BREAKING: Gless Farmhouse At Risk!

I was shocked and dismayed to hear from my pals at Esotouric that the landmarked 1887 Gless farmhouse just flipped. I had to see it to believe it.

When I wrote about Simon Gless 22 months ago, the house had been a boarding house for many years.

The story of the Gless farmhouse is the story of Boyle Heights in a nutshell: a well-to-do French Basque family's farmhouse, then for a number of years the Hebrew Shelter Home and Asylum, then divided into apartments and lived in by mariachi musicians (the house is spitting distance from Mariachi Plaza).

Boyle Heights residents have been fighting back against gentrification for years (listen to Smoke Screen: The Sellout). But it’s very hard to fight against opportunists with deep pockets (especially if they play a little too nicely with City Hall).

The Gless house, long lived in by low-income renters, has most recently been operating as a hotel. Where are the tenants? Where could they realistically afford to go, with rents spiking in Boyle Heights and neighborhoods like it?

The house, listed as an “investment opportunity”, has now sold for over $1.8 million. Whoever bought it may very well intend to make a lot more than that.

I am very worried about this house. Yes, it was landmarked (Boyle Heights residents pushed to landmark several buildings in the neighborhood to guard against developers tearing them down). But landmarking isn’t enough to save a building. In Los Angeles, landmarking a building doesn’t actually prevent demolition. It adds a couple of extra requirements and allows the city to delay demolition for up to a year. That’s IT. Landmarks can indeed be demolished, and sometimes, it does happen.

Don’t get me started on the fact that illegal demolition takes place on an all-too-frequent basis in LA, with the perpetrators almost always going unpunished. It’s entirely possible that a bulldozer will just show up one day, sans permit, and knock down the house, with zero consequences for anyone involved.

The Gless house, therefore, could very well be demolished and replaced. I doubt the largely working-class people of Boyle Heights will be able to afford to live in whatever might replace it. 

Do I even need to comment on the house formerly being billed as “Mariachi Plaza Hotel” when whoever turned it into a hotel displaced mariachis to do so? (There’s a reason one of the characters on Netflix’s series “Gentefied” is a mariachi living in a van with his young son, unable to find an affordable apartment.)

Does anyone out there know Sharon Gless or her management team? Sharon is Simon Gless’ great-granddaughter and had a hand in getting the house landmarked in the first place.

The Trials of Simon Gless

Simon Gless was living on Alameda Street and working as a bartender when his well-to-do uncle, Gaston Oxarat, passed away in 1886.

Quiet, unassuming, twenty-four-year-old Gless - his uncle's favorite nephew - inherited Rancho Los Encinos, fifty acres in Boyle Heights, the Postoffice Block and Odd Fellows Block (home of the City of Paris department store at the time) downtown, properties in San Francisco and in France, and about $29,000 in cash (about $800,000 today). It would be impossible to put a price tag on the Oxarat-Gless real estate holdings today, but to give my dear readers a rough idea, Rancho Los Encinos was subdivided into Encino and Sherman Oaks after World War II. The downtown properties were, at the time, some of the most valuable in Los Angeles.

Oxarat's body was barely cold before the mess hit the fan.

Simon was sued, separately, by his uncle's son, by a woman claiming to have married Gaston in 1874, and by a woman who claimed to be Gaston's illegitimate daughter. All of them wanted a chunk of Gaston's valuable estate.

Simon agreed to pay a French Basque attorney, M.V. Biscailuz, either $45,000 or $60,000 (sources disagree) to handle his uncle's estate. This ultimately did not go well, and eventually led to Simon suing Biscailuz years later. Judge Van Dyke sided with Biscailuz but reduced his fee to $14,000. 

Benita Murillo, filing a lawsuit under the name "Benita Oxarat", claimed that she was Gaston's wife and that Gaston was the father of her son Francisco. The case went to probate court. When Benita took the stand, her story crumbled. She admitted that she was not Gaston's wife and that Gaston was not Francisco's father. In fact, she stated that Edward Amar (another prominent French Basque who developed much of old San Pedro) had persuaded her to contest the will and claim to be Oxarat's widow.  

