The glorious Fourth in old Laguna

Jane Petty Janz

The date of the first firecracker, rocket or Roman candle is lost in

the fog of Lagunas history, but you can bet that it wasn’t long after

the first homesteaders filed their claims in the 1870s. People came

to escape the inland heat and were camping on the beach and building

summer homes very early. When my grandfather, Nick Isch, came in 1888

the hotel was filled and he had to find lodging elsewhere.

During the winter the town was wonderfully quiet, but during the

summer months the population swelled so much so that around 1895 Joe

and Kate Yoch bought an abandoned hotel, did the first recorded

“renovation job,” starting the Hotel Laguna, and the rest is history.

In 1889 the Yochs had built a small cottage on the beach front, and

with other cottage owners in that row got together and built a

boardwalk. With six daughters it’s hard to imagine that there weren’t

more than a few firecrackers lighted off of the old boardwalk. In

1896 the first pier was built off Heisler Point, and from there I

would bet that Laguna was well into the Roman candle stage. Following

are some of the stories I have heard and accounts from old newspapers

that I hope will give you a look back at Laguna in the old days.

When, as 1914 settler Lynn Aufdenkamp says, “The Fourth of July was

the biggest day of the year!”

The first newspaper in Laguna was started in November of 1915 by

Elmer Robbins. Unfortunately most of the very early issues that cover

July 4th are no longer in existence, and 1921 is the oldest issue we

have that covers the big event. Laguna didn’t incorporate until 1927,

so in the early years the locals formed the Chamber of Commerce to

function as a City Council. It was this group, which organized the

fireworks shows, cleaned the beaches, helped pay for a policeman and

badgered local and summer cottage owners to help pay for such

services.

In 1921 they put on quite a show. Believe it or not, the fireworks

show was launched not from the pier or the end of the beach but from

an airplane. At 8 p.m. there was a hushed silence and all eyes looked

skyward as the plane took off from Park Avenue, just below the old

two-room schoolhouse. Out over the ocean Capt. Frank Hawkes lighted

off flares and smoke of different colors as he did loops, spins and

turns. The flares were attached to both wingtips, and he started with

white. When those burned out, all was inky blackness until off went

the blue or red. After the show they did at least have a search light

to help him find the place to land. The poor pilot was probably

exhausted -- he had spent the day taking off and landing. Part of the

amusement planned was that for a price (unknown) townspeople and

visitors could be taken for a ride in the airplane to get a birds-eye

view of Laguna and the coastline.

The only road into Laguna in those days was down Laguna Canyon and

it was packed. On Saturday night it was estimated that 30,000 campers

stretched their tents from the ocean back four or five blocks. One

passenger alone had counted 422 cars between here and Tustin. Sale of

fireworks was brisk. Over the three-day weekend one person said that

the daytime was made joyfully noisy (I wonder) with the explosion of

firecrackers and torpedoes.

Tom Sayles and Brown had just finished enlarging their dance hall

and they had the largest crowd they had ever had. Mr. Hofer’s

amusement hall was packed to capacity with people playing bowling and

billiards. The hot dog stands and the White House Restaurant

dispensed food as quickly as it could be prepared. It was reported

that even the fish were biting -- just cast your line into a wave and

you had a fish.

The Hotel Laguna had the only phone in town, and Mr. Whitten, the

manager, got a call from someone saying “a friend of his was down

there in Laguna and would the manager mind finding him?” Constable

Jubb was kept busy for two hours helping a man who had helped his

friends pitch a tent, but he could not now find them. The visitor

gave up and curled up in the sand and went to sleep.

Constable Jubb and two deputies somehow managed to keep things in

relative order. Jubb had spent two sleepless nights controlling and

settling disputes, and somehow keeping the traffic if not under

control at least not deadly. The town felt lucky - they had escaped

without fire, without an accident, without drowning. The town

resolved to find some way in the future to protect themselves from

fire, to better pay for more police protection, and to create some

kind of lifeguard service.

1922 brings a new editor to “Laguna Life,” and his lack of

enthusiasm for fireworks pervades the coverage. There is only one

short article before the Fourth saying that funds have been collected

and there will be a show on the central beach.

Following the Fourth, there are no glowing descriptions of

sparklers or rockets. But instead an editorial about how in the

author’s mind it was deplorable that the observance of the Glorious

Fourth should be demonstrated with gunpowder and the pungent odor of

explosives.

With WWI so fresh in people’s memory he finds it amazing that the

public chooses to celebrate with noise, fire and smoke. His only

consolation is that this year the numbers of dead and maimed is

smaller than it was the previous year. The only other short article

says that there has been a surplus of money left over from the

fireworks display and the funds will be turned over to the Chamber of

Commerce to be put to some good use.

One incident did occur about this time that always brings a smile

to the faces of the old timers. Local lawyer Tanneberg who was very

tall and lanky and usually dressed in a long black coat, and native

son Maurice Isch staged a duel with Roman candles on the streets of

Downtown Laguna. Amid much hooping and hollering it ended without

disaster, and following chastisement for doing something so

dangerous, it did not become a tradition in town. Many thought that a

shame.

In the year 1923 there is a touch of the Old West to Laguna’s

celebration. At 11 a.m. the cowboys, cowgirls and Indians are to

assemble at the head of Ocean Avenue. They are to take over the town

and following that there are to be demonstrations of Indian dances

and bareback equestrian stunts. The store owners have donated prizes

that are to be awarded.

One other 1923 event took place on the 4th of July -- a wedding.

