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| An aerial photograph from 1924 shows the Baldwin Hills, with Los Angeles in the distance. The Culver City Speedway is in the foreground. LAPL |
This article is reprinted from a 1975 Village Green newsletter, and was written by Helen Spears (who told her fascinating story of the Baldwin Hills Dam disaster here).
Helen P. Spears married Weldon T. "Doc" Spears in Los Angeles in 1936. "Doc" was a teacher of Social Science at John C. Fremont High School.
They moved into a two bedroom townhouse (called a "studio" then) at 5482 Village Green in the summer of 1942, next door to lead architect Reginald D. Johnson. Helen and Doc continued to live at 5482 for decades - Helen stayed on after her husband died in 1987; she died in 1996.
SINCE THE SUMMER OF '42
It was always a welcome sight, coming south on La Brea, to reach
The Sunset Golf Course stretched to the east, with almost no through streets between La Brea and Crenshaw. In fact, there was no Crenshaw Center , no Rancho Cienega playground, no Dorsey High School Fox Hills Plaza
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| A photograph taken in 1924, looking south towards the Baldwin Hills. The Heinz 57 concrete numbers are visible on the side of the Baldwin Hills. LAPL |
The immense old white concrete number “57” advertising the famous pickle-maker was visible from most of the West Adams district.
This day, however, there was a mist; an acrid smell assailed one’s nostrils. For days, the peat beds in the area had been burning underground. The fire department had worked diligently to douse the stubborn smoldering, to no avail. Now, according to the news, they would try a new approach – dynamite.
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| Workers dig trenches to combat the Baldwin Hills peat fire of 1927 |
To the west another great open space stretched toward the sea. A meadowlark burst into song, welcoming the morning with liquid notes.
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| Aerial photograph taken looking west towards Culver City and the Pacific Ocean, showing the oil wells atop the Baldwin Hills, circa 1939. "Dick" Whittington Photo Collection, USC. |
The two-lane winding road through the hills pulled one back to the business at hand, watching for slow vehicles ahead.
The years passed and then one day a great crew began to lay out a tremendous project near the hills. Apartment buildings took form, nestling c lose to the land and becoming part of it. Their colors were soft pastels and they continued to appear for several blocks west of Sycamore.
The year was 1941.
As the structures were completed, signs announced that Baldwin Hills Village
In the summer of 1942 (not the movie of a similar name), a young c ouple came to see what was happening – and went away starry-eyed with a brochure and a list of prices: one bedroom, upstairs, $47.50; two bedrooms, downstairs, $51.50; two bedroom studio with bath and a half, $57.50.
Pushed into action by the famous and mysterious Los Angeles
The new residents were delighted! There were tennis courts, a badminton court at the back door, telephones connected to a central switchboard (private telephones were already a war casualty), and maid service for less than a dollar an hour by arrangement with the management.
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| These 30 year old olive tree specimens, between courts 2 and 3, were given to Baldwin Hills Village as a gift from the estate of Anita Baldwin. Margaret Lowe photograph, LAPL |
In addition, they enjoyed the view, the beautiful new landscape with specimen trees being added regularly, the very modern Electrolux gas refrigerator functioning silently and inexpensively, the large closets, the bath and a half, the quiet park-like atmosphere and anticipation of new neighbors. There was only one other occupant in the six-unit building. He was Reginald J ohnson, principal architect, living temporarily in the end apartment during c onstruction of the remainder of the village.
To make matters even better there was natural air-conditioning, provided by the movement of sea air along the hills!
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| The circular wading pool outside the Clubhouse. From Reginald D. Johnson's 1944 Kodachrome film, courtesy David Lebrun and Night Fire Films |
A circular wading pool, now filled in and landscaped, enhanced the view toward the main green.
A small newspaper kept residents informed of “happenings”.
Nearby on the east one building housed a small Thriftimart, a delightful little restaurant serving good home cooked meals to hungry Villagers, and a barber and beauty shop.
The Village station wagon, later to be replaced by a small bus, traveled around the perimeter once each hour to take residents to West Adams , the nearest area for shopping, and it was free! It also connected with the La Brea bus, which did not travel this far south, and with the “J ” and “A” streetcars – long since extinct.
