An early Orange County Hospital ambulance. (Photo courtesy Orange County Archives)

The goals of providing our poorest citizens with health care and shelter have been with Orange County since its birth in 1889. By then, each city (Anaheim, Santa Ana and Orange) already had a health department, guided by a local doctor. And the County of Orange – long before the state or federal government provided such social services – tried various methods to provide acute medical services for the poor on their limited budget. In the beginning, they rented a little space from local banker/investor Carey R. Smith for such purposes. Later, they paid Mrs. Silvia M. Klein to provide nursing care as needed.

In his memoirs, Dr. Herbert A. Johnson remembered the Board of Supervisors’ 1891 appointment of “Dr. J.P. Boyd as the first county physician and health officer. Dr. Boyd’s kindly nature and wide practical experience fitted him admirably for the position, yet he had but little equipment for its administration. There was no building one could designate in any way as a hospital, and the only place available for emergency cases was a room in the county jail. I imagine a sensitive moral indigent who had probably seen better days would not feel too happy over the County’s hospitality.”

In 1901, the County took a step toward improving the situation by renting an existing building on Second St. in Santa Ana that seemed perfectly suited to the purpose. It had a large lobby and a long hall with several small rooms off of it. The madam who’d been running the “hotel” – Mrs. Mary “Glass-eyed Mollie” Wright – made only one stipulation: that one room be set aside for her crippled, elderly father, “Mysterious Bill,” to live out his remaining years.

Dr. Johnson described the place as he saw it in 1903, with Mysterious Bill living “in a little shack… where he had two spare beds which the County could utilize if they were required.” Johnson said it was “a decided step forward” in the “accommodation of county patients.”

The County Hospital and Poor House, Fifth St. and Spurgeon St., Santa Ana , 1904 (Photo: O.C. Archives)

In 1904, the County upgraded again and began renting a charming green cottage at the corner of 5th and Spurgeon Streets in Santa Ana from real estate man W.G. Wells as a combination county hospital and poor house. (A poor house was an institution where paupers were maintained with public funds.) This property had twelve beds and featured beautiful gardens and apricot trees. But the very ill or seriously injured usually still had to be sent to private hospitals for more intensive care.

Since its inception, the County had maintained an “indigent fund,” out of which the Board of Supervisors could help individual locals who were down on their luck. Families were given $5 to $7 each month for each family member who qualified for assistance. Meanwhile, “tramps” – indigents coming into the area from elsewhere – fared less well: They were arrested for vagrancy and given two meals of bread and water each day. Rations improved on days when the Sheriff used them as free labor assisting with various County public works projects.

The addition of a poor house to the hospital filled a need for Orange Countians who couldn’t afford shelter and provided more specific kinds of help than did the indigent rolls.

One of the residents described his poor house experience in the Santa Ana Register in 1910: "You are admitted, the inmates give you a name of their own choosing, and you take your place among the other inmates... according to your qualities and the estimate of the people you are among.

...According to their physical ability, poor house inmates are very properly required to do a little work each day, excepting Sunday. Work makes them healthier, saves some county expense and keeps them in training and physically fit as far as possible, so that, opportunity offering, they may go out in to the world of business and affairs again and work for a living.”

An early plan for a new county hospital by architect Frederick Eley, circa 1913.

As early as 1906, the idea of a larger, permanent county hospital and poor farm (like a larger poor house complex where the residents produced agricultural products) was under discussion. In 1910 the old hospital was declared a nuisance and the Board of Supervisors began touring possible new locations. A new facility, near Chapman Ave. and today’s The City Drive, would not be completed until 1914, but it would go on to anchor a whole cluster of government facilities that now includes such diverse elements as Juvenile Hall, the Lamoreaux Justice Center, and OC Animal Care. The 1914 hospital on this site would go on to form the heart of what became the UCI Medical Center. But that’s a story for another time.

Leonard Zerlaut. Photo from The Criterion/Garden Grove Employee News, May 1988

You think we’d have heard about a genius local inventor who’d run several businesses simultaneously, held six patents, and invented technology that made possible the Disneyland Monorail system, the Seattle Space Needle, countless military and commercial aircraft, and the New York World Trade Center. It seems like we’d all have heard of such an Orange Countian, whose creative legacy spanned from the 1930s into the 2000s.

But too few have heard of Leonard Zerlaut.

Some time ago, I was researching the history of Little Saigon and was curious about what was located in that largely undeveloped area prior to it becoming the world’s largest Vietnamese community outside Vietnam itself. One of the major businesses in that area back then turned out to be Leonard Precision Products Co. Starting with the obvious, I Googled “Leonard Precision Products” and found that the best “hit” I got was a reference on one of my favorite blogs: Stuff From The Park. Reading the blog post – which was about a photo stamped with the company’s name – I found that I myself was called out in the comments section!:

“I am hoping that Chris Jepsen (O.C. History Roundup) would chime in here with information on the company,” wrote Patrick.

Then I remembered a conversation I’d recently overheard (in passing) while running the Orange County Historical Society. For some reason, I remembered hearing someone say that the guy “who ran the Leonard machine shop was a real mechanical genius.”

That was it. I had to find out more about this “Leonard” fellow. (Sorry it took so long, Patrick.) Here is what I found:

Orange County machinist and inventor Leonard E. Zerlaut (1911-2003) may be best remembered professionally as the creator of tube processing procedures and equipment for airplane factories. But that was just the tip of the iceberg.

The Zerlauts (like many Americans) heading for California, circa 1930.

 A 2000 article entitled, “A Creative Life: Leonard Zerlaut,” in a Garden Grove Historical Society (GGHS) newsletter, described his early life:

“Leonard Zerlaut was born in a farmhouse on his father’s 120 acre farm in Holton, Michigan in 1911. One of three children, he graduated from high school in 1928. Two weeks before graduation, he also graduated from the Chicago Electrical Engineering School located in Muskegon. He was able to accomplish this feat by taking correspondence courses. He then worked for the Steiner Electric Co. in Michigan.”

His father, Frank James Zerlaut, was farmer and prominent civic figure in west central Michigan when the Great Depression hit, in 1929. The bank foreclosed on the farm, which was sold at auction.

Frank took the family – wife Lola Grace and three children – to Southern California, where his sister lived.  Work was harder to find in California than they’d expected, and Frank and Leonard both worked at whatever odd jobs were available. In 1930, Frank and Lola bought the Ocean Inn hotel and restaurant at 138 E. Ocean (now Garden Grove Blvd.) in Garden Grove. Frank managed the hotel, and Losa ran the restaurant. But guests were too few and far between. The bank refused to cut them any slack, and soon the Ocean Inn was also lost to foreclosure.

In February 1933, beset with financial problems and ill health, Frank tied a gunnysack full of rocks to his waist and jumped off the still-under-construction Seal Beach jetty. He was dead at the age of 58.

The following month – in what seemed karmic retribution against the bank – the Ocean Inn was utterly destroyed in the great Long Beach Earthquake.

In the wake of his father’s death, the hard-working 22-year-old Leonard worked even harder. Already running a Garden Grove auto repair shop at Verano (now Euclid) and Ocean Ave.– he now went on to be the welder for the Chevrolet garage at Euclid (now Main St.) and Stanford Ave. and soon owned the business and lived on the second floor of the shop. Learning from his father’s troubles, he established a life-long policy of eschewing debt and paying cash on the barrelhead for anything he purchased. It served him well.

A Zerlaut's patent which grew out of his work on the monorail.

The 1930s were a busy time for Leonard Zerlaut. His business was growing by leaps and bounds, he received a patent for a welding procedure to bend pipes, he continued to expand into additional areas of machine work, and he served in the Garden Grove Volunteer Fire Department. And in 1934 he married Meta Rehme (1914-1999) of Costa Mesa – the daughter of pioneer Santa Ana blacksmith Fredrich Henry Rehme. They had their first child, Marilyn, in about 1939.

Zerlaut started a new business in 1940 – a machine shop called Leonard Precision Products Co. (sometimes referred to, early on, as the Zerlaut Machine Works) at Flower and Hanson Streets in Garden Grove. Within a year, newspapers reported that Zerlaut had sold parts and machinery to Henry Ford, aircraft companies, and the U.S. Navy.

During World War II, his shop manufactured tools and equipment for use in aircraft factories, among other things. Locally, he built the air raid siren for Garden Grove, which was placed on the grounds of the Garden Grove Water District. He also developed special equipment for stamping CO2 bottles. He would also go on to develop machines to bend chairs, make water heaters, and perform other industrial tasks. He developed a reputation for tackling whatever challenge or task was thrown his way.

A son, Frederick “Fred” Zerlaut, was born in 1942. And by the end of the war, Leonard also had two business partners: M. E. Wartnik and Robert L. Bedford.

Leonard Precision Products, ca 1950. Photo courtesy Garden Grove Historical Soc.

“Wartnik was an attorney from L.A. or Long Beach maybe. He had money to invest in the company, and he handled legal matters and guidance,” said Fred Zerlaut when I interviewed him in 2015. “Bob Bedford was Dad’s workmate at the shop. He was a Fullerton guy. He did a lot of the bookkeeping and stayed with the business until he retired and then died shortly afterward.”

According to the GGHS, for many years, Leonard Zerlaut “flew his own plane, which he used for both business and pleasure. He surprised the locals from time to time when he landed his plane on the small Midway airstrip on the south side of Bolsa Ave. and after checking to see the road was free of cars, he taxied his plane across the street to his business. There he loaded his plane with parts he had made and flew them to Rohr aircraft in San Diego. He also subcontracted work for Consolidated Aircraft, Ryan Aircraft, Vultee Aircraft and Lockheed Aircraft.”

