920s, according to news accounts.

Bonus fact: Hunt, Eager and Burns also designed the Los Angeles Country Club in 1910.

Note: This is an encore post from 2006.

Dec. 15, 1907
Los Angeles

Anybody who sets out to study the development of the city’s neighborhoods can expect to do lots of driving. My recent travels have taken me to an obscure area of South Los Angeles to look for 1907-era houses mentioned in the Dec. 8 issue of The Times: one in the vicinity of 4615 Wesley Ave. and another around 124 W. 52nd St. (Bonus fact: Broadway in that area used to be known as Moneta).

I’ll post some pictures later. The buildings on Wesley are a mix of single-family homes and two-story apartments. As for preservation, you might as well call this neighborhood Stucco Heights.

The Dec. 15 issue pays another visit to South Pasadena and as these buildings involve a short walk rather than a long drive and time is short; well, you get the idea.

The Times says: “South Pasadena, just to the northeast, crowded by the bustling life of the great city to the south and penned in by the no less prosperous Pasadena on the north is one of the best examples of a suburban city…. South Pasadena has more handsome homes within the same area, about a mile and a half square, than any other similar place in the country. There are several modern business blocks also being erected, and a new library building.”

The Times notes 299 building permits in South Pasadena in the last year with a total valuation of $357,036 ($7,327,653.44 USD 2005).

One of the buildings noted is the First National Bank of South Pasadena at Mission and Diamond, now home to an antique store. And then there’s the library, where people are out doing Tai Chi every morning. I’ll post pictures when I get the film developed. We are old school around here….

6757 Hollywood Blvd., former location of the Cafe Montmartre, via Google Street View.

Constructed in 1922 as part of the expanding restaurant empire of impresario Adolph “Eddie” Brandstatter, the Cafe Montmartre ushered in Hollywood nightlife as its first swanky nightclub during the town’s transformation from rural farming community into high-end factory town.

Brandstatter, born Adolph E. Brandstatter in 1884, served as one of Los Angeles’ top restaurateurs by the early 1920s. Possessing experience working in restaurants in London, Paris, and New York before arriving in Los Angeles in the teens, Brandstatter had served as the maitre d’hotel of Victor Hugo’s before partnering with fellow cafe man Mike Lyman to open such hotspots as Santa Monica’s Sunset Inn and Club Marcell in the early 1920s.

Mary Mallory’s latest book, “Living With Grace: Life Lessons from America’s Princess,”  is now on sale.

As the Hollywood film industry exploded in the late 1910s and early 1920s, the community and its businesses slowly evolved into a more cosmopolitan city. To serve the growing number of vaudeville and stage performers long accustomed to sophisticated cafes and late-night venues, Brandstatter resolved to open a luxurious, high-end cafe in the heart of Hollywood.

Cafe man Brandstatter approached  real estate mogul Charles E. Toberman regarding a location along the town’s main thoroughfare. Toberman already operated a real estate office at 6757 Hollywood Blvd., but decided to create a more elaborate structure to host the two establishments.

The February 2, 1922, Southwest Builder and Contractor reported that architects Meyer and Holler had designed an elegant, two-story structure to include “three banquet rooms, dance floor, lobby, rest rms., and service equipment.” Brandstatter would lease the space from Toberman, whose real estate office would occupy only a small part of the building, which the Milwaukee Building Company would erect.

That June, permits were pulled to begin constructing the Italian Renaissance edifice, to be opened by late December. The December 29, 1922, Holly Leaves announced that construction delays would push the opening of Brandstatter’s Cafe Montmartre until February.

They reported that the upscale cafe would include a first-floor lobby greeting guests with a deli buffet, before they arrived at the second floor devoted to the restaurant. The cafe would feature full dining salon and banquettes with private dining rooms of Russian, French, and Chinese design. Original lighting fixtures from Czechoslovakia, Persian carpets, and unique glassware would grace the interior. To help advertise, the Electrical Products Corporation was hired to create a $1,000 electrical roof sign.

