Vermont Square: A Literal Oasis In South Los Angeles

On Monday, July 18, the very day the Los Angeles Public Library restored Monday hours (thanks to Measure L) after a budget crisis-related 11-month service cut, The Militant decided to pay a visit to a branch.

He could have gone to his local branch(es), but then that would have given away too much. So he went to a significant branch library, located in South Los Angeles. He chose the Vermont Square Branch.

The first thing about this library is its location: Nestled three blocks west of its eponymous avenue and just south of Vernon Ave, this quaint green space surrounded by Budlong Avenue and 47th and 48th streets is not what many expect to see in South Los Angeles (Of course, as you may or may not know, The Militant is all into that). One of the last vestiges of a formerly ritzy neighborhood (now where has The Militant heard that before?), aside from the old early 20th-century craftsman homes in this neighborhood is this pristine green space, Vermont Square Park, populated with tall, mature trees.

Aside from the occasional blare of car stereo hip-hop music and one person riding around the neighborhood in an overly noisy motocross bike, it was a peaceful, quiet scene, with neighborhood folks sitting on camping chairs in the grass, socializing, and teenagers walking up to the library's front entrance.

The other remarkable fact about this library is its history: Vermont Square is the oldest continuously-operating branch in the LAPL system, and the first branch library on City-owned property. Back in the day, most of the City's libraries operated out of leased facilities, including the LAPL's first outpost, the Benjamin Franklin Branch in Boyle Heights. Even the Central Library operated for 54 years before finding a permanent home on 5th and Flower.

But Vermont Square's history is even more fascinating than that. It was the first of six LAPL branches funded by steel magnate Andrew Carnegie, who financed the construction of numerious libraries in not just the US, but around the world. Only two other Carnegie-built branches remain in operation today - the Cahuenga Branch in East Hollywood and the Lincoln Heights branch.

On this first Monday of service in 11 months, there were easily over 30 library patrons reading, studying or using the facility's computers. Apparently word of the long-awaited Monday reopenings traveled fast.

So here's to 6.4 million books, 1.3 million cardholders and 72 branches of the Los Angeles Public Library system on this day! Don't forget to visit your local, or any other historically significant branch, especially on a Monday!

"There is not such a cradle of democracy upon the earth as the free public library, this republic of letters, where neither rank, office nor wealth receives the slightest consideration."  -- Andrew Carnegie

Overlooked Los Angeles: The Franklin Hills Public Stairways

While doing hours upon hours of intense Militant research, the Militant stumbled on a page (well, a .pdf, really) about something called the Franklin Hills Public Stairways.

According to the page, the 14 publicly-accessible concrete stairways, nestled among the winding roads in the hills between Los Feliz and Silver Lake, were built in the mid-1920s "as a shortcut to get to the trolley lines."

You know the Militant loves Los Angeles history, especially transportation history, but as far as his extensive Militant knowledge of the trolleys of old...there were no such lines running through or even adjacent to the Franklin Hills! None of the Red Car lines did, and neither did any of the Yellow Car routes, as those maps indicate. Just goes to show that Angelenos hold a special place in their hearts for the old trolleys, even if their minds don't really recall them all that well.

Regardless of mistaken, though well-intended, historical recollection, the Militant wanted to check them out for himself, so he rode his trusty two-wheeled chariot down Hyperion Avenue and up (okay, he walked, it was rather steep) a little backstreet called Udell Court. There, amidst quaint early 20th-century era two-story houses, he found one of the steps, in its longest continuous stretch (pictured above).

The rest of it was not so much a bike ride, but rather a bike haul, as the Militant had to carry the damn thing up the steps. But hey, the Militant will do anything for a Militant adventure!

