A long dusty road to Ojai.

As the Ventura River meanders to the hills, your horse and buggy pass Oaks, large farmhouses, a few Victorians, and rows of almonds. “Ventura Avenue has some handsome residences and one of the finest drives on the coast.”

And somewhere around 1875, an ordinary Palm was planted.

When the road from Ventura to Ojai was changed from Cañada Street to Ventura Avenue in 1876, Dinsmore had likely just planted the little palm. It lived a normal palm tree life. As the property passed along to John T. Stowe, and then to the Morrison Family in 1885, the palm grew taller.

The tree grew up with the Morrison boys.

Somewhere around 1917, the palm appeared to be dead. Its leaves were trimmed away, leaving the 30-40 ft tree bare. A few years later, a green shoot came out of the side. And then another shoot towards the sky. And suddenly, there it was: the Crooked Palm.

A jog, the letter N, right angle, left angle, or just a bizarre botanical shape. To the Morrison family, it became the “world’s only crooked palm tree.”

That tree marked the drive for so many who traveled from Ventura to Ojai.

As the palm aged and grew heavier, supports were added to prop it and prevent it from snapping.

In 1957, a road near the curious Palm took the name Crooked Palm Road. A name that would survive long after the tree disappeared. In a fierce December windstorm in 1982, the Palm was snapped right below the famous bend, leaving only a straight trunk.

The newspaper called it the death of a landmark.

And to this day, the Crooked Palm’s story sits proudly with the other historical landmarks of Ventura.

Crooked Palm 1875-1982

-Shannon Menzel Kenny

Please enjoy the collision of 3 things I love: Surfing, Cartoons, and Cereal,

Cereal. Somewhere along the way, cereal companies figured out that if you put a cartoon character on a surfboard, kids would probably want whatever you were selling.

And that meant surfing.

So join me on a little tour of cartoon surf commercials.

1964 and 1967 Frosted Flakes

Thank you, Frosted Flakes. For your crunchy little flat sugar vessels that you have to eat quickly.

Tony the Tiger discovered surfing when surf culture was taking off. It was more than just standing on a board. It was a lifestyle. It had become shorthand for being young, healthy, energetic and, most importantly…cool.

In 1964, Tony the Tiger went surfing with people. Tony and his surf buddy were the bridge between the cartoon world and actual surf culture. He does it again in 1967 but this time with the legendary Hawaiian surfer, Fred Hemmings.

Bullwinkle in 1965

Bullwinkle uses Cheerios for energy to surf in 1965. It has protein and Vitamin B1, which helps you “build muscles”!

Surfing becomes a cereal trope

• Super Sugar Crisp Tandem Surfing, 1970s

• Lucky Charms Surfboard, 1978

• Fruity Pebbles Barney, 1980s

By the 1970s, they had a different look, as surfing evolved from shortboards to the cosmic 70s illustration styles. Lucky the Leprechaun, “I’ll make a surfboard and glide away”! Barney Rubble does the “caveman kickout” in the 80s. Super Sugar Crisp even went tandem. I am particularly obsessed with the illustration and style of the Sugar Crisp commercial!

And why am I even on this topic?

Snoopy in 1985, of course!

By the 1980s, surfing had become bigger than surfing. It represented a particular kind of childhood. Sunny, carefree, outdoors, slightly mischievous, and very much California. And Peanuts mastermind Charles Schulz was a part of the surf culture applecore.

Schulz and his family moved to Sonoma County, California, in 1958. Charles and his family were immersed in California culture, with skating and beachgoing, in the same era when “California cool” oozed from all departments: music, movies, television, fashion, and realms beyond. Schultz found inspiration in this California beach life, bringing the California coastline, surfing lingo, and beach lifestyle to his Peanuts characters and storylines.

In 1985, Charlie Brown and Franklin go surfing, while Snoopy is sunbathing on the beach. The General Mills Cheerios commercial storyline follows the consistent theme for energy: “those oh’s will help keep you on your toes”!

Froot Loops in 1989

By the end of the 1980s, surfing had become so embedded in American childhood that cereal mascots didn’t need to explain why they were doing it. Put a cartoon character on a board, point him toward a wave, and the message was instantly understood.

Surfing meant style. Energy. Adventure. California.

