by Paul R. Spitzzeri
While the population of the city of Los Angeles double during the 1890s, having more than quadrupled the prior decade, and that of the county went up by nearly 70%, after increasing by more than triple during the Eighties, it seems almost certain the growth slowed because of the aftereffects of the boom that took place largely during William H. Workman’s two-year term, from December 1886 to December 1888, as mayor, as well as a national depression in 1893.
Moreover, there were six years of drought that had serious effects on regional agriculture and this context can, for the fortunes of the Sierra Madre Villa hotel, situated at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains, in what is today northeast Pasadena be measured against the effect of increasing competition for larger and more luxurious hostelries, such as the Raymond in South Pasadena, the Arcadia at Santa Monica, the Redondo at the coastal town of that name, and several in downtown Los Angeles.
Additionally, the country-like isolation that, along with incomparable views and the fine furnishings and décor that set the Villa apart when it opened in 1877, was not as present fifteen years later. Consequently, by the 1880s boom and particularly after that went bust, Gardner Cogswell, the proprietor, got into increasingly dire financial straits and that led him and his father to sell out in 1891, to New Haven, Connecticut builder Peter R. Carli and his wife Sarah, who then quickly found a new buyer in another Connecticut resident, David Lyman, who apparently used some of his late father’s fortune to acquire the hotel and grounds.
As noted in the previous post, however, Lyman quickly got into legal scrapes involving finances and fisticuffs and, not too far into 1892, he’d burned too many bridges and through too much money. The Los Angeles Times of 18 November 1891 reported that he’d filed a petition of insolvency because of a “large indebtedness incurred by him in improving and fitting up the Sierra Madre Villa grounds,” to the tune of $25,000.
On 8 January 1892, the Los Angeles Express briefly noted that a judge ordered a foreclosure on a mechanic’s lien held on the Villa, this meaning that a contractor who’d done work on the property was not paid and pursued this legal action in recourse. The Times of the 19th observed that J.R. Bowler, who had much local experience in running hotels in Pasadena, including the Hotel Green before taking over operations at the Villa in late September, had a claim against Lyman before leaving to operate an establishment in northern California.
Just three days later, a public notice was filed in the paper advertising an assignee’s sale for the 77 acres Lyman acquired from the Carlls, including the hotel and its outbuildings, gardens, groves and other elements, along with the water rights obtained at the same time. Included in the sale was personal property comprising beds and bedding, carpets, chairs, cutlery, kitchen utensils, a piano, a safe, tableware and other material used in the operation of the Villa. The sale was held on the steps of the county courthouse on Temple Street under the name of assignee Daniel O. Miltimore, a resident of the Villa area and soon to be a founder of the Los Angeles Olive’ Growers Association.
Not surprisingly, the purchasers were Lyman’s brothers William and James, who acquired their sibling’s interest in these properties for $1,000. William died in 1896 and James retained ownership in the Villa and its surrounding lands for more than three decades. The next several years included a series of managers, including Henry L. Barnard, who leased the hotel just before David Lyman filed for insolvency and then returned to Massachusetts, where he’d long resided, before coming back to the Villa. In November 1893, with the motto “the sweetest of them all,” Barnard advertised
This beautiful resort has been thoroughly renovated and refurnished, and the management is therefore in a better position than ever to assure the perfect comfort of guests. Its charming location, being 1500 feet above sea level, and amongst the limpid streams, rushing waterfalls, and grand fruit groves that abound on the brow of the famous Sierras [Sierra Madre range], at once stamp this historic spot as the natural home of the traveler, the tourist and the invalid.
After noting that there was a “sweet and serene” atmosphere, but also one that was “bracing and invigorating,” with the claim that the environment was “equal to the purest, the healthiest and the best on the face of the earth,” while the landscape was without peer, Barnard pointed out that the hotel’s interior spaces “are elegantly furnished” with all modern conveniences and accommodations for guests and visitors.
Moreover, “the dining hall has been erected on the latest and most approved principles,” while “the cuisine is always refreshing and delectable” and known for “its superior quality, luxurious abundance and scientific preparation” using produce from the site and nearby locales. It was added that dairy products were from Jersey cows registered to the Villa and, thereby, guaranteed to be from contamination. Lastly, Barnard boasted that “as cleanliness is next to godliness, so is this house, in its entirety, from cellar to attic” so that “the comfort and health of its patrons [is] the first and last consideration of its management.”
Barnard’s tenure continued until his death from a stroke in early August 1895, though there was a point in late summer 1893 in which it appeared that the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet might purchase the Villa for a convent. Meanwhile, the manager continued to advertise from time to time with that “the sweetest of them all” moniker, but his relative stability was followed by the short tenures of G.T.C. Holden and, in fall 1896, Henry E. Eder came from a New Jersey seaside hotel and took over management, with his mother, Martha, as “landlady.”
Eder instituted regular dances, starting at the end of November, with this inaugural one including the Times of the 28th recording that “the house was most beautifully decorated, the hall and corridor being one mass of tropical plants and palms, while the floral effects in the drawing-room were most artistic.” The piece was sure to mention that “a number of society people from Pasadena and adjoining towns were present.” For the second “hop,” held shortly afterward, lights illuminated the orange trees and this was “sure to attract and win the commendation of eastern people.”
