by Paul R. Spitzzeri
Another regional growth boom at the start of the 20th century, including many more residents and businesses in the Northeast section of Los Angeles in communities from Cypress Park and Lincoln Heights up to Garvanza and Hermon, meant that continuing flooding from the Arroyo Seco, which sometimes was quite the opposite of its “Dry Creek” moniker and funneled water pouring down from the San Gabriel Mountains into the Los Angeles River, posed greater risks to lives and property.
In 1906, for example, two new developments, the San Rafael Heights and Lewis tracts, in Highland Park and Garvanza, added to the population, while, in March, amid a second straight year of solid rainfall totals, heavy precipitation meant water cascading into downtown Los Angeles from surrounding hills, electric streetcar lines halting service throughout the region and, reported the 13 March edition of the Los Angeles Express, “the Arroyo Seco became a turbulent river.”
A little over a month later, the paper observed that cobble stones were plentiful in the upper Arroyo after the downpours, with some old-timers stating that the “crop” had more soil and rocks in it than they’d ever seen. There may have been loosening of these materials from wildfires that contributed to the volume, as well.
The winter of 1906-1907 was one of four during the decade in which rainfall totals were above 19 inches, though often the downpours were concentrated. The 9 January 1907 edition of the Los Angeles Times remarked that “again, yesterday, the Arroyo Seco (‘dry watercourse’) belied its name in spectacular fashion” as it added that, in a channel cut by strong storms four years prior, “dashed a turbid stream, tearing frantically at its banks.”
The account went on to note that,
From the soaked soil of the hills between Pasadena and Los Angeles water poured into the upper arroyo in ten thousand rivulets, during the continued rain, forming a foaming torrent tossing masses of trash and big dead trees upon its surface as it swept down toward the swollen [Los Angeles] river.
Litter and logs gathered in sections filled with rock “threatening to divert the stream and send it on a mad course of destruction” through a new channel, though “after many hours of menace,” the volume subsided about as fast as it accumulated and there wasn’t much damage to report except for fencing along the creek’s banks and bed.
The next day, the paper observed that “after tearing futilly [futilely] at its banks for three days, the roaring stream in the Arroyo Seco at last found something to play with worthy of its boisterous power,” namely, a dozen flat cars on a half-mile of track for the San Pedro, Los Angeles and Salt Lake Railway. The watercourse had more water than the Los Angeles River, the Times remarked, and, while those trees and some outhouses were affected, an area near Avenue 34 was breached and a spur of the Los Angeles Railway was hit and then approached the Salt Lake line.
The account recounted that,
With a crashing roar the runaway stream lifted the string of cars, wrenching them apart and tossing them aside. Picking up the track, it played with it as a lively pup plays with a rag. Ties were flung this way and that, rails were twisted, and entire sections of track sent careering down the arroyo. One section was carried by the playful (!) stream nearly to the bridge at Avenue Twenty, and there thrown aside, rails and ties, intact.
Three weeks later, the paper commented that more storms were on the way and that “the storms have brought down the Arroyo Seco an unusual lot of driftwood,” so that, at Avenue 50, just north of Sycamore Grove, a mass of these was such that “the roaring of the waters as they poured over this fall could be heard for many blocks in this neighborhood.” What the wood did provide was fuel for Highland Park homes and enterprising gents hurried “out to the arroyo to participate in the wood gathering.”
More rain came in early March and the Express of the 5th ran a headline that blared “Arroyo Seco and Los Angeles River Rise to Dangerous Stage.” As an inch and two thirds fell in a day, “the Avenue Twenty-Six bridge over the Arroyo Seco was closed” as city crews “strengthened the supports as much as possible,” though the concern was the “danger that the structure will be washed out before night if the water continues to rise.”
The paper added that “the Arroyo Seco, usually a dry course, is a river today, and one which will be kept in bounds with difficulty.” The Avenue 26 span was generally heavily utilized, but there were already street repairs leading to it, so this lessened traffic as street department officials and workers hustled to address concerns about the bridge, which was “on old structure of wood and if it once began to go to pieces would probably break up in a short time.”
The same day’s Times reported that “it became necessary to stop the South Pasadena [street] cars at Avenue 46 last night, owing to damage to the Pacific Electric bridge over the Arroyo Seco.” Though details were lacking, “from the amount of water in the arroyo, and the weakening of the bridge supports, it was thought best to discontinue the passage of the cars,” though it was hoped that repairs could quickly take place, provided that more rising of the waters was forestalled. The paper’s issue of the 7th, however, ran a headline of “Storm Causes Little Loss,” while also stating that there was “considerable damage.”
