On New Year's Eve, 1852, a French American and his English wife arrived in Los Angeles.
Augustus Ulyard, born in Philadelphia to French immigrant parents, was a baker by trade. The Ulyards rented a house near the Plaza and set up a bakery, using yeast Mary Field Ulyard had brought with her from Missouri. There were other bakers in town*, chief amongst them Joseph Lelong and his Jenny Lind Bakery**.
The only bread baked in Los Angeles until 1853 was French bread. Which should surprise no one, since all the bakers in town were French.
Of course, by 1853, increasing numbers of Germans and Yankees had moved to Los Angeles. Ulyard - the first baker in Los Angeles to diversify his wares - soon added German and American varieties of bread and cake, which proved very popular.
An advertisement in the Los Angeles Star (November 12, 1853) stated "...I am prepared to furnish individuals or parties with Pastry, Pies, Cakes, Bread, etc. at short notice, and of a better quality than can be obtained at any other establishment in this town...".
Ulyard moved his bakery to the southwest corner of Main and First Streets. He was successful enough to make some real estate purchases - including the southwest corner of Fifth and Spring Streets. The Alexandria Hotel has stood on the site since 1906.
In early Los Angeles, food often arrived in poor condition because it took so long to arrive from suppliers in San Bernardino or San Francisco (and anything coming from San Bernardino could be spoiled by the desert heat). Crackers in particular tended to arrive stale. Late in 1860, Ulyard began to advertise "fresh crackers, baked in Los Angeles, and superior to those half spoiled by the sea voyage."
Ulyard eventually sold the bakery to Louis Mesmer, established a dairy in Cahuenga, and went into the grocery business. He was a member of the Odd Fellows' Golden Rule Lodge, a member of the Common Council, and helped to organize California's first Republican League, supporting John C. Frémont's presidential bid (Frémont ultimately lost the nomination to Abraham Lincoln).
The Ulyards had no biological children, but they did adopt seven homeless children over the years. The youngest, Sarah Nelson, was just starting high school when Augustus retired from baking at age 63.
Augustus Ulyard died in 1900 at age 83. Mary died the following year. The Ulyards are buried at Angelus Rosedale.
*Ulyard's obituary in the Los Angeles Herald claimed he was Los Angeles' first baker. He was not - at minimum, Lelong had already been in business for at least a couple of years.
**Don't ask me why Lelong named a French bakery after a Swedish opera star. I have no idea.
Monday, May 6, 2019
Friday, April 26, 2019
Leon Loeb and the City of Paris
Leon Loeb was born in Alsace-Lorraine around 1845. After a stint as a bookkeeper in Switzerland, he arrived in Los Angeles in September of 1866 and worked for S. Lazard & Company/Eugene Meyer & Company (the fact that he was Eugene Meyer's cousin couldn't have hurt). He later became a partner in the business.
Loeb married Harris Newmark's oldest daughter, Estelle, in 1879. They had four children - Edwin, Joseph, Rose, and George (sadly, George only lived a few months). He was active in local French circles, active in charitable circles, active in Congregation B'nai B'rith, and is said to have held every office in Odd Fellows Lodge No. 35.
When Eugene Meyer stepped down to move to San Francisco, Leon Loeb took over as head of the firm and took on new partners. The company name was changed to Stern, Loeb, & Co., but after a while, Loeb had a better idea.
Loeb decided to rebrand the dry goods store as a classy department store. And a classy department store needs a classy name.
Loeb was French. Solomon Lazard was French. Eugene Meyer was French. All the best stuff (at least in fashion) was imported from France - especially Paris.
By now, you know Solomon Lazard's dry goods store eventually became the Ville de Paris. And now you know who deserves the credit for that clever idea - Leon Loeb.
Loeb also took over Eugene Meyer's duties as a French consular agent. After fifteen years of service (working his way up to vice consul), the French government gave him two high honors - Chevalier du Merit Agricole and Officer d'Academie.
For the past 11 days, the world, including Los Angeles, has mourned the devastating fire at Notre Dame de Paris. This isn't the first time Los Angeles has mourned a tragic fire in Paris.
Paris' French Catholic upper class held an annual charity fundraiser, the Bazar de la Charité. In 1897, a combination of a wooden event building, lots of flammable materials, improperly marked exits, and a malfunctioning cinematograph caused a fire that killed 126 people.
A requiem mass was held in Los Angeles "at the old mission church" (the article doesn't specify whether it was Mission San Fernando, Mission San Gabriel, or the technically-not-a-mission Plaza Church). Leon Loeb attended the mass in his official capacity as a representative of the French people.
Newspaper accounts indicate that Leon Loeb served on the Bastille Day celebration committee several times, usually as honorary president or vice president.
When Rabbi Abraham Wolf Edelman passed away in 1907, Leon Loeb was one of the honorary pallbearers.
Loeb later went to work with his father-in-law as treasurer (and part owner) of H. Newmark & Co. By 1910, the census listed Loeb as living in Newmark's house on West Lake Avenue.
Leon Loeb passed away in 1911 at the age of 66. He is buried at Home of Peace Memorial Park in East Los Angeles.
