STEVE MARBLE -- Notebook
Long before the freeway came, long before the abrupt architecture of
Niketown took root, and long before the gentle hiss of fountains mingled
with the sounds of traffic in downtown Costa Mesa, there was the parade.
It came clomping down Harbor Boulevard on a Saturday morning, marching
bands and floats and neighborhood kids dressed up in their Boy Scout
uniforms.
It made a right turn at 19th Street and then a quick left at Park Avenue,
ending in the shade and emerald green of Lions Park.
As parades go, it was a small-town affair. Fathers who had marched in the
parade smiled with pride when their kids did the same. Local merchants
purred down the street in cars borrowed from area auto dealers, smiling
and waving.
Bringing up the rear -- after the cops on their motorcycles had gone by
and the last clown had padded into the distance -- was the street
sweeper. It was a crowd favorite and kids vied for the distinction of
riding on it.
“I have kids that have already grown up who have swept and I’ll probably
take their kids,” the owner of the street sweeper proclaimed -- with a
brimming sense of pride -- in a 1991 newspaper article.
But the parade doesn’t come this way anymore.
It simply ran out of steam. Attendance dwindled, interest waned and that
one Saturday morning that had been reserved for an annual dose of
Americana -- out of date and out of time though it might have been -- was
retired without fanfare or even many tears.
***
It’s called the Fish Fry, though nobody seems quite certain why a
landlocked city like Costa Mesa would stake its reputation on a slab of
Icelandic Cod dipped in thick, gooey batter.
The yearly carnival at Lions Park was a piece of the past. There was the
beauty pageant -- once known as Miss Mermaid, but now simply making do as
Miss Costa Mesa. There was a freckle contest. There was a contest for
identical twins. Little children danced on a sound stage. And in the
background, deep in the curling and greasy smoke, the cod sizzled on the
grills.
When the sun went down and the long shadows from the trees swallowed up
the park, the carnival rides ruled the night. There was the Zipper. There
was the Tilt-a-Whirl. Clattering and jarring and appealing in a menacing
way, kids waited in line for each and every ride.
But one day, the carnival -- huge grills and all -- packed up and moved
away from the tired-out downtown park. The Fish Fry now does business on
the other side of town.
***
The old Pacific Federal Plaza, its fountains now dry and its parking lots
chained off, is still graceful. Lonely and empty, but still graceful.
It’s been eight years and then some since the building was vacated, first
by the savings and loan that built the sprawling structure and then later
by the National Resolution Trust Corp. that moved in to help sort out the
failed S&L;’s affairs.
Though touched by the years, the building is still arresting with its
terra cotta tiling, its Spanish mission architecture and its wood and
marble interior. There is a grove of palms -- nearly 100 in all -- that
surround the structure.
And it stays the same. Empty.
There was a rumor that Whittier Law School might move in. But it located
on the other end of town, up by the freeway. There were plans for a
hotel, but they fizzled. A Newport Beach life insurance firm eyed the
land, but ended up agreeing to move its overflowing staff down to a
start-up town in South County.
And now the city itself is thinking about moving in, though the momentum
to pack up City Hall and bring it downtown has picked up precious little
steam.
Once hailed as the “cornerstone” of Costa Mesa’s revitalization effort,
the plaza now stands wanting, waiting for someone to come downtown.
* STEVE MARBLE is the managing editor of Times Community News. He can be
reached at o7 steve.marble@latimes.comf7 .
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