Heart Talk

Ode to Laguna Beach

Before anyone knew about the Irvine Company, everyone in Orange County knew about the Irvine Ranch. It covered one–sixth of the county and, in the mid 1960s, it contained mile after mile of orange groves, sugar beets, even a herd of cattle. I worked for the ranch in the summers during high school and a year into college. There was actually a bunkhouse, where mostly old men, some of whom came out from Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl, lived for a dollar a day, room and board.

Eventually, I was entrusted with my own truck and a small crew. One day, the foreman told me to load up my truck with potted small trees and take them to a bluff that overlooked the ocean in Newport Beach. There was to be some kind of groundbreaking ceremony. As I would learn later, it was for the building of what would become Fashion Island. As I look back now, I ask myself, what had I, in some small part, wrought upon this land?

There are times when I must visit Fashion Island or other environs of Newport Beach to visit relatives, conduct financial affairs or see an overpriced movie. When I finish my affairs and drive south, the image of Tim Robbins’ character escaping Shawshank Prison often comes into my mind.

First, one must escape the seemingly benign claws of Corona del Mar, which has a touch, just a touch, of Laguna’s community feel. Soon I can see the ocean from Coast Highway, which means I will shortly have to run the gauntlet of the monster homes above Crystal Cove. Remember when there was nothing on those hills? It was a scenic buffer zone between Newport and Laguna. Now look at it. One of the saddest sights of the journey south is the “new” Javier’s. Long time residents of Laguna Beach can recall the “old” Javier’s across from the Hotel Laguna. Its casual intimacy, the people lined up and chatting as they waited for a table, the small bar where people relaxed with a beer as they watched a game. Want a feel for the new place? Go there on a Thursday night, rent yourself a Porsche for the valet, borrow some Armani and sit in the cavernous bar and watch what unfolds. Nothing epitomizes the difference between Laguna Beach and Newport more than this place.

El Morro School. Almost home. When I reach the two stoplights by the Shell station, the same good feeling comes over me as when I drive through the canyon and go past the Sawdust grounds. I am back in Laguna Beach. The pull of the Husky Boy Burger joint is strong, but I am going to eat healthy tonight, maybe pizza. Then comes Boat Canyon with my UPS, dry cleaners, Gina’s. Turn right on Myrtle and stop along Heisler Park, where you can see, smell, almost feel the ocean. But it is crowded with visitors. When my wife and I moved to Laguna, there was actually an “off season.”

Is it wrong or selfish of me to wish that the tide of tourists recede for some months of the year? That we locals experience the intimacy of a less crowded village for a few precious weeks?

Turn back on to Coast Highway going south and there is Main Beach, the boardwalk, the classic lifeguard tower. On the grass that separates the street from the beach there are often people with signs making political statements. Sometimes I honk in support. There are also the homeless. They are treated far better here than most cities as they struggle to hold on to the shreds of dignity they still possess.

Now I pass Legion to Cleo where I turn in to Ralph’s. Pete the cat needs some food; I could use some scotch. The parking lot is too small, the aisles are too narrow, but they have the most friendly checkers in the world.

At home, Pete fed, drink in hand, music playing, I can look down, not on Fashion Island or a flotilla of yachts, but on the town that is my home.

James Utt is a retired social science teacher who has lived in Laguna Beach since 2001. He actually has some friends who live in Newport. They would like to move to Laguna Beach