There were more than 7.5 fewer inches of rain the following season. The Los Angeles Herald of 19 May 1908 highlighted a report from City Engineer Homer Hamlin concerning the problem with bridges crossing the Arroyo and the Los Angeles River. He noted that “the removal of sand for various purposes has resulted in the deepening of the [river] channel in the sixteen years since 1892” so that “the effect of the winter floods is to merely level off the channel by filling up the pits with the material scoured out immediately above them.”
Because well over 1.7 million cubic yards of sand was removed in that period, but recent amounts at three times previous years, “this has resulted in undermining some of the bridge piers” with the concern that it “will ultimately necessitate the underpinning of every bridge across the Los Angeles river and Arroyo Seco” at tens of thousands of dollars of cost to the City. Hamlin suggested that these amounts be charged to those benefiting from the removal, likely meaning developers of building projects utilizing the material.
As mentioned in part four, there were long-gestating plans for an ambitious Arroyo Seco Park, with Walker Jones in the Highland Park Herald of 22 August 1908 claiming that, “could the various attractions” of the proposal “be fully known there would be little delay in acquiring the property from Sycamore Grove to the mountains.” It added that “the chasm or lower valley of the Arroyo Seco which is particularly desirable extends from Sycamore Grove to the end of the stage road in the gorge beyond Devil’s Gate” at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains.
The paper insisted that, for the up to 12 miles involved, “this piece of road building would be comparatively easy and inexpensive, for the gravel and sand is at hand” and the bed needing just some clay or oil “to make it a perfect driveway during all parts of the year.” Because heavy teams were not needed “little would be necessary in the way of repairs.” It continued that,
Those who are not acquainted with the conditions fear the channels would shift and cause much expense, but a little care where there are old channels—possibly judiciously placing some brush and stones—would obviate any difficulty, and the channel would soon wash to sufficient depth everywhere to carry the volume of water during the storms.
This sanguine assessment continued with the belief that “as to park improvements, just let nature take her course” as merely keeping the arroyo as it was would mean “it will soon be one of the most enticing jungles in the world.” Moreover, no cement curbs and gutters were needed for the one, which could simply be “like a good old-fashioned roadway through the woods” and “make graceful curves, going around natural obstacles, destroying no live oaks or sycamores.” Even a few bridges wouldn’t involve inordinate cost. If only Jones’ reveries were practical!
In the 15 December edition of the Los Angeles Herald, it was noted that residents of the Highland Park Metz Tract, along the west bank of the Arroyo east of Figueroa Street and south of York Boulevard, were concerned about a proposal to built culverts under Marmion Way and Pasadena Avenue. The owners of low-lying property argued that this would “allow storm water to flood homes that have been built in this tract.
Grading of Pasadena Avenue built what was termed a dam for storm water, which filled holes in Garvanza and the stagnant water “proved a menace to the health of residents in the neighborhood. One thought was to have a retaining wall along Arroyo (Seco) Drive with water directed there to the watercourse. This controversy reflects the problem of intensive development of areas adjacent to the Arroyo without adequate means of flood control.
That 1908-1909 season was another above 19 inches of rain with a good deal falling in early February. The Times of 8 February commented that “the rampage of the Arroyo Seco floods yesterday afternoon resulting from the heavy downpour at the end of the storm that has swept California the past two days, caused at least $35,000 damage.” A railroad bridge was reported destroyed and four more having most of their supporting structures gone, while a city-owned bridge at Avenue 43 was washed out as the creek expanded by fifty feet in width.
The Salt Lake Railroad bridge that was obliterated was to cost $5,000 to replace, while another at Avenue 35 was in such a condition that it was “endangering the lives of more than 100 people on the San Bernardino train that crossed it.” The Santa Fé Railroad bridge was just eight feet away, so it, too, was at risk. The Avenue 43 bridge had water as high as a foot from its bottom, while the earthen banks on either side were scoured by the floodwaters, while a pipe underneath that provided water to folks at Montecito Park on the east side of the Arroyo was so vulnerable that those denizens feared they’d lose their supply.
While there were other losses, including material from a grading contractor, Mrs. Bob Scranella, residing on Avenue 59 saved her house because, after it nearly washed away in the deluge of 1907, she had a dyke built of barbed wire and oil cans. Other dwellings had close calls, as did a brewery on Avenue 39 which had water cut the banks of the creek to within 10 feet of the plant. A high voltage power line of the Kern River Power Company was close to being downed, but power was redirected and the affected pole was cut away.
The Times also reported on the heroics of engineer W.A Baldwin of the Santa Fé, who, after the train’s firefighter jumped, so he chose to “stick by his engine and pilot her over the fast settling bridge at Avenue 35 and the Arroyo Seco.” The conditions at that watercourse were such that its level was “higher than since the floods of 1889” while the paper added that hundreds of local residents waved handkerchiefs and umbrellas, threw hats in the air and screamed to try to get the train to stop lest a disaster take place.
