Photo Essay: The Japanese Garden That Almost Became a Freeway

Five years in, and I'm still finding the most interesting places in LA.



Well, this most recent place is technically in Pasadena...but close enough.



The Storrier Stearns Japanese Garden is a historic landmark that's just starting to make a comeback...



...after having fallen into disrepair after CalTrans tried to tear it down.



It was originally built by landscape designer Kinzuchi Fujii at the behest of Ellamae Storrier Stearns, an aristocratic woman who had married well (three times!)...



...and wanted to transform her estate's tennis courts into a showcase for the Japanese art she'd collected during her trips abroad in the 1930s.



Despite the anti-Japanese sentiment of the time, Ellamae gave Mr. Fujii carte blanche in terms of the design and the plantings, from the cork oak tree...



...to the teahouse waiting room...



...the ponds...



...the Korean grass, and the rocks, which were all hand-selected from the Arroyo and brought in, one by one.



Not all of its aspects are traditional to Japanese landscape design, but it does include a zig-zagged "Devil's Bridge" to ward off evil spirits...



...as well as a variety of other water crossings...



...including the "Red Bridge," which has been painted black.



This is the second teahouse in its current location.



The first one was crafted in Japan to Mr. Fujii's exact specifications and shipped overseas to be assembled here...



...only to burn down in 1981 under suspicious circumstances (possibly from a cigarette ash, a theory that remains unproven).



The view from inside the replacement teahouse—fit for an emperor, with 12 mats—is spectacular and ripe for meditation.



Unfortunately, Mr. Fujii never got to complete it himself. He only had five years to work on the garden before he was sent to a Japanese internment camp in 1941, where he stayed until the end of World War II.



When Ellamae Storrier Stearns died in 1949 without an heir, five of the estate's seven city lots were auctioned off, leaving only two—the house and the garden, including old horse stables and a shed for the former tennis courts.

Local Pasadena art collector and curator Gamelia Haddad Poulsen—who attended the auction simply for the two Louis XV chairs—ended up snapping up the whole shebang.

By the time Gamelia passed away in 1985, she'd lost all hope for and stopped maintaining the garden, which she thought was being seized by CalTrans under eminent domain for the construction of the 710 freeway (which never extended north of Alhambra). It had gotten in pretty bad shape back then.

She passed the entire property on to her son and daughter-in-law, Jim and Connie Haddad, who have been working to restore it since 1990 and who successfully landmarked it in 2005. It's now one of only two Japanese gardens listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

When you visit, you're literally in the backyard of the Haddads' one-story home, which was built after the mansion was dismantled (with one room now residing at the USC Pacific Asia Museum).

If you're lucky, Jim will take the time to walk you around and talk about his mom—and about the day she came home and said, "You'll never guess what I just did."

Related Post:
Photo Essay: A Sanctuary Among Sewage

On Motherhood

Becoming a new mom to a three year-old kittyboy has got me thinking about motherhood.

It's changed me. And I don't have to think of myself as a daughter—as a motherless child—anymore.

My own mother has openly admitted that she had kids so that someone would finally love her. Estranged from her only two daughters, I guess that didn't work out so well for her.

Mom thought we owed her something—and not just a "thank you" at every turn. The only gift she ever wanted from us was money—in no small part because she saw herself as just the "chief cook and bottle-washer." She never figured out that when you're a mom, you kind of have to take yourself out of it.

Yes, one of the reasons I adopted a cat was because working from home full-time is lonely, and I wanted someone or something to talk to other than myself. But the real driving force—the thing that made me desperate to get a cat—was the idea that there are so many out there who need rescuing and who may never be rescued.

And yet, although I adopted a nearly "unadoptable" rescue—an adult, male, black cat who'd been mis-labeled as FIV positive—I don't ever think that he owes me anything. He didn't ask to be born; he didn't ask me to take him home with me.

I make sure he's got enough wet food to get through the week before I fill my own fridge. I serve his meals before I make my own; and if he's not done with his food yet, I stay in the kitchen because I know he'll stop eating if I leave.

The first time he pooped in the litter box, I was thrilled. I've never been so happy to smell poop. And every time he does his business, I tell him "Good boy." Because healthy cats poop and pee, and every now and then my kitchen might smell like litter as a result. And I don't bemoan cleaning out his pan in the morning, because I'm so happy that there's something in there to scoop out.

When he's done with the litter box, and often after he eats, he likes to saunter over to one of my chairs and use it as a scratching post. Oh, he's got a catnip-spiked scratching bed, but he prefers my chair—and he's pulled out a few of the threads in the process.

