CULTURE
By the 1880s, historian Henry Splitter assures us, Los Angeles was
recognized as a musical city, and the response to both amateur and professional
performances during that decade supports his claim. Local choral groups and a
predecessor to the Philharmonic orchestra emerged in the 'eighties, and touring
professionals discovered that appearances in Los Angeles were met with full
houses, enthusiastic audiences that sometimes numbered in the thousands and a
profitable gate. By the last years of that decade, according to Harold Swan in
Music in the Southwest, musical performances were of "a standard acceptable
anywhere in the nation."
While many programs still took place in churches, the city was well endowed
with halls. The first theater, built by John Temple, opened in 1860 over a
market on Main Street. Although Swan described it as "small and stuffy,"
Harris Newmark remembered that use of the private boxes located on either side
of the stage became the ambition of every Los Angeles gallant.
Several other auditoriums were available before 1880 for theatrical
performances, concerts, lectures and other assorted purposes. Stearns Hall,
for example, had not only held a dance school but also served as the meeting
place in 1870 for the vigilantes who lynched murderer Michael Lachenais. The
Merced Theater, adjacent to the Pico House, opened on New Year's Eve, 1870. By
1875, when it was known as Wood's Opera House, it had degenerated into a
raucous song-and-dance hall. The Germans' Turnverein Hall, once considered to
be the best auditorium in town, also opened in the early 1870s. The other
significant site, Mott's {or Armory} Hall, accommodated many major performers
of the 'eighties.
During that decade the construction of several additional facilities
reflected the growing interest in musical and dramatic productions in the city.
Ozro W. Childs opened his 1800-seat Opera House, the first auditorium of real
consequence built in Los Angeles, in 1884, and before the end of the decade
Hazard's Pavilion {1887}, the Tivoli {1887} and the Los Angeles {1888} offered
the area's residents a variety of cultural choices.
A) ANGELENOS AND THE SEARCH FOR SOCIAL GRACES
Temple's auditorium had been equipped with armchairs and raised benches to
give those farther from the stage a less obstructed view, but the other early
halls had level floors. Since attendance at concerts and dramas was as much a
social as a cultural event, there developed a conflict between those who wanted
to be observed in all their finery as opposed to those who came to see the
stage. A point in contention was the wearing of multi-layered {"seried," in
the language of the day} hats during a performance.
This issue was never more elevated than at the 1887 Los Angeles appearance
of the noted diva, Angelina Patti. Newmark remembered that Childs' Opera House
would have been the appropriate site for such a concert but was already taken
and the Patti concert was relegated to Mott's Hall, an auditorium, like
Temple's, located upstairs over a Main Street market. Unfortunately it had a
level floor, evoking pleas that those planning to attend should not wear hats.
{Times, Jan. 7, 1887, p. 3}
A HINT.
Pasadena, Jan. 6.--[To the Editor of The Times.] Now
that it is definitely settled that Patti will appear in Los
Angeles, would it not be a benefit to a long suffering public
if the ladies were to follow a custom now growing into favor
in New York and some other Eastern cities, of removing their
hats or bonnets during the performance. This would be of
especial value in this instance, where the audience will
labor under the disadvantage of occupying seats that are not
in tiers. Please urge this.
JAX.
{Times, Jan. 15, 1887, p. 3}
HATS OFF.
Los Angeles, Jan. 14.--[To the Editor of The Times.]
The management of the Patti concert, which is to be in a
large hall, the main floor of which is almost perfectly
level, owe it to their patrons to insist that tall hats shall
not be worn at the concert. People who pay $7.50 to hear and
see the great diva will not patiently submit to the outrage
of having their view of the stage entirely cut off by seried
rows of two and three story hats. Whether these hats belong
to men or women, they will have to come off or there will
surely be disturbance. People behind them will be very apt
to cry out, "Hats off in front!" or they will stand up to see
over them, and then those still further in the rear will
mount their chairs--and then "the circus will begin"--for
people who pay a big price to see the greatest of living
lyric artists--and pay it willingly--are not going to be
fooled out of seeing her because sundry self-styled ladies,
regardless of other's rights, take a notion that they want to
display a three story bonnet! Let the real ladies of this
city do as they are doing elsewhere: leave their high hats at
home, or take them off at the door and deliver to ushers, or
hold them in their laps when seated.
