We're Still Here, Part 5: The Natural History Museum

It may seem odd to some of my readers that the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County would have, let alone display, anything related to the city's French community. The words "Natural History Museum" tend to conjure up images of rocks, dinosaur bones, and dioramas of taxidermy wildlife. (Yes, the museum has plenty of those things too, but that's beside the point.)

When it opened in 1913, the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County was named the Museum of History, Science, and Art (Le Guide calls it "our County Museum", and I'm sure I don't need to point out that Los Angeles' population was about the same size as Anaheim's is today). The museum's art department spun off into the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) and moved to Wilshire Boulevard in 1965. Today, the Museum's emphasis is firmly on science, but our history remains - in the "Becoming Los Angeles" exhibit.

And there are some nice surprises in store for French Angelenos.

General John C. Frémont is said to have signed the treaty ending the Mexican-American War at this humble kitchen table.

Jean-Louis Vignes' brandy still and strainer

The father of French migration to California used this brandy still and strainer. They're intact (if slightly battered) and safe in a glass case. I'm amazed these humble items survived when so much of our history has been demolished, paved over, renamed, or actively erased.

Charles Ducommun's scales and shotgun

Charles Ducommun was a half-blind smallpox survivor when he loaded up a donkey with as much as it could carry and WALKED from Arkansas to California, with this shotgun for protection. Incredibly, in spite of his reduced eyesight, the Swiss-born, French-speaking Ducommun continued to ply his trade as a watchmaker, opening a combination jewelry/hardware store. Ducommun's store grew into Ducommun Industries, a defense/aerospace supplier and California's oldest corporation.

I can't even tell you how much time I spent staring into that case, in awe of the fact that California's oldest corporation began with that tiny set of jeweler's scales.

Original log pipe, wrapped in heavy-duty wire

Jean-Louis Sainsevain and the ill-fated Mayor Damien Marchesseault tried to solve LA's water problems with pipes made from hollow logs. It backfired horribly (over and over...), but at least their struggle is remembered in the Museum. (The artifact information doesn't list them by name, but at least there's a surviving log pipe on display. And if you're reading this blog, you probably already know I'm used to this sort of thing. Still...this would make a GREAT segment on Mysteries at the Museum.)

Feliciana Yndart, painted by Henri Penelon

In the 1950s, Henri Penelon's granddaughter took two of his paintings to the Museum to donate them.  Less than a century after his death, no one at the Museum had any idea who he was. I can only imagine how badly that must have stung.

Don Vicente Lugo, painted by Henri Penelon

Today, the Museum's Seaver Center for Western History Research owns thirteen of Penelon's surviving paintings. I wasn't expecting to see any of them on display and yet...there they were!

Don Francisco Sepulveda, painted by Henri Penelon

I have yet to visit the Seaver Center, but will be reaching out to them to do further research.

Animator's desk, chair, and multiplane camera - developed by Walt Disney

Few people realize that Walt Disney had French ancestry. "Disney" is a corruption of "D'Isigny", after Isigny-sur-Mer in Normandy. I have never considered it a coincidence that Disney's Los Feliz home was influenced by traditional Norman architecture.

And then there's the city model.

Built in the 1930s as a WPA project, the model is an amazing tool for seeing what downtown looked like before freeways sliced right through Frenchtown (and a couple of Beaudry tracts). 

Do note that the street we now call "Paseo de la Plaza" was labeled "Sunset Boulevard" on the model. You read it here first: Marchesseault Street was (at one point) renamed Sunset Boulevard.

Beaudry Avenue on the model.

Pershing Square as it appeared before that hideous redesign in the 1950s.
Do note the tiny Doughboy statue in the upper right corner.

Sadly not on display: a portrait of Therese Bry Henriot, who emigrated from French-speaking Switzerland, married a French-born gardener, and established LA's first French-language private school. (Le Guide makes reference to Mme. Henriot's portrait hanging in the Museum. I can only presume it was moved to storage long ago.)

Nonetheless...can you imagine the tears of joy that seeing this exhibit brought to this French/Quebecois/Anglo-Norman Angeleno's eyes? (Who am I kidding? I'm crying as I write this.) For the first time in my life, I felt represented and acknowledged in my hometown. I have argued that we deserve our own museum (and my position on the matter isn't going to change), but just for one afternoon, it was as if the city had tapped my shoulder and whispered into my ear "I hear you".

We're Still Here, Part 1: Olvera Street and LA's Old Pueblo

The acknowledged foremost authority on Frenchtown, Helene Demeestre, has called at least one of her Frenchtown lectures "Without a Trace".

With all due respect to Dr. Demeestre, if you can't find traces of Frenchtown in modern-day Los Angeles, you haven't looked hard enough by a LONG shot.

Recently, I was fortunate to get a Saturday off work and spent it exploring the old Pueblo and nearby Chinatown. This is what you'll find if you make the same trip.

