Silent Oak

Around the world, giant oak trees are thought to have mythic power and influence. Many centuries ago, legend has it that Robin Hood hid out from his enemies amid the gnarled branches of the Major Oak deep within Sherwood Forest. In ancient times, Celtic culture believed that a huge oak tree could be a “door” or a “gateway” to other worlds. The San Gorgonio Pass has its own towering, majestic oak, with branches the size of tree trunks and leafy, green foliage that cascades to the ground. For generations, the oak has served as a gathering place for teenagers—their faces lit by the soft glow of a campfire—to reveal dreams, lost loves, and secrets.

Gathering spot

As a Beaumont High School student in the late 1940s, Evelyn Salley (now Olson), remembers piling into cars with her friends and driving Cherry Valley’s twisty roads way up to the “old oak tree.” Her daughter Karen Thompson, now the City Clerk of Beaumont, took those same roads in the 1970s with her own friends as did her future husband, Mike Thompson. Mother and daughter say the oak tree has been part of growing up in Beaumont for generations now.

Over the decades, little has changed about the teenage ritual of gathering ‘round the giant oak tree. Young people park in a circle around the tree—whether they were driving big, heavy Fords and Chevrolets in the late 1940s or tooling around in 1970s “muscle cars” like the Chevelle SS or Olds 442. Like a scene from a James Dean movie, teenagers would go from car to car as they laughed, talked and danced the night away to the sound of car radios. In the 1940s, they listened to Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme and Eddie Fisher. Over the years, word spread about the gathering spot overlooking the Pass. In the late 1940s, maybe two dozen kids would hang out around the tree on weekend nights. By the 1970s, more than 100 teenagers could be seen crowding around the stately looking oak, listening to Aerosmith, Emerson, Lake and Palmer, and Led Zeppelin.

Local landmark

The regal looking coastal live oak dominates a plateau area about seven miles north of downtown Beaumont. The tree is located along Avenida Miravilla at the entry to Mile High Ranch. A narrow dirt road heads off to the west, which you can follow to see the grandest oak in the Pass. Hidden beneath the branches is an old stone cabin, a big fireplace and a campfire ring.
Local nurseryman Christopher Layton recently surveyed the imposing oak tree. He estimates the tree is 60 to 70 feet tall and that its canopy on top is about 100 feet across. The oak has always had a special place in his heart. During the mid-1960s, Layton remembers family picnics beneath its branches, and how much everyone enjoyed his mom's bread and butter sandwiches and homemade fried chicken.

Keeping watch

Just as it has for decades, the oak is a destination out on the plateau, where car radios reverberate and young people take in the panoramic view of city lights below. Off in the distance, they spot the blinking antennas perched atop Mt. Davis and a sliver of white light in far off Orange County. And so, for a new generation, the steadfast, silent oak keeps a lonely vigil over a slowly unfolding tomorrow in the Pass.

Highland Springs' Patriotic Oak

Standing guard

With its majestic crown of shiny, prickly leaves and ripening acorns, the grand old oak shields dozens of tiny American flags in the hometown memorial. The stars and stripes flutter in the breeze and pay homage to the sacrifices of those who served in Iraq and around the world. Since the memorial went up in the Pass area five years ago, thousands and thousands of cars have streamed by. Many of those drivers—patriotic and perhaps a little curious—have pulled off along Highland Springs Avenue just past Oak Valley Parkway and caught a glimpse of the neat rows of flags—standing guard like watchful sentries. It’s a bucolic setting where range cattle graze from behind barbed-wire fencing. Taking just a few moments from their daily lives, people are lost in moments of profound gratitude for the men and women who have served—and sacrificed their lives—in faraway lands.

The ultimate sacrifice

Those taking in the scene soon spot a prayer for Staff Sgt. Anthony R. Griffith, 3rd Infantry Mechanized Unit and all the troops who have served in Iraq. Only a few steps way, they catch sight of a laminated poem tacked to the graceful oak. It gives the tree’s history and its purpose in life:

“I grew up here all alone; you know, so spindly, small and frail,
‘Twas nicer here way back then, a horse and buggy trail
By the side of this country lane, I stood only four foot high,
I hardly got a sideways glance from folks a passing by
I am an oak, a scraggly oak, not mighty and not tall
I’m approaching 80 years; I’ll be 80 in the fall…
‘Twas first a flag, then two more, I did not understand
And then I heard the prayers of those come praying hand in hand,
Each flag is for a mother’s son who went to meet the call,
I’ve seen the tears and heard the prayers for those who gave their all,
And so my job, both night and day, protect these many flags
Shade those who come to mourn their loss and do the best I can
I’m proud to be out here, there are no other trees to guard the many flags that
Stand and flutter in the breeze.”

Saluting the troops

On this day, Sept. 11, 2010, let us gather under the shade of this spreading oak and give thanks to our sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, and sisters and brothers, who serve us so faithfully across the globe.

Evergreen Tunnel

We’ve all passed beneath the drooping, feathery branches along Beaumont Avenue. Since the Great Depression, the deodar trees that overhang the grand country lane have filled us with a sense of wonder, peace and beauty. But in our hometown where many things are changing, how often do we pause and consider these silent witnesses to history?

Living landmarks

The deodars have been part of our heritage since Fred Hirsch, owner of the Highland Springs Resort, planted them in 1930. Back then, people dreamed of an evergreen parkway that would also serve as a windbreak. Around the world, the pyramid-shaped trees—with their bluish-green needles—generate awe and deep respect. In Sanskrit, the word “deodar” means “tree of the gods.”

