Journal of Alta California Jul-Sep 2019

Hopping a freight out of Los Angeles at high noon one day in late September 1955 I got on a gondola and lay down with my duffel bag under my head and my knees crossed and contemplated the clouds as we rolled north to Santa Barbara. —JACK KEROUAC, THE DHARMA BUMS People sometimes ask me, “What is Alta about?” I answer in a roundabout way. “You seem like a talented person. You could move to New York. The capital of America. Why not? It’s said: If you can make it there, you’ll make it anywhere.” They usually reply, “Well, I don’t want to. I like it here.” My response: “That’s what Alta is about—the varieties of experiences that make you love, and want to live, here. Something about the Far…

Hamlin Garland (1860–1940) was the author of more than 40 books, including A Son of the Middle Border, an autobiographical narrative of easterners moving West, and he was awarded a Pulitzer Prize in 1922. Through his books and letters, he chronicled the breathtaking landscapes of the West and the rise of the motion picture industry in Hollywood, where he eventually settled. Historian Kevin Starr later wrote that these “dual attractions—the entertainment industry and natural beauty” define California, and helped give rise to a canon of American literature that is distinctly of the West. Here are excerpts from a pair of Garland’s letters, revealing these passions: TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT Author of The Wilderness Hunter, conservationist, 26th U.S. president July 17, 1917 DEAR WILDERNESS HUNTER: …I am filled with longing to re-traverse…

Denise Hamilton on “Manson Inc.” (page 22): “Growing up in L.A., Charlie Manson was our bogeyman. He haunted our nightmares. He still does.” Jason G. Goldman on “They Shoot Wild Horses” (page 16): “Horses are beautiful, awe-inspiring creatures. So are the native wild animals they threaten in the arid American West.” Lynell George on “Listen for the Word: Bird Is Playing Tonight” (page 48): “I’ve been walking around L.A. holding jazz séances in my mind for years. Walking into the husk of that club was a dream come true.” Victor Juhasz on “Above Santa Cruz” (illustrations, page 56): “The gray world of many lives stands in stark contrast to the colorful vacation posters.”…

I’m the Anniversarist. Every day, I squint at microfilm of newspaper stories about people from 25, 50, 75, 100 years ago, sometimes even longer, searching for commemorative features to write up. My beat is yesterday’s news, which some readers vastly prefer to today’s. Friends ask me, “What if, you know, some real news happens?” My answer is always the same: “I’ll give it real nice play in 10 years.” Today I’m standing under the canopy at the rear door of Musso & Frank Grill. It’s 10:59 a.m., and I’m waiting for the place to open, listening to the rain pound overhead. Don’t feel sheepish if you’ve never heard of Musso’s. For every Angeleno who downed their first martini here, or savored their last chop after an ominous checkup, plenty more…

There’s not enough room for the whole band in the living room of the East L.A. home where Mariachi Arcoiris de Los Angeles rehearses on Friday nights, so the brass section winds up in the kitchen. From his perch there, singer and trumpeter Rudy Vasquez can’t make eye contact with all of his fellow band members, but everyone can easily hear the bright ba-da-ba-da-daaaah of his instrument ringing out from the adjacent room. As the group works on a rendition of “Tu Sigues Siendo el Mismo,” bandleader Carlos Samaniego leans around an overstuffed leather sectional, peering through the kitchen door to cue the trumpets when it’s their turn to insert a cheerful riff. Vasquez, 31, has been playing in mariachi bands since he was 10 years old. Growing up in…

Editor’s note: In 1983, Ishmael Reed published “My Oakland, There Is a There There, Part I,” a much lauded essay that was later anthologized as “My Neighborhood.” Reed’s piece chronicled his family’s search for “home” in towns throughout the San Francisco Bay Area. Along the way, Reed encountered both quiet discrimination—cold, unwelcoming stares—and confrontational racial epithets shouted by white teenagers driving along otherwise serene suburban streets. Eventually, Reed and his family settled in a large Queen Anne Victorian and found the community they sought in their North Oakland neighborhood. But even there, acceptance didn’t come easily; it had to be earned. In 1979, my partner, Carla Blank, a writer, choreographer, and director; our daughter, Tennessee; and I moved from the hills of El Cerrito to the flatlands of Oakland. It…