As he ascended, he discovered that some of these 1920s-era steps get very little use in the early 21st century, as some of them were covered in fallen leaves and cast-off tree bark. And those that do use them probably only use them to walk their dogs, as random dog droppings can be found on the steps. But looking back, the Militant treated himself to an awe-inspiring view of the hils of western Silver Lake, accented by the sight of the moon and the swirling reddish-colored stratus clouds of the dusk hour.

Forging ahead, the Militant found that the stairway gave way to a flat paved path (pictured left), albeit covered by leaves, weeds and other overgrown flora. Welcome to the jungle. Aside from cautiously avoiding physical contact with some of the plants (ya never know if it's posionous or not...), the Militant was intensely fascinated with the fact that he's walking through a part of town that he'd passed by so many times, yet never actually set foot upon.

Up another incline, carrying the bike and getting a workout in itself, the Militant finally approached the top, at Mayview Drive, crossing paths with local joggers/walkers who preferred to stick to the streets and sidewalks. But hey, navigating the road less traveled is what the Militant is all about, right?

With the roads still steep, the Militant walked his bike up the winding, inclined street. But looking back, he discovered himself surrounded by red-roofed Mediterranean-style homes and killer views of Hollywood, Mid-Wilshire and Downtown Los Angeles! (pictured right) The only thing towering above was the sky, the moon, or the occasional palm tree.

The Militant, consulting his .pdf printout, was looking for the set of steps called "Prospect Walk," which leads one to the eponymous street. But as always, the journey's much more interesting than the destination: The roads started to level off, and even descend, and the Militant found himself a fun coast downhill which made schlepping the damn bike up all those steps totally worth it.

Looking at the nearest street sign, he found it to read, "Franklin Avenue" (no, not that one) , followed it and soon saw the familiar sight of the Shakespeare Bridge -- which, as you all know by now, was built to cross the old Sacatela Creek. After that, he rode off into the sunset, returning to his compound...

The Militant did learn a few things during his urban adventure...

• Franklin Hills - another hidden gem of Los Angeles.
• The Militant wouldn't mind relocating his compound there...if it weren't so damn transit unfriendly.
• Dusk is when lots of cute ladies (who may not necessarily be MILFs) walk their dogs round here.
• Next time he visits the area with his bike, being male, young(ish) and of a darker complexion than most of the locals in the neighborhood, he's gonna instantly feel like "the car break-in burglary suspect" (see below).
  

Morepicstime!

The Militant gives a massive shout-out to Mike, Maria and TKFKABT.

The "Radio Walk" section of the Franklin Hills Public Stairways. So spooky-looking after dark, you'd need to bring a radio with you to keep you company. Preferably a large boombox.

A notice taped to the mailbox at the top of Radio Walk warning residents about recent car break-ins...the cuprits? Young males on bikes. Though the only thing the Militant took up there was photos, he instantly felt like public enemy #1 up there after reading this (even if that "young" description is debatable). More proof that people in upscale, hilly areas simply do not like people on bicycles.

Overlooked Los Angeles: A-Pagoda

Standing on a triangular property at the northeast intersection of Normandie Ave and Olympic Blvd in Koreatown stands a curious structure (despite the Militant's usual attempt-at-a-pun title, it's technically not a pagoda, since it's not a multi-tiered structure) that paradoxically looks out of place with its western urban environs (especially the neighboring day-glo LAUSD-moderne Mariposa-Nabi Primary School), yet is totally at home with the cultural identity of the neighborhood.

The Militant has passed this property by car countless times and has seen it in various stages of construction, yet never had the opportunity to visit it up close until he made a Militant bike mission to it recently.

The property is the Korean Pavilion Garden, dedicated in 2003 to commemorate the centennial of Korean immigration to the United States. The structure, which is referred to as a pavilion, is an exact replica of the Aeryunjeong Pavilion on the grounds of Seoul's Changdeok Royal Palace and was designed.

According to the descriptive marker on the property, the pavilion celebrates Korean American heritage but also symbolizes harmony with the other cultures that represent Los Angeles. On the south side of the garden are twin pillars of light which symbolizes the Korean community's partnership with the other cultures of the region. Hmm, wonder if the new owners of Little Tokyo Shopping Center across town embrace that same message...

