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Early Stories of Ojai, Part IX (Dog Fights)

Early Stories of Ojai, Part IX (Dog Fights) by Howard Bald

Note: Howard Bald was an early Ojai resident. His reminiscences were written in the early 1970s.

Another well known character of that day was a brawny, brawling Irishman named Tim Dundon. His main hobby was fighting bull dogs. His most famous fighting dog was named Sharkey. A fight was arranged between Sharkey and Fitz (named after the famous prize fighter of that time, Fitzimmons). The fight was held on a Sunday afternoon (about 1902) in a secluded oak-shaded dell in the neighborhood of the Highland Estates.

Fitz was from Oxnard, and most of his backers were from Oxnard. There was an abundance of liquor and the betting was heavy. Tim engaged a horse and cart from the livery stable, and I drove him down with Sharkey between his legs. Some spectators arrived on horseback, some in buggies and some with team and wagon.

I believe the Oxnard delegation arrived in Ventura via train, then rented livery horses for the rest of the journey. I remember that Tim had sixty-five dollars all in gold. He gave me a five dollar gold piece to bet on Sharkey.

After most everyone got pretty well liquored up and the bets were placed, the fight began. Some aspects of it are now rather dim in my memory, such as how long the rounds were and how many were fought. But each handler had a bucket of water, a sponge and towels. Sharkey was the smaller of the two dogs and got the worst of it from the start, but Sharkey was game. Some spectators tried to persuade Tim to throw in the sponge, but he refused.

It looked pretty hopeless for the smaller animal. He could scarcely stand, but he fought on. These dogs I believe were called English bulls, and were snow white. That is, they were white when the fight began, but soon became crimson.

Just when it seemed that Sharkey couldn’t last for another round, Fitz broke loose, turned tail and ran with Sharkey staggering bravely after him. With that Tim grabbed up his dog and claimed the bets. A near riot followed, for Sharkey was badly beaten dog, though he was willing to fight on when the larger dog quit and refused to fight.

Tim stood his ground and collected his bets. Several of those present in my knowledge later became leading citizens and law enforcement officers of Ventura County.

One more little anecdote before going on to happenings of a more lawful nature. It involves the robbing of the Ojai State Bank. George Downing was a widower with two young children. He had been a laborer on the Stetson Ranch, now Col. Frank Noyes’) but left, and moved to town and was working intermittently at the livery stable mostly driving winter tourists about the valley with a team and surrey.

The Ojai Bank had just two employees. The manager, and cashier was Edward Weist. Miss Mable Isenberg was teller and bookkeeper. This noon Mr. Weist was out to lunch and Miss Isenberg was alone when a masked man entered, displayed a gun and demanded the money. Miss Isengerg handed out quite a sum of cash, and the bank robber departed.

Of course the news soon spread, and there was great excitement throughout the valley. That afternoon, as usual, George Downing was driving several elderly ladies from the Foothills Hotel about the valley, and naturally the bank robbery was the chief topic of conversation. At one point George revealed a six-shooter and announced that he was prepared for the bandit.

But Miss Isenberg had recognized George behind the mask and told the men from the sheriff’s office. For several days they kept Downing under surveillance and then one night at Raddick’s pool hall, when he seemed unusually flush with cash, the officers walked in and said, “Well, George, show us the rest of it.”

Note: Other stories about the bank robbery have it that Miss Isenberg recognized George’s boots.

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Early Stories of Ojai, Part VIII (Horses)

Early Stories of Ojai, Part VIII (Horses) by Howard Bald

Note: Howard Bald was an early Ojai resident. His reminiscences were written in the early 1970s.

Having a fondness for horses, the livery stable* was the center of much of my attention. I was out of school a good deal and the livery stable was handy. Since horse and buggy, or wagon, or saddle horse was the only means of getting around (except for walking, and there was a great deal of that) there was a great deal of traffic in horses, that is trading and training horses.

Once, about 1903, Tom Clark went to Arizona and shipped in two carloads of unbroken horses. They were right off the range and not even halter broken. Two Spaniards were employed to break certain ones to ride. The corrals were in between the stable and the parking lot.

The bronc riders would lasso and drag a terrified rearing and striking horse onto Main street, where he would be blindfolded, saddled, and mounted in front of the livery stable. Then sometimes would follow some very exciting scenes. Our modern rodeos were pretty mild by comparison. In the first place the animal was not saddled in a shute as at rodeos, and secondly it was not a ten second ride but a ride to the finish, and sometimes the bronc came out the winner.

I remember one bronco in particular. He was a chestnut and far above the others in appearance. He had thrown the Spaniard twice, and the Spaniard had given up trying to ride him. My father fancied the animal and struck Tom for a trade. It galled Dad when Tom told him he wasn’t horseman enough to ride the animal and it might hurt him, but finally a trade was made.

Then for three weeks Dad kept “Arizona Charley” at his stable, each day grooming him and getting acquainted. Finally, with no one around, Dad saddled him and got aboard. The scene that followed was the talk of the village for many years after. They crossed the open lot where Rains store now is, and through the alley west of Barrow’s hardware store and east of Main street.