The flap over hats at the Patti concert resulted in a victory for those who
wanted to see the performers, not the latest millinery style, and altered the
uniform of the day for future artistic performances in Los Angeles. The Times
seemed more concerned about the break with tradition than the performance
itself, noting that most women left their hats at the door and sat throughout
the evening:
crowned only with the chiefest glory of woman.... The ice
was well broken last night, and there is good prospect that
one of the most inexcusable barbarities connected with
amusement-going will be a thing of the past in Los Angeles.
Yet when tragedians Edwin Booth and Lawrence Barrett came to Los Angeles early
in 1888 for performances at Childs' Opera House, one correspondent, still
unsure about proper etiquette regarding the wearing of hats, sought the
editor's advice.
{Times, Feb. 26, 1888, p. 6}
Hats or No?
Los Angeles, Feb. 24.--[To the Editor of The Times.]
Will you kindly inform a lady subscriber of your esteemed
paper whether the Booth-Barrett season is expected to be a
full-dress affair, and whether ladies are supposed to wear
hats or not, as in other cities of the world, and kindly
settle a dispute?
[Doubtless a full-dress affair, without hats, as a rule;
though, as is usually the case in large audiences, the
gathering will probably be somewhat mixed. The tendency in
Los Angeles, within the last year or so, has been in the
direction of expatriating the sombrero alto.--Ed.]
While the issue of hats may have been settled, Angelenos had other
complaints. Concert patrons of another generation would recognize the
crassness regarding ticket sales and seating assignments cited by "Drama
Lover," while the unsigned grievance about disturbances caused by late arrivals
at the reading of Charles Dickens' works by his son also spans the decades.
Future Los Angeles impresario Lynden Behymer, arriving in 1886, started his
local career as one of the ticket scalpers denounced by "Drama Lover." Behymer
hired boys to be first in line when unreserved seats at Childs' Opera House
went on sale, and then resold at curtain-time the blocks of tickets they had
purchased, profitably marked up. Behymer also served as artistic critic for
the Herald and may have been the target of letter writers later in this
chapter.
{Times, Feb. 24, 1888, p. 6}
"I Object."
Los Angeles, Feb. 21.--[To the Editor of The Times.]
Failing to get any satisfaction at the ticket-window of the
opera house for certain abuses fostered there, allow me,
through your columns, to focus the attention of theater-goers
upon two of the worst. For instance! For special
attractions prices are raised. The public might not kick if
they were raised more, if they could have fair access to the
ticket-window. But at once a line of loafers is formed, and
a gentleman (a clerk, say,) who feels that he can afford to
pay $1, in the limited time he can spare, attempts to buy a
reasonably choice seat. He must buy out of the line (often a
long one), at often a high price, one of the loafers, who at
once takes his place at foot of line again, to sell out. The
young man has chosen, say, a front seat in the
balcony--perhaps takes his wife or best girl. The seats
there are seldom reserved by numbers, and there ensues, on
opening the gates, a rough and tumble scramble which leaves a
well-behaved gentleman crowded back by the roughest elements,
and a lady--simply nowhere. The simple and fair plan of
numbering all reserved seats and hiring a few more ushers
does away with all this uncivilized scramble and gives people
of ordinary good means a fair show, which they can't get now
without extraordinary expense. The first nuisance can also
be abated if the management care to do it, and there is a way
to save money by it too, as well as a clearer conscience.
For many others and myself, I protest.
DRAMA LOVER.
{Times, May 18, 1888, p. 6}
An Unpardonable Annoyance.