In 1949, as a civilian volunteer, Zerlaut became part of the Orange County Sheriff Department’s first aero squadron. At the direction of Sheriff Jim Musick, he was on standby to respond (in his small plane) during disasters, searching for downed planes, and other emergencies.

“He was a Lieutenant in the Sheriff’s Department and he served about twenty years,” said Fred. “His shop was right across the street from the Westminster Airport. He rented hangars at the northeast corner of Brookhurst and Bolsa from the Posts,” said Fred, referring to the Post Brothers, whose nearby farm equipment company famously constructed the world’s largest plow.

Zerlaut (third from left) and others in the Orange County Sheriff's first Aero Squadron, circa 1940s. Photo courtesy O.C. Sheriff's Dept.

As his business and civic responsibilities grew, so did Zerlaut’s family. In addition to their own two children, Leonard and Meta took in five foster daughters over the years.

Leonard Zerlaut was also involved in the local Rotary Club, and in the Orange County Council of the Boy Scouts of America for many years. “He literally built the health lodge at Camp Ro-Ki-Li,” said Fred, referring to a large Scout camp sponsored by the Rotary, Kiwanis and Lions Clubs. “And around 1979 he built the main meeting and mess hall [a.k.a. “the Barn”] at the Rancho Las Flores Scout camp at Camp Pendleton. He was later presented with the Silver Beaver Award for his service to the Scouts.”

According to longtime Scouter and historian Phil Brigandi, Zerlaut served on the Orange County Council’s “board of directors (or at least the advisory board) for more than 25 years, beginning in the 1950s. He was our vice president in 1954 and 1955, and our representative to the national council from 1956 to 1964. I knew several people who always spoke very highly of him.”

Zerlaut’s plane also proved useful in the early days of the big new scout camp at Lost Valley in San Diego County. “He flew in and out several times,” said Brigandi. “Folks who went with him tell me it was quite a thrill to use the meadow as an airstrip.”

Leonard Precision Products. Photo courtesy Westminster Historical Society.

The process of moving Leonard Precision Products to a new location at 9200 Bolsa Ave. (now in the City of Westminster) began in April 1952. With buildings full of heavy machine tools and many active contracts to be fulfilled, moving turned out to be a two-year process. (Eventually, he would have six buildings on this property.)

In 1953, at Wartnik’s suggestion, the business was split into three separate companies. Leonard Precision Products continued to build machines and tools for other manufacturers, and Tube Specialists of California used those machines and tools to make specialty tubing to order (mainly for aerospace). The third company, Zerlaut Realty Co., owned the land the other two businesses sat on.

In the 1950s, Zerlaut bought out Wartnik’s share of the business. Bedford stayed on, and Leonard’s younger brother, Maynard E. Zerlaut also was brought in as a partner.

Leonard Zerlaut held a total of six patents. These included a “tube-bending apparatus” in 1964, a “feeding system for a swaging or tapering apparatus” in 1966, and an “apparatus for the forming of concrete” in 1959. The last of these came about when his company was building the concrete track for the Disneyland ALWEG Monorail System. Zerlaut’s new steam pressure cure process for concrete allowed one new section of rail to be completed every day from each form.

Building Disneyland's monorail tracks and submarines. Courtesy Stuff From The Park.

Zerlaut, also built the machine that welded the steel for the Space Needle at Seattle’s Century 21 Exposition (1962), for New York Harbor’s double-decked Verrazano Narrows Bridge (1964), and for the New York World Trade Center.

“One of Leonard’s hydraulic machines could make 400 bends of tubes an hour, later increasing to 1800 bends an hour,” the GGHS tells us. “Midas Muffler bought one of his machines to make mufflers. Also, Quantas Airlines bought his equipment, which necessitated Leonard making trips to Melbourne, Australia to work with the company on how to use and replace the equipment he sold them. Additionally, a British company in Manchester used his equipment which meant frequent trips to England.”

Micro-midget race cars were popular in Southern California in the 1960s, and Zerlaut built one for Fred. These tiny race cars were something like a modern go cart, but with real suspension systems. Hugging the ground, and with the engine roaring only inches from the driver ear, these little cars gave the illusion of going much faster than they actually did (which was plenty fast enough). The Zerlauts’ father and son team traveled all over to compete in races, eventually taking home prizes from the national competition in Selma, Alabama.

Leonard Zerlaut also built a dune buggy, which the family towed all over the U.S. and Mexico behind their motor home. The buggy is now owned by his grandson, Leonard.

Zerlaut's Micro-Midget Racer. Photo courtesy Garden Grove Historical Soc.

“My dad was pretty easy going,” said Fred Zerlaut. “He had a pleasant personality and never cursed. He was a church Christian, but not an adamant, every-Sunday guy. … His employees liked him and everyone would get together for picnics. He treated people fairly, and he treated everyone the same. He would hire whoever seemed most qualified for the job at hand. Race and color weren’t important to him.”

Zerlaut sold Leonard Precision Products and Tube Specialists of California to Conrac Corp in 1967. (Conrac was purchased by machinery manufacturer PHI in 1985.)

Shortly thereafter, engineer Homer Eaton -- who’d helped create the electronics for Zerlaut’s popular tube-bending machine – asked Leonard, Fred, and three others if they’d like to join forces with him to create a computer-numerical controlled (CNC) measuring system for tube bending. The plan for the new Eaton Leonard Co. was to build it up, give it a good start, and then sell it after seven years. Leonard came out of his blink-and-you’ll-miss-it retirement to help get the new business off the ground. It was located near the sugar factory in South Santa Ana. Leonard was most active and hands-on from 1972 through 1975, while the business was being built. But once it had a firm foundation under it, he stepped away from it more and more. By 1980, when Eaton Leonard was sold to the Kole, Kravis & Roberts investment group, he was only coming in to the shop for occasional meetings. Still, it was only when the sale closed that he found himself truly retired.

Eaton Leonard is now international and still produces precision tube-bending machines and other “tube forming automation for a broad array of fabricated products.”

In addition to following in his father’s footsteps as a mechanical engineer, Frederick Zerlaut served as a pilot in the Vietnam War and now plays tuba in the Coastal Community Band. He also owns one of John Philip Sousa’s original sousaphones.

Marilyn Zerlaut (now De Boynton) also inherited some of her father’s creative and technical talents. When she wasn’t busy being a mom, she worked at a division of Corning Glass and was a bookkeeper for engineering companies. She has also made highly detailed miniatures, including an impressive model of the Hale House at Heritage Square Museum in Los Angeles.

In retirement, Leonard Zerlaut spent a good deal of his free time volunteering with the Garden Grove Historical Society, particularly in the 1980s restoration of the town’s 1926 La France fire engine, which he had once used as a volunteer firefighter. According to the GGHS, he also “restored the old bandsaw… removed all the windows from the Ware-Stanley house, re-glazed and replaced them. He rebuilt the electric shoe repair equipment in the shoe shop, restored the old Mormon hand cart… installed the plumbing in the schoolhouse, restored the lathe in the blacksmith shop. An extraordinarily creative individual, Leonard Zerlaut has shown he is capable of building almost anything.”

According to longtime Garden Grover Terry Thomas, Zerlaut’s gift for quickly grasping new ideas never waned: “When desktop computers first came out, he got one right away and did great with it.”

Meta Zerlaut passed away after an extended illness in 1999.

The Asian Garden Mall, also known as Phước Lộc Thọ, was built in 1986.

Since 1987, the site of the old Leonard Precision Products complex at 9200 Bolsa Ave., in Westminster, has been home to the Asian Garden Mall – the commercial heart of busy Little Saigon. It’s impossible to even imagine taxiing an airplane across the street anymore.

Leonard Zerlaut died of natural causes in Orange County at age 92 in 2003. “Gifted with a fine mind and good hands, he did not seek personal recognition for his accomplishments,” noted his obituary in the Orange County Register. “All who knew him will long remember his gentle ways and giving spirit.”

Aren't roller-coasters boring for angels?

Are the 1980s history yet? Some days I feel old enough that they must be. Anyway, I was flipping channels on the TV a while ago and suddenly found myself looking at the Knott's Berry Farm of my youth. It turned out to be an episode of the maudlin drama series, Highway To Heaven, created, directed, and starring Michael "Little Joe" Landon.
The episode first aired in 1986 and was titled, "Heaven On Earth." (How did we ever learn these things before IMDB?) In the episode, Mark (Victor French) meets a mother and her adorable daughter at Knott's one day. There's some cloying nonsense about the girl and her yellow balloon and then some friendly small talk with the mother. It's all very heartwarming. But of course, we haven't gotten to the mauldin part yet. (Cue sad music.)

Montezuma's Revenge was a more enjoyable ride in 1986. Less safety gear.

 Later, Mark and Jonathan (the angel played by Landon), pass by a car accident with two fatalities. The victims? The adorable mother and daughter, of course. This is heaped on top of an earlier tragedy (natch) where Mark observed another child die in a house fire. So now he's overcome with grief, which is dealt with in the sort of religion-as-woowoo-magic way you'd expect from an episode of this show. 

Sidekick Mark with Bud Hurlbut's Happy Sombreros in the background.

I only know about the woo-woo stuff thanks to IMDB, because, really,... I wasn't going to watch more of this show unless they STAYED at Knott's. And they didn't.