And apparently, breakfast.

-Shannon Menzel Kenny

When Saturday morning cartoons crossed over into the history of sports.

Produced by Hanna-Barbera for ABC, Scooby’s All-Star Laff-a-Lympics was a Saturday morning cartoon starring 45 characters from all the Hanna-Barbera shows we all grew up watching, hosted by Scooby-Doo and the gang.

The idea was inspired by an Olympic television broadcast, with each segment a different competition in different countries around the world. The show toured Africa, Italy, the North Pole, and, in the final episode, on the moon. They were divided into three teams: the heroic Scooby-Doobies, the classic animals of the Yogi Yahooeys, and the villainous Really Rottens.

The hosts are Snagglepuss and Mildew Wolf, who wore the then-traditional yellow jackets of ABC Sports announcers. Their quick and hilarious commentary includes phrases like “leapin’ luaus” and “surfferin’ sandfleas”. Non-competing characters like Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble made appearances as guest announcers and judges.

Apparently, surfing was Olympic-worthy in 1977... at least according to Hanna-Barbera. In the Hawaii vs. Norway episode, teams compete in surfing and outrigger racing in Hawaii and the Viking longboat race and snowshoe long jump in Northern Norway. We know the brains behind Hanna-Barbera did their research with the 1970s surf culture elements like the bright, short singlefin surfboards and contest jerseys.

The surfing competitors were Babu on the Scooby Doobies, Grape Ape for the Yogi Yahooey, and Orful Octopus for the Really Rottens. Set in Waikīkī, the competitors raced out to the buoy, turned around, and had to catch a wave back to the beach. Style points were taken into consideration, but it was more of a race to the sand.

Babu takes 1st place, Grape Ape in 2nd, and Orful Octopus in 3rd.

And what is most interesting to me is that Surfing was 40 years away from even becoming an Olympic sport. In August 2016, the sport was approved for inclusion by the International Olympic Committee. It wasn’t a modern day idea. Surfing in the Olympics was a dream first shared by Hawaiian waterman and Olympic swimmer Duke Kahanamoku back in 1918.

“Even as early as that date, I was already thinking of surfing in terms how it could someday become one of the events in the Olympic Games. Why not? Skiing and tobogganing have taken their right place as official Games events. I still believe surfing will one day be recognized, voted in, and accepted.”

The Olympic Games included surfing at Tokyo 2020.

Whether Hanna-Barbera realized it or not, they created an idea larger than a cartoon. From Duke Kahanamoku’s vision in 1918 to a Saturday morning cartoon in 1977, the idea of surfing as an Olympic sport was already taking shape long before it officially became reality.

You can watch the full episode of “Hawaii and Norway” cartoon HERE.

A place in Ventura that has lived many lives. A Chumash village, mission lands, rancho, racetrack, a hopeful public park, and fairgrounds. All on the same stretch of shoreline. A river mouth. A rocky point. A sweeping cove where cobblestones come and so does the sand. For more than a thousand years, this place has been shaped by people and the tide.

Let’s go back 1000 years.

And you know what that means. Chumash. At the mouth of the Ventura River, home to over 300 Chumash, was the village of Shisholop. Meaning “in the mud” or “port on the coast, “ the Chumash thrived on the land and equally in the waters.

Then came colonization.

Mission San Buenaventura was established in 1782, and over the next fifty years, the traditional Chumash way of life was taken apart piece by piece.

By 1846, the site had become part of Rancho Ex-Mission San Buenaventura, a Mexican land grant awarded to José de Arnaz. Ownership did not stay long, and the land passed through private hands in the following years as Ventura grew from a ranching community into a seaside town.

E.P. Foster enters the room.

In 1903, E.P. Foster and several prominent Ventura businessmen formed the Seaside Park Company, a corporation organized to acquire waterfront property. E.P. Foster had just purchased and donated Foster Memorial Park to the County, and the beachfront land was next. Six years later, Foster donated approximately 65 acres at the mouth of the Ventura River to Ventura County, creating Seaside Park to preserve the shoreline for public recreation.

The Ventura County Fair found its permanent home there the same year.

The fair, however, was already decades old.