The garden, sponsored by individuals and businesses in the local Korean community, whose names are all graciously immortalized in marble, is protected by an iron fence, built low enough not to detract from the aesthetics of the public space. The fence is also open during business hours for people to walk through and visit.

Just another example of the overlooked gems of this town that one tends to miss while encapsulated in an automobile.

Overlooked Los Angeles: The Washington Blvd. Buddha

Washington Blvd., obviously named after the first President of the United States, was part of the City of Los Angeles' plan to designate a series of major east-west thoroughfares after every U.S. president (hence boulevards Adams and Jefferson), but eventually hit a snag in 1912 when the City annexed the town of Colegrove (now part of today's East Hollywood and Koreatown districts), which already had streets named in honor of presidents Madison and Monroe (plus, how would the city honor the nation's 5th president -- another Adams Blvd?).

With Washington having been somewhat of an industrious man, it was perhaps a lucky coincidence that our street named after him would be somewhat industrial in nature, with large bakeries towards the western end, mortuaries (serving the nearby Rosedale Cemetery) in the middle, and more heavier industrial warehouses towards the east.

The other week, the Militant biked down the latter portion of Washington, where the rows of tacquerias and pupuserias transition into more bulky, spartan facades. Here, at the corner of Washington Blvd and Long Beach Ave (in a neighborhood known as Menlo Park), where (M) Blue Line trains snake through the middle of the street on their way to and from the high-speed dedicated right-of-way, stands a nondescript red brick building displaying nothing but a big blue and white sign bearing the name "Hanson Tank" in large block letters -- and a curious weathered concrete object, just a little over a foot tall, nestled in its own little alcove, above a doorway. Whatever could it be?

Years ago, a slightly younger Militant took a makeshift Blue Line tour with a handful transit enthusiast friends and acquaintances. One of them invited a tour guide, whom the Militant will call the Militant Elder (really, his name slipped from the Militant's mind), whose descriptions of otherwise overlooked structures, objects and sights helped change the way the Militant Angeleno sees the city.

The Militant Elder stood up in the aisle of the moving light rail car and pointed to the object in the Hanson Tank building. He told the group that during World War II, when most Japanese Americans were put into internment camps, there were some who avoided being sent to camps and lived secretly among society. So this building, during the War, served as a clandestine temple where Japanese Buddhists were allowed to worship in secret.

The Militant was blown away for many reasons - that in a country where people were supposedly guaranteed freedom of religion that they had to worship secretly, that Japanese Americans had to go through so much during the war, whether interned or not, and that there were little nooks and crannies overlooked by Angelenos every day, only after being discovered did they yield stories unto themselves. But the most amazing thing was that the Washington Blvd Buddha was not a victim of erased history. The Roy E. Hansen, Jr. Manufacturing company, which sells pressurized tanks for industrial use, deserves a lot of credit for letting that little tidbit of culture, faith and history remain, especially when they could have easily removed the statue and covered the alcove with bricks like what was done to some of the windows in the building. But then, that would have just been bad karma.

Overlooked Los Angeles: The Militant's Crack Addiction

The Militant will admit something to you, the loyal MA reader. The Militant is a crack addict, and scours the city in search of crack. He knows where to find crack in many of our streets, yet is intensely intrigued when he hears of new places in which to find crack.

Okay, okay, not that kind of crack. The Militant is talking about...track crack -- the visible remnants of paved-over railway track, usually from Red Car or Yellow Car routes, which pop up out of the asphalt every so often.

