Chavez Ravine, 1949: A Los Angeles Story

Rating:
Summary: First-rate photography, and a window into a vanished world
Review: As a long-time resident of LA (though not a native), one hears the occasional whisper about Chavez Ravine. It's widely known that Dodger Stadium was built atop these old neighborhoods, in millions of cubic yards of landfill.

Oh, but at what a price.

Normark, who says in his introduction that he grew up in a town in Washington state peopled by Swedish immigrants that felt similar to these three warm communities, was in exactly the right place, at the right time, to capture on film the places and the homes and the people who lived in them that we now know were doomed to either be destroyed (the buildings) or ripped from their roots (the people).

His black and white photographs, made on a knockoff of a Rollei in medium format, have the tonal range very typical of this period -- all those fine shades of black and white that film noir fans should love.

But the people he's illustrating aren't sinister like those movies at all. They're deeply human, alive, a family both "nuclear" and extended. You see a young girl, her Sunday dress on, a soft smile on her lips, with a book titled "Enchanting Stories" on her lap. You see games of stickball in the street. Confirmations at the church. Families at their meals. Goats grazing on the grassy hills.

All this in a small community maybe two or three miles, at most, to the northeast of LA City Hall.

These pictures are married to the recent reminiscences, like the other reviews here, of both former Ravine residents and their families.

Seeing this book, one understands why, 50 years later, Los Desterrados -- the Uprooted -- have a picnic every year in Elysian Park, just behind their former homes.

The most haunting image, in some ways, for me: Palo Verde School. It wasn't razed for Dodger Stadium. The roof was taken off, and then the landfill came along. So the school is still there, buried under the Stadium somewhere.

So if any of my fellow Dodger fans ever hear kids playing in a schoolyard as we walk back to our parked cars... It might be well to listen to those voices just a bit more closely. And look to this book to see the children's faces.

Rating:
Summary: California noir
Review: Nestled in the hills between downtown Los Angeles and Pasadena is Chávez Ravine, site of Dodger Stadium and its acres of parking lots. Few baseball fans here could tell you that long before the Dodgers left Brooklyn, Chávez Ravine was the home of three communities of Mexican-American laborers and their families.

Don Normark, a young photographer in 1948, was climbing in the hills looking for postcard-shot views of LA when he discovered La Loma, Palo Verde, and Bishop. Each neighborhood was a rambling cluster of buildings, dirt streets, and footpaths. The wooded slopes of Elysian Park overlooked the ravine, and beyond were the peaks of the San Gabriel Mountains. He felt he had found another world -- a kind of Shangri-La. For many months, he returned to take pictures of what he saw and of the people he met there. He didn't know that he was recording on film the daily life of a place and its people that was about to disappear.

The pictures, of course, are black and white, a rich range of gray tones and contrasts under the cloudless southern California sky. In a casual street scene, two men stand talking on the hard dirt, and a third, his back to them, leans across a low concrete wall. All is in sharp focus from the dusty tire track in the foreground to the pointed tower of City Hall nudging up over a darkly wooded ridge in the distance. The mid-afternoon light reflects brightly off one man's tee shirt and from the front of a small white house farther on. Meanwhile, the shadows cast by eaves, palm fronds, parked cars, and the men themselves are deeply dark.

There are many pictures of people, of all ages. Some look into the camera. Most are busy working, walking, talking, playing. A young girl wears her confirmation dress. A boy watches his father repair a car. Two men spar under branches thick with bougainvillea blossoms. An iceman stands in an open gateway, tongs slung over one shoulder. A young woman arranges flowers on an altar. A workman returns home along a winding footpath at the end of the day (see book jacket above).

Fifty years later, Normark gathered together his pictures and began looking for the people who had once lived in Chávez Ravine. This book is an album of those pictures, with commentary by the people he found, in their own words. Normark writes simply and clearly about himself and his experiences. Like his photographs, his writing style is sharply focused. In the opening pages of the book, he describes the forced relocation of the people of Chávez Ravine during the Fifties, and the various public and private interests contending for control of its development. Normark's book is both handsome and beautifully written, a fine example of text and image illuminating each other.

Rating:
Summary: Beautiful Photos In Service To A Poignant Story
Review: This book is full of classic, socially-conscious photography that bears a spiritual kinship with Dorothea Lange's Depression Era photos of Dustbowl Families. The images are doubly rich: as Old School black and white images shot on a reasonable speed film, with a broad and caress-ably subtle range of grays, and also as a record of a time and place that was stolen, and will simply never be again.

For those who don't know the story, in a nutshell: The residents of Chavez Ravine, who were almost entirely Latino, were offered the promise that their community would be replaced by public housing as part of a renewal project of sorts. (Some had called their neighborhood blighted.) But as the land acquisition proceeded, and as various official pledges were reneged and political cards played (including exploitation of the then current fear of creeping Socialism/Communism-- after all, I ask you, what could be more unAmerican than affordable replacement housing?), the project proved to be a lie. The final hold-outs at Chavez Ravine were bodily removed by deputies as the last remnants of the neighborhood were cleared to make way for a sports field and parking lot. (!)

This volume is great because these photos, which speak so eloquently of one specific place and time, also speak clearly of universal things. Children play; young couples tie the knot as family celebrates; honest and good people work to protect what is theirs, to better their lot, and just to get by. -- It is about nothing less than the struggle and joy of life itself.

If there is any uplift to the wistful story this book tells in beautiful images and words, it is in that the displaced people survived, persevered, and that their old home, and what happened there, is remembered today.

Sometimes, you have to search for the bright spot. A thought-provoking read. Recommended.