Several weeks ago, Bob Knox came into the Downey History Museum with a copy of his family’s history that he wanted to share with us. Being a very good, detailed history of the area around Downey, I am going to share this story with you. 

His family history will be in several weeks of the newspaper and will give readers the chance to capture what time was like in early 1920s and 1930s.

I. My Home Place.

A modest farmhouse, located halfway between Bell and Downey, in an unincorporated area of Los Angeles County, California, in the vicinity of Florence Avenue and Perry Road, was where I was born on Oct. 10, 1918. I have lived within two miles of my birthplace all my life. I was named Dorothy Clydena; Dorothy because my mother liked the name and Clydena after my father’s sister. 

In the early ‘20s our family moved to a small house on the property owned and farmed by Xelis Gephard, my uncle (husband of Aunt Dena). We lived there until about 1923, when we moved to the Clara Street home near the Los Angeles River. The 15 acres of land, originally owned by Clara Fay, were purchased by my father and his brother, Clarence, in 1919 to use for farming. 

The house we lived in was one which had been washed from its foundation during one of many floods from the local rivers: the Los Angeles and the San Antonio. My father bought it for $200 and had it moved to the Clara Street property. He and his father, my Grandpa Dimmitt, remodeled it, making it livable. It had three bedrooms, an indoors bathroom, kitchen and a living/dining room. 

As long as Dad farmed, we lived in the house “just a stone’s throw” from the Los Angeles River. We could stand on the steps of our front porch and see the water flowing as the winter rains filled the river. 

Our mailing address for the house changed three times: Originally it was 1551 E. Clara St., then 5501 E. Clara St. When the house was moved in 1938, a half block east, the address was 5629, Bell Post Office. 

Mail was delivered by the mailman driving an auto with a sliding seat to provide easy access to mailboxes at the roadside. For many years, our mailman was W.O. “Bud” Fawley who was also superintendent of our Sunday School at Randolph Street Christian Church in Bell. 

Our home was one of many scattered throughout the surrounding farm area, much of it used by Japanese farmers raising vegetables. Most of the farms had some fruit trees near the residence as well as corn, alfalfa, potatoes and sugar beets for crops. 

Between our house and the river lived an elderly couple, the Williamses, who ran a goat dairy. They raised asparagus in the sandy soil as well as beautiful dahlias for the flower market. Mother often purchased fresh asparagus from them – all we could eat for 25 or 30 cents. 

Neighboring Downey had groves of citrus tees which were protected from the winter freeze by smudge pots. Oil was burned in individual heaters placed throughout the groves of trees. A black soot (smudge) emitted from the heat producers, filling the air. Our nostrils accumulated the soot and it settled on everything. One winter, some of the farmers burned old tires, a more economical fuel, and the smudge was even worse. 

Downey, though a small town, was noted for its fine homes, many occupied by doctors and lawyers. It was also known as Cadillac City. Many of the well-off owned and drove Cadillacs. 

Clara Street was a dirt road in the country for many of the years we lived there. Mother would trim the hedges and bushes and throw the trimmings on the dry, dirt road, then sprinkle it with water to keep down the dust. 

Our farm had a water tank on top of the tankhouse which was located between the house and the barn. It was filled with water from our well by a wind-powered pump (windmill) to supply domestic water. When the wind blew, we had water. When the wind blew hard for long periods of time, we had to restrain the windmill so the tank wouldn’t overflow. Often, in the summer time, due to lack of wind, the water supply diminished. 

Inside the tank support and foundation was a space used by my mother as a wash house. She had an electric washing machine and two big wash tubs for rinsing. In the second rinse, she added bluing to what the whites. Outside was another wash tub, blackened from the open fire for heating water. When near boiling temperature, water was carried by bucketsful to fill the washing machine. 

The open fire was a sore point between Mother and Daddy since he considered it a threat to his barn, usually full of dry hay, a potential for a fire. Mother hung the washed clothes and household linens with spring-type clothespins on clotheslines to dry in the sunshine and fresh, country air. 

We did not have hot water piped into the house. This meant bath water must be heated outside. Each of us, as we grew big enough, was required to carry into the tub in the bathroom, the limited one bucket of hot water. Before we sat down to eat a meal, the tea kettle was put on the kitchen stove to heat water for washing and rinsing dishes. 

The first kitchen stove was a kerosene (coal oil) burning, four-burner with a detached oven which was placed over a burner for baking. Later, we had an electric range and, as progress was made, a natural gas stove. 

We had an ice box for keeping food cold. A block of ice was put in the top compartment. As it melted, it dropped into a catch pan underneath which had to be emptied daily. Sometimes we forgot! Ice could be delivered twice a week. We often drove to Bell to the ice house at Gage and Otis avenues to get ice at the price of 25 cents per block. 

There was a big barn, possibly with more square footage than the house. Daddy was proud of his barn. The baled hay was stored in it and the farm machinery kept in from the weather. On the north side was the stable where his team of work horses (Ned and Molly) was fed and sheltered. Outside the entry on the east side was a blacksmith forge and anvil, used for repairing farm machinery. It was also used by Freddy, the jolly blacksmith, when he came to shoe the horses and care for their hooves. A space was reserved on the southwest corner of the barn (near the back door of the house) for the family car, first, a Model T Ford touring car, then a Model A Ford sedan, and so on. 

In 1938, heavy rains lasting a month or so caused the river to swell and the force of tons of water broke up and washed out the railroad bridge across the Los Angeles River at Randolph Street and the wooden bridges at Gage Avenue, Florence Avenue and Clara Street. All of the debris piled up against the iron and steel railroad trestle south of Clara Street, creating an eerie mass of twisted metal and wood. 

New bridges had to be built - bigger bridges with longer approach ramps. Consequently, there would be a high bank for the ramp, blocking the view from the front of the house. Also, an access road on each side of the ramp would take some of the property. 

My parents decided to move the house about a half block east to a more desirable location. The house stood there until 1988, when it was sold following Mother’s death. It was eventually demolished by the new owners.