Vern’s Stories: Santa Monica - The Growing Up Years - Part I
The city of Santa Monica is located on the Pacific Ocean on what is known as Santa Monica Bay. This bay is the shape of the new moon. It is a large circular bay, many miles long from Pt. Dume in the west to Palos Verdes point in the south. Along the middle part of this bay are the cities of Santa Monica, Ocean Park, Venice and Playa Del Rey. These cities were known as the Bay Cities. Many businesses were named in this way: Bay Cities Transit, Bay Cities Laundry, etc.
The numbered streets in Santa Monica run parallel to the beach from First Street to Thirty-Fourth Street at the boundary of Sawtelle (now West Los Angeles). Santa Monica proper, is mostly flat from the Palisades at the ocean to the city limits of Sawtelle. Ocean Park is much more hilly, arising quite steeply from the ocean with several rolling hills and valleys culminating in a long high plateau which terminated at the far end of Clover Field, where the ground again dropped off to a lower level.
In this high southeast corner of Santa Monica, Mama and Daddy decided to buy land and raise their family. They bought two lots in a small tract, probably about forty acres in all, called the Cazad Tract. This was a low-profile operation with a little box-type real estate office on Ocean Park Boulevard . Next door was a much larger, high profile tract that had sidewalks and paved streets. They had a large dining hall and they brought people in from Hollywood and the Los Angeles area in big buses and fed them a big meal. Then when everyone was feeling real good, the salesmen took them out on the property and showed them the lots. The lots must have looked really good, with a good steak dinner under their belts, because that tract built up very fast.
Alas, our little tract had no streets. It had been surveyed and the lots were all staked out, but you had to use your imagination to see where the streets would be. (Joe Grady is going to love this.) The road into the property was a little dirt road that wasn't even where the permanent road would be. For several years we had the only house in this tract. You say, "What was the incentive to buy in this tract?" I don't think it was the pioneer spirit that flowed in the Harris bloodline. I think it was more likely the money. As I remember, the lots were around six hundred dollars, just half what they were in the big tract. Twelve hundred dollars was a lot of money in those days.
As we mentioned in our last story, after buying the lot, Daddy found a house for sale in Ocean Park that had to be moved. After moving it onto the property, while still jacked up on the timbers, a foundation was poured. After the cement cured, the house was let down on the new foundation and we were ready to move in.
This house was a little unusual in that it was long and skinny. This was because the lots in Ocean Park near the beach were only twenty-five feet wide and the houses had to be built to fit the narrow lots. It had a front porch with a roof and a banister around, with front steps, and a front room the full width ofthe house, about 15 feet. A middle room was also the full width of the house, with an outside door and a covered side porch. Next there was a kitchen on the right and a bedroom on the left opposite the kitchen and a back porch with a bathroom on one side and a pantry on the other side. As near as I can guess, it was about 15 feet wide by 40 some feet long. We used all the rooms but the kitchen and the back porch for bedrooms.
After moving into our new home, we kids could hardly wait to case out our new environs. And case out we did in all directions from our domicile. Back of our house to the east where the hill ran down steeply to the flat plains of Venice, there were some very deep gullies. There we would later build a little club house with a fireplace dug into the side of the bank where we would roast hot dogs and marshmallows. To the west of us was a row of great Eucalyptus trees, probably a hundred feet tall and planted close enough together that we could play Tarzan, climbing up in the tops and going from one tree to another, down the line.
Northwest of our home was a grove of second-growth eucalyptus trees. These little trees were about two inches in diameter at the base and were about 20 feet tall, tapering down to three-fourths of an inch or so at the top. We kids discovered that by shinnying up the little trees to near the top, we could grasp the main trunk in both hands, throw our bodies straight out from the tree and our weight would cause the tree to start bending near the top. As our bodies swung farther out from the center, the increased leverage kept the young green supple tree bending farther and farther down the trunk. As we swung farther and farther out from the center of the tree, the leverage kept increasing to bend the larger lower part of the trunk. The end results were that we came floating down very gently until our feet touched the ground. It was a lot of fun and we played like we were coming down in a parachute. There is a very scientific study here in the principle of leverage, but we were all too young to know about scientific principles. We just knew it worked and we were having fun playing parachute-jumping. In fact we had so much fun that in time we had about a third of the trees in this large grove bent over. Well, I'm not really sure how many. I was just talking to Genevieve on the phone and she says she remembers when we did that. She was too small then to climb a tree but she says after we bent one over, she would grab hold of it and it had enough spring in it that she could bounce up and down off of the ground.