The picture above shows one example of track crack at the corner of Heliotrope Drive and Rosewood Ave, in the far northern edge of Koreatown. At this corner, the sidewalk slopes down into street level where the tracks seemingly enter Rosewood Community Garden. There are actually two sets of tracks, with one set only faintly visible in front of the yellow arrow sign in the background. The garden was once the right-of-way for the H-line of the Los Angeles Railway Yellow Cars. The line ran from Melrose and Western, zig-zaging southeast towards the Westlake district, to Downtown and ending in South Los Angeles at the present-day intersection of Wall St. and Gage Ave. The unusual width of streets like Rampart Blvd. are attributed to the existence of this particular line.

Some track crack can only be seen come re-paving time, when the City of Los Angeles' Bureau of Street Services scrapes away the old asphalt and lays down a new layer. Streets like Pico Blvd. and 3rd St. still have the narrow three-and-a-half feet wide Yellow Car rails fully intact below the asphalt and are in full view during the resurfacing phase.

Other locations, like Monroe Street, just west of Vermont Ave., which cuts across Los Angeles City College still very much reveal some crack, this time belonging to the V-line of the Yellow Cars. The line's eventual conversion from rail to bus was obvious for years, as this end of the route was, until just recently, a layover zone for the Metro Local line 11 bus (which was canceled this past June).

Could some of this embedded track be used again? Perhaps. A group of people in the Angelino Heights neighborhood are vying to scrape off the pavement and resurrect a Yellow Car shuttle line along Edgeware Road. In fact, the group already owns an old streetcar, sitting in a neighborhood backyard, waiting for renovation and possible re-animation in the 21st century.

Overlooked Los Angeles: World War Memorial, Mid-City

Standing at the southwest corner of Adams Blvd. and La Brea Ave. on a nondescript and lightly-landscaped traffic triangle is a concrete pillar, some 15 feet high and topped by an eagle, largely ignored by the cars, trucks and buses that drive right by every hour, most of them crossing town to or from the Westside, going to or from LAX via the "La Brea-La Cienega Freeway" or heading to or from the nearby Santa Monica Freeway.

But this pillar, obviously neglected and weathered over the years by sun, pollution and graffiti has some significance behind it -- it is Los Angeles' World War I (and II) memorial.
Erected in 1936, this memorial was originally established to honor the fallen from "The World War" of 1917. The inscription reads:

IN MEMORY
OF THE
SONS AND DAUGHTERS
OF AMERICA
WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES
IN THE CAUSE OF
THE WORLD WAR

1917-1918

AND

1941-1945

Obviously the last two lines were appended some time after 1936 when there was more than one of these "World War" things. Also, the fact that there's at least two feet of blank space below the last two lines makes you wonder if this thing could ever get updated yet again.

The memorial was built by The American Legion, as indicated by a small bronze plaque at the bottom (pictured right). It credits the Legion's "Greayer Clover Post No. 254." Greayer Clover, for some of you who know your history, was the namesake of Santa Monica's Clover Field, a.k.a Santa Monica Airport (hence "Cloverfield Blvd"). Clover lived in Los Angeles since youth and was killed in an air accident in France during World War I. Clover Field was originally a U.S. Army air field that went civilian after World War II.

In 1936, this section of Mid-City, just west of West Adams, was much more tony; instead of being populated with flammable warehouse spaces used to store movie sets, the neighborhood back then, three decades before the 10 Freeway sliced it latitudinally, was a more pedestrian-oriented, self-sufficient neighborhood bearing institutions that the neighborhood lacks today. The Fais Do-Do nightclub, which stands just a few blocks west, was a bank (First Citizens Savings Bank and Trust) back when this memorial was built. According to Fais Do-Do's "About Us" page:

"...the architecturally historic landmark that now houses Fais Do Do was constructed in 1930 at the height of the Art Deco period in Los Angeles. As Los Angeles spread west, eastern industrialists, silent filmmakers, and other early hipsters took over the tiny Mid-City area which soon became known as the Sugar Hill District."

Hipsters? LOL. Guess things never change. Los Feliz and Silver Lake, behold your future!!!