"As you watch those
spectacular flower-covered floats on New Years Day make the turn from
Orange Grove Avenue onto Colorado Boulevard, remember--it all began
in Indianapolis with a determined woman who wanted to grow
caladiums."
By
Natalie Keinonen Nicholls, John Muir High School Class of 1956
When I was in high school in Pasadena, California, I was
assigned a short paper on Pasadena history. I remember being
fascinated and wanting to learn more. Little did I dream then that
in just a few years I would move to Indianapolis, reversing the
course of the Indiana Colonists who founded the city of Pasadena.
Certainly I had no idea that, over 50 years later, I would finally
research the history of Pasadena more fully—but from the
perspective of a long-time Hoosier!
It all began in
Indianapolis, Indiana in the winter of 1872-73. It was a
particularly brutal winter. Helen Elliott’s prize caladiums did
not survive. In the midst of a blizzard, a group of friends met one
Sunday evening in the Elliotts’ home at the end of West Michigan
Street. Among them were Calvin Fletcher II, J. H. Ruddell, John H.
Baker, J. M. Matthews, Nathan Kimball and Daniel M. Berry. They
passed around a letter from a recent visitor to southern California.
It spoke of eternal sunshine and equable temperatures, of a place
where you could wear the same weight underwear year round.
Mexico had ceded
California to the United States in 1848; in 1850 California became a
state. The gold rush of 1849 started an influx of Americans to the
area. With the completion of the transcontinental railway in 1869,
the Far West became more accessible and affordable. The large cattle
and sheep ranchos established by the Spanish and then the Mexicans in
California were being subdivided into farms. The lure of a land
where fruit crops and flowers could be grown all year long was
irresistible to the shivering Hoosiers. Mrs. Elliott suggested that
they “would do well to migrate to California.” In fact, she
declared, “I’m going anyway, whether any of the rest of you do or
not.”
Helen Brown Elliott
grew up in Goshen, Indiana and moved to Indianapolis with her
husband, Dr. Thomas Balch Elliott. Dr. Elliott practiced medicine in
Indianapolis for some years and invested in property. In 1858, he
quit the medical profession to become a flour and grain merchant,
opening a large brick warehouse at 150 South Delaware Street and
building the first grain elevator in Indianapolis. He was active in
promoting Indianapolis, helping to organize the Board of Trade and
the Merchants’ Exchange. He also served as a Trustee of the Public
Schools and was President of its Board when Professor Shortridge was
appointed Superintendent.
Daniel M. Berry, Helen
Elliott’s brother, was from Fort Wayne, Indiana. A former school
teacher turned journalist, he held an interest in his
brother-in-law’s granary. Soon after that Sunday gathering, Berry
happened to be at a New York hotel. He noticed the name Myer J.
Newmark of California in the registry and made a point to meet him.
Mr. Newmark was a member of a pioneer merchant family in Los Angeles.
He had recently purchased the Rancho Santa Anita from the man who
first grew oranges commercially in California. Newmark, hoping to
make a profitable sale, extolled the virtues of California and of his
rancho. Berry invited Newmark to stop off in Indianapolis on his way
home and relay his story to the Elliotts and their friends.
After Newmark’s
visit, the group decided to ask others to join with them in a
co-operative venture. More meetings were called and became so large
they had to be held in the freight house of Mr. Mathews’ employer,
the C. H. & I. railroad. An organization called “The
California Colony of Indiana” was formed, with Dr. Elliott as
President, Mathews as secretary, Ruddell as treasurer, and Fletcher
as general agent. Baker and Berry rounded out the executive
committee. The membership was at first limited to fifty and was soon
filled, with applications from as far away as Canada.
D. M. Berry was
assigned the task of scouting locations. He traveled via the
Southern Pacific Railway to San Francisco--at a brisk 22 miles per
hour--then by steamer to San Pedro and harbor train to Los Angeles.
Bewhiskered and wearing a stovepipe hat, he registered at the Pico
Hotel in Los Angeles the first week of September, 1873, and proceeded
to investigate several different ranchos.
He found one in the San
Diego area for the maximum price agreed to by the colony, $5 an acre,
but windmills would be required for irrigation, so the group rejected
the proposal. Rancho Santa Anita looked promising, but the price of
$20 per acre, twice what Newmark had paid for it, was much too high.
Berry found Anaheim to have too many fleas and “musketers.”
Rancho San Fernando was only $2 an acre. It was suitable for growing
grain, but there was not enough water available for growing citrus,
which the Indiana Colonists were set on doing.
Then on September 12
Berry spent the night at Rancho San Pasqual. An asthmatic, he
described the still air in Los Angeles as “pestiferous.” But at
San Pasqual he had his first good night’s sleep in three years.