First held in 1874 as an extension of San Miguel Days, it featured horse racing, agricultural exhibits, bullfighting, livestock competitions, and dances in the cool month of October. It started in downtown Ventura before moving to the Pierpont Bluffs and later to Port Hueneme.

Seaside Park, its new home, spent the next 30 years hosting baseball games, rodeos, horse races, and celebrations. For 5 days, the first week of October, Ventura saw the biggest event of the year. Horse racing, trick riding, roping, and chariot races were held on the track. There were stables and livestock stalls. Exhibition halls displayed everything from local agriculture to oils, minerals, home arts, and commercial exhibits, while ‘Vaudeville’ performers entertained crowds with comedians, magicians, musicians, and acrobats.

On fair week, traffic backed up through the Rincon as visitors poured in from Santa Barbara County, while travelers from the Santa Clara Valley filled the roads from the east.

World War II stalled out the Ventura County Fair in 1942 when the fairgrounds were used as a staging area for troops. The Ventura County Fair was back in 1947 and celebrated as a booming return with agricultural and livestock exhibits, a busy racetrack, and local pageantry. The decades after World War II were all about the community. Livestock shows, citrus displays, baking contests, quilting, flower arranging, carnival rides, square dancing, and community competitions became annual traditions.

Then came rock and roll.

Then, Seaside Park discovered another identity. By the early 1980s, agriculture and livestock were still at its heart, but the concert series was becoming a major draw, bringing thousands of new visitors through the gates.

The fair discovered that big-name performers could fill the grandstands. In 1981, Merle Haggard sold out all 10,000 seats. The following year held The Beach Boys, Jefferson Starship, Hank Williams Jr., Waylon Jennings, Pablo Cruise, and Linda Ronstadt. The momentum started to set Ventura County Fair as one of Southern California’s best summer concert venues.

Then came 1985.

The concert lineup reached another level with Kenny Loggins, Kool & the Gang, and Tina Turner, who took the stage at the height of her career. Fair attendance increased, and concert tickets became some of the hottest tickets of the summer.

Not every show went according to plan.

When Willie Nelson arrived hours late, thousands of fans were antsy. Hoping to keep the crowd from boiling over, the fair manager announced free beer for every attendee until Willie finally took the stage. And that mean’t additional police officers, including six on horseback, were called in to stand by at the stadium in fear of the crowd.

While livestock shows, baking contests, and agricultural exhibits remained traditions, entertainment continued to grow. In 1987, organizers moved the fair from October to August, a change intended to increase attendance and take advantage of summer tourism.

By the 1990s

The Ventura County Fair was thriving. Traditional competitions like pie baking, livestock judging, and home arts got a little run for their money with quirky contests, from lip-sync battles to redhead and freckle competitions.

In Aug, 1990, 20-year-old John Carter Cash, son of Johnny and June, opened with a 15-minute set for his dad. The “Man in Black” turned a two-hour performance into a storytelling session, telling stories of his six-year residency in Ventura throughout the performance. June Carter appeared on stage at the end of the performance, sealing the fate of one of the most iconic concerts at the fair.

If the concerts bring the music lovers, the demolition derby and rodeo bring everyone else.

The two remain one of my favorite traditions at the fairgrounds.

The corndogs continued. I rode the Gravitron in 1998 while Metallica blasted across the fairgrounds. I’ve surfed C-street underneath the fireworks the last night of the Fair. Pig races, Donuts, photobooths, shopping for things I do not need. Some of my favorite shows were when the Beach Boys returned in 2007, followed by Hall & Oates, Salt-N-Pepa, Sublime, and, most recently, Ludacris. Every generation has its own soundtrack.

And now it’s my kids’ turn to make memories here.

I’d love to hear your favorite Ventura Fair memory.

— Shannon Kenny

Leave a comment

1. Pierpont Elementary was supposed to be a recreation center.

When the Pierpont Bay was mapped out in 1925, the land now occupied by Pierpont Elementary wasn’t planned as a school at all. Frank Meline had specific plans that reserved a large oval area for a community Recreation center.

Think Assembly hall, locker rooms, clubrooms, and kitchen. Outside the playground, volleyball and tennis courts. The idea was to build a thriving community that offered amenities to its residents.