The more Charley bucked, the more incensed he became at being unable to dislodge Dad, and the louder he bellowed. To my everlasting disappointment, I was not a witness to the affair, but many eyewitnesses for years have told me that the bronc could be heard for blocks bellowing with rage.

I don’t remember that Arizona Charley ever bucked after that, but he never became gentle and was finally sold in Santa Barbara for a polo pony.

Some horses of that lot were trained for driving. A very handsome Spaniard and a fine horseman named Steve Rios was employed for that job. A high seated, heavy farm wagon was used, for the broncos would kick an ordinary buckboard or surrey to pieces. That animal was always hitched alongside an old steady horse.

Steve would be up in the seat; two or more helpers would get the team hitched to the wagon, then hand the reins up to Steve. Often that process had to be done all over again with another, more substantial wagon, or repaired harness.

To me the bronc riding was the most exciting, I suppose because it was beast against man, and sometimes the beast would win. Whereas with the wagon, the odds were greatly against the horse.

* The livery stable was located on the northeast corner of Ojai Avenue and Signal Street.

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Early Days in Upper Ojai

The [Upper] Ojai Valley by Lowell Mason Hardison

Lowell Mason Hardison was an early settler in the Upper Ojai Valley. He was born in Caribou, Maine, on August 25, 1852. Mr. Hardison was a businessman in Caribou for a number of years; he also served as deputy sheriff and town treasurer. Later, he went to Pennsylvania where he was employed in the oil business. He moved to Santa Paula in 1883, where he became a successful rancher.

Lowell Hardison’s cousin was the well-known Santa Paula oilman Wallace Hardison, who founded the Union Oil Company with Thomas Bard and Lyman Stewart.

What follows is a paper written by Lowell Hardison on the early history of the Upper Ojai Valley. The paper was donated to the Ojai Valley Museum by Ojai resident Terry Hill.

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I have been requested to write something of a historical nature for the Pioneer Section of the Ebell Club of Santa Paula. The history of the pioneering of California and Ventura County has been well written by persons more competent than I. What can I write that will be of interest to you who are making a study of this subject? The days of the pioneers have past. Why did people leave the East to come to this country of deserts, privations, and hardships? I will answer for myself as an example.

My first recollections of hearing the name California was when I was about eight years of age. Father and another man were telling about what befell a man who went to California a few years before. They knew his folks.

Just over the boundary line that separates the State of Maine from New Brunswick is a section of country they call California. I have been told that it was so called because so many of its menfolks had gone to that state during the mining excitement of 1849. The hardy men of Maine and the British provinces were the kind of material for pioneers to go into a new country and subdue it in spite of the obstacles of nature placed as barriers to impede their progress; such as great mountain ranges, vast expanses of barren desert without food or water, harassed by roving bands of hostile Indians, and bad white men that stole their cattle and horses.

It was about one of a party of those who had left California, New Brunswick, for California, U.S.A., that I heard the harrowing story that I shall always remember. This man they were telling about had heard the stories told about the atrocities the Indians inflicted on captives. He said, “I am not afraid of Indians. I am going to shoot the first one I see.” He did. The next morning their wagon train was surrounded by a large number of Indians in war paint who demanded the man who did the shooting be given up for punishment. Being so greatly outnumbered, they complied in order to save the lives of the entire party. The Indians tied him up and commenced at his toes and skinned him alive, while the others had to look on.

From that time, for several years, like most boys who had any ambition, I had daydreams of going to California to mine for gold and fight Indians. I read many books written about California such as Richard Dana’s “Two Years Before the Mast”, Fremont and Kit Carson stories, and the Oregon trail. The time came when I had to make a change of climate, as my health was such that I could not stand the cold winters of Maine. We decided to go to California, the land of my early dreams.

On my arrival in California, I met many people who came here during the gold rush period and had followed mining for many years since. At Placerita Canyon, a few miles above Newhall, I met a man who came around Cape Horn in the second ship that General Veazyie sent out from Bangor, Maine, for California. He knew my nearest neighbor who was to have sailed on the same ship with him, but owing to sickness, was left behind. This man, Mr. Drinkwater, showed me how to pan for placer gold. I bought a miner’s pan and a horn spoon for an outfit. As soon as I got settled and was able to do so, I prospected in the gulches on the south side of San Cayetano and Topa Topa mountains. I had not yet learned that it was not of much use to look for gold in sandstone formation.

I had heard the tales told by old timers of the lost Padre and of other mines, and had seen old long-whiskered miners settle their store bills at Scotts or Cohens by pouring fine gold out of buzzard quills onto small balances that nearly every trader kept for that purpose.

In prospecting I saw many strange things. On the east side of the Ireland (or Harvey) Canyon a short distance below where it leaves the wooded glen was a small Indian burial ground. It had headstones and was covered by a dense growth of brush. Dr. Stephen Bowers who had made extensive researches in archeology for the National Museum said it was the only case he had found where they buried their dead in asphalt.

