Friday, May 29, 2015
PARIS --Any hope that the love locks clinging to Paris' famed Pont des Arts bridge would last forever will be unromantically dashed by the city council's plan to dismantle them Monday - for good.
The padlocks - signed and locked by lovers on the metal grills on the bridge's sides by lovers - are widely regarded as an eyesore on Paris' most picturesque bridge, which overlooks the Eiffel Tower.
Last summer, they also became symbol of danger after a chunk of fencing fell off under their weight.
The city council said this week that the several hundred thousand padlocks in places around Paris cause "long-term heritage degradation and a risk for visitors' security."
Padlock-proof plexiglass panels will soon replace the Pont des Arts bridge's metal grills.
Proposed elimination of jog in San Antonio Ave. at Holt Ave.
Ren's Note: Well we all know today that it did take place, moving the street over. To your left of the picture, you can see Pomona Highs Auditorium and where it once stood. Again what a shame they had to remove some houses in order for this to take place.
Looking north on Garey Ave. early 1960's the buildings just south of Homes Savings (now Chase Bank) are no longer there. torn down for parking space.
Towne Ave. and Monterey.
Ren's Note: This is what it looked like before they made Monterey St. (Ave now) go all the way through. To San Antonio Ave. First they had to tear down the old Pomona High School in order for it to go through. The Town underpass will be build to the right (out of the picture)., but what a shame to lose those houses that once stood there.
Kendall Real Estate 103 S. Thomas 1898. Johnson & Hewlett Bicycles 127 S. Thomas 1896-7. Thomas Ave. looking south. Peoples Bank 200 W. 2nd.
Ren's Note: OK just to let you know where your at, today you would be stand in Diamond Plaza (use to be Thomas Plaza) looking south. The building in the back ground, is on the southwest corner of Second St and Thomas St.. That's where the GLASS HOUSE sits today, but before that it was THIRFTY DRUG Store. And before that, it was that castle looking bank was there.
And the building above that, is where the big empty lot, with big hole in it, is today, another name for it, would be Lake Pomona. When it does rain, it looks like a lake, that's why we call it Lake Pomona.
195 W 2nd Union Block, N. E. corner Thomas & 2nd Modernized -- Spring 1938 Picture 1950 Formerly Russell's Dry Goods Store
Ren's Note: This is where the Goddess of Pomona mural is painted, on that wall, also diamond Plaza (old Thomas Plaza) is right next to the mural today.
Not much of a town, look at the sidewalks. About July '87. Bank organized 1886. Building was not erected until 1888. Looking east from Gordon. 1st National Bank N.E. corner Main & 2nd. Gift of Mark Potter, June 3, 1945. Early days in Pomona.
"3rd and Main St. (old Ruth Block). Pomona City Guards organized in April 1886. First parade July 4, 1886. Command: Capt. A.T. Palmer, 1st Lieut. H.E. Stoddard, 2nd Lieut. C.I. Lorbeer. Sergeants: J.C. Howland, William Strong, M. Caseboom, E.J. Newman, H. Meserve, George Sandos, J.W. Lorbeer."
California's coastline is full of colorfully named strands like Seal Beach, Pismo Beach and Muscle Beach. However, Tin Can Beach — a wacky monument to littering — is just a memory.
The nickname for a 3½-mile stretch of sand just north of Huntington Beach, Tin Can Beach reached the heights of trashiness in the 1940s and '50s when it was the sometime domain of hobos, drinkers, free spirits and vacationers.
They built cardboard shacks, erected tents and thought nothing of tossing used cans, bottles, paper plates and other debris to the ground.
Their symbol was an assemblage of more than 100 rusting beer containers that spelled out Tin Can Beach in the sand.
"This is the last frontier, the last place a man can camp free in these parts," barefooted Ray Torrey, the self-appointed mayor of Tin Can Beach, proclaimed one August afternoon in 1956.
"I've been coming down here since 1927," he said as he sipped a beer in his cardboard castle. "Got a banjo and we sit around a fire at night and sing."
Some residents from the East seemed to have ended up at Tin Can Beach because they couldn't go any farther west.
"I'm out of a job," one of the mayor's constituents, a Dover, N.H., man, said as he lay in the sun, surrounded by hundreds of beer cans. "This is a cheap place to live."
The dwellers fished in the surf and bathed in the ocean. Gasoline stations on Pacific Coast Highway took care of other needs.
And the authorities largely ignored them because the beach was private property, belonging to more than 200 absentee owners who had acquired parcels during an oil boom in the 1920s. By 1956, many of them had "become wealthy and disappeared," The Times said.
In the meantime, the property was leased by the Signal Oil and Gas Co., which occasionally cleaned up the debris just to keep the mounds of cans from blocking the view of the ocean from PCH.
Some of the inhabitants were more conscientious than the litterbugs, flocking to the beach to find relief from the sun in that era before air conditioning.
"It was not uncommon for people to go and stay for a week or two at a time," Ed Sweeny recalled on a Huntington Beach website. "Our families, 20 to 30 members, would go during the summer when it was so hot in the Inland Valley, and pitch Army tents. The men would go off to work every day and come back to the beach afterward. The adults would sleep in the tents on cots and the kids would sleep out under the stars.... We would have campfires every night.... It was so much fun."
Of course, not all was idyllic at Tin Can Beach.
Some children would suffer cuts on "their feet from all the tin can lids buried in the sand," Sweeny said.
Though people didn't seem to fear violent crime in those days, theft was not unknown. An unemployed carpenter named Smith told The Times in 1954 that some of his tools had been stolen, prompting him to devise a makeshift burglar alarm: a marble in a milk bottle hung on his front door.