Damien Marchesseault, progressive six-term mayor, is remembered in a plaque outside the Biscailuz building. (Am I alone in thinking it's weird that the plaque is in English and Spanish, but seems to be missing a French translation?) The inscription references the nearest street being named after Marchesseault, which it was. However (insult to injury here), Marchesseault Street was renamed Paseo de la Plaza sometime after this plaque was installed. Oh, and the dates of his mayoral terms are highly inaccurate. (Even in death, Marchesseault gets no respect.)

Rest in peace, Mr. Mayor. And this plaque should really have a French translation...

Union Station, opposite the Pueblo. If Marchesseault Street still existed, it would lead right to Union Station's front doors.

Plaque outside the Garnier building. At a time when the United States government didn't believe Asians were human beings and anti-Chinese sentiments ran high, Philippe Garnier built this building specifically to rent to Chinese tenants (the Chinese-American community used this building continuously from 1890 to 1953). Today, it is the last surviving relic of LA's original Chinatown. (The plaque is in English and Chinese, but once again, missing a French translation.) 

Plaque on the wall of the Garnier building.

Do note the "P. Garnier 1890" relief.

LA's oldest Masonic hall. Sources disagree on whether Jean-Louis Sainsevain was grand master of LA's oldest lodge or not. We do know, however, that Judge Julius Brousseau was a high-ranking Mason.

The Pico House doesn't seem that big when you're right in front of it, but it looks enormous from across the plaza. French hotelier Pascale Ballade owned the Pico House for a time and threw the centennial to end all centennials here when the French Republic turned 100 in 1892.

Brunswig building (do not confuse with Brunswig Square in Little Tokyo) on the left, Garnier block (do not confuse with Garnier building) on right.

Garnier Block.

Brunswig building.

Inside the Garnier building, which now houses the Chinese American Museum.

There are too many clues to list, but there is plenty of hard evidence that much of old Chinatown was part of a French neighborhood first.

Back view of Garnier building. The building was much larger many years ago - only the last sections on the right are original.

Biscailuz building. Eugene Biscailuz, of French Basque extraction, was a respected lawman for many years in LA, and helped establish the California Highway Patrol.

La Placita and its unforgivably ugly faux-Byzantine mosaic. Up until the late 1930s, that exact spot contained LA's first public art - a mural of the Madonna and Child. The mosaic went up in 1981. (Somewhere, Henri Penelon is quietly crying into a glass of Sainsevain Brothers wine.) Oh, and let's not forget that La Placita's first TWO resident priests were from France!

And now...prepare for the shock of a lifetime.

As of this writing, if you visit the old Avila Adobe on Olvera Street, you just might stumble upon something unexpected...

...an exhibit about the struggle for water services in early LA.

I had no idea it was even there. It's not advertised, and most of it is gated off. But the first part, which concerns the Sainsevains, Beaudrys, Solomon Lazard, Mayor Marchesseault (etc.), was open.

Water permit signed by water overseer and mayor Damien Marchesseault.

Jean-Louis Sainsevain - engineer and Marchesseault's business partner.

Early map showing the old water system.

Jean-Louis Sainsevain's water wheel, feeding water into the Sainsevain Reservoir (now a closed-off old park called Radio Hill Gardens).

How it worked.

Dr. John Griffin (an Anglo with a background in public health), Prudent Beaudry (French Canadian), and Solomon Lazard (French) - partners in the Los Angeles City Water Company. Many of the LACWC's early employees were French as well.

You had NO idea. did you? Most Angelenos don't.

The old Plaza with the original LACWC building - fittingly located on Marchesseault Street.

Bauchet Street, near Union Station. You know who Louis Bauchet is.

Philippe the Original! Don't worry, I will write about Philippe Mathieu in the future. This is not the location where the French dip sandwich was invented (that one was torn down for development purposes), but on a personal note, my parents used to go on dates here.

Classic neon sign at Philippe's.

Corner of Mesnager Street and Naud Street. You had NO idea this was here, did you?

So as you can see...we haven't really vanished "without a trace", as Dr. Demeestre puts it. There is a wealth of clues. You just have to spend some time looking for them.

The Warren Buffett of Early LA: Mayor Joseph Mascarel

Joseph Mascarel, second French mayor of Los Angeles, on a small information kiosk outside the French Hospital.

Joseph Mascarel was born in the French seaport of Marseille on April 1, 1816. At the tender age of 8 (that's not a typo), he first glimpsed the port of San Pedro while serving as a cabin boy. Legend has it that he swore to one day live in California.

In 1827, 11-year-old Joseph was a cadet on the Jeannette, bound for Hawaii and Tahiti. The Jeannette made a stop in San Pedro, where one of the passengers - Jean-Louis Vignes - did some trading in port before the ship left for Hawaii. (It isn't clear if Vignes and Mascarel became acquainted on this voyage.)