When the club officially opened in February 1923,the Jackie Taylor and Vincent Rose Orchestra serenaded guests at lunch and provided hot jazz for evening dancing, highlighted by the Hess and Bennett dancers. The cafe served luncheon and tea dansants during the day which turning into a swinging nightclub in the evening. Private luncheons and parties could be held in the small dining rooms while elaborate shindigs could rent the full restaurant.

Cafe Montmartre appealed to Brandstatter’s celebrity friends who worked nearby, a perfect location for an elegant lunch or a sophisticated evening out near their homes, potent competition to Wilshire Boulevard’s Cocoanut Grove. To ensure its popularity, Brandstatter employed hot bands and even reserved tables for his best customers.

Bebe Daniels at the Montmartre.

The June 9, 1923, Camera magazine reported that gold name plates giving the initials of such regulars as Charlie Chaplin, Pola Negri, Al St. John, Dorothy Phillips, Irving Cummings, King Baggot, Oscar Apfel, Viola Dana, and Cecil B. DeMille were attached to tables, which were all reserved on first call for the celebrities.

Thanks to its location near the busy intersection of Hollywood and Highland and two streetcar lines, local residents and looky loos stood outside to watch the glamorous comings and goings of Hollywood’s elite and soon began attending themselves. Per ads, there was no cover charge until 8:30 pm, when it cost $2 for both dining and dancing.

Hoping to attract locals and visitors, Brandstatter devised dancing competitions, with celebrities appearing and often judging the results. Besides winning an early Charleston competition, Joan Crawford would judge later contests, along with the likes of Tom Mix, Clara Bow, and the like. In 1925, the winner of a series of dances won a free photographic session at the famed Witzel Studio. By the late 1920s, Brandstatter also hosted high-end fashion shows for department stores.

Brandstatter also took advantage of the new medium of radio, setting up shows featuring his orchestras. The Ray Fox Club Montmartre Orchestra played on KFWB daily except Sunday at 1:10 pm early in 1928, with the Gypsy Orchestra playing at 7 p.m. on Sunday. Later that year,  Xavier Cugat and his Argentinian Tango Orchestra  played live on the radio on Sunday nights when they served as house band. Other club performers included New York band leader Ben Bernie, the up and coming group Bing Crosby and his Rhythm Boys, and the famous Gus Arnheim.

Thanks to its prominent location near film studios, Cafe Montmartre sometimes served as a movie location. Comedian Lloyd Hamilton played duo roles in the 1925 short “The Movies,” where a country rube playing his double in films is mistaken for the famous Hamilton in the club, with the cafe also appearing in the 1927 Paramount film “A Kiss In a Taxi.” The exterior stood in for France when Clara Bow shot the 1927 film “Get Your Man.”

Brandstatter even played himself in a scene from the 1930 movie “Show Girl in Hollywood” when Alice White takes a break from filming at Burbank’s First National to visit the club for a hot jazz lunch. The December 1, 1929, Syracuse Journal pointed out that in the original play and book, only the club was mentioned, but this time, Brandstatter himself and the club also appeared.

As the club became more and more popular with the general public and as newer hip spots like the Hollywood Brown Derby opened, Brandstatter decided to create the more exclusive Embassy Club next door for his celebrity guests. The loss of stars caused the popularity of Cafe Montmartre to decline, so Brandstatter hired Carl Jules Weyl for a small remodeling. The December 1930 New Movie Magazine described the Pink Neon lights and colored confetti that rained down on guests, especially on Friday celebrity nights.

By 1930, however, the Depression and loss of exclusivity hit Cafe Montmartre hard, forcing Brandstatter into receivership under Toberman. Toberman hired Alex Perino, soon to establish a posh restaurant of his own, to manage, with Brandstatter more of a figurehead. The club was never the same.