Growing up, I always thought the teacups-like ride (shown behind Mark here) was called the "Mexican Hat Dance." But it's actually the "Happy Sombreros," which doesn't seem like as good a name. Speaking of hats, shouldn't Mark be wearing and Anaheim Angels of Anaheim hat instead of an Oakland A's hat? Or would that be too on-the-nose? 

The "It" balloon's cousin, at the Fiesta Village Merry-Go-Round.

The Merry-Go-Round seen here was the first true amusement park ride at Knott's Berry Farm, opened in 1955 by concessionaire Bud Hurlbut. Bud would go on to become a major innovator in the amusement park world, inventing new ride concepts like the log flume ride, building/owning/operating most of the rides at Knott's, and later developing Castle Park in Riverside.

The Dragon Swing: The last ride Hurlbut built at Knott's.

Naturally, Michael Landon's enormous hair was not mussed even slightly by all the turbulent and exciting rides at Knott's. Angels use lots of "product" in their hair.

Does anyone remember watching atomic bombs explode from Orange County? Better yet, does anyone have photos to share? Because, you know, AMERICANS nuked Americans LONG before Kim Jong “Rocket Man” Un was even a twinkle in his deranged father’s eye.

From 1951 through 1962, one hundred above-ground nuclear detonations were conducted at the Nevada Test Site, about 65 miles from the Las Vegas strip. That was followed by 800-some underground tests from 1962 to 1992. The bright flash in the sky created by the above-ground tests could be seen in Southern California, but so far I have yet to find any photos of this phenomenon taken in Orange County.

The image above was taken Feb. 6, 1951, at 5:48 a.m., and shows reporter Jack Smith atop the roof of the Los Angeles Herald-Express building, pointing toward the largest (at that point) atomic explosion ever conducted at the Nevada Test Site -- about 240 mile away. This particular test explosion was part of the "Operation Ranger" series and was made by dropping an Mk-4, Type D bomb nicknamed "Baker 2" from a B-50D bomber. It exploded in the open air over Frenchman Flat.

So,... Do photos like this, taken in Orange County, exist?

Fourth Street, Santa Ana, Decoration Day (Memorial Day), 1891.

A while ago, I got an email from a history student named Tim. He had a series of questions for me about "being a public historian," and I tried to answer them the best I new how. I thought I'd repost my response here in case anyone else is interested in such things.

Tim,

Let me give your questions a shot. I will begin, however, with the caveat that all I can do is answer for myself. People approach this kind of work in many ways, and generally I can only speak for myself and speak from my own philosophy.

- What do public historians do?

I’m not particularly religious, but I think the easiest parallel to what *I* do (and what I think others in this field SHOULD do) is to act as a sort of “history evangelist,” generating and sharing accurate and interesting local history to a population that knows too little about the subject. I say “accurate” because there’s PLENTY of half-baked local history being foisted off on the public in the form of badly research newspaper articles, Wikipedia entries, etc, etc. And I say “interesting” because you have to do your evangelizing in a way that *reaches* people. The best research and most groundbreaking work will be utterly wasted if doesn’t capture the public’s interest. You have to identify the audiences where your work will make the most positive impact and then figure out how best to engage those audiences. When I really got started in earnest in this field in the late 1990s, websites were clearly the way to go, so I built one. Later, blogs were the thing, so I started one. Now social media is the thing, so I’m trying to figure out how best to generate content that will work well on FaceBook (maybe short videos?). Along the way, I’ve done tours, written articles for journals (another smaller audience) and magazines, I’ve lectured extensively (mostly to community groups with an expressed interest in local history, rather than just being cheap entertainment for the Rotary Club), and tried to raise public awareness of local history by working on the board of the Orange County Historical Society.

And when I’ve seen a need, I’ve started non-profit groups specifically with the idea of letting other people run them. Sometimes a community of people who care about preserving local history just haven’t figured out they’re a community yet, and you can do some good just by being the catalyst and bringing the right people together.

So half your goal is generating meaningful, interesting and accurate historical content (and hopefully covering some new ground from time to time), and half is getting it out there into the world where it will do some good. How you choose to accomplish those goals is up to each historian.

Of course, you’ll also need a job that provides you with at least enough money for food and shelter.  Unlike *religious* evangelists, you don’t get to pass around a collection plate. Ideally, the job that pays your bills will dovetail with and compliment your work as a public historian. Here’s where I think I lucked out. I got a job working at the County Archives, where, among other things, I get to help OTHER people use our records to uncover the histories of their families, homes, or communities. In a way, I’m being a bit of a “history enabler,” -- Teaching members of the general public to be their own public historians (albeit with a narrow focus) and also actively helping them with aspects of research that can’t be taught in the short period of time that’s often available for a particular project.

Other public historians find work in museums, libraries, archives, etc.  Others teach. Still others end up in seemingly unrelated fields and do their history work in their spare time.

I think some of our best local historians have been those with a strong background in (and gift for) writing. Journalists and PR people (who usually have training as journalists) often make good public historians. The good ones already know how to dig out the facts, conduct interviews, do research, “get the scoop,” and communicate well in writing. Of course, its not all journalists and PR folks in public history, but there’s certainly a connection or trend there that’s worth noting.

Just roughly, one of the things good public historians do that’s different from other historians is that we tend to focus on the individuals or families or communities rather than on the sort of big, sweeping stuff that’s already been rehashed a million times. The world won’t benefit much from yet ANOTHER historian milking the big picture of the Civil War to try to get something new out of it. The world will benefit even less from an academic historian who wants to revisit the Civil War simply as a means of grinding some modern-day political axe (either their own or their professor’s). But there is value, for instance, in researching and telling the story of a previously ignored person (Civil War vet or not) who changed their community or industry or world in some way.

For example,… I wrote an article about the man who built and ran a hotel that was the hub of Orange County social and business life during the 1960s and 1970s. I wrote about the former Parks Superintendent of Anaheim – a fascinating guy whose gift for hybridizing plants gave us the Boysenberry and who helped Anaheim retain its sense of community at a time when the city was growing by leaps and bounds. I wrote another article about a small group of Los Angelenos who fought to create an all-black beach club at a time when only white people were allowed on most  L.A. beaches. It’s not like writing about Sherman’s March through Georgia or like writing about the Emperors of the Ming Dynasty.  It’s more about acknowledging that the myriad “average Joes” alive in those time periods were ALSO shaping our world and that that understanding society and individuals of all classes and from all angles gives a better picture of reality than once again returning, without a larger context, to the rehashing of generals and emperors.

- What important contributions do they make to their communities?

As America becomes more homogeneous (with an Applebee’s and a Walmart in every town) local history gives people a sense of place, a sense of community, and a certain amount of pride. At one level, people are more desperate than ever to have real-world connections to the place they live. Just one example: When people know the history of their homes – both the architecture and past owners – they tend to take better care of those homes, put more effort into restoring them, and connect with others in the community who are doing the same. This leads to improved neighborhoods, more community involvement, civic pride, more taxes generated for the city because of increased property values, etc. And that’s just one of the more obvious and tangible benefits. Likewise, awareness and appreciated of community history (perpetrated by local historians) led to places like Downtown Orange becoming not only a central part of the community’s identity, but also a thriving economic engine, whereas LACK of awareness and appreciated of community history led to the destruction of Anaheim’s entire historic downtown in the 1980s, leading to vacant lots and a zone of economic malaise that is only recently has started to show signs of turning around. 

Sometimes the historian’s important contribution is simply to debunk earlier legends or poorly-executed history that has placed false narratives in the minds of the public. People can learn from the past to make better decisions for the future, but only if they REALLY understand the past. Sometimes the important thing is to set the record straight because truth is important and should ultimately win out over falsehoods. Not that any historian can be perfect or universally comprehensive, but the goal is always to strive toward a more accurate depiction of the truth.

- What are some ethical issues you face as a historian?

Sometimes it would be very expedient to grossly oversimplify a topic to better please an editor’s length requirements or to make your work more easily digestible. But one must be careful about that. If you can say the same thing in fewer words, that’s probably good. But beware the moment when you find that the only way to turn your 600 word article into a 300 word article is by leaving your readers with an inaccurate (not just incomplete) impression of  your subject.

Also, avoid the allure of getting lazy. It’s true that most people will know almost nothing about your topic and that you could get away with cutting corners, using a Wikipedia entries as though they were valid sources, repeating hearsay, or cribbing from secondary sources you’d don’t entirely trust. No one beyond a few local historians will ever know or notice. But by perpetuating old bad information, you ensure that the next generation will have one more bad source to muddy the water. All you have as a historian is your reputation for accuracy. Once that’s called into question, your entire body of work (sometimes a lifetime’s worth) is thrown into doubt and becomes less valuable.

Another ethical issue is the question of what *kind* of historian you want to be: A hoarder or a sharer. I find that in the long run sharing what I know and what I have access to (for instance, photos or materials in my own files at home) with fellow historians is a big plus. The local history community is a small one, and we all have to stick together and help each other whenever possible. Even if someone is writing on a subject that I ALSO want to write about someday, I prefer to share what I have and know with them. They will undoubtedly take a different angle that I would have, leaving plenty for me to write about. Moreover, they will have added to the current scholarship on the topic at hand, providing me with slightly wider shoulders to stand on when I get around to writing about the same topic. Basically, it’s like we learned in Kindergarten: “Sharing is nice.”

Oh, and whether you’re using photos or information from other sources, always give credit where credit is due.

- What are some professional issues you face as a historian?