The [Upper] Ojai Valley and the mountains on either side, as late as when I came here, were a hunter’s paradise. I was told by a man that was one of the party hunting with Thomas R. Bard, when he first came to the country, that they camped one night on the creek not far from the Santa Paula sulphur springs, they were disturbed in their slumbers by a grizzly bear turning Mr. Bard over with his paw. They yelled so loudly that the bear left in a hurry. They surmised that the bear found that he had disturbed a new specie of animal that he had better leave alone. Wild hogs were quite plentiful. Their tracks could be seen the road nearly every day. They were very wild and swift of foot. Hunters did not bother them as they took to the thick brush at the slightest noise. No dog could drive them out. The flesh of the wild hog is strong and oily. They produce no lard. George Bay captured several small pigs one summer and fed them on grain. The flesh was too strong for white men to eat. One large boar was monarch of the Sulphur Mountain; he would clean up a pack of dogs in short order. The nimrods and mighty hunters gave him a wide berth. Rabbits, quail, doves, and wild pigeons in the winter time were plentiful; trout abounded in the streams that emptied into the Santa Paula Creek.

But few people know of the fertile soil, fine scenery, or delightful climate of this section of our county. I lived in it for many years and had great faith that it would be discovered sometime by real estate agents, divided into small holdings, and sold to those able to build fine homes and develop the land so it would become a paradise. I believe it has the best climate of any country for elderly people in which to spend their declining years. Mr. M. C. Harvey has shown what hard work can do. He has transformed a rough canyon into a place of beauty and delight. If the ghost of the departed Indians should ever return that once roamed over the hills, they would think they had found the happy hunting ground and put up a stiff fight against being thrown out.

About halfway up the Sisar Canyon, well up on the side, I discovered an old road that, by its width, must have been used as a wagon road. It was several hundred feet in length and covered with a heavy growth of brush. I thought that it must lead to one of those lost mines. I searched for several days to find the beginning or the end of the road without success. I learned later that some of the timbers used in building the od Mission at Ventura were brought down this canyon. On the west side near the mouth, I found an old camping ground, or should I say a picnic ground, for by the shells that I uncovered, it must have been a meeting place for a clambake. Some of the shells were very old, no doubt, but the creek ran much higher on the bank than it does now, and flowed through the Ojai Valley. We have the old channels of creeks as evidence. In blasting out a large boulder, I found underneath a fine mortar-pestle, which I think you will find in the archives of this Society. On the Gibson and Bracking places, evidence of large Indian campgrounds could be traced; many stone implements were uncovered in plowing the fields. In the side of the bank of an old creek bed, on land that I once owned, was a cave high enough for a man to stand up in, and large enough to house quite a family. I think the occupants must have left in a hurry and had no time to remove their household furniture, as all was broken. Perhaps it was a tribe of Matilija Indians that wiped out the Indians of the upper Ojai Valley. Who knows?

As a reminder to you of the flight of time, I will try to record the names of the people who owned places between the Blanchard and Bradley Mill, and the head of the grade to Ojai, or Nordhoff as it was called at that time (as far as I can remember):

First, Harrison Crumrine, rancher and schoolteacher.

Sam Todd, a friend in the time of trouble. He lived alone after his mother passed away. The place is well known as the Say place.

Washington Rhodes, orchard and bees. He always stayed drunk as long as the east wind blew. He sold out to W.L. Hardison, now owned by J.N. Proctor.

Julio Peralto, Lectra Briggs place. He was quite extensively engaged in the cattle business. He had a large family.

John Mears, a native of Ireland. He had several large bands of sheep. The place is now owned by the Harveys.

George Smith, a one-armed Englishman. He came around the Horn. He was born not far from the Tower of London. (Place now owned by Anlauf.)

Alex Farrell lived at the foot of the Deitz Hill. He kept bees and had a few lime trees. Limes were a luxury at that time.

Skaggs, now owned by Doheny. The gate is well guarded; no trespassing is allowed.

Above the Skaggs place on the Santa Paula Creek, Alexander bee man.

Fred Richardson above No. 6 oil well.

Newcomb J. Ireland, at the mouth of the Ireland canyon, a millwright and bee man. Came here from Kansas.

George Bay, the first place on top of the hill at upper Ojai. He did some farming and kept bees. Place now owned by oil company.

The next place west, Joe Specht, farmer, born at sea of German parents. Place now owned by Davy.

James Bracking, farmer and wine maker. His farm was used as a camp ground for many Indians indicated by the marks left. He was born near the River Shannon in Ireland within sight of an old Roman fort. The place is now owned by the oil company.

The next west is Thomas Gray and sisters. They are still on the place.

John Thompson, farm and orchard, native of Ireland; now the Tucker place.

Thomas Clark, farming and wine making.

Robert Gibson, farming, cattle and horses, a native of Scotland, who came around the Horn with his family in a sailing vessel, was killed by being thrown out of a spring wagon by a runaway team.

John Pinkerson, farming a fruit, came from the North of Ireland. Al Drown now owns the place. [Pinkerton was one of the first in upper Ojai to buy land from Thomas Bard.]

Next west, Proctor, and Englishman. Tom McGuire is the present owner.

Captain Robinson, farmer, native of Maine. Place now owned by Barnard.