In 1932, C. E. Toberman filed charges against him for stealing equipment from the establishment valued at $300. Brandstatter was convicted September 24, 1932, though he appealed and received two years probation. The Embassy Club began failing at this time, after raids for illegal alcohol and celebrity clients moving on. Not long thereafter, he moved on to establish the upscale Sardi’s at Hollywood and Vine.

Seemingly successful for the next several years, Brandstatter continued on as a dining impresario, until health problems came his way. On January 18, 1940, his wife discovered him dead of carbon monoxide poisoning at the age of 54, locked in his car in the home garage at 470 Norwich in North Hollywood.

Though Club Montmartre is long gone, the building still survives, an elegant relic of the dash and sophistication of 1920s Hollywood.

Dec. 28, 2006
Los Angeles

As promised, here are some photos of a few neighborhoods I visited recently.

First, a few shots of South Pasadena taken along Mission and El Centro to contrast with the views from 1907, then a visit to the 4600 block of South Wesley Avenue and the 100 block of West 52nd Street. Note the various states of preservation and decay, along with generous layers of stucco.

I always seem to run across interesting cars, a Corvair on Wesley and an old jalopy in South Pasadena.

And here’s an interesting mystery from Fedora Street. What’s the purpose of the guard shack/ticket booth? I can’t imagine.

Note: This is an encore post from 2006.

Dec. 29, 1907
Los Angeles

The Times real estate pages feature homes under construction around Washington Boulevard west of Hobart Boulevard. “This section is just being built up with a splendid class of dwelling houses,” The Times says. “There are several car lines within a short distance, furnishing a rapid transportation service to the center of the city, and as the whole section is on a mesa, it is high above the fogs and occasional floodwater caused by rain, which obtains a few blocks farther south.”

One home features a bit of whimsy: A Mission-style house on the northwest corner of Washington and Westmoreland Boulevard with an automobile garage designed like a Dutch windmill, including a conical top and sails. Of course, the garage and the house are long gone.

J.H. Lapham is building a two-story, seven-room home at 2045 S. Oxford while the California Bungalow Co. is building a two-story frame home at 1732 S. Oxford that “will compare well with the surrounding homes.” Note that while the neighborhood in the 1700 block of South Oxford appears to be generally intact, The Times apparently erred in the street numbers, which go from 1728 to 1734 S. Oxford.

Stay tuned more architectural ramblings to South Oxford. By the way, here are the “New Ha Apartments.” Apparently the signage once read: “New Hampshire,” but I like it better this way.



And a random snapshot of ABC Letter Art on South Vermont. Maybe the folks who own the “New Ha” should pay a visit.

A postcard of the Avila Adobe, listed on EBay for $1.89.

“A people that has lost touch with its historical past, forgotten its traditions and wasted its heritage is as unfortunate as a man who has lost his memory. Without knowledge of the past, both the present and the future are meaningless.”

Harry Chandler, Olvera Street News, December 1933

Long before Los Angeles or Hollywood possessed any historic preservation organizations fighting to save architectural, cultural or historically significant buildings, Los Angeles Times Editor and Publisher Harry S. Chandler astutely summed up what preservation is all about: saving structures that help define a sense of identity and place, showing where we as a society and people come from.

Throughout its history, the city has often turned a blind eye to its past, demolishing buildings reflecting the daily lives of both ordinary and powerful citizens trying to make an impact on their own time and place. These sites and buildings often reveal the history of less powerful citizens of the time, those of other races, cultures, and orientations that are often written out of historical texts.

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The Avila Adobe in 1929, via the Los Angeles Times.

It took the overpowering passion of a transplant from Northern California, Christine Sterling, to save and then rehabilitate in a new form what is now Olvera Street in the Plaza, promoting what was is now called adaptive re-use. Taking the story of Olvera Street to the media and people of Los Angeles, Sterling acknowledged the Spanish history of our city in this one street in a romanticized fashion, remembering the multicultural and ethnicity of the people that originally populated the area.

