The King of the Castle

It's no secret that the Pyrenees Castle is up for sale. It's been on the market for so long that the asking price was recently reduced.

Nor is it a secret that the fabled chateau is a notorious murder site. Phil Spector purchased the property in 1998, and just five years later, killed Lana Clarkson inside the mansion.

I won't get into THAT ugly mess, as it's been done before. I will say that I wasn't surprised when it happened, since one of my parents had a terrifying firsthand experience with Phil Spector's bizarre behavior and hair-trigger temper.

Instead, let's go back to simpler times and meet the castle's original owner, Sylvestre Dupuy.

Sylvestre Julien Dupuy was born August 4, 1878 on the Rancho Rosa de Castille (modern-day Cal State LA - my dad taught there and never knew the property's history). When Sylvestre's mother passed away, his father took him and his siblings back to France.

As a young boy growing up in the Pyrenees, Sylvestre admired a large and elegant chateau close to where he lived. Someday, he would build one of his own.

Sylvestre wouldn't see Los Angeles again until he was 14 years old, returning with an older brother. Several years later, his uncle Jean Pedelaborde decided to return to France, leaving Sylvestre his grazing land on Rancho Rosa de Castille's hills. Sylvestre would soon lease neighboring plots and plant grain fields - in addition to raising sheep, of course. (I'm pretty sure every French Basque Angeleno must have raised sheep at some point). According to an old newspaper article, he found it cheaper to rent or lease grazing land than to own it outright. Sylvestre's sheep grazed everywhere from the Plaza area to the eastern suburbs.

Sylvestre married Anna Candelot in 1899. The couple had four children - Frank (1902), Marie (1903), Peter (1904), and Henry (1905). By 1910, the Dupuy family had relocated to the San Gabriel Valley, where land was still plentiful. Sylvestre was patriotic - he registered for the World War I draft  despite being 40 years old. He was also active in the Lafayette Club.

Sylvestre's agricultural activities were successful, but he also invested in oil and worked for Walter P. Temple's Temple Townsite Company (developers of Temple City). He helped convince the Pacific Electric company to extend a Red Car line to Temple City, and a street was named for him (it was later changed to Primrose Avenue). There is a reference to Dupuy owning a general store.

In the 1920s, with business booming and Los Angeles expanding, Sylvestre decided to build a grand home on a three-acre hilltop property overlooking his ranch lands in Alhambra.

Scottish-born architect John Walker Smart was commissioned to bring Sylvestre's childhood memory of that elegant chateau to life. Thirty rooms - ten bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a basement AND a wine cellar (the Dupuys made their own wine), and more made up the 8,600 square foot mansion.

Artisans were brought over from Europe to work on the Pyrenees Castle, and work on it they did: the elegant interior boasted maple floors (recycled from Alhambra High School's original building) and elegant wood paneling, crystal sconces, chandeliers, marble floors in all eight bathrooms, and a marble foyer.

The grandeur continued outside - a massive fountain in the courtyard, tennis courts, recreation areas for the Dupuy children, and strategically placed guard towers to protect everything. The property was so vast and elaborate that the landscaping still wasn't quite complete when Sylvester passed away.

The Pyrenees Castle cost Sylvester Dupuy $500,000 (or about $7.3 MILLION in 2020 dollars). He paid IN CASH.

Locals and tourists alike have gawked at the Pyrenees Castle ever since it was built. And since the Dupuys liked their privacy (apart from the occasional celebration, i.e. entertaining French athletes during the 1932 Olympics), rumors began to circulate about the big, beautiful, mysterious castle on the hill.

One of the more common stories was that the house's owner was an automobile mogul who never let anyone see him enter or leave the property.

Another legend had it that East Coast gangsters lived inside the house (not the weirdest story that could have been invented, given that there were some real-life East Coast gangsters living in LA at the time).

Yet another rumor held that only two or three of the chateau's rooms were ever lit and that the rest of the vast home was kept in perpetual darkness. Ghost stories circulated, too.

But more than anything else, there were tall tales of secret entrances and secret passages - hidden garage entrances, an elevator inside the hill, tunnels, secret passages, and hidden rooms. (In fact, there was one secret passage - from Anna's closet to the attic.)