The other cases weren't so simple.

Within a few weeks of Benita's confession, Simon was back in court with his own lawsuit - against the rancho's prior owner, Eugene Garnier, and Garnier's business partner F.A. Gibson. Garnier and Gibson claimed to own a partial interest in the rancho, but Gless believed the document was a forgery.

I'll let the Los Angeles Herald (February 23, 1887) elaborate:

Plaintiff alleges that the agreement was forged by Garnier and that the claim is false. He avers that Garnier removed a certificate of acknowledgement made December 1, 1877, before Charles E. Beane, Notary Public, from another document and altering the certificate so as to make it appear to be a certificate of the acknowledgement of Oxarat and himself to the agreement, pasted it on the forged paper and filed it recently with Recorder Gibson. The document is now in the Recorder's office, and as it is material for plaintiff's case that it should not be destroyed, he asks that an injunction be issued to the Recorder preventing him from delivering it to defendant. Gless alleges that it is evident that the names were not written so long ago as 1877 nor further back than a year since, a different kind of ink was used and the writing is much fresher.

(As a Notary Public for the State of California, I was trained to spot this type of fraud. This is why certificates of acknowledgement HAVE TO be attached - no matter how much a signer whines about it - and why notaries have to make a separate journal entry for each notarized signature. If this case happened today, the alleged forgery would probably go to the crime lab and Beane's journal would probably be subpoenaed as evidence.)

Simon won that case, but Eugene Garnier filed an appeal and requested that the judgment be vacated. Garnier added that the judge in the case had a financial interest in the Gless estate and that he and his attorney were not permitted to view the relevant documents before their court date.

Adela Freeman, who claimed her birth name was Adela Oxarat, kept coming after Gless for part of the Oxarat estate, and managed to keep her claim limping along for a good six years. She was so persistent that one newspaper reporting on the case incorrectly stated Simon Gless was no relation to Gaston Oxarat.

Basque genealogy site Bridge2Pyrenees lists over a dozen court cases involving Gless. Yet another French Basque, J.B. Leonis, retained Gless as a Basque translator for his own court cases.

With all of his appearances in court as plaintiff, defendant, or translator, Gless may very well have spent more time in a courtroom than he did on the rancho.

Life wasn't all bad - Gless married Juanita Amestoy, daughter of rancher Dominique "Don Domingo" Amestoy in San Francisco in 1886, a few months after inheriting Gaston's estate.

Juanita Amestoy's wedding dress

Simon and Juanita had three children - Constant Simon (1890), Domingo Amestoy (1892), and Noeline Elizabeth (1897). 

After fighting so hard to keep Rancho Los Encinos, Simon sold it to his father-in-law. Valley lore has it that he sold the rancho for $5 after buying a block of ice downtown and finding it had already melted away upon arriving home (I'm from Sherman Oaks...this story may or may not be true, but the southern Valley is hot enough that it's definitely plausible). Another source says Amestoy paid $125,000 and wanted to subdivide the land for farming. In either case, the Gless family moved to 131 Boyle Avenue in Boyle Heights.

Gless farmhouse in Boyle Heights

Long after his mother's admission of fraud on the stand, Francisco Morillo came after Gless himself, still claiming to be Gaston's son. The matter had already been settled financially, but Morillo wouldn't drop it.

In April 1891, M.V. Biscailuz accused Simon of assault. Simon was arrested and the matter went to court, along with that long-brewing lawsuit against Biscailuz. The case dragged on for some time, but Biscailuz eventually dropped the charges against Simon. 

Two months later, Simon checked into Santa Ana's Brunswick Hotel, where he suffered a mental breakdown. Simon claimed he had been attacked by two Mexicans, but wasn't able to recall the details of the alleged incident. He was monitored overnight, took the train home to Los Angeles in the morning, and fired a revolver in his bedroom five times that evening.