Los Angeles, May 16.--[To the Editor of The Times.] I
attended the readings of Mr. Dickens at Armory Hall last
night, and, in common with the rest of the audience, suffered
an annoyance which it seems might be easily remedied by a
small expenditure and a little forethought. I allude to the
disturbance and noise made by late arrivals. The reading
advertised for 8 o'clock really began at twenty minutes past,
and yet for long afterward there was a thin stream of
arrivals, just frequent enough to distract the attention and
noisy enough to drown the speaker's voice. The timepieces of
a great many persons must have been out of order, for of
course they would not deliberately commit such a breach of
good manners. A few strips of matting would be useful in
deadening the sound which echoes through the hall from every
careless tread, and a rule prohibiting the ushers from
showing people to seats in the body of the audience while the
reading is progressing would be a reasonable one to enforce.
When the public pays a dollar admission for such an
entertainment as that of last night it has a right to the
undisturbed enjoyment of it.
B) EVERYONE'S A CRITIC
While reporters assigned to cover fine arts on the other three Los Angeles
dailies in the late 1880s were the subject of much criticism themselves, the
caliber of reviews printed in the Times was markedly superior. Swan wrote:
Fortunately for Los Angeles, the constant stream of
commendation and reproach which appeared in the Times came
usually from the pens of reporters who possessed sound
musical intelligence.
Since articles by Times staff members did not carry a by-line in the 1880s,
who wrote artistic criticism remains a mystery. The only Times writer known to
have written critical reviews was Dr. Dorothea Lummis, a stockholder in the
Times and wife of city editor Charles Lummis, but conceivably others on the
staff wrote reviews as well. Eliza Otis was certainly qualified to handle that
assignment, and her biographer, Midge Sherwood, contends that Mrs. Otis at one
time or another performed nearly all the editorial functions at the paper.
For a town that was so recently a symbol of the wild west, with its
lynchings, frequent murders and numerous saloons, Los Angeles of the 1880s
seemed to contain a disproportionately large number of would-be fine arts
critics. Throughout the decade letters flowed to the Times complaining either
about the quality of the critics reporting in the city's other papers or
offering their own criticisms of recent performances or exhibitions.
While Los Angeles may have been a musical city by the 1880s the press was
apparently not quite ready to properly assess it, or so "Music" suggested in an
attack on the Herald's review of an 1883 concert. Both this criticism and the
one by "Another 'One Who Was There'" must be read not only as comments on the
performances in question but as part of a large number of letters printed by
the Times attacking competing papers. In this case the Herald was the object
of these correspondents.
The editor's postscript to "Music's" letter needled those who failed to
follow his rules for submitting letters to the editor.
{Times, Nov. 24, 1883, p. 3}
Music and Music Critics--Music from One of the Latter.
To the Editor of the Times--Sir: It is very seldom that
I intrude upon the valuable time of an editor, but, when
patience ceases to be a virtue, I deem it my duty, in behalf
of every musician in Los Angeles, to protest most decidedly
against the words of eloquence, shaped into sentences and
then dished out as criticism to an unsuspecting and perhaps a
too indulgent public. Take, for instance, the two concerts
of this week: one at the Methodist church, the other at
Turner Hall. One critic, speaking of Tuesday night's
concert, says: "The opening number was an organ solo by Mrs.
Mellis, the organist of this society!" Question: What
society? Next, the same man goes on to say, in speaking of
Mr. Stone: "This song delighted the many critics in the
audience!" It seems to me a real live, genuine music critic
is a scarce article in this vicinity. Another man then
claims that "the instrumental trio, consisting of violin,
'cello, and piano accompaniment," &c. This is not fair!
Give the little miss her share; she did not play an
accompaniment. Then the other man claims that "Miss Smith
was but little larger than her instrument" (the violin). Mr.
Critic must have had a back seat. I did not notice anything
inflated, as regards the size of the instrument. I agree
with him as regards Miss Peabody, but as to the organ: No,
thank you! The surprise was not an agreeable one, I'm sure!
Then both men went astray on the same thing, namely, Miss
Winston's ballad. "Guess I won't, would you?" is nice
enough, but the genuine title, "Supposing," reads better. We
are again reminded of the house full of critics, in Miss
Binford's notice. We could easily swallow this without
wincing; but the Herald man must have gone out to see a
friend just about then, for I find not even a mention of her
name in his article. Mr. Francisco was treated in the same
style! Mr. Herald, brace up! Give us a full account nor
none at all. So much for Tuesday night. Now we come to
something really good. "Countrymen, lend me your ears."
