Dateline>City of Angels

Do the dead need to tone for the afterlife? Apparently so, if you can believe the security cams at the Anytime Fitness center in Overland Park, Kan. Sometime, somehow, in the late hours when the building was otherwise vacant, someone or something tripped the motion-sensitive cameras into action. When staff later inspected the surveillance footage it revealed a spooky white “orb” making the machine circuit…

And in Other News…

… Cityhood for East L.A.? That’s the question posed by today’s New York Times. Known as an “epicenter of Latino culture,” East L.A. is not actually part of the City of Angels at all, but rather a 7.4-square-mile swath of unincorporated county land. According to the NYT piece, a growing number of residents want to change that…

… Griffith Park’s Monumental Battle: Meanwhile, in incorporated Los Angeles, the future of Griffith Park as a historical-cultural monument is still tenuous at City Hall, despite the recent thumbs up from the Cultural Heritage Commission. L.A. Weekly’s David Ferrell explains why the proposal may yet face an uphill fight…

… Just in Time for Halloween: The Corpus Christi College in Cambridge has unveiled what has to be the world’s ugliest clock. Not only does the so-called Chronophage tick and tock erratically, it’s meant to remind gazers that their moments on this mortal earth are quickly being devoured.

While organizing my old digital files I stumbled across this detail shot of a dusk-lit Victorian porch on Carroll Ave. It was snapped about two years ago with my then-new Nikon D70s, just after I took up amateur photography.

Each fall I like to return to Carroll Ave. and take in its haunting Victorian homes. Part of the Angelino Heights historic overlay zone, the street dates to the 1880s and  boasts the highest concentration of Victorian residences in the city — not to mention great downtown views.

Designed by the architect Joseph Cather Newsom, the ornate, 12-room house depicted here was built in 1889 for dairyman Charles Sessions.

As promised last week, Dateline>City of Angels is introducing several special treats for the Halloween season. The first is “Cryptic Sights,” a series of visits to noteworthy tombs and markers throughout the Southland.

Ranging from the famous to the obsure to the just plain bizarre, you’ll find the first one, below, dealing with the rather strange 1897 funeral of a wealthy Angeleno heiress. Enjoy! More to follow soon…

They say you can’t take it with you.

Maybe not, but it sure can buy you one helluva sendoff.

Just ask Louise Maier, only daughter of the wealthy Joseph Maier, the Bavarian owner of L.A.’s Philadelphia Brewery in the late 1800s. When Lulu (as she was known about town) died in 1897 at the blossom age of 18, her final exit created quite a stir.

“For the first time at a funeral in this city, the corpse was not encased in a regular casket,” reported her March 28, 1897, Los Angeles Times obit. Rather, her funeral directors introduced a stylish catafalque “in the shape of a burial couch.”

Elaborate new death rituals were all the rage in Victorian Los Angeles, and Lulu’s didn’t disappoint. The Times went on to note that, after lying in state in her posh apartment “clad in a rich robe instead of the conventional shroud,” the “dead maiden” was conveyed to the cemetery “calmly sleeping” upon her comfy pink sofa, accompanied by a huge cortege of 120 carriages.

Upon reaching this family mausoleum at Angelus-Rosedale Cemetery, “a funeral chant was sung, a cover was placed over the couch and it was placed in the bier and conveyed to the grave.”

Tempting as it was to peer into the tomb the day I snapped this photo, I have to admit I was too afraid to look.

Just south of L.A.’s Elysian Park, along an unpretentious turn of Stadium Way, you’ll find a little street named for a once very big man about town.

Don’t blink, though, or you might miss it. After all, Coronel Street is a poorly paved, “substandard” dead end, merely 11 houses long. Not the sort of honor you’d expect for its legendary namesake.

A Man for All Seasons

Lawyer, politician and all-around man of letters, Antonio F. Coronel was born in Mexico City, Oct. 21, 1817. At age 17 his family migrated to California along with other Mexican colonists.

In 1838 he was made Assistant Secretary of Tribunals of the City of Los Angeles, as well as a Judge of the First Instance (Justice of the Peace). In 1844, Mexican Gov. Manuel Micheltorena appointed him Captain and Inspector of the southern missions. When Yankee forces marched on California during the Mexican-American War, he served as a captain of artillery against the invaders.

Once the U.S. took California, however, Coronel became a leading citizen in the New Order. Consider his resume:

• L.A. City and County Assessor, 1850-56.
• L.A. Superintendent of Schools, 1850-55.
• L.A. City Mayor, 1853-54.
• L.A. City Councilman, 1854-55.
• L.A. City Council President, 1857-59, 1861-65, 1866-67.
• L.A. County Supervisor, 1860.
• California State Treasurer, 1866-70.
• California State Assemblyman, 1870-71.

And Cultured as Well…

On the cultural front, Coronel was a member of the State Horticultural Society, president of the Spanish Benevolent Society, and a founding member of the Historical Society of Southern California. He briefly worked the California Gold Rush, and was a friend of Ramona author Helen Hunt Jackson, a fellow advocate of Indian rights.

In 1873, he married the significantly younger Mariana Williamson and together they romanced Los Angeles’ elite with social events featuring Early California music, food and costume.

In addition to politics and society, Coronel was also a master of the changing economic climate.

Although he lost his own family’s land claims north of Rancho Verdugo, he wielded much influence in the land disputes that flooded American courts after California joined the Union. Keen to the Yankee notion of land as a commodity, he brokered numerous real estate deals for rancheros eager to cash out in the face of the 1860s cattle industry collapse.