On September 4, 1781, New Spain Governor of California Felipe de Neve led 44 settlers from Sonora and Mazatlan from the San Gabriel Mission to establish a pueblo called El Pueblo de la Reina de Los Angeles near the Los Angeles River. The tiny community of Los Angeles became part of Mexico in 1822 when it broke away from New Spain to establish a new independent nation. After the Los Angeles River overflowed twice, the settlement moved to what is now the Plaza.

Olvera Street had originally begun as Wine Street, thanks to vineyards and wineries nearby. In 1877, the short throughway was renamed Olvera Street in honor of Agustin Olvera, Los Angeles County’s first judge and supervisor who fought for Alta California in the Mexican American War and helped negotiate peace with the Americans in 1847. By the 1920s, the area had been abandoned by ruling white elites as they moved the city center south and west, leaving the street and area around the Plaza neglected, filthy, and down on its luck, home to bootleggers and machine shops.

Sterling, born Chastine Rix in San Francisco in 1881, discovered the area when she, her husband, and two children moved to Los Angeles in the early 1920s, coming to love the Spanish and somewhat romanticized version of the city’s past. Saddened and disappointed in what was left of the original section of the city in 1928, she began speaking out about its dilapidated appearance, particularly the forlorn condition of the Avila Adobe.

Built by one of the original pobladores and twice mayor of Mexican Los Angeles, Francisco Avila, in 1818, the city’s oldest extant residence, the home had become has rundown as the area surrounding it, full of holes and cracks letting rainwater leak through the roof. City fathers condemned the structure to demolition, but Sterling spoke out to preserve it.

Drawing on American history to entice white Los Angeles save the adobe, Sterling erected a sign on the roof, per the December 12, 1928, Los Angeles Times. The sign noted that the home was once the headquarters of Commodore Robert Stockton and Gen. John C. Fremont, and acknowledging the bravery of Kit Carson and others in defeating Gen. Andres Pico in 1847, leading to the American annexation of California through the Treaty of Cahuenga on January 13, 1847.

By February 15, 1929, Civic organizations and women’s clubs pledged their assistance to Sterling to restore the building, and Los Angeles Parlor No. 45 of the Native Sons of the Golden West offered to help. The Henry-Weaver Roof Company donated fine roofing paper that the Advance Roofing Company placed on the adobe while money was raised to replace the roof.

Sterling reached out to historic groups and the general population, giving talks to organizations like the Historical Society of Southern California while also giving interviews to local newspapers. She began promoting the idea of reconstructing the street a la Santa Barbara’s State Street to create a colorful open-air bazaar selling goods by local artisans from various Mexican states. Harry Chandler, editor and publisher of the Los Angeles Times, and president of Times-Mirror Company, rallied to her cause, printing many stories supporting her efforts to restore both the Avila Adobe and create a Mexican-style mercado.

On May 26, 1929, the Times ran a full page story wholeheartedly extolling “A Mexican Street of Yesterday in a City of Today.” Lavishly illustrated by Charles H. Owens, the piece noted that cleaning up Olvera Street and creating a romantic Spanish shopping area “…will be the painting on the canvas of today of a picture in the romantic manner,” an imagination of old Mexico and model for future simalcrum like the Grove and Disneyland.

Leading politicians and industrialists joined her cause over the summer as she held fundraisers and get-togethers at the Avila Adobe. Many saw this as a way to create a picturesque tourist attraction just across the street from what was intended to be the main train station for the city, though much of Chinatown would be demolished to make way for Union Station.

The City Council approved shutting the short street to vehicular traffic and allowing it to be tiled that summer, and later overturning Mayor Porter’s vetoes of these items in September. The few property owners not supporting the idea of turning Olvera Street into an open-air market appealed to the City Council, but once again the Council recommended closing the street and renovating the area. The Mexican Consul wholeheartedly supported the plan as well.