Every patio presently provided with a brick wall was then open, as were all garages. Later, both patio walls and garage doors could be installed on request by paying an increased rental.
The section for families with children was provided with several small playgrounds, and extended from Rodeo and Hauser on the north side to about midway in the Village.
One night watchman patrolled the grounds – on foot.
Each laundry housed a single washing machine, though no clothes dryer – they had not come into general use, but drying yards were conveniently close at hand. Garbage cans were in concrete holes in the patios, and pick-up was provided.
And then came November. The couple found that the move to Baldwin Hills Village
He was not to come home to the Village for four years.
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| Photo of Weldon "Doc" Spears from the 1946 John C. Fremont High School yearbook |
REMINISCENCES – The War Years
Across Coliseum the fields extending to the hills are plowed into great brown clods, soon to be worked and planted to beans as they are regularly. Dry farming by someone we never see continues.
We tend Victory gardens along the south side of Coliseum, stretching hoses across from VG faucets, and are rewarded by the vigorous growth of bean, tomato, radish, onion, carrot, corn, turnip, beet, squash and lettuce plants.
Street and exterior lights have been painted, black above and translucent below to make the city’s glow less evident to approaching planes.
Everything takes on an eerie look at night – and there is total blackness during air raid alerts when window shades and draperies must be tightly drawn. We waited an alert at Santa Fe Springs for two hours last weekend, as we made our way home from Palm Springs
Car pooling becomes essential, and five of us destined for Washington High (three from the Village and two from the area north of here) are allotted enough gas coupons for five round trips weekly. Personal needs are met from a small supplemental allowance for essential trips, to buy supplies, keep medical appointments, etc. To get a new tire the old one must be officially inspected, deemed irretrievable, and turned in. Obviously, we make no unnecessary trips.
Coffee, butter and sugar are now rationed, as well as meat. A lively exchange of ration stamps takes place among neighbors who have more than enough of one kind and too few of another. The debate is heated between producers of butter and margarine, as to whether the latter can be colored and packaged in four cubes to resemble butter, instead of the one pound white blocks we now buy, with the appearance of lard.
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| Three Feathers, it leaves you GASPING! |
We are in training for air raids, gas attacks, and other war emergencies. An actual submarine attack on oil wells and tanks along the Ventura
Many of us have taken a Red Cross first aid course, and have equipped ourselves with fire spray pumps inserted in buckets. We are instructed in putting out magnesium bomb fires with this apparatus, filled with water. We have made and stored soda-gauze masks to moisten and wear if poisonous gas comes, and have stored supplies of food, water and first aid materials. When sirens signal a black-out we fill the bath tub with water.
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| Dinner bells were provided in each garage court during World War II, and were to be used in case of emergencies. From Reginald D. Johnson's Kodachrome films, courtesy David Lebrun and Night Fire Films |
The anti-aircraft battery on the crest of the hill west of the Hauser Blvd.
The Village switchboard is loaded to capacity, and pay phone booths have been installed at strategic locations around the Village. No private phones are available for civilians. Rents in the Village are frozen, as they are throughout the country. Prices and wages are also under strict controls. More and more items, including black pepper, cinnamon and rubber goods, are becoming scarce or unavailable. Some Village apartments were finished without sealer coats under the paint, and plumbing pipes under sinks lack the chrome finish.
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| Only the very first residents of Baldwin Hills Village were able to get private telephone lines. Most residents were required to use a switchboard service, located in the Administration Building, until private telephones were once again available beginning in 1946. From Reginald D. Johnson's Kodachrome films, courtesy David Lebrun and Night Fire Films |
The first Liberty Ship, the Fremont, is launched at the Calship yard in Wilmington g c aught in the machinery.