But you know what? I like my chair, but I love my cat. He can have the chair.

Don't get me wrong: he's a very good boy. He's quiet and cuddly and hasn't done anything worth reprimanding. That is, he hasn't done anything other than what a cat would do.

He doesn't like sitting on my lap or being picked up and held in my arms. But that's OK. He makes me laugh every day without even trying. He watches me intently with those big, yellow eyes. He's still not sure what to make of me. He's still not sure what I'm going to do, or how I'm going to react. But I'll tell you, I haven't gotten mad at him even once.

And sometimes he gets spooked and runs away. I don't get offended. He needs to go hide for a while. It doesn't hurt my feelings. It's not about me. And when I find him in one of the dark, far reaches of my apartment—under some piece of furniture, where dust has collected for five years since I first moved in—I don't try to lure him out. I let him know that I know where he is, that I care, and that I'm still here when he's ready to come back out.

And he does come back out, and presents his belly for rubbing.

To me, that's worth the fancy grain-free wet food endorsed by Dick van Patten, the "World's Best" fancy natural kitty litter made of corn, the odor absorbers, the four cat beds strewn across my apartment (all in one room), and the constant Dustbusting and dishwashing and water replacing.

I never expected him to be any certain way. And I don't blame him for the things that aren't his fault. He doesn't owe me anything, and I don't get miffed if I don't feel appreciated. Why should he feel grateful to me? Being kept safe and well-fed and having a place to go to the bathroom are the basic rights of a domesticated animal. He not only deserves a good home—he's entitled to one.

This isn't just my apartment anymore, or my furniture—they're his, too. He's not borrowing them from me. We share them, together.

I tell him, "I'm going to love you for the rest of your life," and I mean it. I barely know him now, because he's holding back a little with me. He might give my finger a tiny lick with his little pink tongue, and then look up at me to see how I'll react. He watches me as he strokes my arm with his paw, and pulls me closer into his chest. (Yes, he pets me!!)

He doesn't have to worry about getting the sniffles or an upset stomach or knocking something over with his fancy tail. It happens. He's a cat. I'm not going to get mad, and I'm not going to feel burdened.

He's not an inconvenience. He'll never be a disappointment. He's not a responsibility. Being his mom is a privilege—and if I believed in gifts from God, he'd be one of those.

Related Posts:
Rescue Me
A Mother-Not-to-Be
To All the Mothers

Photo Essay: A Warbird Flies Over the LA Basin

I can remember my first time in any aircraft. It was a helicopter flight over Lake Placid and the Adirondack mountains of Upstate New York, and it made me incredibly air sick.

I was probably 10 years old.

I didn't fly again until something like a decade later, when I boarded my first commercial airplane: a Virgin Atlantic flight from New York's JFK to London Heathrow for my semester abroad.

Since then, I've been a passenger on plenty of other airlines—American, Delta, US Airways, United, Aer Lingus, Lufthansa, Air France, Air Tran, Virgin America, JetBlue, and even the defunct Song (which only operated from 2003-2006).

I also managed to get on two round trips on a private plane in 2012.

I've flown a sailplane, and I've jumped out of a plane with a guy strapped to my back.



But until this weekend, I'd never experienced what it was like for the first passengers to ever take a commercial flight.



On Valentine's Day morning, I arrived to the Pacific Jet Center at Long Beach Airport to take a scenic flight over the LA basin in a Douglas DC-3A...



...the model of airplane that lured passengers off the rails and into the air, ushering in a new era of air travel...

...that offered longer distances, shorter travel times, and the ability to bring a dozen or two people all to the same destination.



Back in 1936 when the first DC-3 commercial flight was offered, it changed everything—and it began to pioneer new flight paths across the United States.



But while passengers enjoyed the comfort of the spacious DC-3—which could also accommodate sleeper beds—



...by the time World War II hit, the DC-3's were commandeered by the military.



This veteran plane was manufactured in Santa Monica as a C-53D and was converted into a DC-3. It became a staple throughout WWII, dropping paratroopers to invade Sicily in 1943, Normandy on D-Day in 1944, and Germany in 1945.



But after the war, ownership of this NC43XX (now a DC-3) transferred to TWA, then Northeast Airlines, and then United from 1945 to 1952.



Appropriately, one of its post-war owners (there were over a dozen of them from 1953 to 2006) used it to drop skydivers (not paratroopers) over Connecticut.



Aviator Flight Training bought the ol' gal in her current restored version in 2013...



...and now offers recreational, scenic warbird rides...



...to anyone brave enough to take off in one.