Speaking of Wednesday night's concert, the Herald man
commences thus: "It is needless to say that these talented
vocalists and musicians gave an entertainment of rare
excellence." I fully agree with him, and I am only sorry he
did not convince himself that it really was needless to
criticise a performance when he himself was perhaps a half
dozen Los Angeles blocks distant from the scene. Miss Collin
will no doubt be surprised, when she has been informed in
this morning's article, that "she acquitted herself with
great credit in recitation and in solo singing!" I think
there is a mistake somewhere. His remark in regard to Miss
Harris "delighting the audience with a selection from
Moszkowski's Tarantelle" is very original, but alas! I am
afraid his musical education has been most woefully
neglected. Prof. Dorrego was conspicuous for his absence,
and yet we are gulled into believing that he played
excellently, notwithstanding that he was sick abed at the
time. Perhaps he had telephone connection with the hall, and
thought to give us something new in the way of a solo. If
so, the telephone must have been out of humor, for I failed
to hear a single note of the selection. Then Mr. Finlayson
comes in for a deal. Mr. Herald claims that "Mr. F. appears
once a week as an organist." Mr. F., how is it? Take it all
in all, the criticism of the Herald takes what young America
calls the cake; in fact, the whole bakery and a dude or two
thrown in as a chromo.
Now, Mr. Editor, why can we not have a man really able
to criticise a concert? The waste of words in trying to
describe the performance of Mr. So and So, and Miss This and
Miss That, is something wonderful. Recollect Los Angeles is
rapidly advancing in music, and I would like to see some
advance made so far as our critics are concerned. Thanks for
your indulgence. Truly yours,
MUSIC.
Los Angeles, Nov. 22.
[Let the writer of the above sail right in as a musical
cricket and polish off the amateurs according to scientific
rules. He writes well (on both sides of the sheet) and makes
it lively for the other crickets on the journalistic
hearth.--Ed. Times.]
{Times, Dec. 23, 1885, p. 2}
How is This?--Concerning Puffs.
To the Editor of the Times--Sir: Your reporter's notice
of the Kindergarten Benefit is attacked by a correspondent of
the Herald in a singular letter, which constrains me to utter
a word of protest from the standpoint of a subscriber to your
paper expecting accurate news. The correspondent referred to
makes the absurd proposition that notices of entertainments,
if given for a philanthropic purpose, should always be
flattering. Without stopping to discuss such an asinine
idea, I will only say that the public has a right to expect
from the papers some information upon which they can rely
outside of the puffs contained in paid advertisements. The
entertainment in question was given, as I understand, by
professionals, who took half the proceeds for their pay,
which arrangement was perfectly right and proper. The public
paid their money for admission, and it is also right, under
such circumstances, that a newspaper critic shall be at
liberty to express his opinion of the performance, without it
being construed into an attack either upon the performers or
upon the charitable object in view.
I listened to the entertainment, and while I would
refrain from criticising, can only say that there seemed to
be room for another opinion besides that of fulsome praise,
which the Herald correspondent affects.
ANOTHER "ONE WHO WAS THERE."
Charles Day, a leading figure in the city's music establishment in the late
19th century, was both a director and an impresario. In 1878 he organized and
directed the biggest musical event to that time in Los Angeles, featuring the
first local concert band and the first performance of Handel's "Hallelujah
Chorus." In addition to his musical activities, he served on the board that
wrote the new city charter in 1889 and was a member of the school board.
"Tonic's" review of the choral concert Day conducted must have been
satisfying to the performers and director, but it also reflects the view that
such an outstanding performance by local artists was somewhat unexpected in a
city so close in time to the violence of the 1870s.
{Times, Mar. 18, 1886, p. 2}
The Chorus Concert.
To the Editor of the Times--Sir: Some place in the
history of the past it is written "Westward the star of
empire takes its way." If there be one especial thing a
person who follows the aforementioned star to the west finds
out, it is that ability and culture do not remain behind when
the journey from the east is undertaken.