Another place we discovered was farther south on the side hill above the city water wells. There was a large pipeline from the wells, which ran to a large reservoir on high ground between Ocean Park Boulevard and Pico Boulevard. The pipeline was old and was leaking small amounts of water on the side hill which trickled down the hill. Did you ever see any kids who didn't like water to play in? We had more fun diverting the water around the side of the hill. We had our own little river and were like little engineers grading it around the side of the hill at the right angle so the water didn't flow too fast, but filled the channel nice and full. We had roads along the river, bridges over the river, lakes and imaginary towns and farms. What fun for little kids!
We made another discovery. Down at the bottom of the hill, southeast of our home was a low place where the run-off in the rainy season collected, making a shallow lake covering five or six acres. To our delight it was filled with frogs and pollywogs. We found some lumber, put it together and made a raft. Polling around the lake, we filled tin cans with lots of pollywogs to take home, (much to our parents' delight; well, I'm not sure about that). I can't remember we kids spending too much time, wondering what to do. We had active minds and responsive bodies and we usually went home at night, hungry and tired and after a good supper, went to bed and enjoyed the sleep of the blessed.
Mama and Daddy pretty much let us have the run of the land. They seemed to trust us and believed we would do the right thing in any situation. This made us feel we had a trust to fulfill. They were not always asking us: "Where have you been?" or “What have you been doing?" as though they thought we were doing something wrong. They just didn't do that. Their faith in us, l’m sure, kept all of us out of much trouble. Smart parents, don't you think?
Soon after we moved into our new home, Daddy bought a black milk cow which gave us lots of rich wholesome milk and cream. South of where we lived was a large tract of undeveloped land, probably 160 acres or more, all grown up to grass. Daddy put a halter and a long chain on the cow. The chain, as I remember it, was about fifty feet long. We would take the cow in the mornings out into this grassy meadow with a stake and a hammer. We would drive the stake in the ground and fasten the chain to the stake and "Old Bossy" was free to roam and munch on the nice green grass for a radius of 50 feet on all sides of the stake. When we came to get her in the evening, to bring her in so Mama could milk her, she had eaten all the grass down and left a nice round circle one hundred feet in diameter. After a while there were many nice symmetrical circles all over the field. I think this was the original mysterious circles when viewed from the air that were thought to have been made by beings from another world.
However, the mystery to us kids' little minds was: how a black cow could eat green grass and give white milk and yellow butter. After Mama milked the cow, she would pour the milk into dishpan-sized pans in the pantry. Next morning after the milk had cooled and the cream had risen to the top, she would put some of the cream in her dasher churn and after being worked for awhile-presto! Butter! We kids liked the butter and Daddy loved the real churned buttermilk. We young-uns had all the milk we could drink and there was always some left over which was set aside to sour and clabber. Mama would heat the clabber, then strain the water out through a cloth flour sack and we had cottage cheese. I remember different times coming home from school, hungry as kids always are. I would go into the pantry with a bowl and a spoon. I would fill the bowl with cottage cheese. I would scoop up a generous amount of the thick cream on top of the milk and stir it into the cottage cheese. With a dash of salt and pepper, it was a dish fit for a king. Oh, was it ever good!
Along about this time, a band of gypsies blew into town. They set up their tent camp down at the bottom of the hill, near the city waterworks. In those days gypsies had a terrible reputation. They were cunning, deceitful and used all kinds of trickery to separate people from their money. They were also known to kidnap young children and raise them to practice their sordid life style.
On this day, Glenn, Ralph and little Genevieve were hiking along the hillside when they saw this gypsy man coming toward them. They quickened their pace away from him and he quickened his. By now they were scared and started going faster and he also picked up the pace. Now the three broke out into a run. But alas, Genevieve's little legs can't keep up and she is falling way behind the boys and the gypsy is closing in. Remember the little Fox Terrier puppy I mentioned being thrown into our tent in an earlier story? She is still with us. She has grown up with us. The thing is, being a dog, she is fully matured. She is an adult but we are still kids. Her maternal instincts tell her these kids need watching. They might get in dangerous situations so she follows us wherever we go, watching out for us. This little dog has a heart of gold; she is the bravest of the brave and I am sure she would give her life to protect her little charges because she loves us with all her little heart.
One time when we kids were walking down a street, a big ugly English Bulldog came rushing out at us. Little Tippy, who probably didn't weigh over twenty pounds soaking wet, didn't hesitate to take on this massive hunk of dog flesh, which out-weighed her three to one. I'm sure if she had been alone she could have easily out run this short-legged package of iron-jawed muscle, but when her little charges were in danger, she didn't hesitate. She was ready to give her last full measure of devotion. Fortunately the owner heard the commotion and came running out and we were able to pull them apart before Tippy was devoured.