The rails were too wet and slippery, so, despite Baldwin’s efforts to stop, the best he could do was to have “graded the air just enough to let cars and engine run gently across.” Had he tried to cross at a faster speed or with a jarring motion, “down the cars and their passengers would have gone into the roaring water.”
Once the train stopped, the engineer was mobbed by those who “crowded around to congratulate him on his nerve and remarkable escape.” Passengers who only felt sagging on one side, but were not aware of the peril, came out to look and “there were blanched faces among them when they realized how close they had been to injury or death.”
In its coverage that day, the Los Angeles Herald commented that “running at flood tide, its angry yellow waves foam capped and swirling from bank to bank, the Arroyo Seco, fed by heavy rains from mountains and foothills is grinding its path to the sea, tearing away all obstructions to its course.” After repeating much of the report of the Times, the paper added that,
From almost the headwaters of the arroyo damage and destruction marked the path of the flood. Outhouses and buildings, barns, chicken sheds, fences, wagons and vehicles standing on or near the banks of the creek were caught by the rapidly rising waters and whirled away. The banks were washed away in many places for as much as thirty feet, and the arroyo changed its channel completely in two places between Avenue 43 and its mouth.
At the mouth the waters spread out to a width of more than a hundred yards, poured their flood on top of the high water of the river, and carried the debris down with it, piling fences, piles, boards and timbers in confusion against the bridges crossing the river.
The 9 February edition of the Times published dramatic photos showing one approach to the city bridge at Avenue 43 (next to the Lummis House, a visit to which last Friday inspired this post) swept away by floodwaters, another of rail bridge work at Avenue 35, and a third of damage to the Salt Lake track at Sycamore Grove. The paper referred to “the ripping torrent of water down the Arroyo Seco and [which] carried everything not absolutely stationary with it.”
This included more than 300 feet of that Salt Lake track, the supports of three of the line’s bridges and the city bridge at Avenue 20—mentioned above. The account went on that,
In several places the stream changed its channel completely, the most noticeable being where it washed out the railroad at Sycamore Grove. Great quantities of gravel were carried by the water when the torrent was at its highest, and all of the many excavations along the arroyo where teams have been hauling sand have been filled.
The Pacific Rock and Grading Company at Avenue 39 worked an area for several years and, with this storm, “a wonderful change occurred” in that, where nearly 30 feet of excavations for extraction of material some 300 feet long in the arroyo bed, “when the first water came down, this hole was turned into a pretty lake, but [the] flood transformed the landscape.” This was because “the stream cut the banks away until it was twice as wide as before, and the lake was filled with huge boulders.”
Meanwhile, city officials scored the Salt Lake Railroad for damage to Sycamore Grove because the company was warned to better support its tracks with stone and that 300 feet of destruction resulted, as well as the fact that flooding “washed away a large section of park land, taking several valuable sycamore trees.” Streets were turned into mush so that “stalled wagons and automobiles,” these latter becoming more commonplace as Los Angeles became the world’s car capital, “were the order of the day.” One horseless carriage was stuck so that the Pacific Electric’s streetcar service was delayed for an hour.
On Valentine’s Day, the Herald reported that City Council member Reuben W. Dromgold proposed a plan “to riprap the bed of the Arroyo and thus control the water that with every other storm rushes down the old bed . . . with a velocity that nothing can withstand.” But, what was needed first was the survey and determine the official creek bed “and to do so certain property must be condemned,” most of which was owned by the Salt Lake line, but the expense could, the council member maintained, be borne through an assessment district. His rationalization was that those living closest to the watercourse and with the most at risk “should pay the greater part of the cost.”
The Express of the next day, however, reported that the city’s Board of Public Works was against the concept, with president Albert A. Hubbard insisting “the Arroyo Seco has a bed of its own now. It is not official and the arroyo doesn’t always keep to it.” It only made sense for there to be an official bed if the City was responsible for confining the flow to that section and this was impractical.” He asserted that “people who located along the arroyo . . . take the risk” of flooding when they located there” and the City was not able to assume that on its own.
The Highland Park Herald of the 20th, however, stated that City officials were prepared to determine title to lands in the Arroyo, with the belief that much of them were city-owned. It continued that “in any event it is deemed necessary that a safe channel be created and the course of the water to its confluence with the Los Angeles river governed.” This was to be handled through an assessment on a specially created district, if the plan was to be followed.
The concluding sixth part is tomorrow, so be sure to join us then as we carry the narrative into the first part of the 1910s.