Lynn Aufdenkamp had moved to Laguna in 1914 as a 10-year-old lad and

worked in the theater that his parents had started over on Forest

Avenue. Thelma Farman was a native daughter who had been born in the

home of Nate Brooks, early homesteader, and Thelma’s step

grandfather. Her mother had married Oscar Farman, son of Fernando

Farman, one of the early stagecoach drivers.

Lynn and Thelma chose to declare their own kind of independence on

the Fourth of July.

In 1924 the editor still is not writing any article about

fireworks, but he is delighted about the amount of money being spent.

He writes of how the merchants are saying that “more money was spent

in Laguna Beach Friday than any day in the history of the city.” His

headline says, “Few Accidents Mar Holiday Celebrations.” He goes on

to list a few mishaps. One man knocked down by a car while crossing

the highway, several involved in being hurt by the waves, and another

cut hand by someone trying to open a bottle of soda pop.

In a special box all by itself is the story of a young boy who was

carrying in his hip pocket some fireworks called “Son of Gun.” The

boy fell and they caught fire. A passerby pulled off the boy’s pants

and the boy had only minor burns, but swore he will never carry

fireworks in his pocket again. The editor would prefer that he not

carry them anywhere.

The day after the 4th of July in 1925, the town is irate and six

prominent citizens call Santa Ana and complain about police officer

Howell, who is called to Santa Ana for a hearing. From 11 p.m. until

1 a.m. a group was setting off huge firecrackers in the Downtown

area, and where was the sheriff? It worked out that the policeman had

reprimanded the same people earlier, and promised them arrest if the

practice didn’t stop. They assured him it would stop.

Later in the evening the town was quiet and officer Howell got a

tip about some rum runners who were supposed to come ashore at Salt

Creek. The week before this he had missed two loads coming ashore and

was determined to make the nab this time.

In his absence the firecracker escapades started again. After his

hearing before the District Attorney he was exonerated and received a

glowing letter of support from the Chamber of Commerce.

It must have been a very long day for the policeman -- there had

been 10 traffic tickets written, and 57 others were stopped and

warned. It never does say if he caught the bootleggers.

“Clean Beach Promised On The Fourth” is the banner for 1926. The

chamber has no money, so the old-time spirit that accounted for so

many of the town’s developments came to the fore. Local volunteers

banned together and vowed to build 12 new concrete incinerators on

the beach. Mr. Clapp said he would give his time and his mixer if he

had help. The meeting was called for 4 p.m. on Thursday and he was

joined by the Rev. Brahams, Mr. Coe, Mr. Frank Browne, Dr. Mason, and

Ed Seeman -- and shovels. The job got done.

1926 was a turning point in the history of Laguna. For years the

water came from rainwater cisterns, from a hand pump way out in the

Canyon, or from the Skidmore Laguna Heights Water Co. Skidmore for

years had spent a lot of money and put much effort into providing

water, but it never was satisfactory.

There simply wasn’t enough water that could be pumped out of

Laguna Canyon to provide a regular supply, and the water was of poor

quality. By the summer of 1926 the new distribution pipes aren’t

installed yet, but the pipe has been run down from Newport and the

city is buying water from Newport in the interim. The best thing that

ever happened in Laguna was finally having good water.

Over the Fourth the demand was high, and though there were a few

lapses and problems because of the existing distribution system, the

town was in ecstasy over their water.

The other big 1926 event was the coming of the highway. The

opening wouldn’t be until later in the year, but the grading had

begun. The state had agreed to open the road on some weekends even

though the work was still in progress. It was in poor condition, but

5,000 people came into town this way on the Fourth. One man went out

and took count and reported that on the rough but passable Coast

Highway, cars were coming into town at the rate of three per minute.

Eight thousand cars came down Canyon Road. It was estimated that

20,000 people were turned away because of lack of rooms. It was said

they had to go to Santa Ana. Certainly there were fewer places to

pitch a tent. Citizens had been advised to put up signs on vacant

lots and on the bluffs saying that there could be no camping there.

Even with that the holiday estimate was 60,000 people had visited

Laguna -- a new record.

It was said that the amount of money spent in Laguna was one third

more than (1994). The Arch Beach Tavern turned hundreds of people

away, the White House Made $350 more than (1994), the Green Goose

Ranch in the canyon did twice the business of (1994). Nick Isch was

ahead $500 over (1994), the Cabrillo Ballroom booked 1200 people on

Saturday and 1500 on Sunday. The Lynn Movie Theater did the best

holiday business in years. The editor even mentions that there was a

fine fireworks display.

We lower the flag of the Fourth with a special tale. Kate

Francisco has proudly raised Old Glory from a flagpole on the roof of

her house, called “Keepsake Cottage.” As dusk approached she could

not retrieve her flag because it had caught on some wires on her

roof. A local lad named Hampton Rounthwaite saw what was happening,

and rushed for a ladder. Francisco objected -- it was too dangerous.

But Hampton had been trained in scouting and insisted that the

flag could not remain there at night. Up to the roof he climbed, and

with friends steadying the ladder he retrieved the flag. Said

Francisco with a smile, “The stuff heroes are made of.”

* JANE PETTY JANZ wrote this historical piece, which was published

by the Laguna Beach Historical Society, in 1995. She was born and

raised in Laguna. Her family first came to Laguna in the 1880s. Jane

is the granddaughter of Nick Isch [who was Joseph Yoch’s brother in

law]. Nick Isch ran the local grocery on the corner of Laguna Avenue

and South Coast Boulevard; he also served as postmaster. Having grown

up hearing stories of “the old days” Janz’ interest in Laguna’s

history has only grown and she enjoys researching Laguna’s past. Her

fondest wish for Laguna? A real History Museum. Janz is a board

member of the Laguna Beach Historical Society.