I was minding my own business, taking a leisurely drive down South Vermont in Los Angeles, when I encountered a sign for Perfect Paint & Body. Now, I’ve never felt a need for help in achieving a perfect body, but the sign nevertheless caught my attention. I think it was the brown-painted silhouette that (figuratively) jumped out at me:
“Perfect” you say?
Now, before I get to the shape of that silhouette, isn’t it a little odd that a place that calls itself “perfect paint” has a sign that looks like it was painted by a four-year-old with a bottle brush and some muddy poster paints? I mean, if there’s one thing you want to emphasize when you’re a paint business, wouldn’t it be paint?
But let’s leave that critique aside. Of greater interest is the shape of the silhouette. Am I imagining things, or is this one of the elusive “Laughing Bears” that I discussed in an earlier post? Indeed, it turns out that this was part of the Bear network back in the 1940s. According to my research, the bear was still a legit, laughing bear as recently as the late 1990s. At that time the establishment was called Modern Day Auto Center. It was sold to the four-year-old kid at Perfect Paint in 2001.
The Bear in (slightly) better times.
So, what do we learn from all this? That the Laughing Bears are slowly eroding away, and we should enjoy them while they’re still around! Please send me any photos, or even simply your tips as to locations. Without eternal vigilance, we may find ourselves in a world without laughing bears.
Some years ago, my replacement unit (son Ian) and I drove the entire length of Route 66, from Chicago to Santa Monica. As the reader no doubt knows, Route 66 was one of this country’s first highways, dating back to 1926. It also had been the main way to get to southern California from points east, starting with the dust bowl migration and extending to the car culture of the 1950s and 1960s. Just one or two lanes in each direction, the road has an unhurried and scenic charm. Alas, as depicted in the movie “Cars,” Route 66 was eventually bypassed by various interstates, and the towns and businesses along the old Route slowly declined and eventually dried up. When Ian and I took our trip, we saw plenty of derelict buildings on the side of the road: motels, gas stations, diners, and the like. I suspect that many of those old landmarks that we saw over a decade ago are now gone.
Anyway, Route 66 has always occupied a soft spot in my heart, so I was inspired when my good friend Detlef recommended that I explore an old segment of Route 66 that crosses Cajon Pass (where one crosses from the Mojave Desert to the LA Basin. Or vice versa.) Now, when Ian and I drove Route 66, we didn’t drive on much of this particular segment, because it had been blocked by Interstate 15 in the 1970s. However, a few years ago, the good people of CalTrans redesigned the freeway and reconnected the discontiguous parts of old Route 66 over the pass.
I began today’s tour at the Cajon Summit (approx. 4000 feet above sea level). For over half a century, the Summit Inn stood as a well-known landmark here. The owner, Cecil Stevens, finally sold the place in 2016, and a few months later the structure was destroyed by the “Blue Cut Fire” that ravaged much of the area. Timing is everything. Sadly, Cecil died of Covid just a couple of months ago (February 5). He was 88.
Glory DaysAnyone want to go in with me?On the site of the old Summit Inn. I have no idea what this is.
Now, the first part of Route 66 over the pass has been overlaid with Interstate 15. That’s not especially interesting. But you can take an old, rickety, rutted dirt road that had been used as a “shortcut” by motorists in the early years. This dirt road began as a wagon trail called the John Brown Toll Road. It was constructed in 1861–just as the Civil War was erupting. So I set out on this old original road.
…but the old dirt road begins!View of Cajon Pass from John Brown Toll Road. Note I-15 to the right.
One wonders why this rutted, twisting road was ever considered a “shortcut” for Route 66. My understanding is that it used to be in better shape, and it even received pavement in 1914, but it’s narrow and steep and twisting. I was cruising along at about 5 mph.
Remnants of 1914 pavement.This cut originally was dug by hand in 1861!
Now, there’s one thing you should know about Cajon Pass: It’s a Mecca for railroad enthusiasts. The railroad first crossed the pass in 1885, and today over 150 trains can pass through in a single day. As I made my way down the John Brown Toll Road, I encountered four sets of tracks, including a trip under these tracks from 1915.
