A salute to the ‘crown’

PETER BUFFA

Well, well, well. Looks like someone is having a birthday. Their

100th birthday, to be exact.

Very funny. No, not me.

Corona del Mar, the Little Village that Roared, was born exactly

100 years ago.

I’m sure you’ve heard about the town’s centennial birthday bash by

now, which has raged all weekend long, starting with a black-tie

blowout at the Four Seasons Hotel Friday night -- modestly billed as

the “Black Tie Gala Event of the Century.”

There were also boats parading, fireworks ka-booming, people

“ooh-ing” and “aah-ing” up and down the coast and two days of beach

partying for those who like to wade in the water, write love letters

in the sand, feel the wind beneath their wings, whatever. But it’s

the history of Corona del Mar that shines through it all. As

centuries go, it’s been a pretty interesting one for Corona del Mar,

with no shortage of surprises.

As you know, the name “Corona del Mar” is Spanish for “one million

and up, and that’s for a tear-down.” Spanish is a very efficient

language. Speaking of language, did you know that all the “flower”

streets in Corona del Mar run in alphabetical order -- from Acacia to

Poppy? Very cool.

Starts with a land deal

Corona del Mar was the brainchild of a Los Angeles developer by

the name of George E. Hart, who was George E. Jessel’s half-brother.

No he wasn’t. I made that up.

In 1904, George Hart wrote a check to the Irvine Ranch for just

over 700 spectacular acres on the coast just below Newport Beach. The

price? You’re not going to like this: $106,000. I told you. Know what

you can get for $106,000 in Corona del Mar today? A car. Maybe.

Hart set up shop and priced the lots on the big map on the wall --

from $100 per lot, up to $750 for the premium sites. He hung out some

banners, blew up some balloons for the kids and waited for the

thundering horde, who were sure to be pounding on the door, lining up

around the block and tossing their money over the transom to secure

their own little corner of paradise. It was the perfect plan at the

perfect time in the perfect place. But then George Hart learned about

the old Yiddish expression: “The quickest way to make God laugh is to

make plans.” Not only did the horde not thunder, they didn’t even

show up. Can you believe it? I can’t. Imagine how George felt.

Being taken with the natural beauty of the place was one thing,

but Hart had underestimated the impact of a few, small details on his

sales volume.

There was no access to or from Coast Highway, which ran well east

of Corona del Mar at the time, not through it. There were only a

handful of streets in the new town, and we use the term “streets”

loosely, and one last problem -- no fresh water to be had. Some

people are so picky.

Hart sold a few lots in 1904, but not one in 1905, or 1906, which

is when he sold half the property back to the Irvine Ranch. Even 20

years later, if there were any problems in Corona del Mar, traffic

was not one of them. In 1924, the residents of Corona del Mar voted

on whether their town should be annexed by the city of Newport Beach.

It didn’t take long to count the vote -- 7 “yes”, 0 “no.” Even

Florida could figure that out.

Time in a capsule

Even well into the 1940s, if peace and quiet were what you were

after, Corona del Mar was the place.

Did you know there was no mail delivery in Corona del Mar until

1949? No you didn’t.

Before that, the postman would stand on the highway everyday at

noon with a big megaphone and shout out your last name if you had

mail. People who didn’t want to walk all that way would shout back

“Fine. Read it to me,” which led to some really awkward moments, like

“Dear Leonard, your Aunt Thelma is dead.” It was a nightmare.

But after World War II, the race for space was on in Corona del

Mar as it was everywhere else in Southern California, fueled first by

returning GIs, then their families. Today, the “Crown of the Sea” is

the jewel in the crown of the south coast. But it has never forgotten

from whence it came.

Speaking of which, the Corona del Mar Centennial Celebration

Committee, or the CDMCCC if you’re Roman, is putting together a time

capsule of Corona del Mar’s past and present that will be buried

miles and miles beneath the land of Newport-Mesa.

Well, a couple of feet anyway.

According to Laura Dietz, with the Centennial Celebration’s

historical committee, the time capsule will preserve all sorts of

data about Corona del Mar for future generations, “ ... from how many

dog licenses were issued for Corona del Mar by the city of Newport

Beach right down to books, documents and children’s artwork.”

I’m not sure how much someone living 500 years from now needs to

know about dog licenses in Corona del Mar, but I think time capsules

are fascinating. I have planted a number of them in the walls and

floors over the years whenever we do some remodeling, along with a

sappy note about who we were and what we were doing at that moment.

The Official Centennial Time Capsulators will accept suggestions

about what should go in the little silver box, keeping in mind that

space is very limited, even though everything gets transferred to

microfiche. I’ve thought of a few things, along with a few people,

I’d like to see go in there, but nothing that I would consider a home

run so far. If you think of anything, let me know. No newspapers and

no gorgonzola.

Corona del Mar, we salute you, have the happiest birthday ever,

and for 100 -- you look marvelous. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at ptrb4@aol.com.