Sometimes you just stumble upon them, other times it requires a search, but however they are discovered, there are some interesting artifacts scattered around town that help connect the historic dots of Huntington Beach. From time to time I’ll be sharing a few here, starting today.

One of my favorites is the bell at the Lake Fire Station, which is from the original 1909 HB firehouse once located off Main Street. You can see it in this image from the 1940s:

And this is the bell today at Lake Street:

The other night before the OVSD Board Meeting held at Larkview, I noticed the original 1847 Ocean View bell on display:

And at the city yard on Gothard, there are pieces of the old Main Street City Hall on display:

There are many others I’ll be sharing… but are there some I may have missed? Let me know if you like…post a comment and thank you for sharing this site with other HB locals.

Had a wonderful dinner at my mom’s last night with our dear friend, Father Angelos Sebastian. Some may remember when I wrote about him here: http://articles.hbindependent.com/2013-10-14/opinion/tn-hbi-me-1017-pipeline-20131014_1_india-orphanage-return-trip

My family met Sebastian when had been with St. Bonaventure in Huntington Beach. He has since moved over to Blessed Sacrament Church in Westminster. Ask anyone here who ever saw him preach, and you’ll discover quickly the impact he has made on this community.

He is not just a man of faith, but also a man of hope. We talked lat night about the orphanage he founded recently in his homeland of India. To date he has more than 150 children he is caring for there, and his efforts grow each day. In India, 25 million children live on the streets.

So here she is, the last one. Writing this column for the Huntington Beach Independent changed my life in more ways than I can fit into one piece.

The journey continues on this blog. But without the column, a lot of other things would not have been possible for me.

Thank you so much, dear reader.

http://www.hbindependent.com/opinion/tn-hbi-me-1008-commentary-20151007,0,3584898.story

Tonight at city council, we made our initial presentation to help create support for the marker we want to have placed to honor the memory of those killed by the P-38 fighter on the beach near Newland/PCH  in June of 1943. As I explained, we’re asking for something on the pier, facing toward the crash site, because it’s where most of the witnesses were, it’s where the first responder life guards left from, and there’s certainly a chance to reach more people with the story. To the Silva and Borrego family members in attendance, thank you. Maria Young, your words on behalf of your mom Vera were stunning.

Maria also shared something haunting–what appears to be the only photo of the impact, just moments after it occurred. There were many tourists taking photos on the beach that day, but military officers on the scene confiscated all cameras they saw, for security purposes. This image, taken just after impact, found it’s way into the newspapers.

Will keep you posted as to what we hear on the status of the marker/memorial. Thanks for all the interest on this.

June 27, 1943. 10-year-old Vera Silva of Garden Grove didn’t go with her parents and four siblings to the nearby beach to enjoy the summer day. She stayed home to be with and help care for her blind grandmother. By nightfall, when the family had yet to return, her grandmother felt something ominous at happened. “Something is wrong,” she told Vera. “Something is very wrong.” Shortly after, the police arrived at the home.

And that’s when little Vera’s life changed forever.

The Crash

That afternoon, her family, along with their friends, the Borregos, went to the beach right across from where Newland Street meets the Pacific Coast Highway. In 1943, Huntington Beach’s border ended at Beach Boulevard so technically, this was an unincorporated area. Once both families settled on the beach, the two fathers decided to go to the store to get some food so everyone could enjoy a picnic by the water.

At a nearby air base, a squadron of P-38 fighter planes took off. One of them had engine trouble and separated from the formation. The pilot, Gene Fair, knowing he couldn’t get back to the base, ditched out over the ocean at about 3000 feet and soon landed safely and softly in a Huntington Beach strawberry patch a couple of miles inland. The plane continued traveling offshore where the pilot assumed it would eventually crash harmlessly in the ocean.

Both families on the beach noticed the low-flying plane as did people from the nearby Huntington Beach Pier. It flew overhead but then something went wrong. An unusually strong ocean wind redirected the plane back toward the beach and within seconds, it crashed at the shoreline. There was barely time to run away.

Vera’s sisters, Frances age 6 and Mary age 13, and her two brothers Rueben, 7 and Rudy 8 were all struck by the crash, along with dozens of other victims. The two girls would die within the day. Both boys survived with horrific burns. Two of the Borrego children were also killed.

When the fathers had left the beach to get food, the children had been playing by the water. When they returned, they were being loaded into ambulances.

The aftermath

It’s the worst air disaster in Huntington Beach history and certainly one of the most horrific mainland accidents of the World War II era. Vera, from that point on in her life, looked after her brothers. Both of them died as young men, never truly recovering from the burns and other complications. Her parents died young as well, brokenhearted. Today, Vera is 83 years old. When she talks about the accident she still gets tears in her eyes. I met with her recently in the clubhouse of a mobile home park on Newland at PCH. This is where Vera’s daughter lives today. And as we all sat around a table, I shared with them that we were near the exact spot where the plane had gone down.

Everybody in the room seemed to grasp just how profound it was that Vera’s daughter Maria has settled where she has, not knowing what had taken place literally just outside her front door.

A witness on the Huntington Beach pier that day wrote, “I was on the beach by the South. I saw the P 38 climbing and it seemed to be under control. When at approximately 2000 feet it nosed straight down. I did not see the pilot parachute as I was too interested in watching the plane. The plane seemed to crash nose first and it burst into flame immediately. At first the plane was headed toward the sea but it turned and circled back and then crashed at the water’s edge.”

Immediately following the horrific crash, HB lifeguards, led by the legendary Bud Higgins, raced to the scene to help.