Low pay is pretty endemic in the history world. You won’t get rich doing this sort of work, but it makes a difference in the world, you meet a lot of wonderful people, and it beats the hell out of spending your life in one of those “veal fattening pen” cubicles in an office tower somewhere.  You should be a historian only if it brings you a lot of satisfaction and /or joy. If it’s just a paycheck to you, I recommend getting a job at Costco or something instead. (I hear they treat their employees well.)

Another issue is that you’ll undoubtedly spend SOME time working for or with folks who don’t understand what you do. That can cause a certain amount of stress. Many folks in the history world have to *explain* what they do to people who should already know.

- What do you see the role of public historian being?

We’re researchers, educators, and (in our best moments) defenders of our heritage and the truth.

- What was one of the most fulfilling Public History projects you worked on and why?

For me, the most fulfilling parts of my work as an archivist are when I can help someone find the information they need, especially when that information ends up being an interesting story. As a local historian, I suppose I most enjoy tackling a subject that hasn’t been written about before and then watching the story unfold as I do more and more research. The “aha” moment is pretty rewarding, and you get a lot of those.

I’ve also found, much to my surprise, that I greatly enjoy teaching local history through public speaking appearances. Telling stories and getting immediate interactive feedback is, again, extremely rewarding.

- In doing public history, what have you learned about people and interacting with people?

People say they aren’t interested in history, but they lie. Almost everyone is interested in SOME kind of history. To borrow a line from Phil Brigandi: If someone says they don’t like history, ask them what they ARE interested in.  They’ll tell you something like “baseball” and then will begin to tell you about the history of baseball (or whatever their interest might be). The trick is to find out what PARTS of history they ARE interested in. And local history has the advantage of being relatable because it’s all about our own backyards. You may have hated history class is school, but learning stories about your own neighborhood is a whole different thing.

On the issue of interacting with people, I would also say that a healthy dose of extroversion is helpful in this field. You need to be able to cold call people who MIGHT be the descendants of people you’re studying and then engage them in conversations. You need to communicate with librarians and other historians, and students, and the public. If one doesn’t enjoy engaging with people, you might do better as doing something where having a public face isn’t so important.

- How are public historians and academic historians different?

I’m going to make some gross generalizations here because whole books could be written on this subject. And I’ll begin by pointing out that there are lots of exceptions to any rule and there are some EXCELLENT academic historians out there right now. In fact, I can think of a few right here in O.C. that I’m proud to know.

That said, I think academic historians GENERALLY are stuck catering to a comparatively narrow and homogeneous audience: Maybe a handful of professors or peers or perhaps the modest readership of an academic journal. And those academic audiences GENERALLY have certain fad topics or pet issues that must be checked off in order to meet with approval in that particular subculture.

I do try to review academic sources (theses and other academic publications) that pertain to the subjects I’m working on. But more and more I find that such papers from recent decades TEND to be composed of recycled already-known information combined with whatever social or political opinions the student feels the academic faculty is most likely to agree with. This usually makes for a pretty thin gruel. An exception to this is when I need to access data from scientific academic publications, which tend to be more about data and less about proving allegiance to a subculture.

But again, I am speaking here in  very broad generalities.

Another difference I can point out is that academic historians probably generally have better pay, benefits, retirement plans, and built-in prestige (in many circles) than do public historians. So whatever kind of historian you want to be, it probably doesn’t hurt to have a few more letters after your name if possible. (Assuming you can afford the investment.)

- Why did you want to become a public historian?

Like so many of us, I didn’t know I was becoming a public historian. It just sort of happened based on my interests, skill set, and where life led me.

My high school photography teacher gave us an assignment to photograph a series of related things and make a display or mini-exhibit out of the images. It dawned on me that photographing old buildings in Downtown Huntington Beach (my hometown) might be interesting. I was excited to get started and a bit surprised when people started coming out of those buildings, asking what I was doing, and then telling me stories about their homes or family businesses or whatnot. I met a lot of interesting people that way and one introduced me to the City Historian, which was a job I didn’t know existed. The City Historian, Alicia Wentworth, showed me a bunch of the cool stuff in the city’s photo collection, and then hired me as her photographer to go out and expand that collection. (My first paying job.)

Later, in college, I was drawn to an opening as a docent at what’s now the Heritage Museum of Orange County in Santa Ana. Giving tours and sharing history with groups of kids and adults was also very rewarding, but I didn’t ever think of it as a career path.

Later still, I found myself researching and documenting Orange County’s remaining Googie architecture in my free time – simply because the subject interested me. That led to working with Jane Newell at the Anaheim Heritage Center who wanted to build a record of Anaheim’s Googie for the benefit of future researchers. When I found out she’d learned about the subject based on the website I’d been assembling, it was quite a shock. It was the first time I realized that an ordinary guy with a camera, a willingness to do research and a way to communicate with the public could make a real difference! Here was a city project initiated because of something I’d been doing as a hobby! But again, I never saw this as a career – Just as something I did in my spare time.

But some years later, I found myself becoming less and less enamored of the career I HAD chosen – public relations and marketing. Although some clients I’d had were wonderful to work for and with, the lifestyle and the emotional rewards just weren’t there. Then, magically, the new County Archivist (and longtime public historian,) Phil Brigandi, called me out of the blue and offered me a job working for him. He knew I’d been doing this sort of work on my own for years and he needed an Assistant Archivist. Without asking about pay or much of anything else, I said yes! 

I guess if anything convinced me that this was my calling and my career, it was my five years of “apprenticeship” working for Phil. He was an amazing roll model and teacher. He showed me not only how local history works, but also why it’s important, what pitfalls to avoid, and how much can be accomplished. I couldn’t have asked for a better teacher. And I don’t think I could have replicated that kind of education in school. Anyway, it didn’t take long for me to figure out that this was the kind of work I SHOULD have been focused on from the start. I dove in with both feet and never looked back. Or to put it another way, I renounced evil, took my vow of poverty, committed myself to study, and went forth to spread the good word of Orange County history.

I hope this helps, Tim. I’ve probably prattled on for way too long here, but hopefully somewhere amidst all this I’ve also answered your questions. Feel free to get in touch if you have more questions.

All the best,

Chris

A circa 1960s decal of the Orange County logo.

The much-used Orange County logo, with three oranges in the foreground and fields and mountains in the background, is a mystery. It seems I'm asked about its origins every few years, which usually leads to a long email or phone conversation, or, in one case, to an article in Orange Coast magazine. I have cribbed from all of those explanations for this blog post which, I hope, will either stave off the next identical round of questioning or (better yet) will inspire someone with MORE of the story to come forward.

1948 version of the County logo.

The earliest use of the logo I’m aware of (so far) is on the cover of a 1948 book of County Ordinances. (Shown above.) In that version, one of the mountains in the background is pretty clearly Old Saddleback – a detail that’s usually screwed-up in later versions. The text in the ring surrounding the artwork reads “County of Orange, California,” in a font that seems more a product of the 1930s than the late 1940s. Of course, it’s possible the artist just wasn’t up with the times.

Tustin's City Seal -- Which came first?

And as Phil Brigandi points out, the logo has design elements reminiscent of the old Irvine Ranch logo and the Tustin city seal. (Shown above.) But that may just be a coincidence.

Although the county logo appears on county government letterhead, publications, vehicles, etc., it has never been officially adopted. It even appears on the center of our county flag, which was officially adopted in 1968. Meanwhile, the official county seal (shown below) remains a single orange with three leaves, as approved at the very first Orange County Board of Supervisors meeting on Aug. 5, 1889. (I have yet to see an attractive colorized version of the seal. Most have the orange looking like an angry meatball.)

The venerable Orange County seal -- Still in use where legally required.

Since nobody really owns the Orange County logo, it shows up in the damnedest places. In recent years, I’ve seen our County logo tattooed on the heads of gang members, appropriated as a corporate logo for sandbag manufacturer, and sold on hats and shirts in the display window of a Santa Ana head shop. It is nothing if not versatile.

A particularly unfortunate version, with doggy-doo-like mountains.

Happily, over the last year or so, I've started to notice some of the crummier versions of the logo being replaced with better ones in both government and civilian use. Either my years of kvetching finally had some impact, or perhaps folks just have better design sense these days. Either way, I welcome the restoration/improvement of a symbol that's pretty attractive when executed properly.

Ride concept based on input by Bud Hurlbut.

On my other blog, Tiki Lagoon, I've just posted a two-part article about Knott's Berry Farm's attempts at cashing in on the South Seas/Tiki craze. Proposed elements included an elaborate South Seas Island Boat Ride, which was never realized, and Jungle Island, which would later open with a very different look than originally planned. Part one of the article is posted here. And part two is posted here. If you're interested, go take a look!

The entrance to Jungle Island, circa 1964. Photo courtesy O.C. Archives.

Famed local cartoonist Virgil “VIP” Partch serenades Pam Bennett at an Orange County Press Club event, April 1962. Photo courtesy County of Orange.

There is undoubtedly an amazing history to be written of the Orange County Press Club. What follows ain't it. However, these colorful stories about the early incarnations of the Club (and its delightfully goofy mascot) might be considered a little step in the right direction.

Journalists from Orange and Santa Ana gathered on the evening of May 26, 1916, at the James Café in Downtown Santa Ana, to launch the Orange County Press Club. Representatives from newspapers in Anaheim and Fullerton sent letters of support, but were unable to attend the first meeting. Terry E. Stephenson of the Santa Ana Register (also a local historian) acted as temporary chairman and W.O. Hart of the Orange News acted as secretary. Hart pointed out that the organization, "even if formed for social purposes at the outset, eventually [will] result in much good to the newspapers of the county in a business way."