Advertising was secured through an image of the Villa in the pages of the Times’ Midwinter issue for the onset of 1897, which was a hefty special edition that highlighted the virtues of the Angel City and environs and was an important feature for decades. After about six months of management, Eder was feted by hotel guests and neighbors through a “complimentary banquet,” serving 100 guests with the Los Angeles Herald of 2 April reporting that “the dining room was beautifully decorated, and a sumptuous menu served.
The primary speaker was Abbot Kinney, whose first days in greater Los Angeles were spent at the Villa back in 1880 before acquiring adjacent land for his Kinneloa estate and who went on to found the town of Venice, among other endeavors, including the establishment, in 1893, of a downtown Angel City hotel called the Abbotsford Inn. Recalling his traveling to northern California and then being “discomforted” there, Kinney told the revelers,
I was informed of a beautiful valley and of a delightful resort where I could spend fifteen days [while waiting for the weather to improve in the north] . . . the place suggested was the Sierra Madre Villa. I came with a twenty day return ticket in my pocket, and slept three nights in the parlor because the house was so full. The Villa was then the most celebrated place in the county. Every one visited it. The outlook was lovely, the hotel was well kept and kept well its guests . . .
At last we see the old days of jollity and prosperity returning to the Villa. Again a charming society is gathered again in our old favorite . . . And who has done all this? Why, it is our friend, the friend of us all, Mr. Eder! He has brought the Villa out of the wilderness and back in the land of promise . . . He is a jolly fellow and he can keep a hotel!
For his part, Eder expressed that he merely was doing his duty and told the assemblage that it was a striking turn of fortune when his mother received a letter from a Villa guest and which “depicted the beauties of this place, and how they were in the midst of sunshine and shrub and flower” while he and his mother were in New Jersey in the depths of another cold, snowbound winter. He could not have dreamt that, in just a few months, he would be in the San Gabriel Valley and be tendered such an honor.
The manager continued that “California will always be dear to me” and that all he’d heard about its wonders with respect to its natural features and attractions, though he was sure to add that “better than these, I have found as charming a people and as delightful associations, as one finds anywhere in this wide, wide world.” Recalling his mother’s words as they entered the Golden State by train that she hoped they would not be lonely in their new home, Eder professed great thanks to those who welcomed them, especially after Martha Eder died just before Christmas. The evening ended with cards and conversation and all seemed well at the Villa.
Until two months later. The Times of the 11th reported,
H.E. Eder until recently manager of the Sierra Madre Villa hotel, went east last Monday [the 6th] and a number of people in Pasadena and this vicinity are anxious to know whether he is coming back. Not that Mr. Eder is an unusually popular young man, but that he is unusually well supplied with creditors, and some of them are apprehensive that they will not get their money back.
Notably, the paper added that, while his management seemed to be going smoothly, “of late there has been some friction between Eder and David Lyman, one of the owners of the hotel,” it seeming that, despite his brothers’ purchase of the property, Lyman remained involved in its operation (an 1896 voter registration document listed him as a horticulturist in the area). Prior to departing, Eder told people he’d be back in a few weeks and left two hours after informing Lyman.
The Times continued, “it now transpires that he has left behind him debts amounting to from $2000 to $3000,” with much of this being material purchased for the Villa, leaving Lyman to assure debtors that those sums would be paid. Also left behind were Eder’s father, wife and child and the spouse could offer no information on when he’d return, whether those debts would be made whole, though she thought she’d been heading east to join him, while “Mr. Lyman freely says that he does not think Eder will come back.” Moreover, his late mother’s remains remained in storage with the undertaker as he did not make any payments for the embalming services he’d ordered.
New management was brought in by the Lymans to continue the operations of the Villa, but conditions rapidly deteriorated. At the start of 1899, H.S. Baker took over running the establishment and advertisements during his tenure promoted the usual benefits to patrons: no fog, refreshing and invigorating mountain air and pure spring water, not to mention “sunny rooms, excellent table, [and] reasonable rates.” On 3 February, however, the Times carried the most cursory of reports:
The Sierra Madre Villa has been closed, business not meeting the expectations of H.S. Baker, the new lessee.
Just like that, after a little more than two decades, the once-famous institution was shuttered, never to reopen again—at least, not as a hotel. We’ll return with one more post, covering roughly another two decades of the Villa’s history, albeit of a use often referred to here previously and one that was very common in the foothill communities of the San Gabriel Valley during the early 20th century.
Be sure to join us then!
Throughout the development of these serial posts, many have, from time to time, sentimentally lamented the tumultuous history of Sierra Madre Villa in the early 20th century. Before 1923, one could still stand before its beautiful buildings and reflect on their former glory. For Anita and Sarah, daughters of the villa’s previous owner and operator respectively, visiting the site in 1953 was bittersweet – no structures remained, and only the magnolias planted by Sarah’s mother served as a poignant link to the past.
In contrast, the Workman House at the Homestead preserves not only its original residence, built in 1842, but also a venerable Lady Banks rose planted by the original family in 1860. This enduring connection to both architecture and nature underscores the unique historical value of the Homestead.