Joseph Hobard, farming, fruit and cattle, native of Massachusetts. He was one of the Vigilantes that ran the gamblers and bad men out of San Francisco in 1856. The place now owned by M.H. Butcher.

Henry Dennison, farmer and horticulturist. He said that his ______ took a prominent part in rounding up Napoleion Bonaparte after he had overran nearly all of Europe. His sons own the place.

I believe that the Dennisons and the Grays are the only ones left in the [upper] Ojai Valley of the original settlers who live on the same farm they did in 1883.

Wishing happiness and long lives to the people of the Ojai Valley, that beautiful land of sunshine, I will close

L.M. Hardison
October 1, 1936

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Our Town, Part 2-Social Life in Early Nordhoff

Our Town, Part 2 by Helen Baker Reynolds

Among the valley’s residents even in earlier times were families whose interests were not provincial. A reading club and a Chautauqua group had been formed for the purpose of study, and when mother started a Shakespeare Club it too became a focus of studious effort. The members even, from time to time, enacted Shakespearean plays. Mother, herself, in the role of Lady Macbeth, attained a degree of local acclaim. She was troubled by the necessity of saying, “Out, damned spot,” but salved her conscience by saying “damned” very quickly and almost inaudibly.

A center of community life was our Presbyterian church. Unimposing in design, it was nevertheless a joy to the eye because of the masses of climbing roses that transformed it into a bower. It stood cat-a-corner from our front gate and across from the grammar school. Church bells and school bells punctuated our days, and both rang out in the event of a fire.

In addition to regular Sunday services, many other worthy activities were centered on sound local charities: the Ladies’ Missionary Society; and a local branch of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. All I remember about the WCTU is that each member wore a small white ribbon bow pinned to the front of her dress, and the Ojai group sometimes sponsored a program denouncing the Evils of Drink.

Besides church and temperance and study club activities, there were other events of importance scattered throughout the year. In very early times just before the turn of the century a festive event for the young social group had been an all-day tally-ho ride around the “Triangle” to Ventura, to Santa Paula, and return. Mrs. Lord’s musicales had become quite a social feature. Mrs. Lord was our teacher of music and one who would have graced the life of any larger community. She maintained and developed her own technique as a versatile musician while giving devoted care to her family and inspired instruction to pupils.

Mrs. Lord’s classes and her recitals enriched the simple life of our valley. (Editor note: Mrs. Lord’s daughter, Agnes Gally, carries on the family tradition today, as a violinist in the Ventura County Symphony and a local string quartet.)

An afternoon tea at the Thacher school was always a gracious event, and once every year the school invited the whole valley to a reception. In the era of taffeta petticoats there would be a great deal of rustling, and the white kid gloves were everywhere in evidence. Children attending with their parents would be starched and scrubbed and on such good behavior to be almost unrecognizable. Madam Thacher, as she was always called (the mother of the headmaster) presided at all such affairs with the utmost charm and dignity. Whenever I would be led up to greet her I would have the dazzled sensation of being presented at court.

The Tournament was a tremendous event in our otherwise quiet valley. Flowers lent an added note of gaiety; backstops and grandstands were bedecked with massive bunches of lupine and California poppies.

On Saturday evening at the close of the tournament, the Thacher school held a dance. When I was a child, no one from our family attended these festive gathering, for mother disapproved of dancing. Later, when I was in high school, I questioned mother about her scruples with a good deal of tearful emotion. Why was the dancing wrong, I wanted to know? How about mother’s own Grandmother Day, who danced the mazurka so beautifully?

Mother was sympathetic. She was not forbidding me to dance, she explained; I might dance if I thought it was right. But she felt it her duty to tell me (here she showed a great deal of embarrassment) that modern dances such as the waltz, and now others she had heard spoken of as the one-step and two-step and fox trot, were likely to rouse the baser impulses in men and boys. Of course, when her grandmother was young, dancing had been quite different. There seemed little reason to fear the moral effect of the mazurka.

Living close to the village center, mother’s scruples perhaps were confirmed by the character of the public dances occasionally held in the grammar school assembly hall. For all I know, these dances may not have been quite innocuous. They were noisy, however, and to judge by the sounds, not excessively refined. The Hoodlums, who either attended or looked through the windows, uttered rowdy whoops and catcalls above the sounds of music and uproarious shouts of laughter.

Immured in our Snug Little World nearby, we heard the sounds of revelry as echoes straight from hell. No one of us, as I recall, ever commented on the noise from the schoolhouse. Mother would have felt embarrassed to take open cognizance of such goings-on, and from her, our mentor, the rest of us took our cue.

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Our Town, Part 1–Dr. Saeger & Andy Van Curen

Our Town, Part 1 by Helen Baker Reynolds

When the Bakers arrived in the Ojai Valley in 1886 they came in a horse-drawn stage. At that time there was no railroad up and down the coast. About ten years later, when a coast line was under construction, a track was laid from Ventura to Ojai, and from then on, a local train with two small, creaking passenger coaches puffed into our station each evening and out again in the morning.

The village during my early childhood was still very quiet and small. Businesses extended one block along Main street, a segment of the east-west county road. Even in the business block the roadway curved casually around trees, and a hitching rack and drinking trough occupied most of the southerly side. Blumberg’s Inn, already ramshackle, stood in a grove of oaks.

