The Militant Uncovers Westlake's Ritzy Past, Part 1

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It's been a while since the Militant led you on an urban archaeological tour of Los Angeles' past. He got a big kick out of uncovering the old Sacatela Creek, which ran from Los Feliz to today's Koreatown back in 2008, so while biking back to the Militant Compound from an unspecified meeting in the Westlake area on Wednesday afternoon, he figured it might as well be an excuse to make a post (after all, he hadn't done one since New Year's...tsk...tsk...)

Westlake is Los Angeles' most densely-populated neighborhood, with a population concentration rivaling Manhattan-type levels. But long ago - a century ago - in fact, it shared a vastly different comparison to NYC: The Westlake District was Los Angeles' version of NYC's Upper West Side, or even Paris' Champs-Elysees. In the 1880s, after the former swamp-turned-city dump-turned reservoir was converted into Westlake Park and a quarter-century before Beverly Hills was even founded, the Westlake district was Los Angeles' bougie district. It's where the residents were, in the parlance of the time, puttin' on the ritz, if you will.

There were mansions, like the McKinley Mansion and the Grieri-Musser House, built within walking distance of the park (in the green-shaded area of the map above). In the northwest corner of the park was the Park Plaza Hotel - back then (before it became a glorfied movie set) an actual hotel catering to the L33t of the day and resort destination in the 1920s-1930s.

Before the Militant set out to his meeting, he surveyed the area on a map and noticed one street went against the diagonal Spanish street grid in a more absolute east-west alignment (see map above). The name of the street was "Ocean View Avenue." So the Militant had to bike it for himself.

Can you see the ocean from there? Well, hard to say. Okay, basically, no, he couldn't, but on this clear, warm winter day, he looked towards the south and can see the South Bay, the Palos Verdes Peninsula and part of Santa Catalina Island in the far-off distance. So maybe that's what they were getting at (The picture doesn't do it justice, but the Militant swears the northern tip of Catalina can be seen just to the left of the palm tree...for realz!).

With the mantra of real estate eternally being "Location, Location, Location," this neighborhood was most likely one such place, aside from being close to a major City park and L.A. Railway Yellow Car trolley lines. For you see, aside from Ocean View Ave., there were other "Views" in this particular part of Westlake: Park View Ave. (which affords you a view of - guess what - MacArthur Park (a.k.a. The Park Formerly Known As Westlake Park)), and Grand View Ave., which doesn't really give you a view of anything, save the Downtown skyline (which didn't exist back then) or St. Vincent's Medical Center (which, although it was in existence a century ago as the Los Angeles Infirmary on Sunset and Beaudry, wasn't even built on that location until 1971). But maybe it just gave you a grand ol' view.

Of course, having a view meant you were on some promontory of some sort. And believe it or not, the elevated area actually had a name: Nob Hill. Yes, Los Angeles had its very own Snob - er - Nob Hill. One last vestige still exists to this day: The Nob Hill Towers - an "art deco" (the apartment owners obviously don't know their architecture) style apartment building that no doubt has some overinflated rents (pictured, right).

As the Militant biked down Nob Hill on to Coronado Street and headed west on 6th, the clash of late 20th-century architecture greeted him instantly. But not before he happened to pass by an old-school neighborhood market - the Big "6" Market (referring to the street, obviously) which hadn't changed its 1930s-era signage from backinthaday.

Of course, Westlake doesn't just have MacArthur/Westlake park, but two more parks: LaFayette Park, just mere blocks away to the west and one park that many don't even recognize as a park.

Believe it or not, the half-mile median strip along Occidental Blvd from Beverly Boulevard to 6th Street is an actual park, known as the Occidental Parkway, which is recognized as part of the City's Dept. of Recreation and Parks system. The "park" consists of a dozen median islands, alternating with circular islands, which may or may not have contained something fancy like fountains or planters or whatnot (anyone have any historical pics of backinthaday?) [Update: See below].

Today, though, the islands are a popular dumping area for bulky items such as couches, cabinets, televisions, discarded boxes and mattresses.

Maybe the locals don't even know it's a park. Maybe the City isn't even aware, either (they got the council district wrong on the webpage, after all). Doesn't Rec and Parks maintain their facilities (even in the most barebones-during-this-current-budget-crisis way? If you dump a couch in the middle of Griffith Park (hypothetically speaking, don't do this, okay?), it's probably gonna be picked up, right? So why not this park? Things that make you go hmmm...