Leon's surviving sons, Joseph and Edwin, both became attorneys. After working at other firms, they founded the law firm of Loeb & Loeb, with Joseph handling their corporate clients and Edwin handling movie studio clients. More than a century later, Loeb & Loeb has offices in several U.S. cities and in China.
Loeb married Harris Newmark's oldest daughter, Estelle, in 1879. They had four children - Edwin, Joseph, Rose, and George (sadly, George only lived a few months). He was active in local French circles, active in charitable circles, active in Congregation B'nai B'rith, and is said to have held every office in Odd Fellows Lodge No. 35.
When Eugene Meyer stepped down to move to San Francisco, Leon Loeb took over as head of the firm and took on new partners. The company name was changed to Stern, Loeb, & Co., but after a while, Loeb had a better idea.
Loeb decided to rebrand the dry goods store as a classy department store. And a classy department store needs a classy name.
Loeb was French. Solomon Lazard was French. Eugene Meyer was French. All the best stuff (at least in fashion) was imported from France - especially Paris.
By now, you know Solomon Lazard's dry goods store eventually became the Ville de Paris. And now you know who deserves the credit for that clever idea - Leon Loeb.
Loeb also took over Eugene Meyer's duties as a French consular agent. After fifteen years of service (working his way up to vice consul), the French government gave him two high honors - Chevalier du Merit Agricole and Officer d'Academie.
For the past 11 days, the world, including Los Angeles, has mourned the devastating fire at Notre Dame de Paris. This isn't the first time Los Angeles has mourned a tragic fire in Paris.
Paris' French Catholic upper class held an annual charity fundraiser, the Bazar de la Charité. In 1897, a combination of a wooden event building, lots of flammable materials, improperly marked exits, and a malfunctioning cinematograph caused a fire that killed 126 people.
A requiem mass was held in Los Angeles "at the old mission church" (the article doesn't specify whether it was Mission San Fernando, Mission San Gabriel, or the technically-not-a-mission Plaza Church). Leon Loeb attended the mass in his official capacity as a representative of the French people.
Newspaper accounts indicate that Leon Loeb served on the Bastille Day celebration committee several times, usually as honorary president or vice president.
When Rabbi Abraham Wolf Edelman passed away in 1907, Leon Loeb was one of the honorary pallbearers.
Loeb later went to work with his father-in-law as treasurer (and part owner) of H. Newmark & Co. By 1910, the census listed Loeb as living in Newmark's house on West Lake Avenue.
Leon Loeb passed away in 1911 at the age of 66. He is buried at Home of Peace Memorial Park in East Los Angeles.
Leon's surviving sons, Joseph and Edwin, both became attorneys. After working at other firms, they founded the law firm of Loeb & Loeb, with Joseph handling their corporate clients and Edwin handling movie studio clients. More than a century later, Loeb & Loeb has offices in several U.S. cities and in China.
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
Throwing the First Stone
Notre Dame de Paris burned yesterday.
Notre Dame was 865 years old. She withstood countless wars, invasions, the French Revolution, looting, desecration and severe neglect, Napoleon's ego trip, the Franco-Prussian War, World War One, and the Nazis.
And still, she stood at the heart of Paris and the heart of France (in a very literal sense - the "Point Zéro" marker, from which all distances in France are measured, is right outside the cathedral).
Yesterday, during some overdue restoration work, she caught fire.
I'm used to fires, but I live in Southern California. We have a very dry climate, we have frequent droughts, and we don't have controlled burns (which, done properly, deter wildfires). Paris has a good-sized river flowing through the city (the LA River has become a pathetic trickle) and gets more rain than London (yes, really). It's not normal for Paris to have ashes falling like black snow.
As depressing as this may sound, I'm used to the strong possibility of anything going up in flames at any time (although I always hope it won't happen). Case in point: besides burning over 400 homes, the Woolsey Fire burned the Sepulveda Adobe - still undergoing restoration from the 1994 earthquake - to the ground. It also destroyed the Paramount Ranch - strangely leaving only the church - but the ranch can be rebuilt. The Sepulveda family's 19th-century adobe isn't replaceable.
But things like this tend not to happen in France. No one ever expects a devastating fire to break out in a stone cathedral that has stood for almost nine centuries.
I know it could have been even worse. The bronze statues from the roof were removed mere days ago for restoration, the relics were saved, the stone structure didn't collapse, no one died, and only one firefighter was hurt.
But did it really have to be as bad as it was?
France's notoriously bureaucratic government allegedly hampered the process of getting funding for some badly needed repairs. Notre Dame is one of Paris' most popular destinations for tourists; you'd think the French government would WANT the cathedral to be well-maintained. Red tape is no one's friend! (Just ask any Angeleno who worked on the campaign to get Angels Flight up and running...)
The Catholic Church has money (visit the Vatican if you don't believe me); yet the Archdiocese of Paris has had to ask for donations to pay for the cathedral's upkeep. That makes no sense.
Somewhere in the great beyond, Victor Hugo is crying. And every drop of my French blood is boiling.