It was decided that not only news writing and editorial staff could join, but also front office staff. The drafting of a constitution and bylaws was left to a committee and were adopted at the Club’s first banquet, a few months later.

The Jewel City Café, Seal Beach, as it appeared in 1922. Photo courtesy SBFoundersDay.wordpress.com.

At that time, the Bayside Land Company still owned much of Seal Beach and was using every trick in the book to draw attention to its young community and to spur further real estate sales. Sensing a good PR opportunity, they graciously played host to that first O.C. Press Club banquet and threw quite a party. The event was held Oct. 7, at Millers Famous Sunset Dollar Dinners in the Jewel City Cafe building in the heart of Seal Beach’s brand new pier-side “Joy Zone.” After a short business meeting, there was dancing, aerial acrobatics by aviator Joe Boquel, and fireworks over the pier. Those arriving early were also welcomed to enjoy the Bayside Land Co. beach resort privileges at no cost, including swimsuits, bathhouse privileges, etc.

Despite the impressive kick-off, the Press Club immediately disappeared. Organizations as obscure as the Santa Ana Typographical Union’ Women’s Auxiliary and the Wrycende Maegdenu continued to run regular announcements of their activities in the local newspapers, but there was no further sign of the Orange County Press Club. It makes one wonder exactly what went on that night in Seal Beach! (Considering the reputations of both journalists and early Seal Beach, it’s hard to imagine.)
Almost exactly a decade later another attempt at starting an Orange County Press Club was made, this time with a bit more success.

At that time, the Orange County Harbor Chamber of Commerce was using every trick in the book to promote a positive outcome for an impending ballot initiative that would provide bond money for the development of Newport Bay into a harbor. Sensing a good PR opportunity, they graciously played host to Orange County’s newspaper publishers, and they threw quite a party. On May 11, 1926, the evening began with a cruise around the bay, followed by a deluxe steak dinner at the Newport Harbor Yacht Club.

Pro-Harbor cartoon by Santa Ana Register cartoonist and local war hero Jack Fisher.

During the meeting, Horace Fine of the Register suggested that an Orange County Press Club be formed. Some of the same personalities that had been part of the original group in 1916 were in attendance and may or may not have spoken out about “history repeating itself.” Just like a decade before, a committee was created to draft a constitution and bylaws and a temporary board was set up to instigate the Club's formation. This time, the group in attendance included reps from newspapers in every corner of the county. Newport News publisher (and local historian) S.A. Meyer was made temporary chairman, and A.V. Douglass of the La Habra Star was elected secretary.

Of the bay tour, the Register reported the newsmen being “deeply impressed with the expanse of water and the possibility of developing, at the bay, a first class pleasure and commercial harbor."
After dinner, in the Yacht Club’s smoke-filled drawing room, it was decided to hold another meeting in early June, and plans were discussed for a county-wide advertising campaign to promote the harbor bonds. Later, the Press Club would issue a resolution supporting the bonds, which were "in every way advantageous to the county." This may not be as bad as it sounds, considering the harbor project already had broad support among the county’s movers and shakers. But the optics were certainly bad.

The second meeting of the 1926 incarnation of the Orange County Press Club was held on the evening of June 8, at the Southern Seas Club in Balboa, at the invitation of Newport Beach mayor Conrad Richter.

Concept art for the Southern Seas Club by architects Allison and Allison.

At that time, the Southern Seas Club was in the middle of a major marketing blitz, trying to sell $600 life memberships to support their plans for an elaborate 10-story beach resort on the Balboa Peninsula. They were using every trick in the book to promote sales. Sensing a good PR opportunity, they graciously played host to the O.C. Press Club’s second meeting on June 8th. Newport Beach mayor Conrad Richter coordinated the event.

During this meeting, they decided that the Press Club would be primarily a social group. In keeping with that, their next meeting was a picnic dinner (again with steak!) at Hewes Park on July 21. From there on, it seems they met every two to four months for evening events at various locations throughout the county.

H.S. Webster, president of the California Publishers Assoc. (L) and D. Eyman Huff (R) at an O.C. Press Club event at Hewes Park, welcoming Senator J.F. Burke (center) as the new publisher of the Register.

Although it lasted longer than the 1916 version of the Club, the 1926 version seems to have eventually evaporated also. The last scant references to it in the local papers appear around 1937. In March 1941, a group of high school newspaper staffers started their own organization, which they also called the Orange County Press Club. Apparently nobody from the former group of professionals bothered to ask that they add the word “Student” to their moniker.

Circa 1940s matchbook cover art for the “Press Club of the Pacific Coast,” (no relation) which was actually a seedy bar on a  seedy part of the State Highway (now the I-5 Freeway).

The Great Depression, World War II, and the beginnings of Orange County’s explosive post-war growth were already history by the time anyone tried forming an Orange County Press Club again. The first meeting of the current incarnation of the club was held in 1953 at the behest of Register city editor Harry Harvey, who hosted the event not in the lap of some eager PR-seeker, but in his own living room.

In a 1986-87 issue of the Club’s Add One newsletter, Tom McCann wrote, “Those in attendance included Gale Ellis of the Garden Grove News, Bob Gettemy of the Los Angeles Times, Phyllis Jackson of the Newport Harbor News-Press, Dale Kroesen of the Cypress-Los Alamitos Enterprise, Beth Kroesen the Buena Park News, and Carmela Clark (Martin) and Carrie Lou Sutherland of the Anaheim Bulletin.

“A second meeting was held April 29, 1954 at Santiago Park in Santa Ana with eight additional journalists attending, including Sky and Velma Dunlap of the Times, and Fred Allen of the Newport Harbor News Press. They drew up a nine-point outline of what the club would be and how it would operate. Finally, on May 27, 1955, the Orange County Press Club held its first official meeting at the seedy Savoy bar (now gone) on Fourth St. in Santa Ana. Bob Gettemy was elected the first president, Fred Allen vice president, and Carmela Martin secretary-treasurer.

“The ‘speaker’ that evening was famed cartoonist Virgil ‘VIP’ Partch, who according to a 1980 retrospective article by Vi Smith, ‘alternately drank and drew original cartoons for those present.’
“Smith also recalled that many publishers were nervous about the new club, fearing the journalists might ‘get together and compare salaries or form a union,… They needn’t have worried. Most of the members were too embarrassed to let anyone know how little they received.”

At that time, Disneyland was just months away from opening, and the success of the theme park was still very much in doubt. Walt Disney, in debt up to his eyeballs, was using every trick in the book to draw attention to his wonderland. Sensing a good PR opportunity, Disney graciously sponsored some of the first O.C. Press Club events at the nearby Disneyland Hotel. Disney Studios also provided the club with its logo/mascot.

The author (left) with Orcop (right) at the Los Angeles Archives Bazaar.

“As the club began to dole out annual press club awards, Disney offered to provide the award plaques,” wrote McCann. “But the plaques seemed sort of naked without some sort of Press Club logo. So the Disney artists created “Orcop” – the cliché-riddled mascot of the group. Initially, the character was nameless. Superior Court Judge Franklin G. West collected name nominations for a couple months, but none were worth putting to a vote. Finally, one submission seemed passable. Since then, both the character and the annual journalism awards have been called Orcop. Orcop first appeared in three-dimensional form as a gold broach with blue sapphire eyes, presented to outgoing president Vi Smith.”

In the decades since, the Orange County Press Club has retained its social aspects, but has seemingly become more professional. Smokers and “Miss Orcop” beauty contests have given way to more opportunities to recognize quality journalism.

Tustin’s Gigi Dahl, named Miss Orcop 1965 by the O.C. Press Club. She appears here with her parents and the Orcop trophies.

The club also expanded to include PR and PIO professionals. This was a bit controversial, but it’s true that many good writers find themselves hopping back and forth between public relations and journalism. (It would be odd kick people out and then reinvite them as they switched back and forth between jobs.) Moreover, with the dwindling number of local news outlets and the current generation’s lack of interest in community organizations, it was probably necessary to admit PR folks just to keep the Club stocked with members.

According to their website, “The Orange County Press Club exists to support, promote, and defend quality journalism in Southern California. We seek to encourage journalists by providing networking opportunities and by hosting regular events with topics of interest to a broad spectrum of journalists.

“Our members include Orange County based publishers, editors, journalists, reporters, broadcasters, public information officers, public relations professionals and journalism students.

“The primary mission of the club is to provide a networking opportunity for those employed by news organizations, magazines and new media in Orange County. The club's goal is to foster relationships among the members of the OC Press, to support those interested in entering the profession, and to recognize excellence in writing and reporting in Orange County.”

2014 Orange County Press Club Awards Banquet. Photo courtesy O.C. Register.

The way the business model for journalism is eroding in this country, one hopes there’s someone left to keep some version of the Press Club afloat in another hundred years.

Longtime local historian Phil Brigandi has built you a new website: OCHistoryland.com. I know just how much he loves computers (and how much they love him back), so you should appreciate this all the more. He jammed all those ones and zeroes into place with his bare hands to create a site that's professional-looking, interesting, and a useful reference. (With Phil's writing, you never have to wonder if the facts are really the facts.)

Phil has already posted some of his old articles, a bunch of new ones, a bit of primary source material, and is working on still more content to be uploaded soon. It's a very welcome addition to the growing family of online O.C. historical resources. The more good local history we can get into the public's hands, the better.

Phil's old website is still online too, at  SoCalHistoryland.mysite.com. It also has a lot of great content, but it was mostly static and in retrospect seemed like a placeholder for the site he's debuting now.


