Photo Essay: The View from Above Balboa Park's Former Expo Grounds

I think most of the towers I've ever climbed have been lighthouses, clock towers, or cathedrals. Sure, I've visited observation decks on skyscrapers like LA's City Hall, the Empire State Building, Top of the Rock, Windows on the World, and Baltimore's World Trade Center, but I don't recall ever having climbed a tower that was just...a tower.

I've stood at the bottom of Coit Tower in San Francisco, the Old Baltimore Shot Tower, Seattle's Space Needle, Toronto's CN Tower, Hollywood's High Tower, and Bowman's Hill Tower in New Hope, Pennsylvania, but for whatever reasons of time, place, or money, I haven't gone up in any one of them.

Of course, the ultimate tower for climbing would be the Space Age, blinking towers of the New York State Pavilion and Tent of Tomorrow from the 1964/65 World's Fair in Flushing Meadows Corona Park in Queens.



So last year when I heard that the California Tower from the Panama-California Exposition of 1915-17 was reopening to visitors after being closed for 80 years, I thought, Eureka!



I'm ashamed to say that although I'd been to Balboa Park twice before, I had never heard of the Panama-California Expo and had no clue that Balboa Park shares a similar origin story with Flushing Meadows. Both were planned with the event in mind. Both events were similarly focused on the theme of progress: "To Show What Will Be by What Has Been" and "Man's Achievement on a Shrinking Globe in an Expanding Universe," respectively. And finally, for each event, structures were built that were meant to be temporary and subsequently torn down.



And this is where their stories diverge, because Balboa Park became more popular than ever, the crown jewel of San Diego. The Expo's architecture (primarily Spanish Colonial) was so beloved that the temporary structures (like the Casa de Balboa and Casa del Prado, made cheaply out of chicken wire and other flimsy materials) were reinforced and kept, rather than being torn down—which is what happened in Queens. A century and two more expos later, Balboa Park still thrives, while Flushing Meadows has largely been abandoned and forgotten in just 50 years since the fair.



San Diego originally wanted to host a World's Fair—but when the city was deemed "too small" for such a large, international public exhibition, they decided to put on an official one, celebrating the opening of the Panama Canal, first used in late 1914. The resulting Panama-California Exposition gave rise to the baroque California Building and the California Tower. Always intended to be a permanent fixture of Balboa Park even after the expo was over, it became a centerpiece of the expo, and it's now a centerpiece of the park.



From its somewhat neo-Gothic facade (designed by architect Bertram Goodhue, of LA's Central Library fame), ornamented with statuary and gargoyle-like faces (all made out of concrete poured into molds), it looks like a church—but it's actually a non-denominational "hall of fame" of prominent historical figures like Serra, Cabrillo, Portola, and two kings of Spain. In fact, it's never served as a church—although it did briefly serve as a hospital for the Navy and double as Xanadu in Citizen Kane.



No, this place doesn't focus on heavenly creatures, but rather on the study of earthly humans and their societies, in its current iteration as the San Diego Museum of Man. Its permanent collection includes mummified human remains.



But from that 180-foot tower (198 feet above the ground), I wanted to see the California Building's 60-foot dome, which is inscribed with the biblical phrase Terram Frumenti Hordei, ac Vinarum, in qua Ficus et Malogranata et Oliveta Nascuntur, Terram Olei ac Mellis ("A land of wheat and barley and vines…a land of live trees and honey").



I wanted to see the rest of Balboa Park—and beyond—from that tower.



And so, I climbed 125 narrow and sometimes harrowing steps to concrete block observation deck on the seventh floor, which is as far as visitors can go these days (since the upper two floors are not currently up to code).



Up there, past the dome, you can get a good view of the Old Globe (built for The 1935-36 California Pacific International Exposition—but more on that later).



The dome's tiled design was inspired by the Church of Santa Prisca y San Sebastian in Taxco—a distinctly Mexican dash of color on an otherwise gray edifice. The tiles were fired locally by California China Products Company, based in nearby National City.



The tower feels like a belfry, but actually no music ever came from it until 1947. Now, it's got a 100-bell carillon operated by a keyboard located on one of the lower levels of the tower. Speakers mounted up at the top of the tower broadcast Westminster chimes every quarter hour and a series of instrumental songs every day at noon. (The carilloneur even takes requests.)



The California Building and Tower were originally part of the California Quadrangle (Plaza de California) of the Expo, along with Evernham Hall and St. Francis Chapel of the Fine Arts Building across the street (and now taken over by the museum).



They provided a grand entrance to the Expo for pedestrians crossing the Cabrillo Bridge, a concrete and redwood walkway specifically built for it.



The Cabrillo Bridge was the first multiple-arched cantilevered bridge of its kind in California. Now open to cars as "El Prado," it provides one of several entrances to Balboa Park. Having survived three fires (one arson in 2004), it's been designated a civil engineering landmark.