On the opposite side of the street a boardwalk ran past a straggling row of establishments, general merchandise, grocery, and hardware stores, a blacksmith shop and a drug store. At the end of the block stood Schroff’s Harness Shop; at the other end Tom Clark’s Livery Stable. There was also a pool hall which we were taught not to glance into, it being not quite “nice”.

Dr. Saeger owned the drug store. In the rear was his medical office, where he doled out quinine or calomel pills, and where he also extracted teeth.

He was slow of motion and slow of speech and wore a drooping mustache. At a patient’s bedside he would sit solemn and silent; yet somehow his presence was immensely reassuring for he was a deeply kind man. My parents, who were devoted to him, used to say that Doctor Saeger never had been known to press a patient for payment, and usually he presented no bill until he was asked to do so.

Occasionally in the event of a very critical illness, request for consultation was sent to Doctor Bard, a remarkably skilled physician, who, like Doctor Saeger, practiced medicine in the best tradition of the old-time country doctor. He lived in Ventura, fifteen miles away, but, in spite of the distance and sometimes in spite of storms and floods, he would set out at once behind his spirited span of horses, in answer to a call. My family held him in reverence. He had come to attend little two-year old Sara when she was ill with pneumonia, and my parents believed probably rightly that he had saved her life.

A short distance west of the village a tiny, boxlike wooden building stood under spreading oaks. This was the jail, which Andy Van Curen, the perennial constable, had built on the grounds of his home. The jail was seldom put to use, for ours was a law-abiding town, only occasionally disturbed by some show-off galloping recklessly thru Main street, or someone being drunk on a Saturday night.

Van Curen’s jail, now at Cold Springs Tavern by Santa Barbara

A gentle, slow-moving man of indeterminate age, Andy Van Curen had held his position for years. As the population grew and became a trifle more worldly, someone started a movement to elect a younger, more active man as constable. Andy was hurt and incensed. He let it be known that if he were replaced no one else could use his jail. The movement for replacement promptly collapsed.

Andy acted as undertaker, as well as constable. He kept a supply of coffins in a shed behind the jail. Children would peep through the tiny windows, shivering pleasantly at the sight of the coffins stacked inside. Processions to the cemetery in early days, I am told, were led by Andy transporting the departed in his spring wagon. Later, however, a horse-drawn hearse would be brought up from Ventura on the occasion of a rather pretentious funeral. The hearse was black, adorned with tassels, and the two black horses were elegant with black plumes on their heads.

Essentially our main street could have been duplicated in hundreds of small Western towns’boxlike buildings with false fronts, a few loungers in front of the pool hall, buggies and wagons raising dust or scattering mud, according to the weather.

But somehow the main street of Ojai was not altogether ugly. The ancient oaks spreading their branches over the drab little buildings, the backdrop of foothills and mountains entered competition with man and easily won the contest. In spite of human ineptitude, our village was attractive.

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City of Ojai Historic Resources Reports

Ojai’s history is one of its most important resources. What would Ojai be without its unique history, and the historic resources that keep that history alive? From the Mission-Revival buildings donated by Mr. Libbey in 1917, to the rock walls and craftsman houses in the East End, to the Oak Grove where Krishnamurti spoke to thousands, these historic spaces contribute to the intangible quality of the Ojai experience.

The City of Ojai has recently embarked on a program to define, identify, and preserve the city’s historic resources. The following link connects to three reports that will be used in future preservation efforts.

http://www.historicresources.com/SBRA__Ojai_Survey.html

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Matilija Dam

Matilija and Casitas Dams by Patty Fry

The Valley’s rising population in the 1930s and 40s increased the demand for water. That demand was also evident in Ventura and in 1944, an act of the legislature formed the Ventura County Flood Control District. They employed Donald R. Warren as consulting engineer to evaluate the local water situation and he recommended a $3 million bond issue to construct a dam in the Matilija Canyon and another on Coyote Creek.

Under Construction 1946-47

[Construction began in June, 1946.] The Matilija Dam project met with major problems. Unexpected delays, rising costs and heavy criticism plagued the job. Clay began oozing from under the dam foundation in Matilija Canyon, and the carpenters walked out. The dam was eventually deemed unsafe and a lawsuit against the engineering firm ensued. This proved to be a very costly decision.

Under Construction 1946-47

Finally, despite all of these adversities, the site was judged safe and the workers completed the Matilija Dam in June, 1948. But the beautiful new dam stood embarrassingly empty for three years, as a severe drought was in progress. There wasn’t enough rain during that time to make more than a mud hole of the huge reservoir and that is what water customers were getting–mud. Finally, during the winter of 1951, a storm produced enough rain to fill the reservoir to capacity and the first spill occurred the following January [1952]. Conduit pipe carried water to the spreading grounds near the mouth of Senior Canyon at a rate of 1,350 gallons per minute. This water percolated into the ground and helped replenish the wells below.