Mascarel continued to sail around the world, working on ships and trading on the side. By 1844, he had saved enough money to buy the Jeannette. Mascarel, now 28 and the ship's captain, sailed his ship back to San Pedro, sold it, and bought an entire city block with the profits. (Specifically, Main to Los Angeles Streets at Commercial Street - on the northern edge of the original Frenchtown.) He also purchased forty acres of farmland in modern-day Hollywood, north of Gower Street, and grew tomatoes. (It's so funny to think of tomato plants growing along Gower Street today.) Mascarel lived in an old adobe house on Main Street for many years, but don't bother looking for it today...the corner where it once stood is now (drumroll please...) a parking lot adjoining Olvera Street. (The sheer number of Frenchtown sites that have since become parking lots is really beginning to depress me. But I digress.)

Mascarel was accompanied by a friend from Marseille - M. Lemontour. In fact, Mascarel had assisted Lemontour with travel expenses. Lemontour worked for Mascarel until he had paid him back, then moved on to Mexico City (Los Angeles, still a small and sleepy pueblo, wasn't as exciting as Lemontour liked). Many years later, Lemontour had become a wealthy Mexican official, and he met up with his old friend Mascarel to catch up and trade stories.

Although there was a growing French community by 1844, the vast majority of Angelenos were Mexican or Spanish. Mascarel - who was one of the few Caucasians to settle in Sonora Town - learned to speak Spanish fluently and was soon dubbed "Don José" by his neighbors. He also became a part owner of Los Angeles' first bakery (Angelenos weren't paranoid about carbs yet). Before too long, he was in the wine industry, got into mining, and distributed lime. A Chatsworth History program states that in 1845, he worked for Jean-Louis Vignes as a cooper.

In spite of his gruff, stern exterior and imposing presence (he was over six feet tall and weighed about 200 pounds - enormous for a Frenchman), Mascarel was a decent and generous man, and became a very popular local figure.

Mascarel got into some trouble in 1847. California was still part of Mexico, and Mascarel was one of a band of volunteer soldiers supporting the United States. The volunteers were captured and detained at Rancho Los Cerritos (i.e. modern-day Long Beach). However, they were in luck: their host was Don Juan Temple, an Anglo settler who had been appointed alcalde (mayor) of Los Angeles by Commodore Stockton. Temple responded by bringing two barrels of wine to Rancho Los Cerritos, plus his family for company, to ease the volunteers' "captivity". Needless to say, a good time was had by all.

The volunteers had to promise not to bear arms against the Californios in order to secure their release. Mascarel and Louis Robidoux (founder of Jurupa/Riverside) decided to obey the letter of their promise rather than its spirit. Robidoux supplied General Frémont's troops with flour from his grist mill, and Mascarel provided vegetables and livestock.

Supporting the United States was a potentially risky endeavor for Mascarel. His new bride, Serilda Lugo, was related to a prominent Californio family - the Alvarados of San Juan Capistrano. (Records disagree on whether Serilda was Native American, Spanish, or mixed race.) I have yet to find any reference to Mascarel having trouble with his in-laws, but the couple got along well enough to have eight children.

In 1853, Mascarel decided to visit France. He took $40,000 with him (about $1.2 million today) and left Serilda behind to manage his business (besides wine, farming, and mining, he was an avid investor and speculator). Mysteriously, Mascarel needed Serilda to send money for his return trip three years later. To this day, no one knows how Mascarel managed to lose such a large amount of money (my best guess would be a bad investment). Fortunately, Serilda was more than capable of managing Mascarel's business interests on her own.

In 1861, Mascarel and a business partner constructed a block of buildings along the south side of Commercial Street between Main and Los Angeles Street. The Mascarel-Barri block, which replaced several crumbling adobe buildings, was divided in 1865.

Another Frenchman, Damien Marchesseault, had served several terms as Mayor. His re-election streak was broken only by Joseph Mascarel, who served as Mayor from 1865-1866.

Mascarel was a very tough mayor. He responded to the city's abysmally high rate of violent crime by banning residents from carrying any weapons whatsoever (even slingshots were prohibited). This wasn't his most popular move (LA was still the Wild West), but Mascarel was often credited with maintaining order in a divided Los Angeles. Although California was a Union state, many of Los Angeles' white inhabitants were Southerners, the city leaned Confederate (read Los Angeles in Civil War Days if you don't believe me), and the Civil War was raging. Keeping the peace with a populace divided over a highly contentious war is quite a task.

Mascarel was held in high esteem by French, Spanish, and Mexican Angelenos. However, the growing Anglo minority took issue with Mascarel's inability to speak English. In fact, the April 23, 1866 edition of the Los Angeles Weekly News included a savage classified ad: "Wanted. A Candidate for Mayor who can read and speak the English language, by Many Citizens." (This may not have been an entirely fair demand, considering that the vast majority of Angelenos were native Spanish speakers, French was the second most common language, and English would remain a distant third for some time.)