Upon the western slope, near the shore of the occidental
sea, even "Music, heavenly maid," appears in all her
loveliness. The concert Tuesday night, with its audience of
3000 people, was, in important respects, a wonderful
performance. Each selection was a gem, and the choruses were
from the great masters. Any city would be justly proud of
local talent able to intercept music of so high an order.
To the solos or individual numbers of the programme it
is not my desire to refer. Each was rendered in a style
evincing study and application. To do anything in the
musical line well enough to interest or please an audience,
requires work, hard, continued work. The muscle for voice or
technical playing is made by the same process as the muscle
in the mechanic's arm. Labor is the only culture. The
singer or player who can find the way to the hearts of the
assembled thousands, as was done last night, finds it only
after a long search and studious application.
There was, in the chorus concert, an evidence of
excellence deserving especial mention. To take the great
works of Handel, Beethoven, Rossini, Gounod, Bellini and
Verdi and present them so intelligently to a mixed chorus of
singers, almost strangers to each other, and to so direct
them as to bring 400 voices together in the intricate
rendering, demands rare ability. How well this difficult
duty was performed by Prof. Chas. E. Day, the success of last
night plainly tells. To do this requires a thorough
knowledge of music, not only of notation and minor
characters, but of form and construction, in fact, to be
master. It is but right, just and proper when one with a
life experience finds in his travels such talent, that
mention be made of it. A great treat, indeed, it was, and,
it is confessed, a rather unexpected one, to hear in Los
Angeles such grand music, and to hear so good directing as
was done by Prof. Day.
TONIC.
Henry Clay Wyatt, who's life had been in music since he served as a drummer
boy in Confederate ranks during the Civil War, came to Los Angeles as a tour
manager and, like so many others, decided to stay. Wyatt took charge of
Childs' {sometimes called Grand} Opera House in 1886 and by the end of the
decade was also in charge of the Los Angeles Theater and opera houses in
several other Southland cities.
One of his ensembles, "H. C. Wyatt's English Opera Company," was the
subject of a letter to the Times. "Baldy," although fearful that his comments
might offend, offered this carefully worded criticism of the troupe and at the
same time tweaked his fellow citizens for failing to give greater support to
the company.
{Times, July 27, 1889, p. 4}
POINTS FOR THE PLAYERS.--The following criticism has been
received:
"Los Angeles, July 24.--[To the Editor of The Times.] I
have followed the rise and progress of the opera company,
with which Mr. Wyatt has benefited our city, with a great
deal of interest. The personnel is, I think, distinctly
above the average, the voices are all good in their way, and
the performances conscientious. I have attended a number of
the representations, and would have been glad to have seen
larger audiences, for we certainly ought to make an effort to
sustain such a metropolitan enterprise. Under the
circumstances, it may seem a little invidious to make any
criticisms and yet, if the effect of such criticisms is to
make what is good better, they may not be wholly undesirable.
I would like to say, in the first place, that the
orchestration is too loud for the voices. The genial musical
director evidently has everybody very well disciplined, which
is, of course, immensely to his credit. But we old fellows
who go to the opera for amusement would like to hear what the
singers are saying. I have tried seats in different parts of
the house, to see if that would make any difference. But the
result is always the same, plenty of music, but no song.
Please give the singers a chance, Mr. Musical Director.
"Another more delicate subject of complaint is the prima
donna. This lady is exceptionally prepossessing in her
makeup, has a sweet, pure voice, a good method and a
sparkling manner, but she quite wrecks one's enjoyment by the
deplorable habit she has of indulging in little aside
conversations, with much suppressed laughter. These chats
are at the expense of the handsome tenor, the talented
barytone or the august basso, as the case my be.
"It is all very bewitching of course, but it is not
business. She is necessarily the figure of greatest interest
on the boards and an untimely giggle from her spoils the best
of work. She can never hope to be a great artiste until she
devotes herself seriously and entirely to business as long as
she is on the stage.
"In regard to this matter I think it only fair to say a
word in commendation of the other members of the troupe.
From my seat, well down in front, I have failed to intercept
any of those smiling glances of recognition with which it is
the custom of choristers and coryphees to greet their friends
in the boxes and parquette.