First Spillover 1952

By March, 1952, 44,960 acre-feet of water had been lost over the Matilija dam spillway to the ocean. It was evident that a larger facility was necessary, especially when considering the long-range water picture. In the meantime, geologists tested a dam site at Coyote Creek. A possible fault caused the project to be canceled, but after further investigation, this decision was reversed. Consultants for the flood control district recommended a 90,000 acre-foot reservoir on Coyote Creek to stop the Matilija overflow, and the project was approved.

Lake Matilija

The Federal Bureau of Reclamation completed Casitas Dam in 1959. …Casitas Municipal Water District presently operates Matilija Dam, which is owned by the Ventura County Flood Control District. No water is served to customers from this source. Lake Matilija is used primarily to store water during flood periods for later transfer to Lake Casitas.

The above is excerpted from Patty Fry’s book The Ojai Valley: An Illustrated History. The book was updated in 2017 by Elise DePuydt and Craig Walker. It is available in the museum’s store and through Amazon.com.

 

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Arnaz was a Merchant, Doctor, and Rancher

Arnaz was a Merchant, Doctor and Rancher by David Mason

“A resident of San Buenaventura, a man of Spanish blood, would advertise a realty subdivision here in the papers of New York? That was Jose de Arnaz; and the subdivision was advertised in Leslie’s Weekly and in the Scientific American in 1846 – almost before the Mexican war had ended.”
“History of Ventura County” Sol N. Sheridan, 1926

The present Rancho Arnaz, now known for its apple orchards and apple juice, surrounds the old adobe ranch home of Don Jose de Arnaz. It is but a small part of the original 21,522 acres of land once owned by Arnaz.

Rancho Arnaz

The Province of Santander, Spain was the birthplace of Arnaz, but by the time that he had reached his 16th birthday in 1837, he left his Spanish home and set out on an adventurous journey to see the world. His first stop was Havana, Cuba. In 1841, he arrived in California aboard one of the merchant ships that would come to furnish the inhabitants with clothing, jewels, sugar and brandy in exchange for hides and tallow.

Soon after coming to California, Arnaz opened a general merchandise store in the pueblo of Los Angeles. It was a year later that he first came to San Buenaventura on a visit and, having enjoyed himself in the new surroundings, he made plans to settle there.

Arnaz was highly educated and destined for leadership in his new home. Through his early years of education, he had received a medical degree before starting out to see the world. What he found in the new country was a great need for a physician. Prior to his arrival, the only administrators to the sick were the Franciscan missionaries. Over the years, he gave of his services to the sick and furnished medicines when he could, never taking a cent for his labors. Arnaz, as an aristocrat in manner and appearance, and then as a public benefactor, received an immediate high standing in the community.

With the many new opportunities to acquire property, he became a large landowner – his holdings not only being in San Buenaventura, but also in various other parts of the state. At one time, he even held title to an island in the San Francisco Bay known as Yerba Buena, over which the San Francisco-Oakland Bridge now passes. ?In the small town of San Buenaventura, Arnaz opened the first general merchandise store, even before the county was established. In 1845, he was the lease holder of the Mission of San Buenaventura, having leased the property from the Mexican government for the sum of $1,630 per year. The lease included 1,407 head of cattle, 19 yoke of oxen and 2,158 head of sheep. The orchard at the mission contained 582 fruit trees, one vineyard of 1,510 vines and another vineyard of 3,800 vines.

The next year, he purchased the mission property for $13,000. The land totaled 48,822 acres. However, ownership by Arnaz was not recognized during the time that the Mexicans and the Americans were struggling over the possession of California. Once Arnaz had secured the title from the Americans, he sold the old San Buenaventura Mission to Dr. M.R. de Poli.

It was while living in San Buenaventura that Arnaz had his dealings with Col. John C. Fremont.  Fremont had come to be a thorn in the side of the Mexican authorities of California. He came with secret instructions from the Washington authorities of that day to make observations and institute preliminary steps for the seizure of the province by the Americans.

As Fremont marched southward from Monterey in the winter of 1846, he found that the Mexicans were waiting for him in ambush at the Gaviota Pass where, at the narrowest part of the pass, men were concealed on the tops of the cliffs ready to roll rocks down on Fremont and his men. Fremont decided to avoid the Gaviota Pass and, instead, traveled over the San Marcos Pass through the Santa Ynez Mountains. Arriving in Santa Barbara after the difficult passage, the American flag was once more raised over the Presidio.

Leaving a small group of soldiers in Santa Barbara, Fremont marched the main body of his soldiers southward along the Rincon toward San Buenaventura. News of his coming had preceded him, and there was a mass exodus to the hills.

Arnaz, who was responsible for the mission workers, remained at his post. The family residence was just a short distance away, with a pear orchard between the house and the street on which Fremont would be traveling. When Fremont arrived, Arnaz furnished him with fresh horses and pack animals. Fremont gave him unsecured notes for each of the animals, but Arnaz was never able to collect from the American government. The bill was never paid.

Arnaz was also a great success in the field of agriculture. He planted the first field of wheat and raised the first crop of lima beans in Ventura County. Arnaz was not only a merchant, doctor and rancher, but he was also an energetic influence in establishing the township, which was incorporated in 1864 as San Buenaventura. Arnaz was also a supervisor from Santa Barbara County, which, at that time, included San Buenaventura. He was also one of the owners of the Santa Ana Water Company.