The parcel sat empty after the storms of the 1930s. When development in the area restarted in the 1950s, the Ventura school district opened a school with 4 temporary classrooms on the 3 acres. The school consisted of 70 kids in its first year. By 1959, the campus had grown, and the buildings were made permanent.

2. The original layout disappeared.

When Pierpont Bay was laid out in the 1920s, the neighborhood was designed so that each lot had a back “Lane” entry and a front “Court” entry.

The courts were intended to be the front of the homes with pretty entries. It was the place where people gathered, walked to the beach, and socialized. Meanwhile, the lanes behind the houses were largely for garages, trash, and deliveries. In 1920s grid-planned neighborhoods, this was a common idea called a “through-lots” or “Bungalow courts”.

Over time, garages, driveways, and everyday access shifted toward the main entrance, abandoning the Courts.

3. Shore Drive is still there; you just can’t see it.

The original oceanfront Shore Drive shown on early Pierpont maps ran along the beach side of the homes and connected all the way North to California Street. The first Shore Drive was a wooden boardwalk and evolved into an actual paved road.

Then nature reminded everyone who truly controlled the coastline. In 1936, king tides and powerful surf battered the shoreline. A second storm followed soon after. Together, they destroyed the pier, bathhouse, and Shore Drive beyond repair. This changed the trajectory of Pierpont forever.

Houses built along the oceanfront were moved inland, and the storm damage put Pierpont’s original vision on hold. Over the following decades, sand accumulated, dunes migrated inland, and dune vegetation and restoration were better understood.

Today, portions of that historic beachfront roadway are buried beneath the sand.

To read a more elaborate history of Pierpont Bay, click HERE.

Southern California was a magical place in the 1920s.

Hollywood was booming. New roads stretched across open countryside. Rows of citrus stretched across the landscape, and developers looked west toward the Pacific, imagining new communities along the coast.

Los Angeles was expanding beyond its city limits, planting roots in beach towns like Venice, Santa Monica, and Long Beach. The automobile was changing how people lived, worked, and vacationed. For many Americans, California wasn’t just a holiday; it was a dream.

And along the quiet coastline between Ventura and the ocean, that dream would eventually take shape as Pierpont Bay.

Among those captivated by California’s coastal lifestyle was developer Frank Meline. Looking north from Los Angeles, he saw opportunity in the growing town of San Buenaventura, where a wide stretch of undeveloped beachfront sat between the city and the Pacific. In 1924, in partnership with several prominent Ventura County citizens, Frank Meline Co. purchased a two-mile stretch of beachfront for $300,000.

Meline envisioned more than a beachfront subdivision. He envisioned a carefully planned seaside community. At its center would be a bathhouse, hotel, and pleasure pier. The residential lots were arranged around small courts connected by narrow lanes, creating a neighborhood unlike anything else in Ventura. Along the oceanfront ran Shore Drive, a scenic roadway separating the first row of homes from the beach.

The design drew heavily from English influences. The courts carried English-inspired names such as Gloucester Court, Plymouth Court, and Rockaway Court. Names that still appear on street signs today! Homes were originally designed to face the courts rather than the lanes, a detail still visible in some of the neighborhood’s oldest houses. What is now a backyard or back door was once intended to be the front of the home.

The development’s English inspiration extended beyond street names. Buyers were encouraged to build English cottage-style homes, and all architectural plans were reviewed by an art jury to ensure consistency throughout the community. Deed restrictions prohibited businesses deemed “undesirable”, including saloons, foundries, brickyards, cemeteries, fish canneries, slaughterhouses, and reform schools.

As plans moved forward, one question remained: what should the new community be called? In 1925, the Frank Meline Company held a public contest to name the tract. Two entrants independently submitted the same winning name—Pierpont Bay. Each received a $100 prize, worth roughly $1,700 today.

By 1927, work was in full effect, putting in roads, building a pleasure pier, and paving Shore Drive along the beach. At the time, coastal communities were centered around entertainment and beachgoing, with boardwalks and a Pleasure Pier. Pleasure Piers first emerged in England in the 19th century, carrying travelers from the shore to steamers out at sea. Over time, pleasure piers evolved into an entertainment mecca, from grand pavilions and theatres to amusement rides, music, and restaurants in the 20th century. Piers were the place to see and be seen at the seaside.