None of it was true, of course. In 1939, Anna and Henry Dupuy finally had to go on the record with the Los Angeles Times to explain that the Pyrenees Castle was just a very big family home. They didn't even give the house its nickname - to the unpretentious Dupuys, it was "the house on the hill", or even "the hill".

In 1928, Sylvestre took Anna and two of the children, Marie and Peter, on a trip to France. Passenger manifests show that they sailed through the port of Le Havre and returned via the port of New York.

Unfortunately, Sylvestre's oil investments tanked in 1936, wiping out most of the family fortune, and he passed away on April 22, 1937.

Sylvestre had left enough assets for Anna, three of the couple's children (Frank lived in another house), and their families to continue living in the chateau until they sold it in 1946 for the pittance of $60,000 ($847,000 today).

The mansion was then converted into eight large apartments. Anna Candelot Dupuy lived in one of the apartments until her own death three years later. (Records disagree over whether Anna financed the conversion or whether the next owner did.) The surrounding ranch lands were turned into tract housing. The Dupuys are buried at Calvary Cemetery.

As for the castle, it fell into disrepair, changed hands over and over, was abandoned and vandalized, and was purchased by Chris Yip in 1985.

The house had been treated abominably - broken windows, a leaking roof, severe scarring to the hardwood floors, and even holes in the walls and ceilings where vandals had torn out the sconces and chandeliers. Yip had the floors, paneling, and roof tiles restored, but updated the kitchen and bathrooms and added some modern conveniences.

Chris Yip bought the chateau for $585,000 and put $500,000 into fixing up the house and grounds. He intended to retire there. But in the end, it was all too much, and the Bank of Hong Kong foreclosed on the mortgage.

By now, you've heard the rest. One wonders what the Dupuys would think of the shocking murder that took place in their elegant marble foyer.

Alhambra doesn't have any historic preservation ordinances, and notorious murder sites are often altered or even demolished to deter gawkers. Can anyone spare $4.4 million?

The Other Rémi Nadeau

(Dear readers: the ads are only supposed to appear in the sidebar. I am trying to get that fixed.)

When I began researching Old French Los Angeles seven years ago, one name came up again and again and again: Rémi Nadeau. Victorian Los Angeles aficionados should be familiar with Rémi as well.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that there was another Rémi Nadeau - one still living. 

Rémi Allen Nadeau was born in Los Angeles in 1920, attended University High School (my mom's alma mater), and became an Eagle Scout. While majoring in American and World History at Stanford University, Rémi became an Army Air Corps officer through ROTC.

After completing his BA in 1942, Rémi served with the 320th Bomb Group, flying combat missions and serving as an intelligence officer. He was discharged in 1946, having achieved the rank of Major. 

Rémi returned to Los Angeles, where he met Margaret Smith. They married in 1947, and had three children - Christine, Barbara, and Bob.

Rémi had already completed his first manuscript, City Makers, in 1946. After its publication in book form in 1948, it would become a bestseller. City Makers details the people who made Los Angeles into a world city. Rémi Nadeau the freighter is mentioned, of course. (I have the 1948 edition. The city-map end papers are to die for.)

Rémi continued to write history books while working as an editorial writer for newspapers. In time, he became a public relations executive, then special assistant to the United States Attorney General. Rémi wrote speeches and statements for AG John N. Mitchell, AG Richard Kleindienst, and President Richard Nixon.

This would be an impressive career on its own, but Rémi continued to publish history books every few years. 

The Water Seekers followed City Makers in 1950. 

Los Angeles: From Mission to Modern City (one of my favorites) was published in 1960. Tellingly, the introduction is all about traffic. (Sometimes it's comforting to know my hometown hasn't changed that much.)

California: The New Society hit bookstore shelves in 1963. California had recently become the nation's most populous state. Was it really so different from everywhere else? Rémi seemed to think so. 

Ghost Towns and Mining Camps of California: A History and Guide followed in 1965. (I, for one, would love to use this book as the basis for a road trip...and not just because I'm under quarantine and have a bad case of cabin fever.)

Fort Laramie and the Sioux Indians came along in 1967, then The Real Joaquin Murieta: Robin Hood Hero or Gold Rush Gangster: Truth vs. Myth (too many colons, I know) in 1974.