While it once traversed a creek (which park officials dubbed a "lagoon"), San Diego just didn't have enough water to keep it going.

circa 2018

And now, Cabrillo Bridge crosses over the Cabrillo Freeway (SR-163), built on the floor of Cabrillo Canyon and completed in 1948.


Circa 1915 (Image courtesy of The Commitee of One Hundred)

At some point, I've got to go back to explore the grounds of the Great Depression-era California Pacific International Exposition of 1935-6, so stay tuned for more dispatches from Balboa Park and San Diego.

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Falling In Queens

Photo Essay: Taking a Spin Into the Last Century in Balboa Park

I've always been overwhelmed by too many choices.

I don't want the world to be my oyster. If someone asks me, "What would you like?" I'll answer their question with another question: "What are my options?"

I do better working within some kind of constraint.

That's probably why I feel so overwhelmed every time I visit Balboa Park in San Diego. It's just too big. There's just too much to do there.

The first time I visited, I treated it like a hike. I just walked the pathways, took in the views, and made it back to my car when I was too tired.

This time, a specific event -- a tour of the world's largest outdoor musical instrument (photos forthcoming) -- brought me back to Balboa Park. But, instead of leaving afterwards and gallivanting around the rest of San Diego, I decided to stay and try to conquer at least a portion of the behemoth.



My first stop was an obvious choice: the carousel. I've stopped being shy about riding carousels by myself and being seen as the weird old lady. Who cares? As long as I don't surpass the weight limit and break a horse (or a seahorse), I'm good.

Photo Essay: A Leap of Faith Despite Depression

When I started spending some real quality time in Balboa Park two years ago, it became clear that for all I'd seen, I'd still only scratched the surface.

Because while I learned a lot about the Panama-California Exposition of 1915-17, the park actually hosted two expositions in two decades' time—and that meant I'd have to head on down to the southern section of Balboa Park's central mesa, a plateau known as The Palisades, to investigate what remains of the California Pacific International Exposition of 1935-36.

And you can't really talk about either expo independently, without mention of the other, as their histories are inextricably tied to one another.

Let me set the scene a bit: In 1933, Prohibition had been repealed, but the end of the Great Depression wouldn't come until 1939. In 1934, it had been 20 years since the last expo, and the temporary structures that had been built for it were slated to be torn down. But in a stunning about-face, those buildings were not only saved but restored and reused for yet another expo.

Given the economic conditions at the time, mounting such a large-scale ordeal was, perhaps, a foolish endeavor. But after the fact, once it proved successful, exposition president G. Aubrey Davidson called it an "achievement of faith, courage, and enthusiasm unparalleled in the history of similar enterprises."

Thankfully, seven million people attended. And the year this second expo opened coincided with the creation of the Works Progress Administration, part of FDR's economic recovery plan under the auspice of the New Deal (1933-1937).

Of course, work didn't really start coming out of the U.S. government's "Work Relief" divisions until the California Pacific International Exposition was wrapping up—which makes the creation of the "Plaza de America" even more of an achievement.

And fortunately, although some of it has been lost or modified beyond recognition, there's still enough left there in the Palisades to give an inkling as to what this team of hopeless optimists managed to accomplish despite all odds, 80 years ago.

I Won't Let Youth Be Wasted on Me

Back in 2009, when I first explored Balboa Park, I noticed a tiny train chugging along. Its only passenger was a giraffe.


circa 2009

I think at that point, I'd never ridden on a miniature railroad—certainly not in my adult years. And if I ever rode a tiny train as a child, the memory of it has vanished.



After having made a lot of progress in this business of "making up for lost time" (and trying to unearth memories of things I'm pretty sure I actually did do as a kid), I'm convinced that some of life's best experiences—Disneyland, carousels, puppet shows—are wasted on the young.



I never understood anything as a kid—I was in a constant state of confusion. And having been bullied into silence and submission by my parents, I was too afraid to ask "what," "why," or "how" most of the time.



So I don't really mourn some of those childhood experiences I never had, because now I have the ability to create memories that will last—and that I can piece together in some kind of narrative, so as to attempt to understand my life as a whole.



To put it simply, I took a ride on that Balboa Park railroad seven years later, at 40 years old, because I could. I had the motive, the means, and the relatively recent memory of a similar experience that I'd enjoyed very much.



This time around, I started giggling from the moment our conductor blew the train whistle and sat at the helm.



The San Diego Miniature Railroad runs along a half-mile track right next to the grounds of the San Diego Zoo...



...so it's been designed as a somewhat "wild" excursion.



Though the entire trip takes only three minutes to complete, you end up traveling the entirety of San Diego County, through towns like Julian, Jacumba, Valley Center, and so on.



This miniature train looks remarkably like a full-size train—and not a "toy" train—but riding it through four acres of Balboa Park kind of feels like you've been transported into one of the worlds of the San Diego Model Railroad Museum.