He was sold. He wrote Dr. Elliott enthusiastically about the land:
“It is right in line with all the best orange orchards and
vineyards here and just as good, with more water. Grapes and grain
need no irrigation. . . . I slept over there last night and awoke to
the music of a thousand linnets and blackbirds in evergreen oaks. It
was the sweetest sleep in years . . .”
It took two weeks to
communicate with Indianapolis by mail, one week each way. Word came
back to Berry on September 19 that the Indiana Colony would pay
fifteen dollars per acre for Newmark’s Santa Anita. But that offer
was never made, because the day before, September 18, was “Black
Friday,” the start of the worst depression in our country up to
that time. With the crash, the California Colony of Indiana became
defunct.
Elliott, however, was
able to keep a few members of the group together, and on October 8
instructed Berry to tell the owners the group would purchase a
portion of rancho San Pasqual. Berry recruited new members for the
association, but selectively, turning down some prospects as
unworthy. On November 11 the group met and organized under a new
name, the “San Gabriel Orange Grove Association.” On December
18, 1873, 3,962 acres were conveyed to the association for a payment
of $25,000. The northern 1,386 acres, composed of poppy fields
extending northward to the Sierra Madre Mountains, were thrown in
free of charge. The owners thought they were worthless and wouldn’t
support one family. That land became Altadena, where I grew up in
the 1940s and 50s. Its population was over 42,000 in the 2000
census.
Immediately after the
land was acquired, Calvin Fletcher II set to work to subdivide it.
His father was the Calvin Fletcher who is one of the best-known
citizens of early Indianapolis—the first lawyer, first prosecutor,
a state senator, banker, school trustee and farmer. In 2006 an
historic marker in Calvin Sr.’s honor was unveiled in the
Indianapolis neighborhood of Fletcher Place.
Calvin II divided the
land into plots of 15 to 60 acres each. Stockholders were to receive
15 acres for each share of stock. He worked to achieve a park-like
effect with beautiful streets, including the main thoroughfare, which
was named “Orange Grove Avenue.” There was some concern about
how to assign the plots fairly. After much discussion, it was agreed
that they would set a time when each stockholder would rush to select
a plot of his liking.
Tuesday, January 27,
1874, was a glorious California day, warm and sunny. The 27 members
and their families gathered and then explored the land, noting the
numbers of the plots that appealed to them. After the camaraderie of
a lavish picnic provided by the women, the male stockholders gathered
and, with D. M. Berry acting as secretary, each name was called, and
each stated his preference. The three largest stockholders,
including Fletcher, waited until last. Remarkably, the process was
completed in about 20 minutes and, in the words of one of the
participants, “. . . a general love feast ensued.” On January 31, 1874,
the Indiana Colony was incorporated, but that name did not last very
long. When the community applied for a post office, the Postmaster
insisted on a more appropriate name. Dr. Elliott wrote to a friend
in Michigan for some suggestions of Indian names. One was Pasadena,
supposedly Chippewa meaning “crown of the valley.” That name was
adopted on April 22, 1875.
Since the Indiana
Colonists intended to establish an agricultural and ranching
settlement, Calvin Fletcher’s plan did not include a business
district. However, one quickly developed. Within three years of the
colony’s founding, there was a church, a general store, a post
office, a school and about 40 houses, plus orchards and vineyards.
The first grocery store was opened by Lawson D. Hollingsworth and his
wife Lucinda, Quakers from Indiana. They were known for many years
as Grandpa and Grandma Hollingsworth. Their son, Dr. H. T.
Hollingsworth, kept the Post Office in the grocery.
Within ten years, the
commercial district had expanded to include banks and hotels.
Churches and schools were built. The Pasadena Library was founded in
1882 and in 1884 opened its first library with 329 donated books. In
March of 1886 Pasadena became the second incorporated municipality in
Southern California next to Los Angeles. In keeping with the values
of its founders, culture was important to the Pasadenans. The need
for a literary club was discussed in 1888, just three years after the
founding of The Fortnightly Literary Club in Indianapolis, where this
paper was first presented in 2006. The Shakespeare Club of Pasadena
is also still in existence today and is the oldest women’s club in
Southern California.
Early on, Pasadena
became popular with Easterners as a winter resort. Hotels sprung up
and elaborate mansions were built both in Pasadena and in supposedly
worthless Altadena. Andrew McNally of the Chicago map firm was one
who built in Altadena, in 1887. That house incorporates a Turkish
Room from the Chicago Worlds Fair. Others who built in Pasadena
around the turn of the century include Adolphus Busch, cofounder of
Anheuser-Busch Brewing Company, William Wrigley, Jr., the chewing gum
magnate, and David and Mary Gamble of Proctor & Gamble. Their
house was build by the Arts & Crafts movement architects Greene &
Greene, who were featured in a recent exhibit at the Indianapolis
Museum of Art.