If you build it, they will come. And they did. Rumor has it that beachgoers had to arrive shortly after sunup to claim a spot. Along the boardwalk were taverns, trinket stores, candied apples, five-cent hot dogs, events, and parties. Every big celebration was centered around Pierpont Pier. 4th of July parties, bathing beauty contests, and clubs.

The 1929 stock market crash quickly changed the course in Pierpont Bay. The beach was still a destination, but sales slowed, and construction stopped. Lots struggled to sell, and home construction halted.

Then nature reminded everyone who truly controlled the coastline. On a winter night in 1936, a king tide and powerful surf battered the shoreline. A second storm followed soon after. Together, they destroyed the Pierpont Bay pier, bathhouse, boardwalk, and much of Shore Drive beyond repair. The bathhouse was torn down in 1937. Houses built along the oceanfront were moved inland, one by one. Some moved to midtown Ventura, others trekked up to the Ojai Valley.

The storms effectively put Pierpont’s original vision on hold.

For the next twenty years, much of the neighborhood remained partially developed, with empty lots and drainage issues. When building picked back up in the 1950s, those remaining lots slowly filled in.

By then, the carefully planned English cottage community of the 1920s was gone. Instead, Pierpont grew one house at a time. Small beach cottages, mid-century homes, and later custom houses all found their place here, creating the eclectic neighborhood we know today.

Shore Drive, the Pleasure Pier, and the boardwalk are long gone.

Memories buried beneath the dunes.

— Shannon Kenny

Thanks for being a part of LOST CALIFORNIA! If you like this newsletter, please like, share, or leave a comment — it makes all the difference in my corner of Substack!

Subscribe now

Released in 1917, Bobby Bumps, Surf Rider by Earl Hurd is believed to be the earliest animated film to feature surfing. The four-minute silent cartoon follows Bobby, his dog Fido, and a stolen ironing board that somehow becomes a surfboard. The result is equal parts absurd, charming, and historically significant.

The plot of the world’s first short animated movie is pretty cute. Bobby and his pup watch a few surfers catching waves and immediately want to join in.

“Gee! I wisht’ we had a surf board!” Bobby Bumps tells his canine pal Fido.

Bobby and Fido swipe an ironing board from the maid Goldy’s workroom and go tandem surfing. The problem is that they’re having fun in shark-infested waters. Fortunately, Goldy comes to the rescue, tames the animal, and makes it her longboard.

Goldy catches the duo and teaches them a lesson. The film ends with Bobby and Fido jealous of Goldy receiving the “Champion Surf Rider” badge.

What’s even more surprising is why surfing appeared in a New York animation studio at all. All signs point to the legendary Duke Kahanamoku. In the early 1900s, Olympic swimmer Duke Kahanamoku rose to fame as he traveled the world to compete and simultaneously introduced surfing to the world.

After winning Olympic gold in 1912, Duke toured California, Australia, New Zealand, and the West and East Coasts, introducing thousands of spectators to surfing, surf lifesaving, and Hawaiian culture, earning the nickname “Ambassador of Aloha.” The reach certainly hit the desk of Earl Hurd.

Bobby Bumps, Surf Rider

by Earl Hurd

Bobby Bumps wasn’t just one of the earliest surfing cartoons; it also helped revolutionize animation. The series was the first to use the cel animation process developed by Earl Hurd and John Randolph Bray. Instead of redrawing the entire scene for every frame on paper, characters were drawn on transparent sheets of celluloid and layered over stationary backgrounds. The breakthrough dramatically reduced production time and gave animators far more creative freedom.

Hurd later joined Walt Disney Productions, where he worked on Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), the studio’s first animated feature. It’s remarkable to think that the same animator who created this quirky surfing short also helped lay the technical foundation for some of the most iconic animated films ever made.

More than a century later, Bobby Bumps, Surf Rider survives as a fascinating snapshot of a moment when surfing was still an exotic curiosity rather than a California cliché. It’s a reminder that the story of surfing extends far beyond the beach and sometimes turns up in the most unexpected places, like a forgotten silent cartoon from 1917.

— Shannon Kenny

If you’re interested in California’s beaches, ranches, surf culture, architecture, or the stories behind the places we know today, here’s where I’d start.