Eventually the John Brown Toll Road reconnects with the old Route 66 proper. At this location, there are several notable markers. One commemorates Camp Cajon, which was a popular resting spot, with various facilities, for travelers coming over the pass. It was developed in 1919, but was destroyed by a flood in 1938.
“We have builded”??
Another marker identifies this spot as the junction of the Santa Fe Trail and the Salt Lake Trail. It honors “the brave pioneers of California,” and was erected in 1917 by a group of eight pioneers. Notably, one of these pioneers in John Brown (of the Wagon Toll Road, which I’d just come down). Two others (Sheldon Stoddard and Sydney Waite) had been members of the “Lost 49ers” through Death Valley. Coincidentally, I’ve run into this group on two earlier trips: Death Valley and, more recently, Walker Pass. These three individuals, along with the other five who sponsored the monument, were all present at the dedication ceremony in 1917.
Monument “to the brave pioneers of California.”
It was now time to get onto Route 66 proper. This segment parallels the modern Interstate 15. Now, as I mentioned, this is railroad country, and much of this road also parallels the old railroad line:
…or are you just happy to see me?
It struck me that this is the same segment of road where I’d camped out for over an hour, waiting for the Union Pacific’s restored “Big Boy” steam locomotive to come through in the fall of 2019. You can see my blog post about that event here.
The Big Boy on its way to through Cajon Pass in 2019.
What’s especially cool about this stretch of Route 66 is the good people at CalTrans have repaved the southbound lanes of the old road, and made them into a comfortable two-way road. Meanwhile, they’ve left the northbound lanes of Route 66 unrestored, with periodic K-rail barriers to prevent people from traveling along it, thus preserving it as an artifact. There are even some of the old, painted “Route 66” shields still extant on the original roadbed.
Original roadbed.
Also, some of the bridges from the early days are still in place, with their year of construction stamped in concrete:
From the Herbert Hoover administration.
A bit later I came to an old rest area that had been constructed in 1952. All that remains are some pavement markings and a memorial plaque.
Marker notes, among other things, that the tollhouse for the John Brown Toll Road was nearby.
Incidentally, this location sits on the San Andreas Fault, where the Pacific Plate and the North American Plate meet. In fact, it was the San Andreas Fault that created Cajon Pass in the first place.
On a hillside next to the road I saw the faintly visible number “66” somehow carved into the earth. I can’t find any information about who did this and when. Tips are welcome!
Can you see it?
Now, let me explain that on my drive from LA to the Pass I was listening to a podcast called “Stuff You Should Know.” (If you’re not already familiar with it I’d recommend it to you.) At the end of the podcast, the hosts always read a letter from a listener. In today’s episode they read a letter they received from the great-great-great niece of one Helen Boss, who caused the car accident in which Sammy Davis Jr. lost his eye in 1954. You can listen to the podcast here (listener mail starts at 59:40).
So imagine my surprise when, shortly after listening to that podcast, I found myself passing the exact place on Route 66 where Sammy’s accident occurred. I’m not making this up. The accident happened where the road passes under a railroad track. Evidently the 72-year-old Mrs Boss had missed her exit, and decided to back up in the early morning gloom. Sammy rear ended her and lost his left eye in the accident. Fortunately, no one was killed.
Where Sammy and Helen met.
Before long Route 66 completes its journey through Cajon Pass, and it enters the city of San Bernardino. At this point, almost no remnants of the old road and infrastructure remain. So I decided to jump back onto the interstate to head back home. But it’s worth noting that some other stretches of the original Route 66, along with some roadside structures, still exist on its final leg westward toward Santa Monica, on a road now named Foothill Boulevard. I drove that stretch a few years ago, and will assemble the photos into a blog entry at a later time.
So there you have it: A good stretch of the original Route 66 can still be driven over the Cajon Pass, bypassing the soulless and numbing Interstate. Thanks to Detlef for calling this to my attention!
You’ll recall that about a month ago I posted a number of photos of the surviving “Laughing Bear” signs that advertised auto repair facilities whose mechanics were trained by Bear Manufacturing. I shared photos of these iconic signs that I’d encountered near my home. Well, today I came across another one: Irvine’s wheel alignment in Harbor City, CA.