It was about this time that Arnaz acquired his Santa Ana Rancho holdings, a small portion of which is now known as Rancho Arnaz. Besides the adobe Arnaz home, there are other spots of interest nearby. The Arnaz School was built on land donated by Arnaz, and directly across the San Antonio Creek is the spot where Thomas R. Bard lived.

Bard House

Bard came to California to start the oil developments, using oil rights which were owned by Thomas S. Scott, assistant secretary of war under Abraham Lincoln. The Bard house was also used by Scott and some of the officers of his firm and their families. The little house on the mountainside was very picturesque and a landmark of those times.

When Bard, who later became U.S. Senator from California, lived in the house, Arnaz was his nearest neighbor. As was the custom of the times, he bought milk and other food supplies from his neighbor, as well as borrowing various articles occasionally.

In a letter written to his sister on Jan. 3, 1866, Sen. Bard told of having to make a trip to Santa Barbara and wrote: “Old Don Jose de Arnaz and I have quarreled many times over the price of sheep or his monthly bill for milk, etc., still we are friends and I knew he would not hesitate to hire his carriage to me if I wanted it. So, though it was late, I called to see the old fellow, hired his coach for three days for the modest sum of $25.00. ‘Now that sounds a great deal of money, but you must know that at one time,’ Arnaz reminded me, ‘this was the carriage of the former Mexican governor of California, Alvarado, and used by him and his family long ago, before the conquest by Americans, under Fremont, of Alta California.'”

Many famous people became a part of the life of Don Jose de Arnaz. At the time that Joaquin Murietta was frightening people all over the country, he made a visit to the Rancho Arnaz adobe. It was very late at night and one of the Arnaz daughters heard the sound of water being drawn from the well that was just outside her window. She cautiously peeked out and, recognizing the noise makers as Murietta and his bandits, she warned her father, who with his sons, took up their positions with guns at various windows to guard their home.

Murietta and his men walked around the house, saw that it was too well-guarded and left without disturbing the family. However, the bandits took with them the Arnaz cattle, driving them toward the Ojai Valley. Arnaz and his sons organized a posse with their neighbors and started in pursuit. They overtook Murietta somewhere between the ranch and the Ojai Valley, recovering the stolen cattle while Murietta and his men escaped into the Sespe.

Today, the Rancho Arnaz adobe and cider barn are constant reminders of a bygone era. The buildings have been well-maintained by their owners and each remains a treasured Ventura County landmark.

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The Little Brick Schoolhouse

The Little Brick Schoolhouse by Patty Fry

In 1874, Andy Van Curen circulated a petition for another school that would be closer to the newly established village. As soon as school superintendent F.S.S. Buckman approved it, Abram Blumberg started making the bricks for the structure near where the main tennis courts are today in Libbey Park. A note in a July, 1874 issue of the Ventura Signal, states, “A brick kiln will be burned on the Ojai during the summer.”

One night a mountain lion sauntered through the drying area behind Blumberg’s Nordhoff Hotel and left a paw print in a brick. Blumberg gave this keepsake to his daughter, Inez.

While the bricks were being made, the townspeople immediately erected a temporary schoolhouse on Matilija Stree west of John Montgomery’s house. Soule and Pirie offspring reported in later years that after having lessons in this crude structure for a few months, the students considered the new brick schoolhouse a “palace.”

The oblong brick schoolhouse consisted of one classroom and two anterooms. It had a sixteen-foot ceiling and four windows on each side allowed sunlight in. A drum in the center of the classroom provided necessary heat. The students sat in pairs at double desks and there was a bench in front of the teacher’s desk for reciting. Mrs. Joseph Steepleton, who had previously conducted a private school in her home, accepted the teaching position for the newly established Nordhoff School District.

The original wooden schoolhouse was moved to the top of the grade and became known as the Ojai School District. In about 1883, upper valley residents built a larger schoolhouse two miles east, reportedly on the boundary of Hobart’s and Robinson’s properties. This school operated independently until 1965.

Jerome Caldwell and F.S.S. Buckman were among those who taught at the little brick schoolhouse. Anna Seward taught there during 1884. She introduced calisthenics and music to the children. Agnes Howe was the teacher between 1885 and into the 1890s. Howe once claimed that the single room schoolhouse had more bats than children and she spearheaded an incentive program to rid the place of the bats.

In 1882, when enrollment reached sixty students, a brown bungalow was added to the brick schoolhouse.

Teachers were responsible for school maintenance. They asked the older students to sweep the floors and build fires for heat. Students carried water from nearby streams or cottages and everyone drank from a pail using a community dipper. The children liked to play stick ball, pum pum pull away and marbles for keeps. There was also great interest in baseball, riding and hiking in those days, recalled Miss Howe.

Clara Smith, a well known figure in county education, taught at the village school and served as its first principal until tragedy struck in 1892. Her fiance, Scottish-born Robert Fisher, a blacksmith by trade, died suddenly of typhoid fever on the day they were to be wed.