Coming up in Part 2 (sometime in the near future) - We'll take a look at some mansions...if they're still around.

MILITANT UPDATE: Thanks to the Los Angeles Public Library Images archive (Duh, why didn't the Militant think of that before?). Here's a picture of Occidental Blvd taken 80 years ago (January 1931); it clearly shows the circular islands were used for rose bushes and palm trees, and in fact, look at how short the palm trees were back then!

A Trip Down 3rd (World) Street

During one of the Militant's many bike rides within the 5-mile radius of his compound, he often favors certain streets over others, for no other reason than their accessibility or their familiarity -- Vermont or Western always; Hollywood, Sunset, Santa Monica, Melrose, Beverly, 6th or Wilshire very often (topography does play a huge role when biking; the Militant tries to avoid the steep hill on Normandie Avenue between Melrose and Beverly). But on a spur-of-the-moment decision while biking down Vermont between errands on Wednesday evening, he decided to veer right on 3rd Street.
Right away, it hit him: the roughness of the road (the asphalt was removed for re-paving soon), the faint smell of smoke, the stronger scent of food and other spices, the sight of throngs of people walking on a relatively narrow sidewalk, with street vendors selling everything from sliced fruits to sunglasses, took him back to [the largest city of his parents' unspecified home country]. But this was different. It was officially Koreatown, but not exactly Koreatown.

It really was like the 3rd world.

Now, unlike most hoity-toity know-it-all writers, the Militant does not mean this in the pejorative sense. The sights that the Militant saw were not of shame, disgust or disdain, he saw a multi-cultural community not fearing the urban landscape, but embracing it.

A young Latino boy in a taekwondo uniform crossed a sidestreet with his mother and younger sister, while a Bangladeshi couple entered a market to grab a little taste of home (apparently the presence of a Bangladeshi community here is something the Militant discovered only recently). Around here, a minimall might sport businesses from, at the very least, four different ethnic groups. In addition, traces of the Thai, Filipino, Vietnamese and Pacific Islander
communities spill over into this thick ethnic soup of a community. This is the type of neighborhood where the "privileged class" is not white Americans, but yet another immigrant group -- Koreans, far more established and business-savvy, owing their presence largely to taking advantage of the B1 Visa where others don't. This is the type of neighborhood where the most common product sold in the stores are phone cards, which, for $5 or $10, anyone can call a local or toll-free number printed on the card, enter a PIN code revealed after scratching off the silver bar and talk to their abuela, their bhai or their tatay (That's grandma, cousin or father in Spanish, Bengali and Tagalog, respectively) for minutes to hours on end, on the other side of the world, usually at odd hours of the night.

Now, people from more, um, privileged areas usually scoff and accuse these people of being "insular," "unwelcoming" or "keeping to themselves." But this is where their American dream begins. Whether they speak English or not, their children definitely will, if they don't already, and will likely grow up torn between a world of two cultures, finding their identity. Enclaves, whether designated or not, exist so they can give each other a boost, some support (be it emotional or financial) or just make friends. How many immigrants actually end up homeless in our streets? Very few, if any. East Coast transplants migrate "out west" and whine and complain why the pizza is no good or why the leaves don't all turn orange in the Fall, but imagine the culture shock of the foreign immigrant -- which is that of the transplant magnified a hundredfold -- yet they are too grateful and self-respecting to whine. In fact, whining is not even an option. Their only option is to work, to survive.

And surviving is what they do here in the dense sidestreets of 3rd Street.

The experience isn't unique to this street, it's replicated in places like Pico-Union, North Hollywood, East Hollywood, Panorama City and Westlake, to name a few.

In East Hollywood's Thai Town, the same scene is played over, this time with the cast of characters speaking Thai, Spanish and Armenian, the street a little bit cleaner and the neighborhood, though still densely populated, not as dense as the corridor two miles due south. Of course, it helps when the street is arguably the most famous street in the world. The Times did an article on Thai Town on Thursday, and while it depicted the same characteristics of a low-income, multicultural immigrant population, its restaurants are renowned, its ethnic identity is becoming a permanent part of the cityscape and community organizations are striving to empower and educate its residents on how to run a successful business, and facilitating a public market there.

Back down in 3rd (World) Street, perhaps the roughness of the pre-paved road is the perfect metaphor -- it's rough now, but the best is yet to come. Though others may pass, with fear or without regard, the Militant will ride through 3rd Street again, quietly wishing its residents the best of luck and prosperity, and uncover even more untold stories. Perhaps you might even give it a try yourself.