"With renewed wishes for the success of the company, I
am yours respectfully,
"BALDY."
Drama and art were also subjects of would-be critics, and like his
colleagues covering music, the Herald's art critic won the enmity of Times
readers as well. While it is not possible to determine what particular
painting "Brush" had in mind, his acerbic comments, though somewhat cryptic,
clearly make their point.
{Times, June 18, 1885, p. 2}
An Art Critic Criticised.
To the Editor of the Times--Sir: It was with some
amusement I perused the criticisms of "ye critic" in Tuesday
morning's Herald, regarding a few of the prominent pictures
of the exhibit. The article certainly claims more than a
passing notice, for the generous desire the writer expresses
in the effort to clothe his interest in unnoticed genius by
suavely admitting that the work of our "local" talent
possesses some attractive points. How very kind! Such
magnanimity is of such rare occurrence that it certainly
should receive the tenderest recognition from our local
celebrities, as well as the public of Los Angeles, who,
without the kind warning of one capable of instructing, as
our unappreciative American conservatism might forget to bow
the knee to English art; but since the matter has been so
prominently placed before me, I am happy to say it has solved
a much-mooted question.
In looking over the anatomy of No. 25, knowing the
possessor to be the subject who sat for the genius of Inman
to immortalize, I could but fancy that perchance it was the
artist's mistake and not the unfortunate subject portrayed,
for before us glaringly lies the fact of a large crack in the
cranium boldly outlined by the artist's brush!
Were it not for ye critics' assurance that the work is
irreproachable, and beyond the target of our uneducated
appreciation, we should certainly have accepted the deformity
of this formation of the skull, as well as the nostril on one
side of the face a quarter of an inch lower than the other,
as formations of the artist's inability, but with ye critics'
intimate acquaintance with the subject, we must defer our
physician course of anatomy and admit that even genius has it
limits in painting a portrait.
BRUSH.
C) ART CENSORSHIP
By the mid-1880s Los Angeles had reached a cultural level permitting those
interested in serious art to mount formal exhibitions. At the same time, the
more devil-may-care attitude associated with the old Los Angeles had vanished
in the face of a prudishness that accompanied this emergent culture, as "Nuda
Veritas" discovered upon attending an exhibition at Opera Hall in June, 1885.
{This was the same exhibition that caught the attention of "Brush."}
The painting that was soon to become the infamous "Number 63" of the
exhibition was by an American artist, W. F. Jackson, otherwise unidentified at
the time. Unfortunately, that era produced several Jacksons - two W. F.
Jacksons and two W. H. Jacksons - all artists worthy of mention in biographical
dictionaries, and the subsequent obscurity of the particular painting made a
more precise identification a tedious task. We now know that the painter was
Sacramento artist and Crocker Gallery curator William F. Jackson. The painting
in question currently hangs in the private Sutter Club, a short distance from
the state capitol.
The hubbub generated by its removal from the exhibit brought greater
attention than the piece would have otherwise received. After the painting was
taken down at the close of opening night, a Times editorial described in detail
the errant picture, one of several on loan from the estate of the late French
Consul in Los Angeles:
Number 63 is entitled "Suite of the Army," and
represents an apocryphal scene during the Franco-German war.
The artist is W. F. Jackson. The "Suite of the Army"
comprises a half dozen women, young and old, who have sought
the seclusion of an open field for the purpose of taking a
bath. The several members of the company are represented in
different stages of deshabille and one--a young and very
handsome woman--would be entirely nude were it not for the
fact that she is about to don a chemise. It is hardly
necessary to say that only the young women of the group
appear in undress uniform. The picture is French in its
theme and eminently French in its style of treatment. Were
it not "high art"--and high art is said to excuse
everything--it might be voted salacious.
{Times, June 11, 1885, p. 2}
The Nude in Art.