"At its best," Phil writes on the new site's introduction, "local history can help give all of us a sense of connection to the past, a sense of belonging, a sense of place. We are all part of a larger story. If I can help build a growing appreciation of Orange County’s past, my work will be worthwhile."

It is very much worthwhile, my friend!

Looking east on the original segment of Alton St. near S. Main St., in Santa Ana.

Fellow history dudes Rob and Cliff send me a question from the "Growing up in Irvine" Facebook group about the origins of the street name "Alton Avenue" in Irvine.

I didn't know where the name came from, but I was able to dig up the answer.

The first segment of Alton was a stretch less than half a mile long called Alton Street in Santa Ana. It extended east from South Main St. In 1945 it was still an unnamed dirt road, or at least the name didn't yet appear on maps. However, the street appeared in the 1952 Rene Atlas of Orange County, as Alton St.

Prominent dairyman and rancher James E. Alton (of the J. E. Alton & Sons Co.) had been living and ranching along S. Main St. in the Greenville area since at least the early 1900s. James primarily made the newspapers when involved in Knights of Columbus activities or when he was picked up for public intoxication.

In 1952, James’ son, Joseph W. Alton, took charge of the business. At that point, James and his wife Frances lived at 15032 Alton St., Santa Ana.

Later, little Alton Street would be extended east to Newport Blvd. and then southeast into what's now Irvine. It was bisected when that segment of Newport Blvd. became part of the 55 Freeway.

As Irvine was developed and grew in the 1960s, 1970s and even into the 2010s, Alton St. was extended yet further and became Alton Ave. and (east of the 55 Freeway) Alton Parkway. Several more unconnected segments of Alton were also added to the west in South Santa Ana as more land was developed. Today, the western terminus of Alton Ave. is at Susan Street.

"It is amazing how such a small road became a major street," says Cliff.

Sheet music cover for I Love You, California, 1913.

You know that antiquated-sounding ode to California used in Jeep TV commercials? That’s a slightly mangled version of our state song: “I Love You California” (1913) – with lyrics written by Silverwood’s clothing store founder, Francis Beatty "Frank" Silverwood (1863–1924), also known as “Daddy” Silverwood.

Most Californians are surprised to learn our state song isn’t "California, Here I Come" (1921) – made popular by Al Jolson, Huell Howser, and your fourth grade teacher.

The intertwined stories of Silverwood and California's adoption of his song are colorful and convoluted to say the least. The tale involves Shriners, a Westminster poet, petty political tomfoolery, failed romances, high fashion, an operatic diva, world travel, legions of poor newsboys, and a place called Happyland.

Francis B. "Daddy" Silverwood

A native of Oakwood, Ontario, Canada, Silverwood first came to the United States in 1877 as a child and sold newspapers for a pittance on the rough-and-tumble streets of New York City. He returned to Canada, but came back to the U.S. at age 18, worked his way across the Pacific Northwest, and eventually arrived in San Francisco around 1886. But he couldn’t find a job there, and he only had $2.50 to his name. So he pawned his watch to pay for steamboat transportation to Eureka, where the Crocker Bros. store had offered him a job selling men’s clothing. It was the start of a career and a lifelong business partnership with fellow clothier George Edward Nagel, and it was also where Silverwood would gain American citizenship in 1892. He worked for Crocker Bros. for five years and rose to the position of manager before leaving to co-found McNamara & Silverwood clothiers with William A. McNamara.

Homeless New York newsboys, late 1800s.

Two years later, in the Spring of 1894, Silverwood left Eureka, with a plan to open his own men’s clothing store in Los Angeles with help from Nagel. First, however, he took a trip to New York and then to see his family in Canada.

Silverwood and Nagel opened their first Silverwood store on May 13, 1894 at 124 South Spring Street in Los Angeles. (Orange Countians may remember some of the chain’s branches, much later, at Anaheim Plaza, La Habra Fashion Square, and Newport's Fashion Island.)

Among the first advertisements for Silverwood's store, from the Los Angeles Herald, May 12, 1894.

"Mr. Silverwood is a big, good hearted, genial whole souled fellow,” wrote the San Bernardino County Sun when a Silverwood store later opened in their city. “Although he weighs 250 pounds, he plays golf, was one of the end men in the Jonathan Club minstrel show, and sees the sunny side of life."

Already, Silverwood was a proud Californian who signed his letters, "Yours to the end of the trail, Daddy."

On Jan. 27, 1897, Silverwood married Miss Marie L. Funk, a 23-year-old Illinois native. Previously, she was a clerk in the Charles A. Lang millinery shop in St. Paul, Minnesota.

The wedding was a simple affair conducted at the bride’s uncle’s home in Los Angeles, and she carried a bouquet of orange blossoms down the aisle. They initially lived in a room in a boarding house on Hill Street until Frank’s business really got rolling. By 1910, things were going so well that the Silverwoods had money for a trip around the world, including stops in Japan, China, and Hawaii. But something may have happened on or around that trip that took the romance out of their marriage.

Mrs. Marie L. Silverwood, 1909

Later that year, Marie took off to Europe with no return trip planned. She only came back to the U.S. when World War I began in earnest, and even then did not return to her husband. In 1915, Frank Silverwood filed for and received a divorce on grounds of desertion.

By then, his life had already taken an interesting new turn.

Next time:Part 2 - Hail, California!

If it says "state song" on the cover, it must be true, right?

[Continued from Part 1]
Even as his marriage fizzled out, F. B. Silverwood was writing and promoting what would eventually become California’s official state song.  He was not the first to write such a number. Many others had already tried and failed to promote their own proposed state songs. In doing so, they paved the way for Silverwood.

For example, "Hail California" (1896) by recent New York transplant Josephine Barrelle Howard Grow (a.k.a. Josephine Gro) sold at least 25,000 copies to public schools before fading into deserved obscurity. Gro simply printed “State Song” under the title on the cover of the sheet music rather than taking steps to obtain official status.

Describing Gro’s song, Ambrose Bierce wrote, "On the music I forgo judgement, lacking the gift and faculty devine of the musician; but the words are about the meanest, mangiest yellow dogs of words that ever scampered ki-yi-ing out of the cerebral kennel to lay waste the night and desolate the day."

Josephine Gro, circa 1895

The lyrics to “Hail California” follow:

O California--Hail to thee!
And to the day that gave thee birth!
With countless mines and fruitful vines,
Thou art a land of wonderous worth;
Thy Native Sons give homage true,
And glory in thy golden frame;
Thy foster children bless thee, too,
And sound they praise with loud acclaim.

(Chorus)
Hail! All hail to California!
Shout from her Sierras to her Golden Gate;
Richest gem in fair Columbia's crown--
Hail to California, the Goden State.

Where once thy deserts lay in waste,
Now, scent of blossoms fills the air,
And fertile plains of golden grains
And groves of vast extent are there.
Since first thy rugged border-land
Gave entrance to the pioneer,
With steady stride and triumph grand,
Hast thou marched on thy proud career.

Oh, El Dorado--treasure land!
Of goodly gifts thou hast a store;
Thy yellow show'rs of fruit and flow'rs
In free profusion round us pour;
Thy flocks graze on a thousand hills,
Thy cattle roam o'er poppied plains,
In every breast a true heart thrills,
And over all contentment reigns.

O, Queen of the Pacific, with
Thy throne upon its golden sands;
Thy ships defy its billows high,
And bear thy wealth to other lands.
Thy South 'neath ever-smiling skies
Is a perennial garden fair--
Caressed by breezes soft, she lies
In luxury beyond compare.

Thy motto, "Watch and Guard," adorned
The banners of thine early days;
Thy record tells 'twas heeded well,
And each, its mandate still obeys.
And should the nation be in need,
Thy sons in all their loyal might,
To its defense will boldly speed,
Beneath Old Glory's colors bright.

Beirce was right about it being “insufferable stuff.” It would be more than a decade before anyone had the guts to broach the topic of a California state song again.
Next time:Westminster and the Land of the Setting Sun

On the heels of my two-parter about Bud Hurlbut's unrealized Polynesian boat ride at Knott's, Chris Murray was kind enough to send a long these aerial photos he purchased at Bud's estate sale seven years ago. As he points out, they really show how developed things were on that side of Highway 39.
Speaking of my Tiki Lagoon website, I posted a little tribute to the Sam's Seafood/Don the Beachcomber there a couple days ago. It's so sad to see this O.C. landmark disappear. I'll write a longer piece about it soon.

In other news, the Orange County Historical Society's office and archives will be open tomorrow (Saturday) from 10am to 2pm. Feel free to come by if you have research you'd like to do. We may not have time for idle chatter tomorrow, as there's still a lot of work to do on the collections.

Special thanks to Joan at the Cheney Washington Historical Society for her help with a bedeviling detail or two in researching my ongoing F.B. Silverwood series of articles. Turned out I was barking up the wrong tree, but thanks to her at least I know that now. Also thanks to Stephanie George for assisting me with her mad genealogy skills. (For the two history folk in the world who don't know this yet: The tools of genealogy work equally well in researching long-dead people you're NOT related to!)

After more than two centuries at the same location, Mission San Juan Capistrano is moving to a new location. In early 2017, it was determined that the Mission wasn’t bringing in nearly enough income to warrant the right to occupy ten acres of prime South Orange County real estate. Now plans have been approved to turn the Mission property into a mixed-use development called SWALLOW and to move certain museum elements to a San Clemente shopping center.