My question is: Does the uppermost sign say “check smog”?
Word on the street (literally) is that this is not an original sign. The business is said to begun in the 1950s or 1960s, when they had a more traditional sign (see photo below). The new sign appeared within the last decade.
The original Irvine’s sign, now lost to history. (Photo courtesy of RoadsideArchicture.com.)
Please keep your eyes peeled for more such signs, and send me your photos!
Today’s travels focused primarily on CA Route 33. To get there I took an easy and leisurely route across the Central Valley floor to Blackwell’s Corner at the intersection of CA Routes 46 and 33. Blackwell’s corner is one of my favorite stops on California roadtrips, as it’s a friendly and well-provisioned oasis in the middle of nowhere. A single building is outfitted with a gas station, a diner, a grocery store, showers, bathrooms, an ice cream fountain, a homemade fudge kitchen, and a James Dean shrine. For it’s at this spot that James Dean was last seen alive before his fatal car crash a half-hour later on September 30, 1955. He was 24 years old.
Well, he did star in Giant, you know.
Blackwell’s Corner traces its lineage back exactly 100 years — to 1921 — when George Blackwell opened a rest stop on the site. I’ve stopped here many times. Sure, the gas is about a buck a gallon more expensive than elsewhere, and the snacks are severely overpriced. And the fudge doesn’t do much for me. But this place is an institution, it feels really earnest, and there’s really no other options for rest and refreshment in the region. It’s reassuring to know that it’s here. So I’m happy to support it.
Some years back Blackwell’s put in this 1950’s-themed diner to capitalize on its James Dean connection. Even before Covid, I’ve never seen anyone eating there.
So after gassing up and getting a bottle of juice for breakfast, I turned onto CA Route 33. Like Blackwell’s Corner, Route 33 reminds me of a reliable old friend. I’ve traveled segments of 33 on various occasions — particularly the stretch known as the Petroleum Highway. This segment is a hellscape of oil rigs and pipelines scattered willy-nilly across the parched and poisoned earth. It’s like something out of Mad Max, and somehow you can’t take your eyes off it.
“I’m just here for the gasoline.” — Mad Max
One of the notable intersections in the area is where Route 33 is crossed by “Brown Mat. Road.”
Wipe your feet.
At first I thought this meant the road was covered with brown mats, or appeared to be so covered. Then I noticed that “Mat.” is short for “Material.” So why would you name a road “Brown Material Road”? Is it simply an odd reference to a dirt road? Or a euphemism for something scatological?
Could you please be more specific?
After doing some research, I discovered that the name references a business that used to be on the road: A place called Brown’s Material Supply Company. So it’s really analogous to Magic Mountain Parkway in Santa Clarita.
Anyway, the Petroleum Highway is much more famous for its oil than for Brown Material. The scale of production is impressive. This region (Kern County) produces fully three- quarters of the state’s oil (and about a tenth of the country’s overall oil production). One of the major oil producers, Aera, takes great pride in showing off one of its old pumps, tarted up with Christmas lights next to the road.
Long since retired.
In the midst of these oilfields, I happened upon the Oakwood Bar-B-Q and Bar in the tiny town of McKittrick (pop: 115). Under the main yellow sign was a tarnished copper sign on the outer wall that read “Penny Bar.” Upon closer inspection, that entire sign was made of pennies.
I’m definitely not getting my BOTD here!
This seemed intriguing. A plaque informed me that the building’s owners have over time glued over a million pennies to the bar, walls, and other flat surfaces of the building. I didn’t take any photos inside the building, since the roughnecks (or whatever the oil workers call themselves these days) that populated the establishment didn’t look like they’d take too kindly to a stranger photographing them. But I did get this photo of the back entrance:
Penny for your thoughts?
