In The Pipeline:

Are you familiar with the weathered, wooden “Welcome to Huntington Beach” sign on Pacific Coast Highway near the intersection at Warner Avenue? It’s been there since at least the early 1970s and, according to city historian Jerry Persons, may even go back to the late 1960s. When we first moved here 10 years ago, it was one of the first things that caught my eye. I’m a fan of roadside art, and “Welcome To” signs are a big part of that category around the USA, so I was pleased to see such a fine example of an increasingly disappearing era: that of charming signs on the outskirts of towns.

Unlike many others, this sign was never meant to be cute and kitschy. Rather, this was a big, sturdy, practical sign made from dense, unforgiving lumber. With its back to the ocean, it endured decades of sweet (but corrosive) salty air, wind and thick blankets of marine layer. The orange, blue and white paint was forever peeling; in a decade, I never saw a fresh coat on it. Still, it looked strong enough to endure a tornado. The sign doesn’t have a clever slogan on it like these things often do. Instead, the designer opted simply for the city logo designed by John Casado in 1968 — the classic “quadrant” with four icons representing the beach, neighborhoods, surfing and technology. There are other signs that look similar to this throughout the city, though they are much smaller, making this one seem like the “parent” of Huntington Beach welcome signs. So enamored was I with the sign that in the first book I wrote about Huntington Beach, back in 2001, I photographed it in black and white for inclusion as the very first image in the book — what better way to welcome the reader?

As you may have noticed, the city has put up new signs in the last year or two. They’re more stylistic, I suppose, attractive and artsy with their copper that will oxidize into an emerald green at some point, and they say “Surf City, USA” on them. All together, I remember reading that they cost about $300,000 to produce, which struck me as a lot of money, especially when you had a handful of older, naturally aging beauties around town that were simply in need of some TLC. But change happens, images become upgraded, the old signs may have been too far gone, and so I understood that they would soon give way to the new copper models. Fair enough. To tell you the truth, there’s only one old sign I cared about: that big honking monolith at PCH and Warner. It is grand, and unlike the newer models, it looks real and handcrafted, as if carved by the gods of surfing, and it makes you feel like you’ve arrived in an authentic beach town. Surely you had to keep this one around. Right?

Two weeks ago, I was heading south on Warner, down the hill to PCH. Waiting to make a left at the light, I saw two workers standing where the old sign should have been. It was gone. Maybe 50 yards up PCH to the left, I saw one of the new copper signs. Evidently, this town wasn’t big enough for the both of them. I called my wife (yes, in our household, we all loved the old sign) and told her the bad news. She said, “Why don’t you turn around and see if you can get it?” No wonder we get along so well. Sadly though, I told her that this wonderful artifact was gone — my favorite marker in the city unceremoniously razed on a gray, gloomy morning. Couldn’t it at least have been carefully stored as a historic civic artifact — a gentle reminder of bygone endless summers? Evidently, it was just too worn to be salvaged.

Responding to my wife’s suggestion, just in case, I circled back around, parked near the Jack in the Box and wandered over to where the two workers chain-sawed what was left of the sign’s pole mounts. Even those were mere stumps now, surrounded by mounds of soggy orange sawdust piled up in the bright green weeds. The friction smell of burnt wood mingled with the mist.

When I asked the guys if I could salvage a small artifact, they said no problem — that it was all just going in the garbage anyway. Under my feet though, fittingly, it felt as if I was teetering on a surfboard. It was the main body of the sign. Pushing away debris, I found some more substantial pieces. It had a pulse. It was not completely dead.

They said I was welcome to it. A young city worker doing some raking nearby saw me dragging this big cumbersome piece of wood to my car and offered to help. He asked, so I explained and he looked at the new sign. “Those are too L.A.,” he uttered. “I like this one.”

All that said, I’d like to report that what’s left of that magnificent marker is now in our back yard. Here, it will find some love in the form of fresh paint and a good cleaning. But not too much. Its appeal is in its ruggedness. As a family, we’ll restore some of its luster and, when the time is right, we’ll figure out a way to have it put on display once more for people to see — so they’ll know where they are.

It’s the least this old girl deserves.

CHRIS EPTING is the author of 14 books, including the new “Huntington Beach Then & Now.” You can write him at chris@chrisepting.com .