After five years of lawsuits and harassment, Simon was so fearful and paranoid that he nearly attacked a visiting friend with a music box (Juanita intervened). 

Simon was taken to the Amestoy ranch (near modern-day Gardena) to recuperate; however, his attending physicians weren't optimistic about his odds of recovery. 

Mental illness of any kind was highly taboo in the Victorian era, and apart from one news article, little seems to be known about Simon's condition. 

Simon contracted chronic intestinal nephritis ("Bright's disease") at age 41 in 1903 and passed away after a few months. He died at home, with Juanita and the children at his side. 

Although Simon was mercilessly hounded by dishonest people, he was loved and missed by family and friends - so much so that the funeral procession was over half a mile long. Interestingly, given all the time he spent in courtrooms, two of the pallbearers were judges. 

Simon is unique among French Angelenos in that TWO former residences remain standing today - and Gless Street in Boyle Heights is named for him. 

The Gless farmhouse was landmarked in 2010, with the support of Gless family descendants - including Simon's great-granddaughter, Sharon Gless. 131 Boyle Avenue served as the Hebrew Shelter Home and Asylum for many years and has since been divided into apartments. Most of the tenants are mariachi musicians - fitting for a house located so close to Mariachi Plaza.

The Messy Legacy of Gaston Oxarat

You know things didn't go so well for Rancho Los Encinos' first French owners, the Garniers. The wool market collapsed, and it was all downhill from there.

The rancho went to auction in 1878. Gaston Oxarat, a French Basque, placed the winning bid. Oxarat had wanted a chance to buy the rancho for some time; he'd previously obtained a lien on the property as collateral when he loaned money to the Garniers.

Gaston Oxarat's saddle, on display at Rancho Los Encinos

Oxarat had arrived in Los Angeles in 1851, and was mentor and friend to Domingo Bastanchury, another French Basque who, at one time, owned more head of sheep than anyone else in Los Angeles County. Bastanchury's orange grove - the largest in the world - made up much of modern-day Fullerton (which I will get into at a later date). As it happens, he was married to Oxarat's niece, Maria.

In spite of the fact that wool no longer fetched good prices, Oxarat used the rancho to raise sheep. It wasn't his sole source of income; he also had orchards.

Sources disagree over whether Oxarat lived on the rancho, with the Ballade family as a boarder, or at 43 or 47 Boyle Avenue in Boyle Heights. The 1880 census record citing the Ballade residence could be a coincidence, since the boarder's age is given as 60 (Oxarat would have been 55 that year) and there were numerous French Basques living in Los Angeles by that point.

In any case, Oxarat (who was not in the best of health when he bought Rancho Los Encinos) passed away in 1886.

Things got messy after that.

Ten days after Gaston's death, the Morning Press stated that there were allegations of his death being due to poisoning. However, since there was no evidence, the authorities could take no action.

Oxarat left Rancho Los Encinos to his favorite nephew, Simon Gless. Less than a year later, Gless filed a lawsuit against Eugene Garnier and F.A. Gibson to clear the rancho's title. Eugene Garnier claimed that he and Gibson owned a partial interest in the rancho under an agreement made with Oxarat while he was still alive. Gless claimed the document was forged.

Francisco Oxarat, Gaston's son, was none too happy about Rancho Los Encinos being left to his cousin, and he took Simon Gless to court.

Benita Murillo, who claimed to have married Gaston in 1874, sued Simon Gless separately, seeking the widow's share of Rancho Los Encinos.

Adela Freeman, who claimed her maiden name was Oxarat, also sued Simon Gless, claiming to be Gaston's "sole surviving child" (which must have been quite a shock to Gaston's actual sole surviving child, Francisco).

In the end, Simon Gless kept Rancho Los Encinos...only to sell it later. But I'll get into that next time.

We're Still Here, Part 3B: Rancho Los Encinos

Moving on to the next historic location in the Valley, we find a very special property that many Angelenos don't even know exists. 