“I want to make sure people understand the Mission is just moving, not closing,” said Robin Passerine, Vice President of the development firm SWALLOW Properties, LLP. “A new and improved version will be moving into a great ocean-view commercial space at the Outlets in San Clemente, which opened in 2015. Mission fans are really going to be delighted by what we have in store for them, including interactive exhibits using VR technology. We’re also putting in a bunch of swallows nests along the exterior, with animatronic birds that pop out at intervals – They’re much more reliable than the real ones, which tend to migrate. There will also be plenty of parking for school buses right in front of the gift shop, along with a variety of adjacent dining options.”

Artist's concept of SWALLOW mixed-use development at the Mission site.

 Meanwhile, back at the old Mission site, Passerine said, “We’ll be creating an experience with a mixed-use live/work/play space that will include shops, a gourmet food hall, a boutique hotel, loft condominiums, and even a pocket park on the site of the Serra Chapel. The park will feature themed play equipment, so children will be able to climb over low adobe walls, climb into a caretta, or peek out the entrance of a giant swallows nest.”

Nearby, a restaurant patio built over the Mission cemetery will use Fr. St. John O’Sullivan’s grave marker as a dramatic centerpiece.

Adobe walls come down easily, exposing inferior early construction techniques.

SWALLOW will be LEED-compliant and its design will also use arches, heritage colors, historical signage, and a repeating motif of cliff swallow silhouettes to reflect the site’s rich traditions.

Plans for SWALLOW promise “catalytic activity, vibrant streetscapes, and a tenant mix reflecting the rich history and culture of San Juan Capistrano.”

Parts of the mission's north wing are raized to make way for a parking structure.

It will not be the first move for the Mission.

In 1775, Franciscan missionaries selected a site for Mission San Juan Capistrano about two miles northeast of its current location. Soon thereafter, there was a native uprising in San Diego, and the padres and soldiers were called away to help. Father Serra himself rededicated San Juan Capistrano at its original site, or “Misíon Vieja,” in 1776. A few years later it was moved to a new site that had a better water supply. In 1782, the Serra Chapel – the oldest California building still standing – at its current location in San Juan Capistrano. A large stone church was completed in 1806, but it was destroyed in an 1812 earthquake that also killed 40 Native Americans.

Animatronic swallows will pop in and out of artificial nests at the new San Clemente location.

“That earthquake did a lot of the demolition work for us,” said Passerine. “Why they’ve hung onto a pile of rubble for all these years is unclear. That parcel fronts both Ortega Highway and El Camino Real and is freeway close. It’s terribly under-utilized.”

Local reaction was mixed. “It’s sad to lose an important California landmark that’s central to our community’s history and identity,” said Cliff Bird, who was walking past the Mission on his lunch break.  “But the economy is the economy, and if development brings in more money than a mission, there’s no way to argue against progress. Cash is the only way to measure whether something is successful or has value.”

Juaneño activist Janet Natoma stands between the bell wall and a wrecking ball.

Westminster, 1911: Hub of culture and the arts. (Photo near corner of Westminster Blvd. and Olive St.) Photo courtesy Orange County Archives

[Continued from Part 2]

In 1911, Orange County Assemblyman Clyde Bishop introduced a bill that would have made “California (Land of the Setting Sun)” – a 1907 song with words and music by Mrs. Harriet M. Burlingame of Westminster – our official state song. The effort failed but laid the groundwork for Silverwood’s success soon thereafter.

Burlingame’s lyrics – awkward and hokey, but a marked improvement over Gro’s – went like this:

A song to thee of loyalty. A song of the Golden West;
A land that lies ‘neath sunlit skies,
Beside the Pacific’s breast.

Thy native son and adopted one
From snowy climes agree
That heaven crowned this land renown—
Land by the Western sea.

(Chorus)
California fair, California rare,
all nature sings to thee.
The balmy breeze, the fragrant trees,
the blue of sky and sea.
Mission bells sweet chimes,
as in olden times,
and the mocking birds in the vale,
Let the chorus rise to the sunny skies, Eureka California hail.
Thy hills hold wealth, thy breezes health,
thy valleys fruits and flowers.
Here the orange bright blends golden light
with the poppy pride of ours.
Oh, the lofty heights of Shasta white.
Oh, grand Yosemite.
From south to north thy fame goes forth
from Sierras to the sea.

We lowly bend, for heaven doth blend
with sunshine, shadows cold;
But God's above this land we love,
above the blue and gold.
So here we'll wait 'till the Golden Gate
shall ope when day is done.
Almighty Hand, hold thou our land,
"Land of the Setting Sun."

Assemblyman James W. Hamilton from Petaluma suggested that the work “Eureka” could be mistaken for the town of that name, and humbly recommended replacing the word with “Petaluma.” Legislator E. C. Hinkle of Sacramento objected to the mention of mockingbirds in the song, as he supported a law to legalize extermination of the noisy little bastards.

Milton Schmitt of San Francisco, looking down his nose at both the song and Orange County, recommended the matter be referred to the Committee on Overflow and Swamp Lands. (Schmitt was also among the few California legislators to vote against women’s suffrage that year.) Ultimately, the Speaker could find no committee suited to judge music, and in desperation passed the matter to the Judiciary Committee. The committee reviewed the bill and recommended passage with the proviso that Mr. Bishop sing the ditty, opera-style, on the floor of the Assembly. One member asked, "Wouldn't Bishop look cute in tights?"

O.C. Assemblyman Clyde Bishop promotes “California (Land of the Setting Sun)” in a Los Angeles Times cartoon, Feb. 8, 1911.

Bishop wanted no part of singing and said he might better use his time on the floor to tell the other members to go to hell. He suggested that Judiciary Committee Chairman William Kehoe might want to sing the song in front of the assembled body himself. That offer was also declined, but somehow the Assembly finally approved a slightly modified version of the song none of them were willing to sing.

The State Senate, however, shot it down. There had been harsh criticism of the song not just in Sacramento’s halls of power, but also in the press. "We have no sympathy with [Bishop]," snarked the Pacific Rural Press & California Farmer, "who moved to refer the bill to the Sacramento poundmaster on the ground that it might be doggerel."

Under the headline "Poetry That Snores," the San Francisco Call's Edward Cahill wrote, "In order to stock up with a full line of legislative nincompoopiana, it seems that we are to have a state song imposed on us without our consent, written by the poetess of Gospel Swamp, somewhere in the bogs of Orange County,... The stuff is utterly commonplace and could be written by the yard by any literary blacksmith. If the legislature has nothing better to do than make a laughing stock of California it might better adjourn and go home. As for the state song--forget it."

Capitol Building, Sacramento, 1915. (Photo courtesy California State Archives)

But California would not forget their desire for a state song, and Frank Silverwood would soon play a central role in filling that vacuum.

Next Time: Frank Loves You, California

I sometimes find myself having to define the differences between academic historians and public/local historians. It’s not enough to just say, “Academic history is the reason most people say they don’t like history, whereas local history is made up of stories about real people in your own backyard, which is ALWAYS interesting.” Seriously though, the differences between the two approaches are worth thinking about. Shedding at little light on the subject is this article by Prof. Raymond Starr of SDSU, which I stumbled across in an old (March 1983) copy of California Historian. I’ve cherry-picked some excerpts that I found particularly enlightening:

“It is curious that professional academic historians have disdained local history for the last century, because history in America was local history in the beginning. Indeed… even after the emergence of national history as part of the nation-building of the 1830s, local history continued to be more important.
 
“The situation began to change toward the end of the 19th century. Up until that point, history had always been written by amateurs - lawyers, ministers, teachers, retired generals... In the 1870s and 1880s, ‘professional’ history arrived. Coming into American universities from Germany, a new ‘scientific’ history began to dominate. It demanded university training in the new methods of research, analysis of evidence, documentation and writing. Hence departments of history, doctorates in history, and professors of history began to emerge in most American universities. With it came ‘professionalization’ and a professional organization, the American Historical Association, organized in 1884. …That organization and the universities came to be dominated by a very narrow, academic form of history which stressed national and international political, diplomatic, constitutional and military history, and which disdained as antiquarian and narrow, local history.
 
“Not only did the academic historians disdain local history as a field of study, but they also disdained the organizations and institutions of local history - the museum, the local historical society, etc. These matters remained in the hands of amateurs or of what we now call ‘public historians,’ who operated without university affiliation…
 
“That is what is changing today. …Professional historians in the universities have begun to work in local history. …Why have university historians discovered local history? The decline in teaching jobs and enrollments in the last decade has forced colleges to look for courses and programs which appeal to students. One of the phenomenons of the 1960s and 1970s was a great upswing of public interest in local and family history…
 
“…Academic historians are going to have to learn that many people in local history - writers, historical society staffs, museum and historical park staffs, archivists and librarians - are professionals in their own right. They may be different from professors, but they are not necessarily inferior. The emergence of the public history movement shows that some academic historians are capable of bridging the gap between university and public historians. Let us hope this continues and more and more academic historians are able to change their attitudes.
 
“At the same time, the non-academic local historians often show hostility toward university historians. Publications and meetings of archival, museum and preservation organizations ooze hostility toward the professor. These negative reactions come from many sources. One is the natural and understandable reaction to the rejection of local history and local historians by the academicians over the last century. …Archivists, museum staffs, people with historical societies have to come to recognize themselves that they are professionals making unique and absolutely essential contributions to local history.”

We've all heard of the snipe hunt: The time-honored camping tradition where a hapless victim is given a bag or pillow case and sent out into the night to crouch among brush and make strange “snipe calls” to lure the wily snipe. Eventually, the poor sap figures out he’s waiting to catch an imaginary animal while everyone else is back at camp laughing their butts off. This hazing tradition goes back at least to the 1840s.

