April 25, 2011 § 2 Comments
Mulholland Highway curves around the western edge of Beachwood Canyon like a massive snake. A man-made thoroughfare butressed by granite retaining walls, the Highway (not to be confused with Mulholland Drive) was built, like all the roads in Hollywoodland, in the mid-1920s. It contains both a split-level section (under construction in the photo above) and a cliff-side stretch locals call the blind curves.
As Gregory Williams points out in his book, The Story of Hollywood (BL Press, 2005), “old-timers called Mulholland Highway ‘the road to nowhere,'” an accurate title for a street that didn’t connect to anything until Canyon Lake Drive was built in the early 1960s.
What was intended as a glorified driveway to the Canyon’s uppermost houses is now a heavily-traveled route for tourists seeking a view of the Hollywood Sign, commuters to and from Burbank and people who use Lake Hollywood Park. The blind curves are made more hazardous by people who park their cars to take pictures of the Hollywood Sign. As if that weren’t enough, the road has no median line, making it easier for nervous drivers to justifying driving in the middle. That’s what happened yesterday when a truck came barreling towards me around one of the curves as I headed home from the park. In swerving to avoid being hit, I sheared off my passenger’s side window against one of the many trash cans that are perpetually out by the curb.
The amazing thing is that it’s never happened to me before on that stretch of Mulholland Highway, during an estimated 1300 round trips over the past 5 years. In light of that record I should be glad, but the cost of the repair* on my mirror leaves me less than grateful.
June 21, 2010 § 6 Comments
Hollywood first appears on maps not as a studio town or even a farming village but as ranchland, part of the San Fernando Mission located some twenty miles northeast. Of course, its true history goes back much further, to the Indian settlements of the pre-colonial era. A few Indians remained after the territory was settled by Californios in the late 18th century, probably working the ranchos granted by the Spanish Crown.
By 1890, Hollywood not only had its present name but a distinct identity from that of Los Angeles, five miles to the east. It was founded by Daeida and Harvey Wilcox, a prosperous Kansas couple who had suffered the loss of their infant son. In the aftermath of their tragedy, the Wilcoxes took long Sunday carriage rides in the Cahuenga Valley. Their fondness for the area’s rolling farmland and fresh breezes led them to the discovery of a 160-acre tract that they were able to buy in 1887. Development soon followed, and by 1900 the area had a population of 500.
Early Hollywood was a village of Victorian cottages, farms, orchards and considerable charm. Daeida Wilcox apparently chose its name at random, after the country house of a woman she’d met on a cross-country train after a visit to her native Ohio. (The popular idea that Hollywood was named for California holly, or toyon, is unlikely, as the bushes grew too sparsely and remotely to have qualified as a civic symbol.)
Unlike most rural hamlets, Hollywood was from the start a tourist haven, popular among daytrippers who could easily bicycle or ride on horseback or in traps from Los Angeles. Once in town, visitors enjoyed the hospitality of the Glen-Holly Hotel, which served a 75 cent chicken dinner. Afterwards, they could walk lovely residential streets shaded by pepper trees and bordered by citrus groves. (Although Hollywood lemons were well-regarded, Hollywood oranges were inferior and used mainly for soft drinks.) What they couldn’t do was have a drink, because alcohol was illegal in Hollywood. (When I screened “Under the Hollywood Sign” at Paramount last year, the mostly local audience erupted in hysterical laughter at this fact. But it’s all true.)
Temperance was non-negotiable for Harvey Wilcox, a strict teetotaler whose religious beliefs set the civic tone. Enforced morality obviously inspired Hollywood’s incorporation: the city’s first by-laws in 1903 not only prohibited drinking and the possession of spirits but the prescription of alcohol for medical reasons and the transporting of alcohol across town lines. Not only could residents not drink publicly: they couldn’t drink in their homes or own alcohol for any reason. Moreover, west-bound liquor from Los Angeles had to travel a southerly route, beyond pious Hollywood’s borders.
Close on the heels of alcohol-related legislation came laws against gambling, prostitution, noise, speeding, oil wells, tanneries and the driving of large herds on city streets. Although Hollywood’s civic independence lasted only seven years–the town became part of Los Angeles in 1910 because of its desperate need for water–its many laws are preserved in bound volumes in the Los Angeles City Archives, providing a fascinating glimpse into a mostly forgotten history.
Not surprisingly, Hollywood was unable to remain a dry, Protestant town. Three years after Wilcox’s death in 1891, his widow Daeida married Philo Beveridge, a very dissimilar husband with whom she had four children. The freewheeling son of a former Illinois governor, Beveridge publicly flouted the liquor laws by serving wine to his guests at the Hollywood Hotel.
Once Hollywood annexed itself to Los Angeles, of course, the matter was moot.
Kevin Starr, Inventing the Dream: Southern California Through the Progressive Era. Oxford University Press, 1985.
Gregory Paul Williams, The Story of Hollywood. BL Press, 2005.