Santa Barbara’s Royal Rancho

by Walker A. Tompkins

Santa Barbara's Royal Rancho traces the history of one of California's oldest ranches, from the Spanish colonial era through the 20th century. Blending local history with the stories of the families and ranchers who lived there, it offers a fascinating look at California's ranching heritage and the changing Santa Barbara coastline, giving great context to the development of our coastline!

You can purchase the book here.

California Coast Trails:
A Horseback Ride From Mexico to Oregon in 1911

by J. Smeaton Chase

California Coast Trails follows J. Smeaton Chase as he rides on horseback from Mexico to Oregon in the early 1900s. Blending travel writing, natural history, and vivid observations, the book captures California's coast before modern development and offers a remarkable snapshot of its landscapes, people, and ranching culture.

You can purchase the book here.

Ishi in Two Worlds

A Biography of the Last Wild Indian in North America

By Theodora Kroeber, Karl Kroeber (Foreword by)

Ishi in Two Worlds is about Ishi, the last known member of the Yahi people in Northern California. After decades of living alone in the wilderness following the massacre of his people, he emerged in 1911 and spent the rest of his life sharing his language, traditions, and skills with anthropologists. The book is both his personal story and a moving look at the devastating impact of westward expansion on California’s Native peoples.

You can buy a copy here.

Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life

By William Finnegan

Barbarian Days is a memoir about how surfing shaped William Finnegan's life. Traveling from California to Hawaii, Australia, South Africa, and beyond, he uses surfing as a lens to explore adventure, identity, politics, and the places he encounters. It's as much about the pursuit of waves as it is about growing up and finding purpose.

You can buy a copy here.

Rincon Point

By Vince Burns, Stephen Bates

Rincon Point explores the rich history behind one of the world's most famous surf breaks. From its origins as the Chumash village of Shuku to ranching, Hollywood, highway construction, and surf culture, it reveals how generations of people shaped this legendary stretch of California coastline.

You can buy a copy here.

Ventura

by Glenda J. Jackson

Bordered by rivers out of the foothills, the coastal stretch of San Buenaventura had originally been home to many Chumash Indian villages, dating back to 1000 A.D. The small mission outpost quickly flourished and eventually grew into a town complete with dirt streets, wooden sidewalks, saloons, churches, and various adventures and calamities. On March 10, 1866, the “City of Good Fortune” incorporated and received one of the first charters from the then-16-year-old 31st state in the Union. Filled with historic photographs and fascinating stories, it's one of the best introductions to Ventura's early history.

You can buy a copy here.

Diary of a Sea Captain’s Wife: Tales of Santa Cruz Island

by Margaret Holden Eaton

Diary of a Sea Captain's Wife is the memoir of Margaret Eaton, who helped build and operate a remote fishing camp and resort on Santa Cruz Island in the early 1900s. Drawn from her diaries and memories, the book offers a firsthand look at island life, adventure, and the resilience of a woman carving out a life on the California coast.

You can buy a copy here.

What’s on my Coffee Table

California and Hawaii 60 to 65

by Ron Church

Five golden-age years documented by Ron Church from two surfing epicenters.

In the early 1960s, Ron Church became captivated with the sport just as it was beginning to morph from a sleepy, evocative pastime into a full-on commercialized lifestyle. From ’60 –’65, Church recorded its last bits of innocence, beginning in California, moving to Oahu’s big-wave fields, and then back to California.

You can buy a copy here.

Leroy Grannis
Surf Photography of the 1960s and 1970s

by Steve Barilotti

A fresh re-edition of LeRoy Grannis's sold-out Collector's Edition, this collection gathers his most iconic surf photography. One of the key image-makers in surfing history, Grannis also covers the emerging surf lifestyle, from "surfer stomps" and hordes of fans at surf contests to board-laden woody station wagons along the Pacific Coast Highway.

You can buy a copy here.

Jeff Divine: 70s Surf Photographs

by Tom Adler & Evan Backes

Jeff Divine spent decades documenting surfing during one of its most creative eras. This collection captures the style, personalities, and everyday moments of 1970s surf culture through the lens of one of surfing's greatest photographers.

You can buy a copy here.