In 1980, Rémi retired from the world of public relations and earned a Doctor of Philosophy degree in History from UC Santa Barbara. He published Stalin, Churchill, and Roosevelt Divide Europe in 1990, then The Silver Seekers: They Tamed California's Last Frontier in 2003.

Rémi's longtime home was in Encino, south of the 101 and west of the 405, in a house high up on a hill overlooking the Valley. My family's neighborhood was less than 5 miles away. 

I always wanted to interview Rémi. But I put off contacting his publisher. No matter how much I read or how many hours I devoted to research, I still felt that I wasn't informed enough to pick his brain (I hadn't even launched this blog yet). I was aware of the fact that he was over 90 years old, but I still couldn't bring myself to reach out.

Rémi died of natural causes in 2016 in Santa Barbara. He was 95.

I wish I'd at least tried to get in touch with him.

If any of my dear readers have been wanting to do something or talk to someone - just do it when you get a chance. Life's too short to have regrets.

Museum Madness

By now, you've probably heard that LACMA is actively being torn down.

And for what? A Wilshire Boulevard-spanning, obscenely expensive campus that won't even have enough room for the permanent collection?

No one wants this museum except for a handful of billionaires (who, by the way, are passing the costs to YOU, the taxpayer) and a man with the audacity to assume he can do better than William Pereira. To do all of this during a pandemic, while ordinary Angelenos are struggling, is inexcusably wasteful and selfish.

Send a clear message to the museum's director by signing this petition update.

And now that the steam hissing out of my ears has had a chance to dissipate...

I have a lot I want to accomplish before I expire. Publish my book, tear up a parking lot and put a salvaged historic building on the site, become a bestselling author so I can buy up historic properties and keep them from being destroyed...but I've mentioned previously that I'd like Los Angeles to have its own French-American museum someday.

One of my recent tour guests (hi Jacques) asked me about that. The fact of the matter is, a museum is a VERY costly undertaking (even if you'd be thrilled with a very old and very small building) and I don't have millions of dollars. So far, all I have is a vintage set of highball glasses from a defunct French restaurant in Hollywood, some old bottles from Broguiere's Dairy, and two books signed by historian Remi A. Nadeau (great-great-grandson of the freighter Remi Nadeau).

A lot of us are deep-cleaning and reorganizing our homes right now. If anyone has anything they no longer want that would be a good fit for such a museum, I'd be grateful for first refusal. (Please do not entrust me with any treasured family heirlooms until and unless I can get good security and good insurance coverage. I would never forgive myself if something happened to them.) 

To heck with it - these are uncertain and scary times, but life's too short not to dream big.

And if anyone happens to have a building lying around (who am I kidding, right?), drop me a line. I have several ideas for multiple revenue streams. (Note: Blogger is STILL eating my comments, so include an email for a reply.)

Lessons From the 1863 Smallpox Epidemic

One of the most important reasons to study history is to learn from the past. You know what they say - those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.

A smallpox epidemic tore through Los Angeles between November 1862 and Spring 1863. What can we learn from it amidst the spread of COVID-19?

Start planning for a disaster BEFORE it happens. In 1863, there was only one hospital in the city - St. Vincent's. And the Daughters of Charity never turned away a patient in need. But the French Benevolent Society, founded in 1860, was three years into saving money to build Los Angeles' second hospital. They weren't quite ready for the 1869 outbreak (the hospital fully opened in 1870), but when the much-worse 1887 outbreak hit Los Angeles, there were two hospitals available to sick Angelenos.

When the 1862 outbreak began, the city still had no Board of Health, and the City Council had to quickly appoint one in January of 1863. Oops.

Be prepared to take emergency measures. City health officials had to vaccinate - and in one-third of cases, re-vaccinate (vaccines didn't work as reliably then) many Angelenos, and took the step of visiting every household in order to ensure it was done.

Check your xenophobia at the door. The first cases, in November 1862, hit the local Native American population, who had no natural immunity to smallpox. The disease would go on to decimate the local Native American population, and disproportionately affect Mexican Angelenos (nearly every household in Sonoratown had to be placed under quarantine). 