To help gain public approval and support for restoring Olvera Street, Sterling promoted a campaign to raise funds for paving the street with padre tiles costing 10 cents each, thereby costing the city of Los Angeles nothing. Prison labor would be employed in digging up the street and laying the tile.

Surveying and grading began on November 7, 1929, with city workers quickly finding a forgotten section of the zanja madre, the city’s original water supply. After excavating it, officials decided to create a special tile to be laid diagonally across the alley to represent the old water way.

On January 3, 1930, Constance Simpson sued the city and Sterling, asking for an injunction against closing the street and laying decorative tiles to exploit the “Spanish atmosphere.” Judge Gates allowed paving and work to continue, and finally rules against Simpson on September 30, 1931, noting that she was now receiving higher rents for her properties after the restoration and renovation work gentrified the area.

After more than a year to obtain approvals and then carry out reconstruction, the Avila Adobe and Olvera Street, rechristened “Paseo de Los Angeles,” opened Easter Sunday, April 1930. The resurrected area boasted the Golondrina Cafe in the old Pelanconi winery, flower shops, pottery shops, curio shops, a puppet theatre, tamale stands, musicians and street vendors dressed in Mexican garb.

Called charming and quaint, newspapers around the country praised the shopping area for its beauty and suggestion of old Mexico, what the October 25, 1930, Washington, D. C. Evening Star called “Just the good old Spanish days in a condensed version.” Sterling herself wrote in her diary, “Olvera Street holds for me all of the charm and beauty which I dreamed for it because out of the hearts of the Mexican peoples spun the gold of Romance and Contentment.”

Olvera Street quickly won the hearts of Angelenos and tourists alike, becoming a popular spot to visit. El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historical Monument was listed in the National Register of HIstoric Places in 1972.

While some call Sterling the “Mother of Olvera Street,” others denigrate her for maternalistically romanticizing and sprucing up the history of the area, mostly without the participation of the actual peoples she hoped to memorialize. She would go to create a fake, cheap China recreation area called “China City” in 1938, which failed miserably and later was burned to the ground.

Sterling’s public shaming of the city for allowing its city center to virtually disintegrate did achieve important results in preserving some of the earliest buildings and history of the city. Then as now, historic preservation relies on dedicated and passionate history and architectural lovers tirelessly promoting vintage structures to remind the public of how they define the city’s past and evolution. Without historic preservation, future generations will be unable to feel a strong connection to Los Angeles’ past, and how former generations of residents defined their times and their city, connecting then and now.

King Camp Gillette dies at the age of 77 in 1932. He gave architect Wallace Neff free rein to built an expansive ranch in Calabasas, but only lived there for a few years before his death.

Tennessean Clarence Brown reigned as one of MGM’s top directors in the early 1930s, directing everything from Greta Garbo star vehicles to Joan Crawford Pre-Codes to Clark Gable romantic comedies. Looking for a ranch at which he could spread his wings, literally and figuratively, Brown purchased the lush King Gillette Ranch out in Calabasas, fit for any pasha. Brown enjoyed his little slice of paradise, helping preserve its unique character.

A bucolic wonderland in the 1920s, far from the city, Calabasas and the surrounding area of the Santa Monica Mountains lured the elite westward for rural rest and relaxation. Razor king King C. Gillette fell under the area’s spell in 1928, purchasing 640 acres on which to erect a grand hacienda by the popular architect Wallace Neff.

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Neff could be called the architect to the stars during the 1920s for his work designing elaborate mansions, many in what could be called California style, for the likes of director King Vidor, writer Frances Marion and her husband, cowboy star Fred Thomson, superstars Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, Claudette Colbert and Cary Grant.