Still, Mascarel's political career wasn't quite over. He was popular enough to be elected to the City Council seven times between 1867 and 1881. In later years, he would lend support to others who ran for office.

While serving as Mayor, Mascarel signed a significant land grant to the Pioneer Oil Company, the first of Southern California's many oil companies. (One of Pioneer's organizers was Charles Ducommun, a Francophone Swiss watchmaker we'll meet again later.)

According to an account by Horace Bell, Mascarel quietly kept a close eye on Mayor Joel Turner and the City Council. He dutifully reported their corrupt dealings, which included interfering with the water system, to the Grand Jury, which promptly indicted Turner and the councilmen. Turner was sentenced to ten years in prison. He never served a day of his sentence (can't win them all), but control over the Los Angeles River was taken out of the Mayor's hands and given back to the water commissioners. (Good thing, too - in those days, Angelenos were still raising crops and livestock. The city could easily have lost most of its food sources.)

In 1871, Mascarel helped to found the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank, serving as one of its trustees (by this time, the city directory listed his occupation as "capitalist"). According to an old newspaper obituary for one of Mascarel's granddaughters, he owned a cannon (courtesy of the Mexican-American War) and placed it at the corner where the first Farmers' and Merchants' Bank originally stood. This cannon was later moved to Exposition Park.

Serilda Lugo Mascarel passed away in 1887. Mascarel and his family soon took out an ad in the newspaper thanking their friends and acquaintances for their kindness and support.

It isn't clear when Joseph Mascarel met his second wife, Maria Jesus Benita Feliz. Nor is it clear when they moved in together and began their common-law marriage. But we do know that they didn't legally marry until 1896 (Mascarel's children with Serilda vocally opposed the marriage and son-in-law J. P. Goytino successfully blocked issuance of a marriage license). Maria had been very ill, and the belated marriage ceremony was carried out in the Catholic Church (a license was not necessary in this case). A Los Angeles Times article published just two days later stated that the 80-year-old former mayor and his 60-year-old bride had been "for all intents and purposes" living as a married couple for thirty years and had several adult children. This very likely means that Joseph and Serilda chose to separate in or before 1866. (Believe it or not, there was a time when divorce was rare in LA.) The 1870 federal census indicates that Serilda and her seven surviving children were no longer living with Joseph.

I should note that Mascarel was one of the wealthiest men in Los Angeles at the time. In spite of his penchant for quietly donating large sums of money to charitable causes, he was worth over a million dollars (and in 1896, that was a LOT of money). The Times noted that Goytino opposed the marriage due to concerns over inheritance of property. (In some ways, LA hasn't changed all that much.)

Joseph Mascarel died of heart failure on October 6, 1899, at his home on Lazard (now Ducommun) Street. He was 83 years old. Mascarel left behind Maria, children from both wives, grandchildren from his first marriage, and the remainder of his fortune. (The bulk of this money was willed to Mascarel's grandchildren from his marriage to Serilda. Maria's children promptly contested the will.) Mascarel had owned land in four counties, but began to give it away to to friends and loved ones in his later years. A solemn high mass was held at the Old Plaza Church in his honor.

Joseph Mascarel is buried at Calvary Cemetery. His headstone lists his first name as "José". The headstone is otherwise in English - ironic, given that he neither spoke nor read the language.

A Los Angeles Daily Herald article from 1889 states "Everybody knows who Jose Mascarel is, as as he lacks but little of being one of the oldest settlers of this city." Today, he has faded from LA's collective memory. A street was named for the former mayor and investor, but it is misspelled as "Mascarell Street."

Joan of Arc in Chinatown: A Brief History of Los Angeles' French Hospital

Jeanne d'Arc in front of the French Hospital

(now the Pacific Alliance Medical Center)

The first hospital in Los Angeles, St. Vincent's, was (and still is) a Catholic hospital. Which, given the city's Spanish roots and large numbers of Catholic Frenchmen in early LA, isn't surprising.

However, by the late 1850s, LA was becoming a little more diverse. Growing numbers of Protestants began to arrive, requiring the founding of the Los Angeles Unified School District in 1853 (before that, only Catholic schools existed, in spite of California becoming a state in 1848). Jewish newcomers (most of them German or French) also began to arrive.

People of all faiths need medical care. The Daughters of Charity, to their great credit, never turned away a patient in need, but the town was growing, and St. Vincent's only had so much space. The French community decided to see to its own needs. On March 1, 1860, thirty-three Frenchmen (and two Italians) met at the French Consulate, under the invitation of French consul Jacques Antoine Moerenhaut (remember the name Moerenhaut; you'll be reading a very long entry about him later).