If the cathedral had just been properly maintained in the first place, the fire might not ever have broken out at all.
I know other historic sites have been rebuilt after devastating fires. But there shouldn't have been a fire in the first place.
Want to prevent more disasters like this?
Get mad. Speak up and demand respect for historic sites. When the local authorities aren't doing their jobs, take them to task (name, shame, recall if necessary). Declare war on negligence. It was bad enough when the Pickle Works burned down - the damage to Notre Dame is a much greater loss.
Although I am a daughter of Los Angeles, I am also a granddaughter of France. And there are no words that can adequately describe how furious I am tonight.
Notre Dame was 865 years old. She withstood countless wars, invasions, the French Revolution, looting, desecration and severe neglect, Napoleon's ego trip, the Franco-Prussian War, World War One, and the Nazis.
And still, she stood at the heart of Paris and the heart of France (in a very literal sense - the "Point Zéro" marker, from which all distances in France are measured, is right outside the cathedral).
Yesterday, during some overdue restoration work, she caught fire.
I'm used to fires, but I live in Southern California. We have a very dry climate, we have frequent droughts, and we don't have controlled burns (which, done properly, deter wildfires). Paris has a good-sized river flowing through the city (the LA River has become a pathetic trickle) and gets more rain than London (yes, really). It's not normal for Paris to have ashes falling like black snow.
As depressing as this may sound, I'm used to the strong possibility of anything going up in flames at any time (although I always hope it won't happen). Case in point: besides burning over 400 homes, the Woolsey Fire burned the Sepulveda Adobe - still undergoing restoration from the 1994 earthquake - to the ground. It also destroyed the Paramount Ranch - strangely leaving only the church - but the ranch can be rebuilt. The Sepulveda family's 19th-century adobe isn't replaceable.
But things like this tend not to happen in France. No one ever expects a devastating fire to break out in a stone cathedral that has stood for almost nine centuries.
I know it could have been even worse. The bronze statues from the roof were removed mere days ago for restoration, the relics were saved, the stone structure didn't collapse, no one died, and only one firefighter was hurt.
But did it really have to be as bad as it was?
France's notoriously bureaucratic government allegedly hampered the process of getting funding for some badly needed repairs. Notre Dame is one of Paris' most popular destinations for tourists; you'd think the French government would WANT the cathedral to be well-maintained. Red tape is no one's friend! (Just ask any Angeleno who worked on the campaign to get Angels Flight up and running...)
The Catholic Church has money (visit the Vatican if you don't believe me); yet the Archdiocese of Paris has had to ask for donations to pay for the cathedral's upkeep. That makes no sense.
Somewhere in the great beyond, Victor Hugo is crying. And every drop of my French blood is boiling.
If the cathedral had just been properly maintained in the first place, the fire might not ever have broken out at all.
I know other historic sites have been rebuilt after devastating fires. But there shouldn't have been a fire in the first place.
Want to prevent more disasters like this?
Get mad. Speak up and demand respect for historic sites. When the local authorities aren't doing their jobs, take them to task (name, shame, recall if necessary). Declare war on negligence. It was bad enough when the Pickle Works burned down - the damage to Notre Dame is a much greater loss.
Although I am a daughter of Los Angeles, I am also a granddaughter of France. And there are no words that can adequately describe how furious I am tonight.
Sunday, April 14, 2019
Edgar J. Meyer Died on the Titanic
I question whether I should include Edgar J. Meyer in this blog, since he was raised in San Francisco and I’ve seen conflicting information about his birthplace.
In any case, he was still the son of a prominent French Angeleno - Eugene Meyer. I already profiled his father, mentioning his brother Eugene Jr. and his niece Katherine, so to heck with it. Los Angeles tends not to have many connections to notorious events like this one.
Edgar J. Meyer studied mechanical engineering at Cornell University, where he discovered a method of measuring velocity of flame propagation in gas engines (I have no idea what that means, but this method was reportedly added to textbooks). Regardless, Edgar chose to join older brother Eugene Jr. in business on Wall Street. In 1909, he married Leila Saks, who was born in Baltimore to German parents. Their only child, Jane, was born in 1911.
The Meyers were never supposed to be on the Titanic. They had been traveling in Europe when they received the news of Leila's father's death, and quickly arranged passage home.
Edgar and Leila boarded the ship on April 10 in Cherbourg, holding first-class tickets. Late at night, four days later, disaster struck.
Leila Saks Meyer recalled:
Edgar J. Meyer's body was either never recovered or never identified. He was 28 years old.
In any case, he was still the son of a prominent French Angeleno - Eugene Meyer. I already profiled his father, mentioning his brother Eugene Jr. and his niece Katherine, so to heck with it. Los Angeles tends not to have many connections to notorious events like this one.
Edgar J. Meyer studied mechanical engineering at Cornell University, where he discovered a method of measuring velocity of flame propagation in gas engines (I have no idea what that means, but this method was reportedly added to textbooks). Regardless, Edgar chose to join older brother Eugene Jr. in business on Wall Street. In 1909, he married Leila Saks, who was born in Baltimore to German parents. Their only child, Jane, was born in 1911.