To the Editor of the Times--Sir: On visiting the Art
loan collection at Opera Hall this evening, I found to my
great surprise that the painting, No. 63 in the catalogue,
which was one of the chief attractions of the exhibition last
night, had been taken from the wall and hidden away. I
failed to get any satisfactory reason for this peculiar
action, the only reason alleged being that certain pious
visitors had objected to the nudity of some of the figures in
the painting. Such squeamishness is highly out of place in
an art exhibition, and if the committee of management intend
to submit to such dictation there are two or three other
pictures which had better be immediately removed from their
walls, as they reveal an indiscreet amount of the female form
divine.
NUDA VERITAS.
The Times devoted an entire editorial column to Number 63, concluding that
the exhibition management was at fault for allowing the picture to be displayed
at all. "Modern society demands that people shall be clothed," wrote the
editor, concluding that nudity did have a place in art: in pictures over five
hundred years old!
Nudity in art comes down to us from the ancient Greeks
and Romans. The standards of society were then vastly
different from to-day. What was quite allowable among those
ancient races would now be condemned as worse than savage.
In Rome, art flourished most when the Empire was given up to
luxury, debauchery and moral decay.... But the modern world
can and must rise to a higher moral plane in its own affairs.
While Number 63 was withdrawn from the Opera Hall show, the complaint of
another pious protester later in the year suggests that the standard for
display in an enclosed hall was more strict than that required for the posting
of photographs on a public street. Whether "Decency" had objected to painting
No. 63 is unknown.
{Times, Oct. 27, 1885, p. 2}
Indecent Pictures.
To the Editor of the Times--Sir: I wish to inquire
whether there is not a law to prevent the exhibition of
indecent photographs at the public crossings of our streets.
During the most of last week, when the city was thronged with
visitors, these vile pictures were exposed for sale at the
corner of Spring and First streets. Does the seller (we will
not call him a man) have a license? If so, who granted it?
DECENCY.
In late November, 1885 the Times noted without editorial comment yet one
more act of censorship. Headlined "Another Number 63," the paper reported that
city councilman Hiram Sinsabaugh had urged that the picture of a nude woman on
a council chamber wall be taken down. Councilman F. R. Day protested that it
was a work of art, belonged to a fire department company and had been in a
window at Preuss and Pironi's Spring Street drug store, which often displayed
art, for four months. Ignoring Day, the council removed the painting.
This act inspired one more attempt at art censorship. In the hot summer of
1882 Harris Newmark, made aware that there were few drinking fountains
available to the public in downtown Los Angeles, had given to the city an
elaborate fountain, which he placed at the junction of Spring and Main, in the
Temple Block. Described by Newmark as a bronze "female figure of attractive
proportions," the statuary was seven feet high, with water spewing forth from a
lion's head beneath it. Three years later, in the wake of art censorship at
Opera Hall, Decency's complaint about filthy street corner photograph sales and
removal of the nude from the council chamber, "G. W." lodged a complaint about
Newmark's fountain.
{Times, Nov. 26, 1885, p. 2}
Cui Bono?
To the Editor of the Times--Sir: Noticing in this day's
Times that the City Fathers have decreed the removal of the
objectionable picture from their court-room, might I be
allowed to suggest the removal of the figure from over the
drinking fountain at the corner of Spring and Main streets.
It surely cannot tend to the increase of local purity
among us, that youths and maidens have such figures
constantly before them. Of course we all know that to the
pure all things are pure; but even the pure are not above the
attention and suggestions of the powers of evil. I know that
whenever I see that figure I find that I have not yet lost
the youthful virtue of blushing. Anyway, if the condemned
picture, in its comparative privacy, is not elevating to the
City Fathers, nude representations of art (so called) cannot
be desirable for their more susceptible children, in more
public positions. What good use does it serve? Yours truly,
G. W.
Los Angeles, Nov. 25, 1885.
Despite "G. W.'s" concern the fountain stood for several years before
disappearing, removed, according to historian Arthur Chapman, "for no other
reason, apparently, than that few people care very much for the sentiments of
the past." Harris Newmark's sons, in a revised edition of his reminiscences,
put it this way:
Iconoclastic Los Angeles officialdom removed this
historical little fountain some years ago, reminding one of
the culpable tendency of California authorities to regard
with indifference, if not with contempt, age-old adobes and
long-honored names of persons, towns and streets.