Obscure Linkages Embellish Understanding
Last week I went to Rockford, Ill., for my uncle Danny’s memorial gathering. My cousin George handed me a small red box that had come from his father’s collection. When I opened it I saw that it contained two decks of cards. “Zimmermann’s Chilton Rendering Plant Phone Chilton 116” was printed on the back of each card.
This perfect gift was the culmination of a bit of historical puzzle-piecing that seemed to happen as if by accident.
In recent summers, there have been occasions at my former hometown of Chilton, Wisc., that have caused me to stop by for a day or two. During one of these visits we decided to check out some historical museums and the nature center. Nature center? That certainly hadn’t been there when I was growing up! So off we went and it turned out it wasn’t far from our former farm. Why hadn’t I been aware of it? What had been there before?
The docents at the nature center explained, “It was a rendering plant.” Amazed, I started to see the connection. “My grandfather used to work here,” I told them. Memories came back of my maternal grandfather who had been sent to the country (our farm) from his home in Chicago to recover from a heart attack. In those days, rest and peace and quiet were thought to be the appropriate treatment and the farm was considered to be just what was needed. So after several months of bed rest during which he had ample time to read me “Peter Rabbit” whenever I asked, he decided he needed a real job. He had been a banker before the depression, so part-time bookkeeping for the business down the road would work out just fine.
He’d drive off in an old coupe and that’s about all I knew about his new job. Except one day someone took me to see the rendering plant where he worked. This was the place where dead animals were processed into tallow, leather—it was the “glue factory”. It was a decidedly unappealing process and the smell was awful. It was in the days when work horses were being phased out in favor of mechanized farm equipment and there were several of these roaming forlornly in the field nearby. It occurred to me that they might be next in line for the rendering treatment.
These images were overwhelmed by subsequent events and stashed away in my mind. My grandfather died of another heart attack shortly afterwards.
Then a couple of years ago my Uncle Danny’s daughter, April, sent some scans of slides he had taken. Some were clearly from our farm, but there was one mystery picture of a white frame house, with a vintage car parked below. In the background was what looked like industrial buildings with a tall smoke stack. What was that? Perhaps it had gotten mixed up with the farm pictures by mistake? Could it be the rendering plant where my grandfather had worked? Was that the coupe he drove? Perhaps my uncle had taken the shot and collected the playing cards while visiting his dad at work. I sent the photo file to another cousin who lives near Chilton and who does a weekly history photo and commentary for the local paper. The picture was recognized by people who remember the old rendering plant and it may be the only photograph of that long-gone facility in existence.
Gone and best forgotten may be a prevailing thought. Still, history research is more than learning about pretty quaint houses with picket fences. It can tell the story of the complete cycle of life, the repercussion of economic realities and our treatment of our surroundings and fellow creatures.
Discovering those linkages however obscure or unpleasant enriches our understanding.
In Laguna’s case, there is also much more to discover and piece together.
Why doesn’t Laguna Beach have a cemetery, for example? One was proposed for Temple Hills by Joe Thurston, but the idea was emphatically rejected by residents. Laguna Beach was seen as a happy resort city and no one wanted to hear the chimes or see the hearses parading through town. Newcomers could be buried “where they came from” and long- term residents were interred in Santa Ana’s Fairhaven cemetery.
Then there’s the sewage digester building across from the Festival. People like its historical character, but chuckle when they learn its use as part of a large sewage treatment plant that once occupied most of the parking lot that is slated to become the beautified village entrance. We respect the digester more when we learn it was a WPA project and Laguna residents shaped it’s architecture with village detailing including the “lighthouse/sewer vent” on the hillside above. Now that treatment process is hidden away in Aliso Canyon.
Understanding the totality of what created our community allows us to appreciate it even more. Gather up the stories of the past and relish the remaining evidence, preserve its buildings and landscapes, and use these examples to guide our transitions into the future.
The author is a landscape architect and former council member.