A little further along Route 33 I came to the town of Taft (pop: 9,300). Taft is just about the most southern town of the San Joaquin Valley, nestled against the foothills of the Transverse Ranges. Taft was originally named “Moron” around 1900, but after it burned down in 1909 it was renamed after William Howard Taft, who became president that same year. Taft is one of the more substantial towns on Route 33, and has close ties to the oil industry. While its downtown still feels stuck in the mid-20th century, it still feels viable and maybe even prosperous. The Fox Theater dates back to 1918. It’s had ownership changes and was even closed for awhile, but on this trip it seemed to be fully restored and functioning. Indeed, it’s showing “Godzilla vs. Kong” tonight!
Would have been great if Mothra could have been part of the showdown.
It was now getting to be lunch time. Because there would be no towns of any substance for the next 75 miles or so, I decided to get lunch at a place called Roots Eatery. Even though it was plopped down in a strip mall, two elements spoke of promise: (1) the meat smoker puffing away in the parking lot, and (2) the promise of “Good, Bad, and Ugly” on the menu.
Roots’ smoker. Somehow I doubt that the county health department has inspected, let alone approved, the setup…I wish they’d point out the “bad” part of the menu.
I had a toothsome smoked pastrami sandwich with smoked bacon and smoked gouda on grilled and buttered sourdough. It was just what the doctor ordered, even though my arteries didn’t approve.
On the outskirts of town I encountered two notable things. One was this car; Points will be awarded to the first person to identify the make and year.
Second was this homemade art installation. Alert readers will recall that I have a soft spot for folk art. This trip has been largely devoid of any such sightings…until now.
Shades of Almira Gulch…
It was now time to leave the valley are start climbing up over the Transverse Ranges. The last bit of Kern County is commemorated by the town of Ventucopa (pop: 92), which marks the transition from Kern’s Maricopa to the county of Ventura.
As if “Inyokern” weren’t bad enough…
I was entering my favorite part of Route 33: the climb over the Transverse Ranges and the Santa Ynez Mountains. It’s a meandering, little-traveled, two-lane road with grasslands, oaks, and commanding views. Plenty of switchbacks allowed me to take panoramic photos of the road I was travelling.
The red line marks Route 33 over the Transverse RangesStill chugging along…On the way to Ojai
Finally I was delivered into the town of Ojai (pop: 7,500). If you’re wondering what happened to all the country’s hippies, I can report they’re alive and well and living in Ojai. Seriously. I’ve never seen so many healing crystals, incense shops, natural food coops, organic this and free-trade that. Ojai has a city ordinance banning chain stores, so the businesses are all pretty unique. I did find a decent brew pub, which I’ll mention in the BOTD at the end. (Famously, Ojai is also known for standing in for Shangri-La in Lost Horizon.)
Now, I’d planned to take 33 to its end near the oceanfront in Ventura about 25 miles away. But on a whim I instead headed out of Ojai on highway 150 east, which took me to Santa Paula (pop: 30,000). This was one of the few decent-size cities I encountered on this trip. I always associate Santa Paula with the St. Francis dam disaster of 1928. The dam was dozens of miles away, but when it failed in the middle of the night it unleashed a wall of water that passed through canyons and took out hundreds of structures before it reached the ocean. A year ago I made a visit to the dam site and described the disaster here. Today in Santa Paula, I saw this monument commemorating two motorcycle police officers who alerted townspeople of the impending disaster.
Latter day Paul Reveres.
But the real treasure in Santa Paula, for me, is the old Southern Pacific railroad depot. It was built in 1887 and served as the center of commerce and passenger travel for many years. Passenger service was halted in the 1930s and freight in the 1970s. But the structure has been lovingly restored and today serves as the Chamber of Commerce’s headquarters and an art gallery. I’ve seen a lot of restored railroad depots in my day, but this one is among the absolute best. It appears vibrant and solid, and is really a thing of beauty.
Soon after Santa Paula, I connected with Interstate 5. As soon as I get on a freeway, I consider the trip to be over…even though I still had another hour and a half of driving. As I fought the LA traffic, I was thankful for two days of two-lane roads in the deserts, valleys, and mountains of California.
BREW OF THE DAY
I had my BOTD at a place called Topa Topa Brewing Company in Ojai. The place is about 6 years old, and is named after the nearby Topa Topa Mountains. It’s got lots of outdoor seating a very laid-back vibe, which is typical for an Ojai business.
Nice day for a beer.