The group decided to form a non-sectarian mutual protective association - predating the concept of an HMO - and named it the French Benevolent Society. Members contributed $2.00 each to the treasury (monthly dues were $1.00) and elected a nine-member executive committee responsible for creating the Society's constitution.

The Executive Committee elected its officers as following:

President: J.A. Moerenhaut
Vice President: C. Souza
Treasurer: Jean-Louis Sainsevain (no surprise here)
Secretary: Leon Victor Prudhomme
Commissioners: F. Guiol, Henri Penelon, A. Poulain, A. Labory, Guillaume Laché

Dr. Lacharmois was named the Society's first medical official. Initially, he worked out of an office in a house on Hill Street.

The Society elected a nine-member board each and every year. For many years, Jean Sentous was the Society's president; his son Louis Sentous Jr. held several offices in the Society and was its president for thirteen years (during his tenure, membership more than doubled).

The Society's earliest members included, but were not limited to: A. Davoust, Seigle, T. Moillan, Jules Segouin, R. Boltz, Delancre, H. Remebe, S. Lebreton, Pierre and Madame L'Arseval, B. Amillac, M. Brunet, P. Larrieux, Louis Vieille, A. Labory, E. Bordenave, Jean Hennequin, P. Lende, the Henriots, G. Dupuy, Cardou, Henri Deleval, Boutet, C. Cassagne, Jean Bernard, V. Fevre, Sanot, J. Lassors, A. Blanche, S. Lelong, A. Gossiot, Guillaume Coppé, Camille Plosson, T. Clermont, the Cléments, Pierre Bassac, J. Marcellin, Mathieu Garboline, C. Plassan, A. Cauginac, F. Brémont, Edouard Naud, E. Baudry, E. Riviere, A. Pouya, Maurice Kremer, Jean B. Trudel, Charles Ducommun, L.J. Coijdarrens, Joseph Hennequin, Damien Marchessault, Claude Planchon, André Briswalter, R. Doleau, A. Grange, P. Lude, M. Pointreaux, G. Murat, A. Hauline, A. Rendon, Antoine Ferrera, P.P. Raho, and C. Soprani.

Regular readers may recall that Michel Lachenais' first murder took place at a wake, when (after the mourners had been drinking for several hours) he got into a fight with Henri Deleval over whether the recently-founded Society had adequately cared for the deceased.

The Society also soon had a parcel at the old City Cemetery for burials. (Beret-tip to Richard Schave for the link.)

By 1861, the Society decided non-French (and non-Italian) Angelenos could see Dr. Lacharmois as well. Los Angeles was still a very dangerous place (so much so that Frenchtown was protected by a unit of the French Foreign Legion!), and there weren't many medical professionals in town. This decision, in effect, created a healthcare safety net for area residents who may not necessarily have preferred St. Vincent's.

General meetings were held twice a year, on the first Sunday in March and the first Sunday in August. This tradition, to the best of my knowledge, continued for the Society's entire existence.

Any extra money in the Society's treasury was earmarked for the purchase of land and construction of a hospital. In spite of the expense of tending to sick or injured Frenchmen (and in some cases burying them as well), the treasury had $5,000 within the decade.

By 1869, four plots of land - enough to build the hospital - had been purchased on the edge of town, one mile from the French Colony. The Executive Committee vocally disagreed on whether to build the hospital that year. While the hospital was badly needed, some members were not convinced it was the best time to spend the money. In the end, the needs of the community won out, and plans were made to build the hospital.

On October 4, 1869, the Society gathered at the corner of College and Castelar Streets and walked to the building site, where the cornerstone of the French Hospital - the first non-sectarian public hospital in Los Angeles - was laid with appropriate ceremony.

By March of 1870, only the hospital's second story and roof remained unfinished. At the semi-annual March meeting, it was discovered that the building fund had run out of money. This was quite upsetting to members, who wanted the hospital open but did not want to go into debt.

The Society made the best of the situation by equipping the completed ground floor and opening the hospital in its unfinished state (perhaps rationalizing that they could finish it later, since bad weather is so infrequent in Southern California). M. Sarlangue was appointed caretaker, with a different French couple overseeing housekeeping and nursing. Sure enough, the Society soon managed to raise the rest of the money and finish the hospital.

In 1876, Dr. Hubert Nadeau (no relation to "Crazy Remi" Nadeau) arrived in Los Angeles, taking employment at the French Hospital. The well-liked doctor also served as county coroner from 1879 to 1884, when he became Chief of Dispensary Clinics and Professor at the University of Southern California. He was also President of the County Medical Association. (Los Angeles boasts a Nadeau Street and a Nadeau Drive; based on their respective properties owned it’s most likely that Nadeau Street is named after Remi and Nadeau Drive is named for the good doctor.)