But the truth is, snipe are REAL, they’re a type of bird, and Orange County’s got ‘em! In 1893 – the same year he founded the San Joaquin Gun Club and a few years before founding Bolsa Chica Gun Club, Count Jasco Jaro von Schmidt described our ample snipe supply: "The English snipe … the delight of the gourmand, is found in great numbers all over the artesian belt district of the county. Last season I bagged, near Westminster, seventy-on English snipe in one day.”

The Count was well known for exaggerating his hunting prowess, so take that for what it’s worth. But even bagging a single snipe is no mean feat, as they tend to fly in an erratic corkscrew pattern. An 1888 article about English snipe in Punch magazine stated, "All sportsmen desire to be considered good snipe shots, because he is the hardest bird in the world to hit. I mean to hit with shot fired out of a shotgun. I think a good player could hit one with a base-ball bat, because the bird flies much after the manner of the erratic curved ball of the moderns."

English Snipe lithograph,  Currier & Ives, circa 1871 Courtesy Library of Congress

Further research shows that the English Snipe is also known as Wilson's Snipe or the Jacksnipe. It can still be found among the grassy sand hills of Orange County’s wetlands, albeit in much smaller numbers than in the Count’s day.

“Santa Ana marksman Ed Vaughn made a living shipping [snipe] to San Francisco,” wrote Jim Sleeper in his second Orange County Almanac of Historical Oddities. “One time he asserted, ‘They didn’t want me to [gut] them, as epicures considered the entrails the choicest part of the bird’ – which says a lot about the people of San Francisco.”

Sleeper goes on to point out that Gabe Allen’s place (now Estancia Park in Costa Mesa) was a popular spot for snipe hunting. Why don’t you head up there with a pillow case and a stick some night, and see if you can nab a few? I hear if you crouch in the brush and make a loud “kikery-KEE!” noise over and over again, it really brings ‘em running.

"English Snipe" chromolithograph by A. B. Frost, circa 1895

Sheet music for our state song.

[Continued from Part 3]

Having fully adopted the lifestyle, attitudes, and internal thermostat afforded by the Golden State, Frank Silverwood was none too thrilled when necessity sent him to the east coast on a buying trip in the dead of winter. He found himself eating dinner alone in a New York café, homesick for Los Angeles and fed up to the gills with the miserable snow and cold. When the house band began belting out “Maryland, My Maryland,” it was the last straw.

Then and there, Silverwood decided to write a song about his beloved California. On his way home, he wrote the lyrics, into which, as the Los Angeles Times put it, “he poured all the earnest deep-felt love a man can have for his homeland.”  Those lyrics are…

Ilove you, California, you're the greatest state of all.
I love you in the winter, summer, spring and in the fall.
I love your fertile valleys; your dear mountains I adore.
I love your grand old ocean and I love her rugged shore.

(Chorus)
Where the snow crowned Golden Sierras
Keep their watch o'er the valleys bloom,
It is there I would be in our land by the sea,
Every breeze bearing rich perfume.
It is here nature gives of her rarest. It is Home Sweet Home to me,
And I know when I die I shall breathe my last sigh
For my sunny California.

I love your red-wood forests - love your fields of yellow grain.
I love your summer breezes and I love your winter rain.
I love you, land of flowers; land of honey, fruit and wine.
I love you, California; you have won this heart of mine.
I love your old gray Missions - love your vineyards stretching far.
I love you, California, with your Golden Gate ajar.
I love your purple sun-sets, love your skies of azure blue.
I love you, California; I just can't help loving you.

I love you, Catalina, you are very dear to me.
I love you, Tamalpais, and I love Yosemite.
I love you, Land of Sunshine, Half your beauties are untold.
I loved you in my childhood, and I'll love you when I'm old.

In addition to scratching an itch, and celebrating a love more permanent than his marriage, Silverwood’s new song also had “a real purpose back of it,” he said. “I was troubled by the sectional strife growing up between northern and southern California and felt that our people must get together some way” and that appealing to “state-love and state pride” might be “the best cement for the broken relations.”

A. F. Frankenstein (not Fronkensteen) in 1908.

Soon after arriving home, Silverwood presented his lyrics to Abraham Franklin Frankenstein, conductor of both the Orpheum Theatre Orchestra and the Al Malaikah Shrine Band. Frankenstein liked what he saw and wrote music to go with the lyrics. The song was copyrighted in 1913.

Silverwood would never make a dime on “I Love You, California.” He and A. F. Frankenstein gave all royalties to the Shriners, initially to finance the Al Malaika (Los Angeles) Shrine delegation’s trip to the 1913 meeting of the Imperial Council in Dallas. Of course, with the song’s unexpected popularity, the Shriners had plenty of royalties to put toward their charity causes as well.

Silverwood later signed over future proceeds to the Shrine charities in his will. Frankenstein’s descendants gave their share of the proceeds to the Crippled Children’s Hospital in San Francisco, and signed over any remaining rights they had to the song to the State of California in 1971.

Mary Garden, looking dyspeptic on the sheet music cover.

In early March 1913, famed soprano Mary Garden was in Los Angeles to perform the lead in the Chicago Grand Opera Company’s production of Nantoma– an opera set in Santa Barbara during the “Days of the Dons.” While in town, she agreed to be the first to perform “I Love You, California” publically, at a Shriner convocation.  The Shriners responded at the end of the song by cheering, jumping up on chairs and waving their fezes. They "rushed to Mary," wrote the Los Angeles Times, "each with a blood-red rose. They wound ribbons around her glistening neck. A basket held in her hands was filled to overflowing with the roses and she was well-nigh choked by the ribbons, but she smiled through it all and waved her ostrich plume fan, and marched around the room at the head of the procession."

Then the Shriners put Garden up on a chair, and marched around her, serenading her, throwing rose petals, and occasionally pausing momentarily for someone to further acclaim the wonders of their guest of honor.

Over the next few days, Garden would sing the song at least twice more: Once at a fireman’s benefit show and then, on March 14, at the end of a performance of Nantoma. The opera, by many accounts, stank. By comparison, Garden’s coda was a breath of fresh air. The audience gave a standing ovation for “I Love You, California,” and called for and received an encore. A group of Shriners in the audience jumped in on the chorus. These performances set the song on the road to widespread national popularity and robust sheet music sales.

Mary Garden as Natoma. Photo courtesy Library of Congress.

Next time: Orange County reacts

Silverwood with fishing buddy, author Harold MacGrath, 1914

[Continued from Part 4]

In 1913, California was threatened with yet another state song: "My California," by George Edgar Shinn of Petaluma. Attempts to make it official tanked in the legislature, like its predecessors.

But the popularity of Silverwood’s “I Love You, California” was still growing. In 1915 it served as the official song of both the Panama-Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco and the Panama-California Exposition in San Diego -- events that had far-reaching effects on California. Still, Senator William Scott's 1915 bill to make it the official state song narrowly failed, his fellow legislators deeming the song too "ephemeral" to be dignified with legal recognition. He was just a little ahead of his time.

The song also briefly became a battle cry for reformers seeking improved and better maintained safety signals at railroad crossings. In May 1916, three young girls were blithely singing “I Love You, California,” in the back of their father’s car, headed down Highway 101 through Irvine on their way to see the ruins of Mission San Juan Capistrano. Warning signals failed to operate and the back of the car was hit by a speeding train, killing the children. Horrified members of the public told their state legislators that the “greatest state of all” should provide greater safety measures at rail crossings.
Although "I Love You, California" was again voted down as our state song by the legislature in 1917, it was becoming part of the warp and woof of California. So popular was the tune that it became a template for parodies and satire. In 1920, one Santa Ana resident with the initials H.G.H., modified the lyrics to compliment his letter to the Santa Ana Register's editor, detailing how inflation and the high cost of living had made it too expensive even to buy a sack of lowly potatoes.

I LOVE YOU, O POTATO!

How I love you, you potato!
You're the grandest of them all:
I love you in the winter, summer,
Springtime and the fall;
I love you raised in valley.
And from the mountains I adore;
But H-C [high cost] of living--
I can't buy you any more.

(Chorus)
Where the snow-crowned Sierras
Keep their watch o'er your bloom,
I'd plant you there
In our land fair,
In every bit of room;
And if Nature would give her rarest
It would be Jake to me;
So when I come to die,
I will breathe with a sigh
For you, Sunny California's Spud!

I have loved the sweet potato,
And I love the Irish, too;
I love them fried in butter,
And baked, and in the stew;
I have loved them in the garden.
I have loved them on the vine.
But the Japs have got our nanny now--
The Mrs.'s Goat and mine.

How I love you, you potato!
You are very dear to me,
I love to see you growing
From Stockton to the sea;
I have seen you sacked and rotting,
I have seen you all mildew,
But we have upon the table, now,
A photograph of you.

How I love the dear old Burbanks,
In patches stretching far;
How I loved the Early Roses--
Until they sold at par;
I love you, yes, forever.
But yet it makes me blue;
Your fine when in cold storage,
But you're finer in the stew.

Okay, so the chorus is a clinker. But the author had an intuitive grasp of Yankovic's Third Law: If you take a popular song and change the words to be about food, you've got yourself a hit parody!

[Ed -- I promise, no more wince-inducing lyrics in this series from here on -- Unless you count a short poem, quoted in Part 9, which really isn't half bad.]

Next time: The Newsboy’s Friend