And when did that Board of Health appear from nowhere? January 1863, after the illness had spread too far beyond the Native American population to ignore. And only after that did the Board of Health recommend coordinating with local Native American tribes to get their members vaccinated against a deadly illness to which they were especially vulnerable in the first place.

It's 2020, so I'm sure I don't need to comment further on this.

No one likes being quarantined, but it saves lives. Smallpox patients in town were initially taken to a pesthouse (quarantine hospital) in Chavez Ravine, four miles from the city center (the Sisters found the house to be in poor condition, and moved the patients to a house close to the hospital when they could). 

In then-remote El Monte, patients were taken to Mission San Gabriel - to be treated if they were lucky and to be buried if they didn't survive the trip. El Monte officials objected to dangerously ill people being carried through town and put a stop to it. And El Monte was very badly hit, so this was probably the best thing to do under the circumstances. 

Don't assume "it won't happen here/it won't happen to me". Many Native Americans fled the smallpox-infested city for work on ranches out in the country. Alas, the illness followed them there, and the ranches were ultimately hit much harder than anywhere else.

Listen to the experts. Juan Antonio, chieftain of the Cahuilla people, is just one of the patients who tragically did not survive the traditional Cahuilla method of treating illness (sweating followed by a dive into cold water). 

Don't slack off on hygiene, and don't put anyone else at risk, either. Some Angelenos had a nasty habit of bathing in the zanjas - open ditches that supplied water to the city's households. This was bad enough, but when contagious people (including sick Native Americans trying to treat themselves) bathed in the zanjas, it only made the situation worse. Ultimately, thousands of people throughout Southern California fell ill and hundreds died.

Damien Marchesseault was Mayor of Los Angeles at the time, had been a zanjero, and was Water Overseer at one point. The smallpox epidemic is probably the most important reason why he was so hell-bent on bringing safer, cleaner water to Angelenos, even though his failed efforts culminated in his suicide.

Most importantly, take care of each other. The ethnicity of the smallpox patients didn't matter to the Hebrew Benevolent Society. They donated money out of their own treasury - and raised additional funds - to help feed and treat the sick. They did the same thing during later outbreaks, too.

Stay healthy, everyone.

Lost French Los Angeles Tour Going Dark Through April 11

I love giving my Lost French Los Angeles tour, and I am deeply grateful for the support it's received.

However, in light of the COVID-19 virus spreading, I'm suspending tours for the next few weeks.

I will continue to monitor the situation, and May/June tour dates will be decided later. (As of this writing, you can still book July through December.)

If you live in Los Angeles and have a few minutes to spare, please contact your councilperson (and/or the Mayor) and ask what they are doing to help homeless Angelenos. They are very vulnerable right now. (Especially in Echo Park, where the bathrooms are being locked at night. Really, Mitch?!)

Low-income children often do not get enough to eat when schools are closed. If you can, support food banks, feeding programs, etc. (Do you have more backyard fruit and veggies than you can use? Some programs accept donated produce.)

When you can, support small businesses. One month of low sales can mean layoffs or even having to close.

Stay safe and look out for each other.

Goodnight from Frenchtown,

C.C.

We Need to Talk About Taix

Sometime around 1870, a family of bakers and sheepherders from the Hautes-Alpes left France, emigrating to Los Angeles.

For decades, customers have hotly debated how to pronounce their surname - Taix. Long story short, the family says it's pronounced "Tex".

In any case, the family purchased property in Frenchtown - specifically, at 321 Commercial Street - and opened the Taix French Bread Bakery in 1882.

1911 and 1912 were tough on Marius Taix Sr. In September 1911, his sister Leonie Allemand died in France. In the spring of 1912, Adrian Taix (co-owner of The French Bakery at 1550 West Pico Boulevard), died. By summer, brother Joseph Taix died, also in France. And finally, in the summer of 1912, Joachim Taix (who owned the other half of The French Bakery) also died.

That same year, Marius Taix Sr. tore down the Commercial Street bakery, building the Champ d'Or Hotel on the land and leasing the ground floor to a restauranteur.

Marius Taix Jr. was a pharmacist by trade, and owned the French-Mexican Drug Company nearby at 231-235 N. Los Angeles Street. Ads boasted "French and Mexican Preparations Our Specialty". (With the Plaza and Sonoratown so close by, featuring both French and Mexican medicines was a smart move on Marius Jr.'s part.)

