Saturday, April 12, 2008

"Mountain View School," 1881 (aka Villa Park Elementary)


My sister Fannie and I watched Montie Montana perform at our little elementary school c. 1961.

Villa Park Grammar School, 1925
.....Tell me, why do we so often destroy our own history?
.....My family arrived in Orange County (German immigrants by way of Canada) in 1959. By 1960, we had moved to Orange, near Villa Park. My sister Fannie and I went to tiny Villa Park Elementary, which had started life in 1881 as “Mountain View School.” It's on the National Register of Historic Places.


.....As you may know, recently, the OUSD decided to demolish some of the older buildings of the school, which date back to 1917 (or 1919). Efforts, initiated in the late 90s, to collect money to renovate the buildings have failed. Naturally, some locals were horrified. As the OC Reg reported yesterday (see District puts historic buildings up for sale), the latest plan is to try to sell these old buildings—for a dollar.
.....This seems to be a last ditch effort.
.....I’ve posted some photos of the school, plus some other historic OC photos that I’ve come across recently.
.....I just love this stuff.

Chunk's family used to buy oranges at this packing house in the 60s.

Villa Park was mighty small back in the early 60s, and very conservative. Still is. Only 17% of voters are Democrats. Greens?—.003%! There's 11 of 'em.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

What's that matter with us? Why do we tear down everything that's old?

Bohrstein said...

We're Americans - we tear down our history.

I am reminded of Eddie Izzard's standup show "Dressed to Kill." right about now.

Guy A: These buildings are FIFTY YEARS OLD!!

Guy B: No! Surely not! No one was alive back then!

torabora said...

When I was about six years old I had one of those cowboy outfits with the twin sixshooter cap guns and cowboy hat. My folks lived in a leaky old Italian built house with a water tank on the roof on a dirt street, in Asmara, Ethiopia. I was out in the fenced yard playing cowboy and one of the natives motioned through the fence that he wanted to trade his slingshot for my cowboy hat. As I got close he snatched my hat off my head and booked.

Confused, I wandered in the house and told Dad about my hat. For the first time in my life I was scared. He came unglued, called the neighbors and took off out of the house with his 30-30 rifle.

Thankfully the hat stayed gone but I have fond memories about it and that house that leaked water into lots of pans Mom put out, drip drip drip, every rain. I smile at the thought of an Eritrian wearing a white sheet cloth for clothes and a cowboy hat. I bet that house is still there too, leaking.

Rent Party said...

Ah OC was so pretty then!!!

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