The Society also held fundraisers, including an annual picnic. The Los Angeles Herald announced the French Benevolent Society's 11th annual picnic would be held at Sycamore Grove Park on June 18, 1882. In part: "Original Game of Ball of Henry IV. Committee of Arrangements - Beaudry, Lower, Casenave. Ladies' Bar - Mrs. Ch. Deleval, Vignes, Penelay. Ice Cream - Mdlles. Vignes, Jos, Dol, Deleval. Bar - Ballade, Dombledy, Rouguy, Lecroq. Dance - R. Weyse, Mailhan, Sombloy, Marticio, Cajal, L. Vignes. Flowers and Lottery - Mrs. Pelissier, Ballade, Cassagne, Sentous, Le Masne. French Restaurant! Music by Wangeman's Band! Carriages will be run to the ground from Downey Block every hour. Price 25 cents."

The French Hospital began accepting Chinese patients in the early 1900s. It is, perhaps, not surprising that the hospital is now surrounded by Chinatown.

Originally a modest adobe building, the French Hospital soon had a wood-framed front house where the nurses lived. The hospital was expanded in 1926. Supposedly, part of the original adobe building is encased within the walls of the newer hospital building. (What I wouldn't give to find out what happened to the original cornerstone...but I'm not about to go poking around an active hospital facility on private property.)

In 1985, the French Hospital celebrated its 125th anniversary with a party including a six-foot cake, pinatas, Chinese lions, and a presentation by then-Mayor Tom Bradley. By this point, admission pamphlets were printed in English, Spanish, Chinese, and Vietnamese - but not French - and the hospital staff spoke 25 languages.

In 1987, a multimillion-dollar expansion of the French Hospital was approved. Unfortunately, a year later, excessive unpaid medical bills forced the hospital (along with several others, i.e. Linda Vista) to cut back on emergency services.

Within a year, local doctors in Chinatown, with help from a Japanese entrepreneur, sought to save and expand the French Hospital. Since 1989, it has been known as the Pacific Alliance Medical Center, and is still an active hospital (the hospital remained open continuously when it changed hands). Today, most of the patients are Asian; there are also sizable numbers of Latino and African-American patients.

The Jeanne d'Arc statue erected in 1964 stands outside the hospital to this day. Nearby is an Angels Walk stanchion with a brief overview of the history of the French community and the birth of Chinatown. (I suspect it was placed in Chinatown and not in Frenchtown due to the presence of the French Hospital and the nearby Fritz Houses, built as a family compound by a French carpenter.)

The city of Los Angeles just voted to landmark the Japanese Hospital in Boyle Heights. Would anyone like to help me convince the City Council to landmark the French Hospital too?

Welcome to the French Museum of Los Angeles/Bienvenue à la Musée des Français à Los Angeles

Today is my birthday.

What I would like to do is go to a museum.

Specifically, a museum that tells Frenchtown's countless stories.

Imagine, if you will, a surviving 19th century building converted into a museum (in a way that preserves its original bones as much as possible, of course).

Imagine a giant (fiberglass, of course) bottle of Sainsevain Brothers Wine outside, beckoning visitors and reminding attentive passersby that French-owned vineyards once dotted downtown Los Angeles.

Perhaps there is even a rear courtyard where visitors can see wine grapes growing - Mission, Cabernet Sauvignon, Cabernet Franc, and Sauvignon Blanc (i.e. the varieties Jean-Louis Vignes grew at El Aliso long before Union Station was built on the site). Replicas of 19th-century winemaking equipment are also on display (we mustn't expose authentic artifacts to the elements!).

Inside, an entire gallery traces California's wine industry from Louis Bauchet and Jean-Louis Vignes through the present day. Bottles, winemaking equipment, and personal effects, carefully preserved behind glass, bear the names Sainsevain, Vache, Mesnager, and Nadeau (among others). Perhaps, if we are really lucky, Pierre Sainsevain's steam-powered stemmer crusher will be on view.

A second gallery tells the overall story of the French in Los Angeles.

Bricks from the zanja madre, surviving pieces of hollow log pipe, and an original iron pipe speak to the struggle for safe, reliable water in Los Angeles and to the forgotten Frenchmen who gave it their all - Jean-Louis Sainsevain, Damien Marchessault, Prudent Beaudry, and Solomon Lazard. Surviving pictures of Sainsevain's water wheel and the founding members of the Los Angeles City Water Company bring to life the difficulties of hydrating a parched city.

Pharmaceutical ads and medicinal packaging speak to LA's early French pharmacists - Chevalier, Viole & Lopizich, and the Brunswig family. Photos and very old medical equipment represent Dr. Nadeau (no relation to Remi), Dr. Pigne-Dupuytren, and the French Hospital.

A wall of old maps, perhaps with tiny LED lights representing the path of the Temple Street Cable Railway, show Prudent Beaudry's massive impact as a developer.