Stretching more than a mile and half toward Cherry Valley and Oak Glen, the deodars rise like sentries, visible to airline passengers flying over the Pass and to hikers climbing peaks in the San Bernardino Mountains. Rising up to 70 feet high, these living landmarks are part of the fabric of Beaumont and as such, are fiercely protected.

Revered icons

At their own peril, politicians, developers and pranksters find they must tread lightly around the trees. Over the years, some nature lovers in town have threatened to chain themselves to the deodar trees’ massive trunks to keep chainsaws at bay. A few years ago, planning commissioners heard such a threat and promptly spared two of the stately trees. A developer even changed the entrance for a new subdivision along Beaumont Avenue because of the deodars. And beware any prankster who would tamper with the beloved trees. In the early years, thieves sneaked out and under the cover of night, plucked themselves a Christmas tree, only to find themselves caught by sharp-eyed officers patrolling the parkway. The thieves had to plant a new deodar and water it for a year.

So, next time you’re cruising Beaumont Avenue, take a moment and contemplate the evergreen tunnel that has withstood the test of time and inspired us all.

Marquis Moments

If the old building could talk….what tales it would tell.

Today, the Beaumont Antique Mall, with its big façade and rounded, Quonset-shaped roof, sells the treasures of the past. But way back in the late 1930s, the homey building started out life as a movie house where the likes of Gary Cooper (“High Noon”) and Gene Autry (“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,”) showed up and signed autographs at hometown movie premieres in the Pass.

Glitz and glamour

It’s part of Beaumont’s “silver screen” past, a time when Hollywood came calling. Ida Mae James and C.L. “Jimmie” James arrived in town in 1937 and built a movie theater along old Highway 99. Today, the main drag through Beaumont is called Sixth Street. Their son, Brion James, who used to spend every night at his parent’s movie theater, dreamed of the day when he too would appear on the big screen. James went on to become a well-known Hollywood character actor. He appeared in more than 125 films during the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s with the likes of Harrison Ford and Bruce Willis, most famously playing the character Leon Kowalski in “Blade Runner.”

“I play out negative fantasies for people,” he used to say about character acting and playing bad guys. “I’m the guy people love to hate. And they always remember the bad guy.”
Brion James, who also appeared in more than 100 television episodes ranging from the “Dukes of Hazzard” to “Dynasty,” died on August 11th, 1999.

Curtain call

Beaumont’s comfortable little movie theater eventually fell on hard times. Audiences loved paying a dime or a quarter to see 1940s hits like “Casablanca,” “Mrs. Miniver” and the wartime favorite, “Sergeant York.” For decades, when the house lights dimmed, Beaumont’s youngsters ducked down into their seats, munched popcorn and thrilled to the exploits of John Wayne in “Red River” (1948), and then a few years later to a new rebelliousness that swept America, as vividly portrayed in rock ‘n’ roll classics like “Rebel Without a Cause” starring James Dean (1955).

Coming attraction

By the late 1950s and early 1960s, Beaumont’s cinema days had passed. The building at 450 E. 6th St. became a roller rink, a motorcycle shop and finally an antique gallery. Today, only a few remnants survive of this town’s “picture palace” and its storied past. If you look up, you can see the carved, wooden door that once led to the projection room. On the second floor, right next to that door, a big hole still remains in the wall. It’s the spot where many a projectionist kept a nightly vigil to make sure those film reels kept spinning.

A long heritage

“A great library contains the diary of the human race.”— Canadian geologist George Mercer Dawson (1849-1901)

How would you like to slip back in time and peek into the origins of the Beaumont Library? Well, you can do just that. At the library, hand-written letters dating to 1908 are now on display. With fountain pens, members of the local Woman’s Club wrote in a neat, precise slant and praised the Bank of Beaumont for setting aside a room for their books. But what they really longed for was a fitting library filled with the knowledge of the ages.

For a few years, the dream of these women would remain elusive. But in 1911, they successfully galvanized public support for an election that created the Beaumont Library District. In those days, only men could vote and final tally was 59 to 27.

In August, the Beaumont Library will officially begin a year-long centennial celebration that heralds the founding of the Beaumont Library District in 1911, said Library Director Clara DiFelice. The Woman’s Club had achieved what an early headline in the Gateway Gazette boldly predicted: “And that settles it! Beaumont women have started out for a library and they always get what they go after.”

Little things

The road to building Beaumont’s library would be long and winding. But the Beaumont Woman’s Club forged ahead and rallied townsfolk. Philanthropist Andrew Carnegie’s foundation also awarded a $10,000 grant for the library. In 1914, Beaumont built the library with its graceful Neo-classical architectural style at Eighth Street and California Avenue.

Beaumont had its own library building only two years after becoming a city. Just like libraries built by the steel magnate across the country, there was close attention to details. For example, original plans still on file for the Beaumont Library called for an umbrella rack with a copper drip pan. Those plans required a shelf for the Webster’s dictionary and a newspaper rack with room for 20 editions. The children’s round reading table was to be 51 inches in diameter and 22 inches high. And the librarian was to have a comfortable swivel desk chair.

Looking ahead

Carnegie might do a double take if he could see changes at the library—especially a very ambitious one in the making. Over the decades, the main library building has been expanded to make room for more books and a community room. A library once heated by chunks of burning coal now has the latest high speed Internet access. A few years ago, an elevator was installed to the second floor. And looking ahead four or five years, a big, new addition to the Beaumont Library will be built on a lot next door. It’s an eloquent tribute to a group of dedicated women who treasured books and a self-made tycoon, who steadfastly believed in the power of learning to change lives.