Now another crises had developed. As Tippy looked back and saw this gypsy about to catch up and grab Genevieve, she never hesitated for a second. Growling and snarling, she charged down that hill with the ferocity of a Bengal tiger. Before the gypsy could touch Genevieve, Tippy was on him ripping and slashing with her sharp teeth at the gypsy's legs. Now the tables have turned and all this old gypsy can think about is getting away from this little ball of dynamite. He suddenly remembers he had business elsewhere and plunges down the hill. As the kids head for home and the old gypsy stumbles off down the hill, Tippy is trotting along behind the kids with her head held high. By the expression on her little face you can almost guess what she is thinking: "These kids sure get into a heap of trouble. I don't know what would happen to them if l wasn't here to look after them."
I don't know if we will have these pets in heaven. Some good Christians I know, say "No." Some other good Christians I know, say "Yes, they will be there." I don't know, but if it is in God's providence to be, I would like to take dear little, lovable Tippy in my lap and as she jumps up and down for joy and licks my face, I would like to hold her brave little body close to mine to let her know how much I love her!
In 1924 one of the world's premier events would have to be the Douglas World Cruisers circling the world from east to west, flying all the way around the world some 25,000 to 39,000 miles and returning to Clover Field on September 3, 1924. This was a big day for Santa Monica. It really put it on the map. People swarmed into Santa Monica from all over California and from many far away places to see the valiant aviators who had braved the freezing cold ofthe arctic, the sweltering heat of India, and navigated great expanses of oceans, deserts and jungles to come back to Clover Field in Santa Monica. (Remember, these were open-cockpit planes.) They had left Clover Field on this epoch flight on March 17, 1924. As they returned, it was a great day for the U. S. Army Air Service. It was also a great day for Donald Douglas and the Douglas Aircraft Company.
Donald Douglas was a young aeronautical engineer who had worked for Glen L. Martin Airplane Company. He decided to design and build airplanes on his own. He bought an old abandon movie studio on Wilshire Boulevard in Santa Monica, where he landed a small government contract to build three torpedo planes for the navy. These torpedo planes proved to be very good. When the Army Air Service was planning the "round the world flight," they decided the Douglas plane with a few modifications would be the best plane for the job. Donald Douglas got the contract and built five World Cruisers. They were built on Wilshire Boulevard and towed to Clover Field for flight testing. Their success gave the Douglas Aircraft Company a reputation as a builder of high quality aircraft. Their logo became a world with planes flying around it with the slogan, "First Around The World."
While these planes were flying around the world we were moving to our new home at 1902AshlandAvenue. When the planes came back to land at Clover Field, we were there. A mighty roar went up from the crowd, horns honking, whistles blowing and people clapping as the planes touched down.
You might say this was kind of an introduction for us kids to Clover Field. We soon learned to love the place. In our childish inquisitiveness we soon learned a little about why airplanes could fly, how the wings gave lift, the control surfaces that made the plane respond to the pilot's every wish, the ailerons on the wings, the rudder and elevators on the tail; all had a very definite purpose. Airplanes were so intriguing to us. Airplanes were such a free spirit. Once airborne they could wander around wherever they liked, over mountains, rivers, jungles or deserts. They didn't need road pavement or bridges.
Clover Field, in the mid-twenties was a wide-open airport. No fences, no guards, anyone could walk up or down the flight line looking over the varied aircraft parked there. Being only a few years after the first World War, the airport was loaded with surplus warplanes of all descriptions. The Curtiss JN4, affectionately known as the "Jenny" was by far the most numerous. It was not a fighter plane but was a trainer built in large numbers to train the pilots who later went to Europe as fighter and bomber pilots. After the war, they could be bought for as little as three hundred dollars. The Jennys were powered by Curtiss 0X5 engines. It was a V-8 that produced ninety horsepower.
Not so numerous, maybe, two or sometimes only one of a kind were the single cockpit surplus fighter aircraft. There were on Clover Field, Sopwith Camels (English), Spads XIII (French), Fokkers DVII (German), De Havilands (English), Fokker tri-planes DRI (German), Nieuports 28C (French). The latter, the Nieuport, was the fighter the American 94th Aero Squadron (Hat in the ring) flew. It was made famous by Eddie Rickenbacher.
The Jennys were the workhorses of the early days at Clover Field. They carried passengers and took aerial photographs. They were used for making movies and for moving picture camera platforms, rushing parts to various locations and all kinds of stunt work. The single-seat fighters were to start with, mostly fun machines that the individual owners bought for a song. On weekends if they had the gas and time, they would take off, put the little jewels through their paces and have fun.