As the newspapers reported, “49 persons were injured, three of them critically burned, today when a blazing pilotless P-38 Army pursuit plane crashed and exploded in a crowded beach area. The plane was flying over the beach at a medium altitude when a wisp of smoke was seen to emerge from the fuselage. Immediately afterwards, the pilot parachuted off the plane, which continued to dive with throttles apparently wide-open. It smashed into the sands at the water’s edge just south of the Huntington Beach city limits and flaming high-octane gas shot out over the beach and flying debris blanketed the vicinity.”

Remembering history

Vera, at a young age, took care of her brothers. And her parents. Her life as a family matriarch was shaped, inspired and defined by that accident and she took her responsibilities seriously. She also told me her parents never held any grudges or ill will toward the pilot. They simply understood it had been a horrible accident. I think we forget sometimes what Huntington Beach was like during World War II. The Bolsa Chica Gun Club was by then used by the military as an outlook point of the Pacific Ocean had gun mounts that had been installed on the mesa, among other things. You know Brewster’s Ice House? That was originally a meat locker used to keep food on ice for the soldiers down on the beach.

Vera’s daughter Maria reached out to me and asked for help in getting a marker/kiosk installed near the crash site to help commemorate and remember exactly what happened. In addition to honoring the families that were so tragically torn apart on this day, I also think it’s an opportunity to educate people about a vital part of the city’s history: life during wartime.

So now we will begin trying to get it done.

On a bright, warm and breezy day, gazing off toward the spot where her life changed so dramatically on June 27 1943, Vera wipes one more tear. “My family went through a lot. So did the city. Maybe more people can know about this now.”

 I’m not sure of any “citizen of the week designation” here in Huntington Beach, but if there was one, then she would be my pick.  Maria Young was unhappy when City Council repealed our local plastic bag ban. I actually agreed with the vote, not because I don’t care about the environment, but for me the law is simply rife with too many problems and too many concerns about generating cash for the stores and God knows who else. That’s just my opinion.

But getting back to Maria, unlike most people in this world, she did something about her dissatisfaction. She channeled it into a creative and productive solution that is also quite compassionate. Working with a number of her friends here in Huntington Beach, she now gathers stray plastic bags by the thousands and from them creates bedding to be used by homeless veterans in the area. It takes about 600 bags to make one bed, but carefully and skillfully she and her friends weave them together so that those that served their country will have a softer place to rest their heads at night.

Of course the bigger concern to her is that veterans are on the street at all, and she certainly wants to see that end. But until more solutions are created,  Maria wants to do what she can do to help the soldiers.

 I salute Maria Young and her friends for what they are doing. It’s a lot of work,  and it’s a wonderful show of love.

To readers of my (former) newspaper column – thank you for checking in. A few details:

1. This was not my decision. It was the paper’s. I fought it hard but it’s not my paper. They have to live with their decisions, just as I do mine. No problem. You can certainly write the editor to complain, celebrate, whatever. The idea of freedom of speech and expression is something I hold as far more important than anything else in this discussion.

2. I am honored that my “final” column was chance to help tell the story of as beautiful a person as Jacque Balbas-Ruddy. I hope everyone keeps her in their thoughts and prayers. She is exquisite.

3. I am writing an “official” farewell column – it may run in the paper next week, if not I’ll share here.

4. I will be writing more than ever about HB. Right here. I adore this city, I’m inspired by people here everyday and I have a host of, what I consider to be some pretty amazing stories still lined up. Just follow this page and please share if you care to.

That’s what I will say right now. There are so many stories in this city that nobody is telling right now. And I look forward to doing what I’ve done here for almost 10 years – tell stories that people care about. Anyone that wants to believe that a community voice was silenced or put out of business, or any group that may be celebrating what they perceive as that as fact, I’ll remind you that it is just the opposite. Nobody silenced anything. If anything, they energized my voice.

xxoo

“I think he’ll be to Rome as is the osprey to the fish, who takes it by sovereignty of nature.” William Shakespeare

I saw not one, not two but THREE beautiful osprey this morning along Edinger looking out over the open space at the Naval Weapons Station. All lined up within mere yards of each other along a fence line.

This was one, looking at me – from a distance – 50 yards?

Call it a sea hawk, fish eagle, river hawk – it has many names. Whatever you call this large raptor (up to 70 inch wingspans), it is truly a beauty and I’ve never seen three of them at once here in Huntington Beach.

It was still dark this morning when I picked up Jacque Balbas-Ruddy here in Huntington Beach and we headed down 405 to Newport for the Komen Race for the Cure. Jacque is a breast cancer survivor, but just several days ago she learned the disease had returned. I’d read her words on line the other day, after she shared her diagnosis: “I hope my journey will inspire you to walk through any fear you are facing at this time. Whatever it is, it will be okay. Just don’t let it stop you.” Her words struck me so I reached out to her, we spoke on the phone, and the next morning here we were on the road. She just hums with energy and clarity; a born communicator.

She’s the mother of four and she is a single parent. She is going to school to get a degree in psychology.

And now she is battling cancer. Again.

When we arrive at the event, she is treated like a returning war hero. She has been an advocate, a leader, a teacher and a supporter. Her reputation pulsates all around us. People are drawn to her. She is magnetic. They ask how she is. Bright eyed and smiling, she tells them. “It hasn’t spread. It will be a year of hell but I will be fine.”

With her hot pink wig, superhero cape and Mardi Gras beads, she readies for the race. Her sign says it all. She is her kids’ hero.

She’s now mine, too.

I will be writing more at length about a Surf City mom named Jacque. But after this morning I just wanted share the grace, strength and courage of what I was fortunate enough to have been near – a bright pink ray of hope cutting through the dark, thick mist of morning.