Paul de Longpré's pretty flowers adorn a wall - and perhaps someday the Seaver Center will loan out a few of Henri Penelon's paintings.

A case of antique watches, jewelry, and hardware, alongside modern-day aerospace materials, testifies to the importance of Charles Ducommun, the talented Franco-Swiss watchmaker who founded California's oldest corporation.

The evolution of law and order in Los Angeles might be seen in a case displaying photos of the Lachenais lynching, Judge Julius Brousseau's gavel, and perhaps the badge of Eugene Biscailuz, former LA County Sheriff and founder of the California Highway Patrol.

Perhaps one of Victor Ponet's cabinets has survived. Perhaps it displays milk bottles from the Sentous, Alpine, and Pellisier dairies. (Heck, I'd be happy if one of Ponet's coffins survived and was in decent enough condition for display.) And perhaps a copy of the Doors' album "Morrison Hotel" - built on Ponet's land - hangs on the wall, linking long-forgotten LA with still-in-living-memory LA.

A sizable wall case shows glassware, dinnerware, menus, matchbooks, and other items from French-owned restaurants. I just might be thrilled to death to point out the glasses from Café de Paris that are on permanent loan from my personal collection*. But we all know Philippe Mathieu, creator of the French Dip, is going to be the star here (even if he did move back to France when he retired).

One unique display stacks fruit crates high, with labels reading Model, Basque, Daily, Popular, and Golden Ram. Next to the stack? If we are very lucky, a surviving jug from Bastanchury Water - since all of those brands were based on the Bastanchury family's enormous orange grove in Fullerton.

Surviving pictures and the odd schoolbook speak to LA's French educators, ranging from Father Lestrade and his boys' boarding school to Madame Henriot and her Francophone private school to the modern-day Lycée Français. Perhaps there is even a clipping from one of the olive trees used to create olive oil in a contest at Caltech during Dr. Jean-Lou Chameau's tenure.

World War One is recalled, perhaps, by a rare surviving plaster statuette of Pedretti's Doughboy (sold to raise funds for the statue), Lucien Brunswig's dispatches from war-torn France, Georges Le Mesnager's correspondence with General Pershing, and artifacts from the many French war-relief organizations headquartered in LA (and, probably, chaired by Brunswig). Perhaps there is even something that belonged to Dr. Kate Brousseau, who used her brilliant bilingual mind and Ph.D in psychology to rehabilitate traumatized soldiers.

Perhaps there are still surviving items from the City of Paris - LA's biggest and best early department store. Perhaps they could be artfully arranged into a life-size diorama of a fashionable, well-to-do lady's boudoir, circa 1880.

Maybe, just maybe, an entire wall could be "papered" with blown-up images of the city's forgotten Francophone newspapers - Le Progres, L'Union, L'Union Nouvelle. (There was reportedly a fourth paper early on, called the Republican, but I will be very surprised if there are ANY surviving copies.) One of those newspapers was still being published in the 1960s. Just saying...

Remi Nadeau, quite possibly the greatest Angeleno who has been forgotten by the remote frontier town he helped to turn into a world-class city, really deserves his own gallery (if not his own museum). But even one case of artifacts would be a damn good start.

In the middle of it all, I for one would love to see a scale model of early downtown LA - which, with a little magic from projectors, can layer "LA now" over "LA then" when a switch is flipped.

Perhaps a third space - a small theater - showcases French Angelenos in film. Any surviving scraps of film shot at Blondeau's Tavern - Hollywood's first film studio - segue into the stunts of aviatrix Andrée Peyre, cut to Claudette Colbert, and perhaps finish up with Lilyan Chauvin (who went on to teach at USC). It would be a no-brainer to use the space for special screenings, too.

I have so many more people, places, and accomplishments in my list of future blog posts that I won't even try to list them all here.

But here's the problem...

I can't go to this museum.

It doesn't exist outside of my own head.

Chinese Americans make up 1.8% of LA's population (county-wide, the number rises to 4%). They have their own museum AND the Chinatown Historical Society (both of which, by the way, are based in buildings constructed by French immigrants).

Mexican Americans make up 32% of LA's population. They have their own museum.

Japanese Americans make up 0.9% of LA's population and have largely spread to the suburbs (hello, Torrance!). They have their own museum.

African Americans make up 9.6% of LA's population. They have their own museum.

Los Angeles' itty-bitty Little Italy (try to say THAT three times fast) grew out of Frenchtown (two of the French Benevolent Society's founding members were Italian), vanished during the war, and is now part of Chinatown. They have their own museum.

Should these ethnic groups all have their own museums? Of course they should. They are all a part of LA history and they all have their own stories to tell modern-day Angelenos (and whoever else is listening).

For a good chunk of Los Angeles' history, the city was 20% French. Until sometime around the turn of the 20th century, only Californios outnumbered them.