Los Encinos State Historic Park is all that remains of Rancho Los Encinos (sometimes called Rancho El Encino). The original rancho was established by Francisco Reyes (first alcalde, or mayor, of Los Angeles), re-granted to three Tongva ranchers by Pio Pico (Reyes allegedly mistreated his Native American ranch hands), sold to the de la Osa family, and sold to a Yankee named Thompson...who sold it to Philippe and Eugene Garnier in 1869.

The Garnier brothers were the first of four French families to own the property. 

Philippe Garnier, Gaston Oxarat, Simon Gless, and Domingo Amestoy.

Former residents. Note the prevalence of Basque surnames.

The original de la Osa adobe house. This is the second oldest structure in the Valley - and the only one that is pretty much unaltered.

Philippe Garnier's shaving stand.

Gaston Oxarat's saddle. This finely tooled piece was originally covered with tiny silver conchas (shells).

Juanita Amestoy wore this beautiful gown when she married Simon Gless.

Don Vicente de la Osa had previously turned the adobe into a stagecoach stop and roadside inn. The Garnier brothers, being from France, kicked the hospitality up a notch.

The Garniers had one of the adobe's rooms painted with beautifully detailed faux marbre panels.

Can you believe some idiot PLASTERED OVER these stunning walls? For over a century, no one knew this fine paint job was even there.

Try, if you can, to let your imagination fill in the blanks. It's a beautiful room now - it must have looked even better then.

I do hope someone else takes the time to notice that the plastic food on the table is French in theme. (Why is there a red candle? Did red paraffin even exist in the 1870s?)

The Northridge earthquake of 1994 severely damaged the adobe (one outer wall caved in, requiring extensive repairs). However, there was one silver lining: the earthquake may have damaged the house, but it shook much of the offending plaster right off the salon's walls. As you can see, some of the faux marbre is still covered by plaster. There is a good reason for this: the adobe is very old and very delicate. Some things are best left alone, even if they're not perfect.

What's that next to the adobe?

It's a French farmhouse!

No joke: the Garnier brothers built this two-story limestone house, said to be a copy of the family home in France, to house their employees. They also built a brick-lined pond shaped like a Spanish guitar to collect water from the natural spring on the property.

The Garniers hit tough times: they overextended themselves financially, the wool market collapsed, and Miguel Leonis tried to intimidate the brothers out of their home by burning their wheat fields and beating up their ranch hands. (Fight me on the subject of Leonis if you want, but Eugene Garnier's court testimony backs this up.) They lost the rancho to foreclosure in 1878, and it passed to Gaston Oxarat.

Gaston Oxarat, in turn, left the rancho to his nephew, Simon Gless. Legend has it that one day, Gless bought a large block of ice downtown and, upon returning to the rancho, found that it had already melted away. This was too much for Gless (I can't blame him one bit, since I know how hot it gets in the Valley - and this was long before air conditioning or swimming pools). He decided to sell the property and move to Boyle Heights (the Gless farmhouse in Boyle Heights is, incredibly, also still standing).

Simon Gless was married to Juanita Amestoy, and her father Dominique already had significant land holdings elsewhere in Los Angeles County. Dominique, commonly called "Don Domingo", smartly snapped up Rancho Los Encinos. Other members of the Amestoy family lived on the property until 1945. 

The Amestoys began to sell off bits of the rancho in the early 20th century, but it wasn't until after World War II that the bulk of it was subdivided into modern-day Encino and Sherman Oaks (my neighborhood).

Supposedly, the adobe was used as a sales office for the new housing tracts and (what else...) subsequently slated for demolition. Concerned neighbors fought hard to have the buildings preserved (thank God).

The last remaining scrap of Rancho Los Encinos has been a California state historic park since 1949 and can be visited Wednesday through Sunday, 10am to 5pm (excluding holidays). There is a pedestrian entrance on Ventura Boulevard, but virtually no one seems to notice it is even there.