Looking Back to the Future

Some people see Los Angeles’ past when they step into Julio Elguezabal’s backyard. But he prefers to think that he is looking into the city’s future.

Over there is a miniature Victorian house built from pieces of 43 homes that were torn down in 1955 to make way for the Golden State Freeway in Elysian Valley, where he lives.

Back here is a western-style storefront porch constructed of weathered planks and beams--many salvaged from Lincoln Heights’ first motel, an auto court built in the mid-1920s.

Across from that is a chapel-like setting, outlined by pieces of a picket fence rescued from earthmovers that 40 years ago scraped away Chavez Ravine to make room for Dodger Stadium.

Carefully placed about the yard are reminders of the city’s Mexican heritage: antique clay pots and towering cactus plants, some retrieved from a Boyle Heights neighborhood razed for a long-ago warehouse project.

To understand Los Angeles’ future you have to understand its past, Elguezabal said. And the best way to do that is to incorporate a little of the past in your life.

“You don’t have to be a dinosaur. You just have to appreciate your surroundings and realize these are our roots,” he said. “I hope I’m setting an example.”

Historians and urban experts say that Elguezabal’s example is one that others should follow.

“Artifacts speak. What he’s doing is absolutely valid and powerful,” said Greg Hise, a planning and urban history professor at the University of Southern California who teaches courses on understanding past patterns.

An 82-year-old retired boilermaker, Elguezabal has spent four decades collecting reminders of his Eastside roots and arranging them in scaled-down but authentic settings. He started after watching his boyhood home disappear in Lincoln Heights.

“It was in the Little Italy area, next to where [County-USC Medical Center] is now. They tore down the neighborhood to build the hospital annex and health buildings. I was just brokenhearted when I saw them bringing it down,” he said.

Houses in the neighborhood had double cellars so residents could keep their wine in a cool place--an arrangement that came in handy in the 1920s during Prohibition, Elguezabal said.

He regretted not keeping souvenirs from Little Italy after bulldozers scooped away the houses and covered over the basements.

“I wasn’t picking anything up back then. I wish I had,” Elguezabal said. “So I decided to start.”

After that, he began watching for old houses being torn down to make way for factories and parking lots. He discovered that many were treasure chests of Los Angeles history.

Cellars sometimes yielded piles of rusty tools and old lanterns dating to the Gold Rush era. Old garages were occasionally littered with auto parts left from the first cars to clatter over Los Angeles’ streets. Attics often contained long-forgotten household items, old bottles, toys and other trinkets.

“The whole roof of a house in Lincoln Heights was lined with 1932 license plates. Now how could that happen? A guy brought them home from prison? Was there overproduction of license plates that year? The DMV couldn’t tell me,” Elguezabal said.

There were occasional surprises of another sort. Elguezabal was poking through the basement of an Elysian Valley home surrounded by neighboring houses that had been razed for the freeway when he heard footsteps overhead. It was the homeowner, who had yet to move out.

In Chavez Ravine--where Dodger Stadium would soon be constructed--a teary-eyed woman leaving her home for the last time begged Elguezabal to take the rare plants she had lovingly tended in her frontyard.

“She was crying her eyes out. I took about 10 of them. They’re planted here. Look at this one--it looks like a string of pearls,” he said.

Elguezabal sometimes spent his boiler-factory lunch hour retrieving castoffs such as antique coal-heated clothing irons from Chinatown homes being torn down for the expansion of a Santa Fe rail line. On one occasion, a co-worker tagged along.

“He said, ‘You came all the way over here for this junk?’ I told him it’s not junk to me. I told him there was always a story attached to something like this.”

In time, Elguezabal learned how to cajole demolition workers into saving him large pieces--things such as wood trim or porch posts or stairway railings from houses they were tearing down.

“These windows were in a house being demolished for the freeway. I asked how much they wanted for them. He said, ‘Oh, just give me a bottle of wine,’ ” Elguezabal said, pointing to the pint-sized Victorian house in his Elmgrove Street backyard.

When artifacts began to fill his yard and the tiny home where he and his wife, Alice, have lived since 1951, Elguezabal decided to put the pieces to work.

Using nails he scavenged by the bucketful from the Golden State Freeway construction zone, Elguezabal turned pieces of 43 houses into a Victorian playhouse for daughters Carol and Julie. Then came the western facade, the chapel and the garden setting--all designed to showcase other artifacts.

Julie Collier, who now lives in Sparks, Nev., said she grew up thinking the stuff her father dragged home was nothing but junk. She knows better now, she said.

“The backyard has grown into a living museum over the past 30 years,” she said.

These days, Elguezabal has happily settled in to the role of curator of his museum. He remembers where each old item came from--and isn’t shy about speculating about who used it. He is convinced his collection will live on in some form after he’s gone.

USC’s Hise said that Elguezabal’s hands-on approach to history is something others should consider.

“You can’t plan for the future without understanding the city,” Hise said. “You need to look at it and experience it.”

And live with it, Elguezabal said.

“My idea is to set an example,” Elguezabal said. “People should not only save things, but put them to use.”