For his part, Coronel kept a modest adobe near the intersection of Alameda and 7th. He also owned an adobe block at one end of Calle de los Negros near the town plaza, which became a flashpoint for the Chinese Massacre of 1871.

Maligned in Folklore?

Of course, as executor of the estate of Don Antonio Feliz, he was also the powerful de facto ruler of Rancho Los Feliz (now Griffith Park) for several years. The suspicious nature of the 1863 will that Coronel drafted for Feliz, along with his questionable activities as the land’s trustee during probate, helped inspire the Legend of the Feliz Curse — a tale that many historians insist unfairly maligns Coronel’s reputation.

In fact, local historian Abraham Hoffman has called Coronel one of the region’s most fascinating movers and shakers, writing:

“There is hardly a book on California or Los Angeles dealing with the Hispanic period that fails to include photographs or pictures of Don Antonio and members of his family… Antonio Coronel represents a transitional figure in Los Angeles, someone who was able to thrive even as he moved from one life style to a dramatically different one… someone whose life spanned most of the 19th Century but [is] known to us only in bits and pieces.”

Coronel died midnight, April 17, 1894, and was buried from the Plaza Church at Old Calvary Cemetery. After briefly highlighting his bigger accomplishments, his Los Angeles Times obituary concluded:

“For many years, Mr. Coronel, as a politician, was most influential, but of late years he has lived out of the political arena and given himself to his books, curios, and friends. His death will be deeply regretted by a wide circle of friends who have held him for many years in such high esteem.”

An understated tribute? No question…

But no more so than the obscure little street named for him.

Talk about dumb! Not much more to say about this party crowd, except that sadly we’ll probably be reading about them in the post-hurricane missing-person reports.

Who doesn’t enjoy those first telltale signs of autumn returning to Southern California? Shorter days… Cool and breezy evenings… The  appearance of neighborhood Halloween superstores like this one in Silver Lake.

Yes, it seems the Witching Season is upon us again, earlier than ever.

Remember when Halloween was a minor holiday, with its merchandising confined to the seasonal aisle of the average drug or toy store? Those days are long gone. Trick-or-Treat marketing has become a full-blown niche industry in America, generating an estimated $6 billion annually from a calendar of shopping days second only to Christmas.

Thankfully, however, there are plenty of non-commercial chills and thrills to be found throughout our region.

To help Angelenos explore it all, local blogger David Markland has announced the re-materialization of CreepyLA. Similar to last year, Markland says the site’s posts will “relate to the supernatural, horror films, costumes, Day of the Dead, pumpkins, Halloween stuff, and just about anything that makes the hair stick up on the back of your neck.”

Meanwhile, here at Dateline>City of Angels, your humble citizen journalist also plans stepped-up ghost posts and assorted goodies to help celebrate what is admittedly one of his favorite holidays. Stay tuned.

Here’s a relatively easy one, straight out of the LAPL digital archives. Part of the California Historical Society  collection, the above image is the earliest known photo of a famous Southland landmark. So can you identify it? Click “Read More” for the answer (as if you don’t already know it). Read more

You never know what — or who — you’ll run into at the local rummage shop. While out practicing night shots along La Brea, I also stumbled across Homer, Marge and Bart jailed among the shabby chic of this floodlit corner vintage yard.

Hopefully someone will spring them soon and give them a good home. Of course, the big question is the whereabouts of Maggie and Lisa. I can’t stand seeing any family split up, even the cartoon variety.

“Uhh ohh, who got skunked?” asked the clerk behind the CVS counter. She seemed incredibly astute and chipper for someone working the graveyard shift.

“Does it really smell that bad?” I responded, sniffing the front of my shirt.

“No, it’s what you’re buying,” she explained. “All of that peroxide, baking soda and eye wash. You’re like the third person this weekend — always late at night, too. It’s like an epidemic.”

Yep. Skunk season has returned to the 90026, and knowing I wasn’t alone somehow made the 2 a.m. rush to the drug store a little less aggravating.

I’d gotten in late and, as usual, let the Dobies out to do their bedtime routine. But instead of trotting sleepily into the backyard like they normally do, they rushed past me and ran headlong down the hillside. Clearly they were after something.

It didn’t take long to find out what. Within moments, the tell-tale air of skunk permeated the canyon.

Ramses came bounding up from the thicket with a wildly panicked look. He’d managed to avoid the line of fire.

Isis wasn’t so lucky. I could see her in the clearing below, running in circles, sneezing, hacking and frothing at the mouth. When I got to her, one eye was swollen shut.

And of course she reeked.

So off to the drug store I went. For the record, a quart of hydrogen peroxide, a half cup of baking soda and a squirt of Dawn liquid really does work wonders. But it takes several applications (being careful to stay clear of the eyes, nose and mouth) and makes for a very long night.

I didn’t finally get to bed until 5 a.m., Isis didn’t fully recover until well into the next afternoon, and two days and three laundry loads later, there are still hints of skunk whiffing about the house.

You’d think that would teach two old dogs something new, but instead each night they just pace around the back door, hoping I’ll let them out for a second shot at “the one that got away.”

Stupid, stupid dogs.

What better way to enjoy the waning summer than a late-night outing to Pink’s?

Probably the most popular hot dog spot in all Southern California, Pink’s has plied its trade near the La Brea and Melrose intersection since 1939, drawing huge crowds for its world-famous chili dogs well into the wee hours.

Of course, waiting in lines that sometimes stretch halfway down the block is all part of the adventure, with occasional celebrity sightings always helping to pass the time.