The railroad was installed in this exact location in 1948, just two years after the The Miniature Train and Railway Company introduced the "G-16" model that runs here (the "G" for "GM locomotive" and "16" for a 16-inch track gauge).



Hundreds of G-16s were manufactured until 1963, but now a few dozen remain (and not all of them in operation). There were G-16s installed and running in Griffith Park for decades, but now the Travel Town Railroad runs a relatively modern (circa 1993) locomotive inspired by those of the early 20th century—though also on a 16 gauge track.

Here, the cars have been restored and are still operating in their original location.

The train ride went by so quickly that I was inclined to ride it again immediately afterwards, feeling like a kid who can't get enough of something amusing, asking for "More!" and "Again!"

But I had more of Balboa Park to explore, so I moved onto the next adventure.

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Photo Essay: Taking a Spin Into the Last Century in Balboa Park

Photo Essay: The World's Largest Outdoor Pipe Organ

Although many of the buildings from the Panama-California Exposition of 1915-17 were built with the intention of tearing them down after two years, there were a couple of "anchor" structures that were always meant to be permanent.



The California Building (now the San Diego Museum of Man) was one, and the Spreckels Organ Pavilion was another.



In fact, as the "World's Largest Outdoor Pipe Organ," it still embodies that "World's Fair" type ethos—a long-standing testimony to the progress of man.



It's an achievement for sure, but it's technology is a bit antiquated now.



Most pipe organs you find are in churches and theaters—and, even then, many of them have been removed, displaced, disassembled, lost.



But a park as big as Balboa deserves a music pavilion as big as this one, and their current civic organist has managed to attract crowds (sometimes of 1000 or more) with somewhat more contemporary repertoire, even paying tribute to David Bowie after his death.



There have been free organ concerts in the park every Sunday since it opened (with the exception of when the Navy took over during World War II), but on this particular Sunday, we had the opportunity to brunch with the Spreckels Organ Society and take a tour of the organ itself—behind the pipes.



On the outside, the pavilion is a relatively conventional Italian Renaissance (whereas the rest of the park introduced Spanish Colonial to the people of San Diego), with stone ornamentation by the Tracy Brick and Art Stone Company of Chula Vista.



Its setting may not technically be ecclesiastical...



...but—like the California Building—it certainly feels like being in church.



The main pavilion structure—which serves as both band and bandshell—is relatively monstrous at 75 feet tall. Then again, it needs to be, with all those pipes it houses.



The organ console has been upgraded and improved throughout the years, with various stops being added...



...and each new civic organist having their own take on how to play it.



Some might choose to play it very loud, or very soft, depending on the tremulants they use.



Regardless of the organist, there's a certain hand-to-foot coordination necessary in order to operate the keyboards and pull the stops with hands and to press pedals and compensate for busy hands by using the feet. It's a full-body workout.



The inside of the pavilion structure acts as a kind of museum and hall of fame, displaying lots of historic photographs and artifacts.



It also houses the civic organist's office.



But most importantly, this is where all those pipes are—the tiniest of them measuring smaller than the size of a pencil.



But any good pipe organ (especially one as big as this) doesn't just play music by pumping air through pipes. It also gives its organist the opportunity to bang the drums...



...ring the chimes...



...crash a cymbal...



...strike the triangle...



...and sound the horn.



This is also where the compression chamber is—and entering it through a two-step pressurization process feels a bit like gaining access to a bank vault.



In there, the bellows are pumping air...



...and there's an intricate nerve center of electronics...



...where parts move systematically, like the inner workings of a clock...



...somehow creating a symphony of organized chaos that can project clear across the park (without the help of speakers).



It was a big statement at the time that it first opened, on New Year's Day 1915—just as John D. and Adolph B. Spreckels (sons of the wealthy "Sugar King" Claus Spreckels of San Francisco) intended it to be, when they spent around $100,000 on it as a gift to "the people of the world" and "the people of San Diego." (Adolph unfortunately passed away before its opening.)



In fact, without the contributions of multi-millionaire John Spreckels (at one point the wealthiest man in San Diego), the Exposition in Balboa Park may have never happened.



But the organ pavilion is the only thing that bears the Spreckels name—in Balboa Park, that is. His legacy also includes the Spreckels Theatre Building in Downtown San Diego and the Spreckels Mansion in Coronado (now operating at the Glorietta Bay Inn), which is situated right behind his Hotel del Coronado, whose candy shop is also named after him.

At the organ's grand opening, it started with 3400 pipes—and, in the time since, it has swelled to over 5000 pipes, edging a 1931 organ in Austria out of the top spot by adding 280 pipes, making it the world's largest in its centennial year.

Your move, Austria. You've got to add 57 pipes to reclaim your status.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: First Congregational Church Organ Crawl
Photo Essay: The View from Above Balboa Park's Former Expo Grounds
Photo Essay: Taking a Spin Into the Last Century in Balboa Park
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