The Meyers were never supposed to be on the Titanic. They had been traveling in Europe when they received the news of Leila's father's death, and quickly arranged passage home.
Edgar and Leila boarded the ship on April 10 in Cherbourg, holding first-class tickets. Late at night, four days later, disaster struck.
Leila Saks Meyer recalled:
I tried and tried to get Edgar to come into the lifeboat with me, and pleaded to be allowed to stay behind and wait until he could leave, he not caring to leave before all the women had been saved. Mr. Meyer finally persuaded me to leave, reminding me of our one-year-old child at home. I entered the lifeboat and watched until the Titanic sank, but only for a short time did I see my husband standing beside the rail and assisting other women into boats in which he might have been saved.One year later, Harris Newmark wrote:
In common with the rest of the civilized world, Los Angeles, on April 15th, was electrified with the news of the collision between an iceberg and the great ocean steamer Titanic which so speedily foundered with her 1535 helpless souls. For a day or two, it was hoped that no one with Los Angeles connections would be numbered among the lost; but fate had decreed that my nephew, Edgar J. Meyer, a son of Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Meyer, should perish. He was one of those who heroically hastened to the aid of the women and children; nor did he rest until he saw his wife and child placed in one of the lifeboats. They were saved, but he went down...(Newmark must not have realized the Meyers hadn't brought their baby daughter on the trip.)
Edgar J. Meyer's body was either never recovered or never identified. He was 28 years old.
Friday, April 5, 2019
Behind the Scenes: Jeannette Lazard Lewin
Jeannette Lazard - one of Solomon Lazard and Caroline Newmark Lazard's six surviving children - was born in 1866.
Sixteen-year-old Jeannette graduated from Los Angeles High School in 1882, and was listed in the graduation program with a speech titled "Behind the Scenes". Her cousin Ella Newmark was also on the program. (Incidentally, the opening address was given by the President of the Board of Education - Judge Brousseau.)
Jeannette graduated from the Los Angeles campus of the State Normal School (now UCLA) in 1884, enabling her to work as a schoolteacher at the tender age of 18. The Jewish Museum of the American West has a surviving picture of Jeannette at the Laurel Canyon School, with some of her students.
Never one to rest on her laurels (ha), Jeannette was on the committee of Los Angeles' first Flower Festival in 1885. In December of that year, she married Louis Lewin, a printer/bookstore owner* and commission broker from Germany. Dr. Emmanuel Schreiber, Congregation B’nai B'rith's new rabbi, officiated. The couple lived at 618 W. 7th Street and had four children - Rosa, Laurence, Ross, and Howard. Tragically, Rosa lived for only 11 months.
In the nineteenth century, teachers were expected to resign if they married. This rule seems to have been regarded as impractical in Los Angeles, which had a chronic teacher shortage and several married teachers on record (the fact that Mary Marchesseault was on her third marriage and still could have landed a teaching job says enough). I have not been able to locate any conclusive proof of how long Jeannette's teaching career lasted.
When Louis died in 1905, Jeannette and her three surviving children went to live with her parents on West Lake Avenue. (Jeannette's brothers Mortimer and Edward also lived in the family home. Two grandparents, three adult children, one widowed with three sons ages 6, 12, and 15...that must have been one crowded house.)
Jeannette passed away in 1963. She is buried in the Lazard family plot at Home of Peace Memorial Park. Besides her name and the years her life spanned, the stone simply states "Wife-Mother."
Oh, by the way:
Some rotting pile of human debris had the brass neck to post anti-Semitic flyers outside THREE schools in the western Valley. This didn't happen in 1930, it happened two weeks ago.
I'll just put this out there:
Many of the original donors of Catholic-affiliated St. Vincent's College (now Loyola Marymount University) were Jewish. Ozro Childs stated that Jewish donors were the most generous of all.
Bishop Mora's records noted several Jewish donors to the Catholic church's projects - including renovation of the parish school. (Mora, incidentally, was friends with Rabbi Edelman.)
Several prominent Jewish families sent their children to the Episcopalian-affiliated Los Angeles Academy. The vast majority of Angelenos were Catholic, and there were only so many Protestant families who could afford private-school tuition at the time. Having Jewish students likely helped the Academy stay open for as long as it did.
The (Methodist-affiliated) University of Southern California was built on land donated by Ozro Childs (Episcopalian), John G. Downey (Catholic), and Isaias Hellman (Jewish). (USC has increasingly become a running joke over the past year - sorry, Dad - but that's a subject slightly beyond the scope of this blog.)
The Daughters of Charity (Catholic) ran an orphanage and school for girls, taking on tuition-paying students from wealthy families to help cover the cost of teaching the orphaned girls and the daughters of local Native American families. On at least one occasion, the Daughters thanked their many Jewish donors for their "encouraging words and open purses". Rabbi Edelman even made a bequest to the Daughters' orphanage in his will.
Los Angeles' public, private, and parochial schools owe a historic debt to the generosity of the city's Jewish community. There is really no place for bigots anywhere in Los Angeles - least of all in a school zone.