One day the owner of a little rotary engine Nieuport or Sopwith Camel, I'm not sure which it was as they looked alike, took off from the airport. This gentleman had his own idea of how to have fun with his little fighter. He had several rolls of toilet paper in the cockpit. When he got up to say, five to six thousand feet, he would lean over the side with a roll of toilet paper, holding on to the end of it and letting it unroll down across the sky. When it was all unrolled it was a long white streamer floating down toward the ground. He would then circle it and see how many times he could dive through it, cutting it to pieces before it hit the ground. When he had chopped it up as much as he could, it floated on down to the ground as one big glob of paper. This was one in a million chance happening that I am going to relate here. A young man in a shiny red roadster with the top down, parked at the airport on that weekend with his girl friend sitting by his side. Supposedly they were watching the airplanes and other activities, but probably they were more interested in each other than anything else. All at once this avalanche of paper made a direct hit on the little roadster. We kids happened to be walking by as this happened. The young man clawed his way out ofthe car and looking kind ofembarrassed, was pulling the toilet paper off of his girl friend and muttering something as he unwound it from the radiator, windshield and back bumper. He seemed to be puzzled about how so much toilet paper could fall out of the sky and angry that his romantic interlude had been smothered in toilet paper.
As time went by, we seemed to see less and less of the little fighters flying on weekends. I think eventually most ofthem were bought up by the motion picture companies for use in war pictures. Howard Hughes alone, for the picture he was making about World War I, bought up over fifty World War I type planes from around the country's airports.
Well, as much as we were enamored by Clover Field, we still had time for a few other activities such as the "buggy episode.” Daddy really let me have it verbally for putting so many little lives in jeopardy and Ralph getting his arm broken. I guess Daddy thought because I was now ten years old, I would be mature enough to have better judgment. Well, I don't think I have completely matured to this day. I still have some of the little boy in me. Here's what happened.
A man was cleaning out a shed on his property down near the water works and this old buggy was in there and he gave it to us kids. It was a spring chassis with large wooden-spoked wheels with steel band tires around the outside of the wheels. The front axle pivoted on a steel pin in the middle. There were two shafts attached to this axle as it was a one-horse buggy. Not having a horse, we kids would have several pull it by the shafts while others would ride. After a few days of this, we decided that "there are lots of hills around so let's try something different."
Our young mechanics unbolted the shafts. We found a rope long enough when tied around the axle near the front wheels, it would reach up to the seat. Now we could set in the seat and steer by pulling on the rope, one way or the other. We were now ready for some hill coasting. Just past Ashland Avenue, 21st Street to the southeast went downhill quite steeply to the bottom of the hill, about three long blocks. At the bottom of the hill, where 21st Street ended was a dirt road crossing 21st Street past the end of it. It was very rough ground, ending in a big sloping ditch. Two blocks up from the bottom of the hill was Marine Street. Marine Street coming from the southwest, sloped down toward 21st Street, then crossed it and went up the hill again. This made a very nice place to test our redesigned buggy. We had lots of kid power, with us and the neighborhood kids, so we would push the buggy backwards up Marine Street to the top of the hill. We would all climb on. I was at the controls (the rope that is) and we coasted down the hill across 21st Street and partly up the other hill. We would jump off, push and pull it to the top of that hill, turn it around and coast down across 21st and up the other hill. After a few times like this, we decided our modified buggy passed all tests. The next time we came down the hill to 21st Street, I turned the buggy onto 21st Street and headed down the hill. The flight plan was to turn on to the dirt road at the bottom of the hill and coast to a gradual stop. As the buggy began to pick up speed faster than anticipated, I began to wonder. However, this was like modem-day space launches, once off the pad, there was no stopping it. There was no brakes, no gears to down-shift, only the guidance system in my hands. As the wheels began spinning faster and faster, it appeared to be an out-of-control runaway and the kids start bailing out of the back. There were kids scattered along the street behind the downhill racing buggy, none with maybe more than a skinned elbow or two. Me, well, doesn't the captain always stay with his ship? Besides, little Ralph is in the back of the buggy as he has decided to ride it out, probably having too much faith in big brother, thinking he knows what he is doing.
When we came to the end of the pavement and into the rough, that old buggy began to sunfish and buck like a wild bronc in a rodeo. One wheel was off the ground and then another, sometimes maybe all at one time. I was holding a tight rein while pushing hard against the headboard with my feet, trying to keep this wild beast under control. It went through all the bad lands, through the ditch and part way up the bank on the farther side, before finally coming to rest.
Poor little Ralph didn't fare so well in the back. He was bounced around and ended up with his arm in the back wheel, breaking his arm. When we got Ralph home, Daddy was really upset with us, especially me as I was the oldest. He set Ralph's arm, himself, and as far as I know Ralph never did ever have any trouble with that arm later.
It is now the summer of 1925 and Daddy is busy taking out the trees on Wilshire Boulevard. Daddy is an amazing man at this point in his life. He doesn't seem to be afraid to take on any job and this Wilshire tree job is a huge one. It doesn't seem to bother him a bit, whether he can pull it off or not.
Well, there is so much more to write about Santa Monica. I won't be able to get it all in this time, so that will be another story about Santa Monica and a lot about Clover Field, so stay tuned.
Love,
Vernon M. Harris
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