This one seats 19 passengers...



...plus two pilots in the cockpit...



...and has all the modern amenities...



...including cushioned seats and cupholders (but no ashtrays).



We began our non-stop service to Long Beach from Long Beach...



...following the LA River as we headed north, away from the Pacific Ocean.



We unbuckled our seatbelts and moved freely about the cabin...



...to snap photos from both sides of the plane...



...as we soared over freeway interchanges...




...past mountains...



...Griffith Observatory, the Hollywood Sign...



...and the Downtown LA skyline, as we looped around and headed back.



This was my Valentine's date with myself—and a bunch of kindred spirit old timers.

I didn't get dressed up in period-appropriate costuming. I didn't do my hair and makeup. And I didn't pose for endless photos in front of the plane.

I wasn't there for fashion...or vanity...or to be cool or vintage or retro. I went for the adventure of it—and to experience something I couldn't have experienced in my own time (though this type of plane was still being used as a commercial airliner in the early 1980s).

And you know what? It was awesome.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: The Planes of LAX's Flight Path Learning Center Museum
Photo Essay: Planespotting at Santa Monica Airport
Photo Essay: Long Beach Airport's 90th Anniversary Fly-In
Photo Essay: Planespotting at Van Nuys Airport
Photo Essay: LA's First Commercial Airport, Then & Now
Photo Essay: In Praise of the Flightless Planes at Palm Springs Air Museum
Photo Essay: The Retired Big Boys at March Field Air Museum

Photo Essay: Inside The Last Remnant of the Glendale Airport

[Ed: Updated with new photos 7/12/17 4:33 PM]

For whatever reason, Grand Central Air Terminal had been on my bucket list of LA places to see even before I moved to LA.



But it turns out, I only had to wait four years after initially skulking around in 2012 to actually get up close to the historic building...



...which was the terminal for LA's first commercial airport (though technically in what is now the City of Glendale, and the runway is gone).



And not only that—but thanks to the annual meeting of the American Aviation Historical Society, I got inside.


Image courtesy of Historic American Buildings Survey (Library of Congress)

When a historically significant building like this is in such bad shape and then gets restored by a private entity, there's plenty of reason to celebrate—but it also often means that the new private ownership restricts the public's access to it.



Fortunately, new owner Disney uses Grand Central Air Terminal as both a private office space and an event space...



...and has given it a distinctly un-Disney look, retaining and replicating much of the original Art Deco detailing...



...with the addition of the "wing walk," a catwalk that connects the upper levels on either side of the former passenger waiting room...



...designed to evoke the image of an airplane wing.



One of the most spectacular Art Deco details is in the ceiling of the air terminal's former restaurant, which now provides a skylit open floor plan for Imagineers in cubicles.



The restoration architecture firm, Frederick Fisher and Partners, had little to go on other than a couple of black and white movies and still photos—so they had to do a bit of detective work to get the details right, including sending a piece of railing that they found in a wall to a fabricator and saying "make it look like this."



They didn't have to create much new (other than the wing walk) because so many of the details were already there—they'd just been covered up by decades of paint, plaster, dirt, and whatnot.



Although the windows in the first two stories had to be replaced, at least there are windows now—where there were windows...



...before they were all boarded up and whitewashed.



There were and still are zigzags and arches galore...



...and plenty of places for the sun to stream in, any time of day, any time of year.



Considering the fact that this building had been gutted in 2009 and stood vacant until restoration began in 2012, it's a marvel that it looks anything like it used to...


Image courtesy of Historic American Buildings Survey (Library of Congress)

...or that it's still standing at all.



Besides the piece of railing, other artifacts that were discovered during the restoration excavation include an air traffic control spotlight...



...mouldings, bottles...



...jars...



...pilot flight logs and time sheets...

circa 2017

...promotional items...



...and a shoe.

circa 2017

You might think that a Disney office would be full of Mickey Mouse ears...

circa 2017

...but the GCAT building is just the opposite.

Original photo from the Herman J. Schultheis Collection 

From the exterior signage to the framed historical photos hung on the inside walls, everything is about the place itself—home of American Airlines and TWA...

circa 2017

...and, in many ways, the birthplace of commercial flight (certainly in LA).

Image courtesy of Historic American Buildings Survey (Library of Congress)

Now, if I could just figure out a way to get into the fifth floor observation level in the old tower to see what it and its view look like now.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: LA's First Commercial Airport, Then & Now
Photo Essay: Best of Saarinen's TWA Flight Center, JFK
Photo Essay: Transforming the Hughes Campus Into Hercules, Before & After