*Visitors to the rare books department at the Los Angeles Public Library may recall that Lewin was the publisher of Los Angeles County's first-ever published history, dated 1876.
Sixteen-year-old Jeannette graduated from Los Angeles High School in 1882, and was listed in the graduation program with a speech titled "Behind the Scenes". Her cousin Ella Newmark was also on the program. (Incidentally, the opening address was given by the President of the Board of Education - Judge Brousseau.)
Jeannette graduated from the Los Angeles campus of the State Normal School (now UCLA) in 1884, enabling her to work as a schoolteacher at the tender age of 18. The Jewish Museum of the American West has a surviving picture of Jeannette at the Laurel Canyon School, with some of her students.
Never one to rest on her laurels (ha), Jeannette was on the committee of Los Angeles' first Flower Festival in 1885. In December of that year, she married Louis Lewin, a printer/bookstore owner* and commission broker from Germany. Dr. Emmanuel Schreiber, Congregation B’nai B'rith's new rabbi, officiated. The couple lived at 618 W. 7th Street and had four children - Rosa, Laurence, Ross, and Howard. Tragically, Rosa lived for only 11 months.
In the nineteenth century, teachers were expected to resign if they married. This rule seems to have been regarded as impractical in Los Angeles, which had a chronic teacher shortage and several married teachers on record (the fact that Mary Marchesseault was on her third marriage and still could have landed a teaching job says enough). I have not been able to locate any conclusive proof of how long Jeannette's teaching career lasted.
When Louis died in 1905, Jeannette and her three surviving children went to live with her parents on West Lake Avenue. (Jeannette's brothers Mortimer and Edward also lived in the family home. Two grandparents, three adult children, one widowed with three sons ages 6, 12, and 15...that must have been one crowded house.)
Jeannette passed away in 1963. She is buried in the Lazard family plot at Home of Peace Memorial Park. Besides her name and the years her life spanned, the stone simply states "Wife-Mother."
Oh, by the way:
Some rotting pile of human debris had the brass neck to post anti-Semitic flyers outside THREE schools in the western Valley. This didn't happen in 1930, it happened two weeks ago.
I'll just put this out there:
Many of the original donors of Catholic-affiliated St. Vincent's College (now Loyola Marymount University) were Jewish. Ozro Childs stated that Jewish donors were the most generous of all.
Bishop Mora's records noted several Jewish donors to the Catholic church's projects - including renovation of the parish school. (Mora, incidentally, was friends with Rabbi Edelman.)
Several prominent Jewish families sent their children to the Episcopalian-affiliated Los Angeles Academy. The vast majority of Angelenos were Catholic, and there were only so many Protestant families who could afford private-school tuition at the time. Having Jewish students likely helped the Academy stay open for as long as it did.
The (Methodist-affiliated) University of Southern California was built on land donated by Ozro Childs (Episcopalian), John G. Downey (Catholic), and Isaias Hellman (Jewish). (USC has increasingly become a running joke over the past year - sorry, Dad - but that's a subject slightly beyond the scope of this blog.)
The Daughters of Charity (Catholic) ran an orphanage and school for girls, taking on tuition-paying students from wealthy families to help cover the cost of teaching the orphaned girls and the daughters of local Native American families. On at least one occasion, the Daughters thanked their many Jewish donors for their "encouraging words and open purses". Rabbi Edelman even made a bequest to the Daughters' orphanage in his will.
Los Angeles' public, private, and parochial schools owe a historic debt to the generosity of the city's Jewish community. There is really no place for bigots anywhere in Los Angeles - least of all in a school zone.
*Visitors to the rare books department at the Los Angeles Public Library may recall that Lewin was the publisher of Los Angeles County's first-ever published history, dated 1876.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Pierre "Wrongway" Beauregard Rides Again
I spend God only knows how many hours poring over old books, old city directories, and very old newspapers in search of clues about the forgotten French families of Old Los Angeles.
But, once in a blue moon, the Blogging Gods drop a story right into my lap.
Back in February, I found a vintage ceramic poodle in one of the antique malls just off the traffic circle in Old Towne Orange (I've been going there since I was old enough to walk). I have a vintage poodle made from an identical mold that I painted myself...but this one was better than mine. I snapped it up and posted pictures on Instagram.
Imagine my shock when I recently received an email from a Pasadena woman who recognized not only the poodle, but the name painted on the poodle's feet!
This entry is edited from a lengthy interview with the subject's daughter, Renée Levesque. That fateful poodle was painted in the 1960s by her brother, Pierre Beauregard Jr. Merci, Renée!
Pierre Beauregard Sr. was born in Normandy, France, in 1919 - the youngest child of hardworking farmers. From a young age, he was fascinated by aviation and held high hopes that space travel would someday be possible.
Pierre didn't much care for farming (and according to Renée, couldn't keep a plant alive). He lived for the rare occasion that a plane would fly anywhere he could see it (and in rural northern France, that just didn't happen very often).