Bon vivant Gillette enjoyed an extravagant lifestyle, thanks to his invention and manufacture of the first disposable razor blades, which went on sale in 1903. Traveling the world and dreaming of an utopian paradise that he called the “People’s Corporation,” Gillette moved to Southern California to join up with the state’s political avant-garde and socialist leader Upton Sinclair and began buying properties. Within a few years, Gillette owned a luxurious mansion near the Beverly Hills Hotel, a ranch out near a fledgling Palm Springs, a vast ranch in Tulare County and a seaside retreat in Newport Harbor before purchasing his Calabasas property.

Commissioning the refined and elegant Neff to design a stunning estate in the Spanish Colonial style, Gillette and his wife began a world cruise in 1928, leaving Neff to his own devices in designing and constructing a lavish retreat that followed his plans to the Nth degree. Six draftsmen labored six months crafting elaborate plot, furnishings and floor plans, down to the smallest detail, all fit for a king.

Neff began construction by excavating the pond, employing the dirt removed from the hole to create adobe-like brick blocks on site with which to build the home. Neff designed what author Diane Kanner calls a “picturesque version of an Andalusian village – a rural walled compound that included a master’s residence, an overseer’s quarters, stables and cellars, with eucalyptus trees flanking the entry road and ponds, weeping willows and native oak on the horizon.”

The King Gillette – Clarence Brown Home, courtesy of Mary Mallory.

This quintessential Spanish Colonial design followed some of the same elements as found in the beautiful Enchanted Hill Neff created for Marion and Thomson. Patios, loggias and porches surrounded the home, with an oval opening through a wing allowing entrance to the motor court at the rear of the home. A long, dramatic driveway with eucalyptus trees flanking it led from Mulholland Highway, past the stable/bunkhouse near the entrance, picturesque pond and outbuildings to a home featuring a tower resembling a campanile The home’s layout on the property echoed that of the Santa Monica Mountains behind it.

The thirty-room house contained walls over 2 feet thick, 113 doors carved in over 19 styles, top grade tile on the floors and in baths, an oversize tub for the large Gillette, black tile in his master bath and elegant continental furnishings. The house was built on a somewhat irregular shape resembling a W, with the open motor court on the east and a semi-enclosed patio with fountain was situated on the west side of the home with a fountain and view of the mountains.

The patio of the ranch, via Photoplay, 1937.

Gillette had little time to enjoy his hacienda when he arrived in the United States in 1929 after becoming ill on the cruise. The former razor magnate died in the home Saturday, July 9, 1932, of an intestinal illness. Thanks to arguments over Gillette’s estate and the repressed financial situation in the country, the vast acreage failed to sell until May 20, 1935 (recorded September 7), when newspapers reported that rugged director Clarence Brown had purchased the property and 360 surrounding acres during an auction. The September 10 Los Angeles Times reported the sales price as $500,000 for what many described as a horse breeding facility for the director, but the historic survey by the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy lists a price of only $38,250.00. The purchase included billiard table, pipe organ, and outbuildings. Brown hired Neff and Viennese architect Paul Laszlo to modify the interior furnishings, adding a screening room as well. A tennis court, swimming pool, and airstrip and hanger were also new additions. A visiting journalist described the home as “Spanish Renaissance in motif, spacious and beautifully paneled rooms led to a sunlit patio, where tall, graceful arches framed a picture of acres and acres of trees and lawn, rolling to a rambling lake below, while beyond were deep blue mountains.”

Over the next 17 years, entertainment magazines featured some layouts of the home as architectural ones had done upon completion of construction in the late 1920s. Photos by MGM portrait photographer Clarence Sinclair Bull revealed the mansion’s simple but elegant layout and beauty. Other images showcased gentleman farmer and he man Brown working his property, doing everything from repairing his barbecue, trimming trees, changing locks, planting crops, making repairs, checking his horses and chickens, or even flying in and out in his private airplane. In 1939, Brown updated his hanger to a more modern concrete and steel facility, while adding a bomb shelter in the basement.