The 3 bedroom apartment at the end of the next building has become a fascinating show. Usually we have a speaking acquaintance with our neighbors, but in this instance the numbers baffle us. In addition to the matronly lady who is there most of the time there are at least 12 others coming and going. Changing of the guard coincides with the change of shift – daytime, swing and graveyard – in the plants. The beds never get cold in this non-stop boarding house! We are not surprised. Throughout Los Angeles
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| Lunchtime brings a few minutes of rest for these women workers of the assembly line at Douglas Aircraft Company's plant, Long Beach, Calif. Sand bags for protection against air raid form the background. Alfred T. Palmer Kodachrome photo, 1942.Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division |
Our patio is open, bordered by a very pretty privet hedge covered with white blossoms. Today’s curved brick enclosures were added later. We have a covered-wagon type redwood lounge, for outdoor sitting and sunning. Waking one Sunday morning we are startled to find in occupied by a G.I. who could find no other place to sleep. We give him breakfast and send him on his way. At least our patio lounge was better than a bus or railway depot bench or a hotel lobby chair.
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| A "covered wagon" chair similar to the chair described by Helen Spears, in a redwood enclosed private patio at Baldwin Hills Village, 1944. Margaret Lowe Photograph, LAPL |
Life becomes more and more restricted. There is little travel, and boredom is sometimes inevitable. Tonight we must do something different. It is midnight , the green beautiful in the moonlight, dew beginning to settle on the grass. We doff shoes and hose and run barefoot, quiet as the night, mindless of the February chill. Finally, tired and cold, we come in and sit on the edge of the tub, dangling our feet in warm water and laughing at our appreciation of so simple a pleasure in these troubled times.
Wandering around the Village area is always rewarding. A hike to the top of the hill over rough terrain, without trails or roads, is tiring but stimulating. The view from the top is a rare treat – and we’ve used no gasoline. The Village spreads out below and we gain a new perspective in viewing the plan from this height. It is thrilling when the day is clear and snow on the nearby mountains is down to 2,000 feet, or in the evening to watch the full moon rise. On one walk we explored the area northwest of the Village, and were surprised to find a small clear stream bordered by willows. Later we learn it is Ballona Creek.
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| The view from the top of Baldwin Hills, 1944 From Reginald D. Johnson's Kodachrome films, courtesy David Lebrun and Night Fire Films |
Patio gardening is one of the pleasures of staying at home. Today, working with azaleas, we hear sirens and stop to watch the burning over of dry grass on the hill, an occurrence each summer. The county fire department comes to the rescue. No visible harm results, and it is exciting to watch the flames leap his with crackling sounds conveying the heat’s intensity. No structures are endangered, because there are none south of the Village.
Later we are dismayed to find that the burn left the tunnels of little burrowing owls entirely denuded and exposed on the gentle lower slopes of the hill. With field glasses we can see the forlorn little fellows standing near their holes as if to say, “Where are we? This doesn’t look like home!” Almost every chimney in the Village is the resting point for one of these perky bits of fluff, and if we succeed in imitating his “Who-o-o wh-o-o-o” he will answer. We hope there are no nestlings and that our little friends were away at the time of the fire.
Today a United Parcel deliveryman wanders about seeking an address, carrying a heavy package. We explain that the odd numbers on Village Green and the even numbers on Rodeo are across the Green; that only the even VG numbers and the odd Coliseum ones are on our side. He says, “To hell with it! I get paid by the piece and I’ve been looking for this place for an hour already!” Confused? So are we all until we learn! (Since then all numbers have been converted to VG addresses, with even numbers on the Coliseum side and odd on Rodeo – and still confusing!)
Often we stand and just look out at the green through the large front windows. It refreshes the spirit, calms the inner upheavals brought on by the impact of war news, rests the eyes and brings a fleeting c alm to jangled nerves. Today we are jolted by the sight of two horses, manes and tails flying, running full gallop down the length of the green – unbridled an unattended. Where have they come from and where are they going?
At last some of the men are coming home from the service. A group of teen-age friends are invited for dinner, despite rationing, and a Navy flier, former school friend, is going to demonstrate hypnosis. Wee see him amazingly control one of the fellows, influencing him to remove shoes and socks, go to the kitchen for a glass of water, empty out exactly half of it, drink the remainder, return to the living room and put on shoes and socks – then he comes out of his trance and tells us how good he feels. Our Navy friend tells us he learned this while being instructed in self-hypnosis so that in event of capture he would withhold vital information even though pressed to reveal it.
Time has passed, the war is ended, and the business of recovery is underway. Hiroshima and Nagasaki