I have written about the founders of California's wine industry, humble hoteliers (wait until I get to the fancier ones), a pharmacist who threw himself into supporting World War One, a renegade general, entire families of ranchers, LA's first struggling artist, and the city's first priests.

I have barely scratched the surface. There are HUNDREDS of stories left to tell.

And one doozy of a question to ask:

Why doesn't Los Angeles have a French-American Museum?

I've previously addressed the fact that the Pico House hosted a temporary exhibit on French Angelenos in late 2007/early 2008. But it lasted less than six weeks, ran during the busy holiday season (not a time when most people want to go to museums), and has, of course, since been forgotten (go on, ask anyone who isn't French if they remember it...I'll wait).

The forgotten French community in Los Angeles deserves to be remembered just as much as every other ethnic group that has ever made a home for itself in LA. We deserve our own museum - a permanent one.

Alas, I don't have the funds or the connections to do this myself.

Can anyone spare several million dollars (damn LA real estate) and a resourceful curatorial staff?

*I do indeed own glassware from the shuttered French-owned Café de Paris in Hollywood (an extremely lucky flea-market find). And if a French-American museum ever does open its doors in Los Angeles, I'll happily - enthusiastically, even - loan out some of those glasses. I'll lead tours, give lectures, you name it. I want our stories told.

Emergency Edition: Doughboy in Danger! Tell Everyone!

Just last month, I wrote about Humberto Pedretti's Doughboy statue - the World War I memorial anchoring Pershing Square. (Or what passes for Pershing Square these days, anyway. It looks nothing like it did when the statue was installed.)

I found the time to visit Pershing Square this week. Believe me, I completely understand why everyone hates it so much. Raising the park above street level (even if it was to add some desperately needed parking) made it uninviting at best. The steps to get into the park are not pleasant to climb (I wish to add that I climbed those steps in a pencil dress and it was the most physically challenging thing I've done all week). There is far too much concrete, which makes the park both hideous and extremely hot. The underground parking garage has made it impossible for the park's few trees to grow enough to provide a decent amount of shade, which just makes the heat worse.

And, off in a corner surrounded by unattractive succulents, Pershing Square's historic monuments are all but forgotten.

Besides the Doughboy, there is a Spanish-American War monument, a plaque honoring Gen. Pershing, and - inexplicably - Beethoven. All four monuments have been in the park for decades. All of them may as well be invisible, since it is surprisingly difficult to see them from inside much of Pershing Square itself, let alone from the street (I checked).

But there is something we can all do.

I stumbled upon a Change.org petition to save Pershing Square's historic monuments - those listed above as well as several more that are currently absent. As of this writing, the petition has 262 supporters (myself included). That means at least 238 more are needed.

And I know we can make that happen.

Send this petition to Angelenos and other Southern Californians. Send it to people in the armed forces and their families. Send it to preservationists. Send it to historians. Send it to musicians, your friend with season passes to the LA Philharmonic, and your piano teacher from childhood (Beethoven matters too). Send it to people in France whose families can still remember World War II (I know some French women live to be well over 100, but I'm going to be realistic about the possibility of many living people remembering World War I). Send it to anyone who would at least consider signing it. If you know anyone who can make this petition go viral, please ask for their help. 

The statues all appeared to be clean, well-maintained, and in good condition (especially for being 84 to 116 years old!). It would be a terrible waste not to incorporate them into the redesigned square.

I had a few other things to do downtown. The traffic, incredibly, wasn't bad, and with AFI playing on the car stereo, I didn't really mind. Due to a combination of road work and one-way streets, at one point I had to make a detour near Aliso Street to turn around, and immediately noticed I was at the intersection of Vignes and Ducommun Streets.

"Such a promising past...Mayday!"

Although those streets bear the names of two very prominent figures, no one would ever guess the neighborhood was thriving in Vignes' and Ducommun's day. Because I have been researching Frenchtown for so long, I knew what I'd find there, but even Google Street View couldn't quite prepare me for the shock of having to actually see it in person.

"Down with the heroes before me...What did I tell you? I promised I'd give you a story."

That part of Frenchtown has been replaced by a creepy-looking strip club, aging industrial buildings, and a vacant lot taken over by weeds so tall that I, at 5'5", could probably hide in them unnoticed. The traffic island that stands on the former site of El Aliso is crumbling, weedy, and strewn with trash. The only people I saw were two LAPD officers doing paperwork in a parked patrol car.

"I saw this alone. The city was aflame. Did I turn right in or turn away?"

THIS replaced the once-thriving French quarter? I wanted to throw up.

"Summertime is long. In God's name who would stay? God left yesterday but I remain."

Before I pulled my little car onto the 101, I swore that, for as long as I'm alive, I will do everything I can to keep Frenchtown from being forgotten.

"Disappear, disappear, disappear..."

Not on my watch.