Several images displayed Brown in his favorite pastime, barbecuing with his giant grill, which he often did for cast parties as well as elaborate July 4 birthday celebrations for MGM studio head Louis B. Mayer. Proud Tennessean Brown also hosted the Tennessee Volunteers football team to an outdoor cookout on December 26, 1939 as they prepared for that year’s Rose Bowl. The July 13, 1941 Los Angeles Times even featured barbecue recipes from the famed director.

Besides entertaining, Brown also occasionally employed his ranch as a shooting location, filming scenes from such films as “Edison the Man” here.

The grounds of the King Gillette-Clarence Brown ranch offered sweeping views of the mountains, as shown in a photo from Architectural Digest, 1928.

After divorcing his wife, the former silent film actress Alice Joyce, in 1945, Brown spent less and less time in Calabasas as he and his new wife retired and purchased property near Palm Desert. In 1952, Brown sold the ranch to the Claretian order (Sons of the Immaculate Heart of Mary in Rome), which created the Claretville Seminary to train missionaries, adding a large training facility in 1954. They added a building containing library and dormitory in 1961, along with a large addition to the house as well.

In 1971 St. Thomas Aquinas College opened on the property when the school leased space from the seminary. The Claretian Order attempted to sell the property in 1972, and finally found a buyer in 1977 when Elizabeth Clair’s Prophet’s Church Universal and Triumphant purchased the tract and later opened their own college. They sold to Soka University in 1986, who operated their own facility here until 2007 when the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy finally purchased the acreage, which they had considered for years. It now serves as offices for the group, which employs the original stable as their visitors’ center. They allow filming on the property, and for several years the show “the Biggest Loser” has shot at a facility on the grounds.

Still as gorgeous and regal as ever, what was formerly King Gillette and Clarence Brown’s Spanish Colonial fiefdom is now public property as part of Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy, offering an area at which to picnic or hike. The estate hearkens back to the romantic days of California’s Spanish past, a gorgeous oasis of beauty and peace.

This is the last interior shot accompanying the photos of the 1957 wedding of two men in Philadelphia. Let’s see if we can detect anything that may shed some light on our mystery guests.

Previously:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

First of all, we have a partial image of a TV set.

And next to the TV is what appears to be a record player. Recall the expensive Grundig/Braun radio in Part 3.

We also have some LPs next to the Hi-Fi… They look like boxed sets and could be recordings of operas or some other extended or collected set. It seems safe to say that music is important to this household.

And this looks like a liquor cabinet. The doily (or antimacassar to be technical) on the chair seems a bit out of place in the 1950s. Hm. Any ideas?

Blonde furniture. Yes, we are in the 1950s here.

But what’s this?

Is this an unintentional shot of the bathroom? Laundry room? Any ideas?

To be continued.

Here’s the Cyclone Racer sequence in “Half Angel,” last week’s mystery movie, that begins about the 32-minute mark. Joseph Cotten and Loretta Young are promenading along what is probably a Twentieth Century-Fox set, judging by the lighting. Editing by Robert Fritch.

Here’s a two-shot of our romantic leads.

Cut to a rather awful process shot of the beach with the ocean in the background.

Back to our leads.

Loretta shows some ankle and Joe melts like butter.

In a process shot, Joe and Loretta watch the ocean from some dreadfully tacky prop rocks.

Does Joseph Cotten not know how to kiss Loretta Young?

I think Joe is genuinely uncomfortable. It’s a weird scene. Even within the context of a far-fetched script and an uninteresting character, he seems uncomfortable.

Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah. Let’s get to the roller coaster.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Say what you will about Loretta Young, she is trying here.

Blah, etc. Joe is giving Jeff Chandler a run for his money in the wooden acting department.

Blah.

Skipping ahead…

To be continued.

In this sequence, our romantic leads dash out of the Cyclone Racer.

Let’s heighten the madcap comedy by introducing an authority figure.

Ain’t love grand?