In 1927, eight-year-old Pierre heard that Charles Lindbergh was flying into Paris on the first-ever nonstop solo flight from faraway New York. Pioneering aviators like Lindbergh were Pierre's heroes (Renée dryly noted that her father would never have idolized Lindbergh if he'd known about Lindy's secret second family, secret third family, and secret fourth family...and all with Germans at that!).
He wanted to go. Paris was a train ride away. But his family was poor.
Young Pierre was no fan of attending weekly Mass. It was boring, he couldn't understand Latin, the parish priest was a nasty old man, and he resented the weekly collection plate. The Beauregards were poor and struggled to break even; why should his parents contribute even a few of their hard-earned francs to a church that turned around and spent the money elsewhere? Pierre's homemade hand-me-down clothes were always threadbare and patched; his holey shoes had gone through several older brothers. As far as he was concerned, that collection plate was keeping him in rags.
Pierre sneaked out of the family's tiny farmhouse, slipped the bolt on the church door, squeezed in, and took enough money from the collection plate to buy a round-trip ticket to Paris.
Once he arrived in Paris, Pierre sneaked into a well-to-do aviation enthusiast's car, hiding in the back seat under a large picnic blanket. Lindy was landing at an airfield seven miles north of Paris proper; it would take too long to walk and Pierre didn't know how to get there anyway.
The tens of thousands of spectators who crowded the area around the airfield for miles didn't notice the unaccompanied eight-year-old in tattered, oversize clothes.
Lindy finally landed at 10:22 pm. Headlights from thousands of spectators' cars ensured that the Spirit of St. Louis was well within view. Pierre remembered that moment for the rest of his life.
Needless to say, he was in a LOT of trouble when he got home. The Beauregards had enough problems without their youngest child stealing from the parish church and running off. Pierre was shipped off to Quebec to live with his aunt and uncle.
Planes were a RARE sight in rural Canada in the 1920s. Reduced to watching flocks of geese flying overhead, he dreamed of the day when he could fly away too.
Pierre got his chance in 1935. With a few tweaks to his birth certificate, he ran away again, this time to Ontario, and enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force. (His family eventually forgave him.)
The RCAF taught Pierre how to fly and maintain military aircraft, and because he was surrounded by English speakers, he became fluent very quickly. Pierre did well in the RCAF...until The Incident.
Pierre had been given color-coded sets of instructions. Unfortunately, Pierre was mildly colorblind and mixed up the blue and purple sheets, resulting in him flying the wrong way.
The other airmen nicknamed him "Wrongway" while the top brass investigated the incident. Pierre honestly hadn't known he was colorblind, and was ultimately given a medical discharge.
The incident made the newspapers as far away as New York - where a producer was in town, searching for a stuntman who could fly a plane.
Pierre "Wrongway" Beauregard was on a train to Los Angeles by the end of the week.
He wasn't red-green colorblind, so he was still able to fly. Before long, Pierre was working as a stuntman (due to his short stature and very slight build, he often doubled for older child actors or young ingenues).
Los Angeles agreed with Pierre. It was warm and beautiful, there was always something to do, he loved his job, and he liked to drive to the Glendale airport to watch planes take off and land. Stunt performers weren't listed in the credits in those days, but Pierre didn't care. He was happy. More importantly, he wasn't stuck on the family farm growing wheat and brewing apple cider.
Pierre enlisted in the U.S. military after Pearl Harbor, in spite of both his partial colorblindness (the American military wouldn't let him fly a plane either) and the fact that he'd also suffered a partial hearing loss from an on-set explosion. After his discharge, he married Cécile Chevalier.
Pierre had a close call in 1955 when the plane he was flying malfunctioned and crashed. He should have been killed instantly, but walked away with only a broken hand. By this time, he had two young children to support, and stunt work was becoming too unreliable to provide a steady income.
Pierre hung up his goggles and helmet, taking a job at Douglas Aircraft as a safety inspector, moving his family to the Westside, and watching planes take off and land at LAX. From then on, he didn't fly planes - he worked for companies that made them.
Like the rest of the world, he watched the 1969 moon landing obsessively. Pierre retired in 1980 and quietly passed away in his sleep two years later - an understated exit for a former daredevil. He and Cécile are buried at Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills.
But, once in a blue moon, the Blogging Gods drop a story right into my lap.
Back in February, I found a vintage ceramic poodle in one of the antique malls just off the traffic circle in Old Towne Orange (I've been going there since I was old enough to walk). I have a vintage poodle made from an identical mold that I painted myself...but this one was better than mine. I snapped it up and posted pictures on Instagram.
Imagine my shock when I recently received an email from a Pasadena woman who recognized not only the poodle, but the name painted on the poodle's feet!
This entry is edited from a lengthy interview with the subject's daughter, Renée Levesque. That fateful poodle was painted in the 1960s by her brother, Pierre Beauregard Jr. Merci, Renée!
Pierre Beauregard Sr. was born in Normandy, France, in 1919 - the youngest child of hardworking farmers. From a young age, he was fascinated by aviation and held high hopes that space travel would someday be possible.