Clara, the daughter of community leader, Daniel Smith, first taught school in Nebraska at the age of 15. She was so devoted to education that she once walked from Nordhoff to Ventura to take a teacher’s exam. Her career progressed from teaching at most local schools, as well as some outside the county, to serving as County Director of Rural Education and Assistant Superintendent of Schools. Clara Smith retired from the school system in 1935.

Teachers weren’t in abundance during the early years, as was illustrated by an incident occurring in 1895. When Agnes Howe fell from a bicycle and sprained her ankle, the school closed for a week while she healed.

In 1889, 14-year-old Charlie Wolfe, son of Judge and Mrs. Irvin W. Wolfe, died at the school when he fell from a tree he was climbing. His twin sister had died at birth.

In 1893, Miss Beal’s primary grades had six more students than seats. It was obvious that the community had outgrown its little brick schoolhouse.

When parents initiated plans to build a bigger and better school, others reminisced about how well the brick building had served the community. Not only had it been the fountain of education for their children for twenty years, but also a church, a meeting place and a social hall.

Every new religious group used it as a place of worship while building its church. It was the very heart and soul of the village. Within those brick walls the townsfolk held their entertainment, made new friends and cemented relationships. That is where community leaders made their decisions, some of which affect our lives today.

But progress is progress and the fact was that the town had outgrown their school and a new one was built to accommodate the education of the valley children.

After the community abandoned the old schoolhouse, the brown bungalow was moved to 570 North Montgomery Street and Ezra Taylor, who ran a machine shop in town, moved his family into the brick building. It was home to the A.E. Freeman family around 1910. Mr. Freeman, a local grocer, reportedly added the second story and began the transformation that camouflaged the original brick outer walls. G.L. Chrisman bought the Freeman home in June of 1916 and the Alton Drowns lived there during the 1920s and 30s.

In 1946, Major Richard Cannon bought the former schoolhouse and opened the Cannon School there. One year later, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Cataldo converted the school into the Ojai Manor Hotel and began renting seven rooms. Although these owners had altered the little brick schoolhouse beyond recognition, until the 1980s, a keen eye could detect Blumberg’s misshapen, aged bricks as foundation beneath the time-honored facade at 210 Matilija Street. The old bricks are still visible on the inside kitchen wall.

The Lavender Inn

In the 1980s, Mary Nelson removed the old Old Manor Hotel and opened it as a bed and breakfast. In 1999, the old schoolhouse, once again beautifully remodeled, has resumed as a bed and breakfast under the name, The Moon’s Nest Inn [now The Lavender Inn].

The above is excerpted from Patty Fry’s book The Ojai Valley: An Illustrated History. In 2017 the book was updated by Elise DePudyt and Craig Walker. It is available in the museum’s store and through Amazon.com.

 

 

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How Casitas Got Its Name

How Casitas Got Its Name by Richard Hoye

A Chumash casita.

Great earthquakes struck the California coast in 1812-1813. They began with the tragic destruction of the church at Mission San Juan Capistrano on December 8, 1812. About forty worshipers were in the church at the time, and the tower of the building fell back onto the nave, with much loss of life.

As things go with great earthquakes, a continuous series of substantial shakes followed the first great jolt. The fearsome prospect of buildings collapsing would have forced people into abandoning their customary housing (much of which was probably damaged).

The best housing for an earthquake at the time would have been the traditional structures of the Native American people all along the coast. There would be little likelihood of their collapse in an earthquake; and, even if they did collapse, there wasn’t much weight to them.

Ocean currents may well have been disturbed by the earthquakes; and there were reports of threatening tidal wave activity, which would have further added to the alarm of the people.

Another substantial shock came on December 21. This time, Mission La Purisima Concepcion, northwest of Santa Barbara, was destroyed. The primary quake lasted four minutes, and a second shock lasted five minutes. Mission Santa Ines also suffered damage.

A story handed down from generation to generation in Ventura County told how the population of Mission San Buenaventura withdrew from the immediate coast and moved inland to temporary housing. These houses, constructed in the traditional Chumash way, were called casitas in Spanish; and they were clustered near the Ventura River narrows at the southern entrance to the Ojai Valley.

The population of the Mission at the time was about one thousand persons. The displaced population, however, was probably not that large; since some of the people already lived regularly at rancherias in the countryside. The number of displaced persons at the narrows, conceivably, exceeded five hundred.

A large casitas was understood to house about ten persons, but the houses at the narrows were temporary, and so may not have been especially large. The number of houses that would have been required for the displaced population at the narrows may have numbered between fifty and one hundred. They would have made a memorable encampment.

Earthquakes continued into January 1813, and the displaced community may have been at their temporary location for several months. When Father Senan and the mission population returned to Mission San Buenaventura in March of that year, they discovered that the tower of the church and part of the facade were damaged to such an extent that they would have to be replaced.

The name casitas remained after the people left. It was applied to the Casitas Narrows and Casitas Springs. It was used to designate the area extending about a mile to the north of the narrows, which became known simply as The Casitas. It was applied to Casitas Dam and Lake Casitas. The pass to the west was named Casitas Pass, and the valley just over the east Casitas Pass has been known as the Little Casitas Valley.