Two stories are told about the origin of the Taix family's eponymous restaurant. One is that Marius Jr. got into an argument with the restaurant owner. The other is that Prohibition agents busted the restaurant owner for illegally selling alcohol, and that Marius Jr. confronted him about it.

This isn't too surprising. Prohibition spelled the end for Frenchtown, since it rendered French restaurant owners unable to serve wine (the vintners had long since sold off their vineyards for development). Without wine, diners didn't want to linger at a French restaurant for an hours-long dinner (Little Italy, on the other side of the Plaza, faced the same issue). The overwhelming majority of Los Angeles' French community took pride in being law-abiding, and although Prohibition was decidedly unpopular, it was still the law. Better to close the restaurant and change jobs than to break the law.

In either case, one day in 1927, words were exchanged, the restauranteur threw the keys at Marius Jr. before storming out, and the Taix family rolled up their sleeves and got to work.

Taix French Restaurant in the 1950s

Marius Taix Jr. started out serving 50-cent chicken dinners at long, family-style tables, with private booths available for an extra 25 cents (he got around Prohibition by selling "medicinal wine"). He partnered with a French immigrant who had become an experienced restauranteur and baker, Louis Larquier. He also continued to run the pharmacy - a very busy guy!

Six years later, Taix French Restaurant could legally serve wine without having to call it "medicinal". Today, they serve more than 400 wines, along with affordably priced country-style French cuisine.

Marius Jr.'s two sons, Raymond and Pierre, grew up washing dishes in the restaurant. In 1962, the beloved Sunset Boulevard location opened under the name "Les Fréres Taix" - the Taix Brothers.

Taix French Restaurant on Sunset Boulevard

The original restaurant at 321 Commercial Street was forced to close in 1964 to make way for new government buildings, including a courthouse and jail (the same block once included the corral where Michel Lachenais was hanged). The Sunset Boulevard location has a bar called the 321 Lounge, presumably in honor of the original restaurant.

The two different restaurant names - Taix French Restaurant and Les Fréres Taix - were reportedly confusing to diners, and the Sunset Boulevard location dropped "Les Fréres" from its name.

In 2012, the intersection in front of Taix was officially designated Taix Square by the City Council. Intersections are typically named after important Angelenos - very few restaurants receive the same honor.

Alas, the good times will be coming to an end, at least for a while.

Taix has been a Los Angeles institution for 92.5 years. It's popular with couples, families, hipsters, Francophiles, foodies, city bigwigs, and Dodgers fans (Dodger Stadium is 5 minutes away). It even managed to survive Echo Park's decline into LA's scariest drug den (before the hipsters moved in). But the restaurant business has changed a lot, and in the 58 years that Taix has been open in Echo Park, the building's six banquet rooms are used less and less.

A building Taix's size, on a lot as big as Taix's, costs serious money to maintain. And in order for a business - even a legacy business - to stay open, it has to make enough money to cover expenses. That's hard to do when wholesale food prices have risen, labor costs have risen, and much of the building isn't being put to sufficient use.

Raymond Taix's son Michael, who currently owns the restaurant, sold the property in August 2019 for $12 million and is leasing the building as a tenant. The real estate developer which now owns the property plans to build a housing and retail complex, which will include a smaller version of Taix (6,000 square feet vs. the current 18,000 square foot building).

The plan is to store the bar, lounge, and signage, and reinstall them in the smaller future space - essentially shrinking Taix, but keeping everything that makes Taix what it is.

Except for the current building. Unless the developer decides to somehow convert the existing building (which I seriously doubt will be the case), it's doomed.

As of this writing, Taix is still open. Go while you can - no one knows for sure when the developer will get the go-ahead to start construction. And when it starts, count on waiting a good 18 months before Taix reopens.

Merci France-Amérique!

I am thrilled to announce that France-Amérique magazine, published in New York in both English and French, recently interviewed me about this blog and my Lost French Los Angeles walking tour.

The article is now live - read it in English or in French.

Note to my dear readers: beginning next weekend (3/14), all tours will book through Eventbrite. In the meantime, there is still some room on this Saturday's tour.