Surfing California

The original California wave guide from 1973! A complete guide to the surfing spots up and down the coast of California. Complete with lots of photos, maps, and descriptions of each spot, it is still relevant today. This is a sweet, little, nostalgic book to have floating around the house!

You can buy a copy here.

On my “to-read” list

The Island: Reminiscences of Twentieth century Ranching on Santa Rosa Island

A firsthand account of life on Santa Rosa Island, covering ranching, isolation, and the changing Channel Islands during the twentieth century. It's been sitting on my shelf waiting for the right weekend.

You can purchase this book here.

Pier Rats: Ventura, California, 1973

by Bruce Greif

Pier Rats follows 13-year-old Lance Stratton as he discovers surfing in 1970s Ventura, California. As he chases waves and acceptance among the local surfers, he navigates friendship, growing up, and the adventures and mischief that come with surf culture. It’s a nostalgic coming-of-age story about finding your place in the lineup and in life. If you love Ventura's old Oil Piers era, this one is probably worth picking up.

You can buy a copy here.

Books I'm Still Hunting For

• Camping on the Rincon in 1910

• Early Ventura scrapbooks

• Rare Chumash histories

• Out-of-print ranch memoirs

If there’s a California history or surf book you think belongs on this list, let me know. I’m always looking for the next rabbit hole.

Leave a comment

— Shannon Kenny

Thanks for being a part of LOST CALIFORNIA. If you like this newsletter, please like, share, or leave a comment — it makes all the difference in my corner of Substack!

Share

In 1983, a pair of clay-animated beach balls drove up the coast and accidentally created one of the best Ventura County time capsules you’ll ever see.

The film follows them from Emma Wood to the Santa Clara Rivermouth and Rincon during the historic winter of 1983, capturing Tom Curren, Shaun Tomson, Kim Mearig, Davey Smith, John Schuyler, Merv Larson, and others surfing Ventura County at its best.

Equal parts surf movie, California fever dream, and local history.

Dave Natal and Joe Mickey shot “Off The Wall 2” in Super 8 in 1983. It was the first contemporary surf film released on VHS tape.

Surfing was in its heyday, just a stone’s throw away from the shortboard revolution. 6 years later, in “Snoopy, Come Home”, Snoopy shows off his surfing skills again and both are equally iconic.

Almost no sand.

Rocks everywhere.

Surrounded by oil wells.

But here’s the catch: There was surf.

Long before there was a formal parks system, when travel was slow and time was slower, picnic and roadside rest stops were a thing.

Camp Comfort is still one of the best surviving examples. Travelers between the Ojai Valley and San Buenaventura stopped at the grove of Oaks by a flowing creek.

The land belonged to John Hobson, who was logging the area at the time, and in an effort to save the grove from being cleared, E.P. Foster convinced the Ventura County Board of Supervisors to purchase 21 acres from Hobson in 1904. It became Ventura County’s very first public park.

And just like that, Ventura County fell in love with public spaces.

In 1906, Foster purchased the first parcel of the Foster Memorial Park, all 30 acres, and donated it to the County in memory of his only son. Seaside Park was next in 1909. In 1915, the County established the Rincon Parks when the Hobson brothers donated two coastal parcels, and the Faria family donated a third.

The parks were originally known as Rincon No. 3, 4, and 5. In 1961, Rincon No. 3 became Faria Park, and the two northern parks were renamed Hobson and Hoffman Park, honoring Edith Hobson Hoffman, granddaughter of William Dewey Hobson, the “Father of Ventura County.”

Faria, on Pitas Point, offered 65 camp sites.

Hobson had 60.

Hoffman Park, just beyond Sea Cliff, 35 sites.

In the 1960s, Hobson Park was the largest and most popular of the three. The county fee was $1 per day.

Hoffman Park. 366 feet of oceanfront campgrounds.

Rocks instead of sand. Oil wells in every direction. The Rincon highway butted right up against the campsites. The railroad across the highway. And still, campers came. The campground was sandwiched between Oil Piers and Stanley’s Steakhouse. It was part of the story. Surf history. The Ventura coast, lined with rocky points and miles of coastline to discover. Days spent looking for surf - and finding it.

It was part of the story. Surf history. An epic tale that came to a crash in 1970.