On January 1, 1890, a
grand tradition was to begin. At a meeting of Pasadena’s Valley
Hunt Club, Professor Charles F. Holder announced, “In New York,
people are buried in snow. Here our flowers are blooming and our
oranges are about to bear. Let’s hold a festival to tell the world
about our paradise.” Thus for the first time horses and carriages
bedecked with flowers paraded through the streets of Pasadena on New
Year’s Day.
In the next few years
the festival was expanded to include marching bands and various
games. By 1895 the event had become too big for the Valley Hunt Club
to handle, so the Tournament of Roses Association was formed. In
1902 the first post season football game was held as part of the
festival. The University of Michigan beat Stanford 49-0. After such
a lopsided defeat for the West Coast team, football was abandoned.
Instead, chariot races were held, based on Hoosier author Lew
Wallace’s novel Ben Hur.
The Tournament of Roses
Parade is always on January 1, unless that falls on a Sunday, in
which case it is held January 2. This was established in 1893, “to
avoid frightening horses tethered outside local churches and thus
interfering with worship services.” It has rained only twice in
the history of the parade, in 1955 and in 2006, when it poured
throughout the parade. Today’s floats are decidedly more elaborate
than the horses and carriages in that first parade. According to the
rules, every inch of the exposed surface of a float must be covered
with flowers or other natural materials, including bark, seeds and
leaves. Float planning begins a year ahead of time; many floats are
built by professionals. In the days after Christmas, volunteers
meticulously glue petals and other plant materials to the floats.
As a teenager, staying
up all night to glue petals didn’t appeal to me; now I wish I’d
done it, like many of my classmates. I did always attend the parade.
My mother, brother and I would leave the house early on January 1.
With the advent of television, my father stayed home, because the
bowl games in the east were already starting. We would take two
ladders and a board and set them up at the edge of a curb on Colorado
Boulevard. Perched on the board, we were at a perfect height to
watch the floats, bands and equestrians go by. Today, according to
the Tournament’s website, ladders are no longer allowed. Ah,
progress.
Football returned in
1917 and has been part of the tournament ever since. In the 1920’s
the Rose Bowl was envisioned and built. It is now a national
historic landmark. The Tournament of Roses Bowl game is known as
“The Granddaddy of them all.” From 1947 to 1998 the game pitted
the Big Ten against the Pac Ten. With the advent of the Bowl
Championship Series, the bowl match-up process has changed; now the
Rose Bowl hosts the top two teams in the nation every four years and
that game might not be played on New Year’s Day.
As of the 2000 census,
the population of Pasadena was about 134,000. Urbanization
eliminated the agricultural activities envisioned by its Hoosier
founders, but Pasadena developed into a sophisticated city with an
eastern flavor. It is home to the Pasadena Playhouse, the California
Institute of Technology, the Jet Propulsion Laboratory and the Norton
Simon Museum, as well as many other cultural and educational
institutions.
In 1949, in celebration
of Pasadena’s diamond jubilee, the city put on a pageant at the
Pasadena Playhouse titled “Dreamed a City.” It depicted the
story of the Indiana Colony. In it Mrs. Elliott was called “The
Mother of Pasadena.” This does not mean, in case you’re
wondering, that she was the “little old lady from Pasadena.”
That expression originated after her day. In the 1920’s, 30’s
and ‘40’s many elderly couples retired to Pasadena. When their
husbands died the widows rarely drove their cars, thus used car
salesmen would tout a gently used car as “owned by a little old
lady from Pasadena.” The phrase was immortalized in a hit song
written in 1964 by Jan and Dean which suggests the opposite. The
chorus goes:
And everybody’s sayin’ that there’s nobody meaner,
I wonder what the Elliotts would think of that.
Who knows what the
weather will bring on New Year’s Day? Both 1872 and 1873 remain
among the ten coldest years in Indianapolis history. Ironically, the
winter of 1873-74, when the Indianans were in California establishing
their colony, was one of the warmest. The average high in
Indianapolis on January 1 is 35 degrees, the low 20. In Pasadena, on
the other hand, the average high is 67, the low 44. Where would you
rather be?
Regardless of where you
spend New Year’s Day, you can catch a glimpse of what so attracted
the Indiana Colonists. Turn on your TV and you are sure to see a
shot of Pasadena‘s palm trees and the Sierra Madre mountains
silhouetted against a --most likely--blue sky. The Rose Parade is
shown on multiple channels in the US and is broadcast around the
world to more than 150 international territories. As you watch those
spectacular flower-covered floats make the turn from Orange Grove
Avenue onto Colorado Boulevard, remember--it all began in
Indianapolis with a determined woman who wanted to grow caladiums.
Revised June, 2012 First presented
to The Fortnightly Literary Club, Indianapolis,
Indiana, December 19, 2006.
The
Indiana Colony
Than the Little Old Lady From Pasadena.
(She drives real fast and she drives real hard)
She’s the terror of Colorado Boulevard.