Pierre didn't much care for farming (and according to Renée, couldn't keep a plant alive). He lived for the rare occasion that a plane would fly anywhere he could see it (and in rural northern France, that just didn't happen very often).
In 1927, eight-year-old Pierre heard that Charles Lindbergh was flying into Paris on the first-ever nonstop solo flight from faraway New York. Pioneering aviators like Lindbergh were Pierre's heroes (Renée dryly noted that her father would never have idolized Lindbergh if he'd known about Lindy's secret second family, secret third family, and secret fourth family...and all with Germans at that!).
He wanted to go. Paris was a train ride away. But his family was poor.
Young Pierre was no fan of attending weekly Mass. It was boring, he couldn't understand Latin, the parish priest was a nasty old man, and he resented the weekly collection plate. The Beauregards were poor and struggled to break even; why should his parents contribute even a few of their hard-earned francs to a church that turned around and spent the money elsewhere? Pierre's homemade hand-me-down clothes were always threadbare and patched; his holey shoes had gone through several older brothers. As far as he was concerned, that collection plate was keeping him in rags.
Pierre sneaked out of the family's tiny farmhouse, slipped the bolt on the church door, squeezed in, and took enough money from the collection plate to buy a round-trip ticket to Paris.
Once he arrived in Paris, Pierre sneaked into a well-to-do aviation enthusiast's car, hiding in the back seat under a large picnic blanket. Lindy was landing at an airfield seven miles north of Paris proper; it would take too long to walk and Pierre didn't know how to get there anyway.
The tens of thousands of spectators who crowded the area around the airfield for miles didn't notice the unaccompanied eight-year-old in tattered, oversize clothes.
Lindy finally landed at 10:22 pm. Headlights from thousands of spectators' cars ensured that the Spirit of St. Louis was well within view. Pierre remembered that moment for the rest of his life.
Needless to say, he was in a LOT of trouble when he got home. The Beauregards had enough problems without their youngest child stealing from the parish church and running off. Pierre was shipped off to Quebec to live with his aunt and uncle.
Planes were a RARE sight in rural Canada in the 1920s. Reduced to watching flocks of geese flying overhead, he dreamed of the day when he could fly away too.
Pierre got his chance in 1935. With a few tweaks to his birth certificate, he ran away again, this time to Ontario, and enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force. (His family eventually forgave him.)
 |
| Pierre Beauregard, circa 1942 |
Pierre had been given color-coded sets of instructions. Unfortunately, Pierre was mildly colorblind and mixed up the blue and purple sheets, resulting in him flying the wrong way.
The other airmen nicknamed him "Wrongway" while the top brass investigated the incident. Pierre honestly hadn't known he was colorblind, and was ultimately given a medical discharge.
The incident made the newspapers as far away as New York - where a producer was in town, searching for a stuntman who could fly a plane.
Pierre "Wrongway" Beauregard was on a train to Los Angeles by the end of the week.
He wasn't red-green colorblind, so he was still able to fly. Before long, Pierre was working as a stuntman (due to his short stature and very slight build, he often doubled for older child actors or young ingenues).
Los Angeles agreed with Pierre. It was warm and beautiful, there was always something to do, he loved his job, and he liked to drive to the Glendale airport to watch planes take off and land. Stunt performers weren't listed in the credits in those days, but Pierre didn't care. He was happy. More importantly, he wasn't stuck on the family farm growing wheat and brewing apple cider.
Pierre enlisted in the U.S. military after Pearl Harbor, in spite of both his partial colorblindness (the American military wouldn't let him fly a plane either) and the fact that he'd also suffered a partial hearing loss from an on-set explosion. After his discharge, he married Cécile Chevalier.
 |
| Pierre and Cécile's wedding day, 1946 |
 |
| Pierre Jr., Renée, and Pierre Sr., 1956 |
 |
| Pierre being honored at work, 1977 |
Friday, March 22, 2019
Eugene Meyer: A Nameplate, a Cemetery Plot, and Old LA's Best Department Store
Eugene Meyer - another cousin of Don Solomon Lazard - was born in Alsace in 1842, and came to Los Angeles at age 21 to work for Lazard's store, but before long he was in business on his own.
Meyer's haberdashery, the first in Los Angeles, stood at 4th and Main, near Raymond Alexandre's Roundhouse. Coincidentally, when the Roundhouse hosted a 3,000-person Centennial celebration in 1876, Eugene Meyer was one of the parade's four marshals.
Meyer, like several other French Angelenos, belonged to the International Order of Odd Fellows' Golden Rule Lodge. In 1867, he married Harriet Newmark. They had eight children.
Harris Newmark (Meyer's cousin-in-law) reported that while he was away in New York for an extended period, Eugene and Harriet Meyer added a silver nameplate to their front door. This was such a rare sight in 1860s Los Angeles that Newmark's family mentioned it to him in a letter - and when Newmark inspected it himself a year later, the nameplate was still a novelty.