I chose the “Gadabout Stout.” Like yesterday’s BOTD, this is a nitro stout, which gives it a creamy mouthfeel. It’s brewed with coffee from the nearby Ragamuffin Roasters, and that gives it some decent roasty notes. But I have to say that I was underwhelmed by this beer. It’s made with oat milk, which while it may appeal to the Ojai hippies, seems to be an odd choice for beer. I suppose my main complaint is that the beer just feels flat and weak. It’s like drinking skim milk when you’re expecting a glass of whole milk. The beer doesn’t deliver much of a bite — either from hops or from alcohol. (It weighs in at 6% ABV). The main taste profile evokes corn cakes and unsalted tater tots. In a word, it’s bland. Definitely needs to be sharpened under a pyramid or healed with a crystal.
When I was a wee lad, Babe’s Muffler Shop in San Jose had a giant fiberglass statue to advertise its business. This was one of the many “muffler men” that dominated the landscape in the 1960s. And a number of them still survive today. There seems to be a small but fanatical fan base for these roadside artifacts from another era.
But this post is not about Muffler Men. Instead, it explores an analogous phenomenon: Laughing Bears.
For around the same time as I was growing up in the shadow of Babe’s Muffler Man, I was also vaguely aware of several wheel alignment shops that sported a laughing, golden bear on their signs. The image of the Laughing Bear seems to have been buried in my subconscious, entirely forgotten until I moved to southern California a few years ago. And then, lo and behold, I re-encounted the Laughing Bear in Torrance, looking only a little worse for wear.
“You walked out of my dreams, into my arms….
The story of the Laughing Bear goes back a century. For in 1913, brothers Will and Henry Dammann founded Bear Manufacturing in Rock Island, Illinois. One of their first products was an electric starter for Henry Ford’s Model T. (Until then, starting your Model T required standing in front of the vehicle and turning a metal crank quickly. A startling number of individuals were run over by their own cars in this process.) So the Brothers Dammann had a popular item on their hands. Of course, Henry Ford being Henry Ford, he began manufacturing his own starters and undermined the Dammanns’ market. So Will and Henry shifted their focus to automotive diagnostic equipment.
Bear Manufacturing soon became a well-known and respected trainer of automotive mechanics. Their reputation led to their being appointed as the official servicing outfit for the Indy 500 for half the 20th Century. In 1949 Bear Manufacturing built an impressive, Streamline Moderne headquarters in Rock Island, housing the Bear School of Automotive Safety Service.
Naturally, the Bear name developed a certain cachet in the automotive industry, and thus being associated with Bear was considered to be good for sales. And so auto repair shops whose mechanics were trained by Bear would often erect signs with Bear’s “laughing bear” logo.
Alas, the Bear training school closed in the early 1970s, and the last vestiges of the company disappeared about twelve years ago. But many of the signs live on, referencing a training standard that no longer exists.
Over the past few months I’ve been keeping a list of all the Bear signs I’ve spotted in the South Bay area of Los Angeles. And today I went out and took photos of them. Here they are (in addition to the one from Torrance Auto Repair, above, which dates back to 1948):
Gardena Bear, Wheel Alignment. Sign originally erected around 1949.B & D Wheel Alignment dates back to the 1960s.Another shot of B & D. Note that they really seem to like that Bear logo…This place obviously has no connection to auto repair. They opened in the early 2000s, presumably on the site of an old auto repair facility.Chet himself is long gone, and the business seems to be closed. The sign, which dates back to the 1950s, survives. For now.Forlorn sign at Chet’s. The quotation marks might have scared away customers.Miller’s Wheel Alignment has been around since 1946. The sign has been repainted, and/or the laughing bear had a stroke.
And if these are reminding you of your Woodstock years, you’ve been listening to too much Grateful Dead.
Jerry Garcia steals from the Brothers Dammann.
I’m sure there are many more surviving Laughing Bear signs. Please send me pictures of any that you’re aware of! I’ll post them in a subsequent blog.
Also, stay tuned for my trip to visit the Bear Headquarters building in Rock Island, which I’m told is still standing. My wife has been encouraging me to take another road trip…
Chasing Phantoms 