In 1872, while Meyer was serving as President of the French Benevolent Society, he asked the Los Angeles City Council to allocate a plot in the City Cemetery for Society members. The City Cemetery became (drumroll please...) a parking lot many years ago, but for as long as it lasted, it did have a plot for the French Benevolent Society. (Most notably, Mayor Damien Marchesseault, ineligible for burial at Calvary Cemetery due to his suicide, was buried in the French Benevolent Society's plot. He was later re-interred at Angelus Rosedale.)
Meyer was a founding member of the Los Angeles Board of Trade (now the Chamber of Commerce) when it was established in 1873. The following year, he was one of several prominent French Angelenos who tried to persuade railroad officials to locate their depot east of Alameda Street, between Commercial and First Streets. This proposed location was close to the city's economic center, and many French Angelenos conducted business in the area. However, the railroad demanded control over the west side of Alameda Street as well, which was out of the question to area business owners.
In 1874, Solomon Lazard sold the City of Paris department store to Eugene and his brother Constant Meyer, who expanded the business. City of Paris carried sporting goods, housewares, shoes, toiletries, cameras, luggage, umbrellas - and clothing. In fact, all the elegant ladies of Old Los Angeles bought the latest in French fashions from City of Paris. The store also had an in-house travel agency, chiropodist's office, shoeshine parlor, beauty parlor, and library...and Los Angeles' French consulate! In addition to his job as co-owner of the city's premier department store, Eugene Meyer served his home country and his adopted city as a consular agent.
By 1883, the store was listed in directories as both City of Paris and Eugene Meyer & Co.
The Meyers moved to San Francisco in 1883 so Eugene could manage Lazard Fréres' new California branch (which would close in 1906 due to the San Francisco earthquake).
Eugene's son Eugene Meyer Jr. went on to work at Lazard Fréres himself before striking out on his own as a speculator, investor, and eventual co-founder of Allied Chemical & Dye, which eventually became part of Honeywell's specialty-materials branch (there is a building named for Eugene Jr. at Honeywell's headquarters in New Jersey). He eventually became Chairman of the Federal Reserve and purchased the Washington Post in 1933.
Eugene Jr.'s daughter Katharine Meyer Graham, who succeeded him as the newspaper's publisher, needs no introduction.
Meyer's haberdashery, the first in Los Angeles, stood at 4th and Main, near Raymond Alexandre's Roundhouse. Coincidentally, when the Roundhouse hosted a 3,000-person Centennial celebration in 1876, Eugene Meyer was one of the parade's four marshals.
Meyer, like several other French Angelenos, belonged to the International Order of Odd Fellows' Golden Rule Lodge. In 1867, he married Harriet Newmark. They had eight children.
Harris Newmark (Meyer's cousin-in-law) reported that while he was away in New York for an extended period, Eugene and Harriet Meyer added a silver nameplate to their front door. This was such a rare sight in 1860s Los Angeles that Newmark's family mentioned it to him in a letter - and when Newmark inspected it himself a year later, the nameplate was still a novelty.
In 1872, while Meyer was serving as President of the French Benevolent Society, he asked the Los Angeles City Council to allocate a plot in the City Cemetery for Society members. The City Cemetery became (drumroll please...) a parking lot many years ago, but for as long as it lasted, it did have a plot for the French Benevolent Society. (Most notably, Mayor Damien Marchesseault, ineligible for burial at Calvary Cemetery due to his suicide, was buried in the French Benevolent Society's plot. He was later re-interred at Angelus Rosedale.)
Meyer was a founding member of the Los Angeles Board of Trade (now the Chamber of Commerce) when it was established in 1873. The following year, he was one of several prominent French Angelenos who tried to persuade railroad officials to locate their depot east of Alameda Street, between Commercial and First Streets. This proposed location was close to the city's economic center, and many French Angelenos conducted business in the area. However, the railroad demanded control over the west side of Alameda Street as well, which was out of the question to area business owners.
In 1874, Solomon Lazard sold the City of Paris department store to Eugene and his brother Constant Meyer, who expanded the business. City of Paris carried sporting goods, housewares, shoes, toiletries, cameras, luggage, umbrellas - and clothing. In fact, all the elegant ladies of Old Los Angeles bought the latest in French fashions from City of Paris. The store also had an in-house travel agency, chiropodist's office, shoeshine parlor, beauty parlor, and library...and Los Angeles' French consulate! In addition to his job as co-owner of the city's premier department store, Eugene Meyer served his home country and his adopted city as a consular agent.
By 1883, the store was listed in directories as both City of Paris and Eugene Meyer & Co.
The Meyers moved to San Francisco in 1883 so Eugene could manage Lazard Fréres' new California branch (which would close in 1906 due to the San Francisco earthquake).
Eugene's son Eugene Meyer Jr. went on to work at Lazard Fréres himself before striking out on his own as a speculator, investor, and eventual co-founder of Allied Chemical & Dye, which eventually became part of Honeywell's specialty-materials branch (there is a building named for Eugene Jr. at Honeywell's headquarters in New Jersey). He eventually became Chairman of the Federal Reserve and purchased the Washington Post in 1933.
Eugene Jr.'s daughter Katharine Meyer Graham, who succeeded him as the newspaper's publisher, needs no introduction.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)