Plans to widen Highway 101 from Ventura to Carpinteria began reshaping the Rincon coastline entirely. Stanley’s Steakhouse disappeared, the fire station moved, and a once-loved surf break was buried beneath rock. The loss of Stanley’s Steakhouse and Surfbreak stung the most.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, Hoffman Park vanished too.

Today, almost nothing remains but a few newspaper clippings and fading memories of campers sleeping between the surf and the railroad tracks. But for a brief stretch of time, Hoffman Park was part of a very different California coast.

— Shannon Kenny

Thanks for being a part of LOST CALIFORNIA. If you like this newsletter, please like, share, or leave a comment — it makes all the difference in my corner of Substack!

Subscribe now

Hollister Ranch shacks / The original beach house!⁠

Miles and Miles of rolling hills kiss the bluffs. A sandy shore that ebbs and flows from point to point. The Hollister Ranch.⁠ Always in my memories, as we spent a chunk of my childhood there.⁠

In the days before logging on your computer to look at the conditions, surfers packed up for the day with nothing more than a longboard and a sack lunch. In the 1950s, surfing was an adventure. When the Hollister family started letting locals access the eight and a half miles of shoreline on their 14,100-acre property in the 1950s, the breaks didn’t have names. Surfers came in 2s and 3s, and the stretch of coast flew under the radar. In the late 1950s, things changed. Word got out, and the crowd changed - it wasn’t a big impact until some guys started vandalizing.⁠
⁠
Regulars started running others off the land for a while to protect their secret spot. Hollister Ranch made them a deal: if they kept trespassers out, they could surf without trouble. So they and 20 others formed the Santa Barbara Surf Club to regulate. A membership fee of $25 a year and a set of rules were created at that time. ⁠
⁠
With hours and days spent in and out of the ocean, the shacks started to appear. Made mostly of driftwood, they housed gear and sheltered from the weather. Members would sometimes just disappear to the Ranch for a week or more of pure surfing and living off next to nothing.⁠
⁠

The shacks were removed around the same time the ranch transitioned from private ownership to a subdivided corporation around 1970.⁠

— Shannon Kenny

Thanks for being a part of LOST CALIFORNIA. If you like this newsletter, please like, share, or leave a comment — it makes all the difference in my corner of Substack!

Shannon Kenny

Share

If you’ve driven along Rincon lately, just north of the fire station, you’ve probably seen them: the new signs. Clean, official, easy to miss if you’re not looking for them.

One arrow points left: Beacon’s Beach.

Straight ahead: Punta Gorda.

And if you’ve spent any time here, you might find yourself asking a simple question: What happened to Oil Piers?

Punta Gorda makes sense. It’s a name with history - the current-day La Conchita. “Punta Gorda” is Spanish for massive point. The area includes layers and layers of stories of trade, stagecoach, and railroad travel. The city of Punta was home to families in agriculture and oil, and even had a schoolhouse and a post office. The kind of name that feels earned.

“Beacon’s Beach,” though, sounds like it should have a story too. Something buried. Something old. I was excited to dig in. And guess what, the story is not what I expected. To get the big picture, let’s go back to what this stretch of coast actually was.

The Rincon field was discovered in December 1927, during the tail end of the California oil boom. The Pan American Petroleum Company drilled on a stretch of coast owned by Abram Lincoln Hobson, “Father of the Oil Field”, a pioneer cattleman and developer.

They also constructed multiple wooden piers off the Hobson coast. At first, there were 3. The shortest pier was around 200 feet long, and the middle pier was 350 feet long. The longer one extended 2,170 feet from the beach, with a 620-foot “spur” jutting off to one side.

As the North Ventura coast developed with the Rincon causeway, then the paved Rincon road, Summer cabins and roadside cafes, surf and beach culture followed. Ventura had its many options of points, reefs, rivermouths, peaky beach breaks. And to the North, a stretch of sand that became known simply known as: Oil Piers.

As early as the 1950s, surfers adopted the name as a break, and by the 1980s, it was a widely recognized surf spot. There were now 2 piers, with multiple take-off spots off both piers, rights and lefts. It picked up any little bit of wind swell, but miraculously was sheltered from the wind. Glassy waves rumbled through the pilings. Sandy bottom, sandy beach, drawing in the culture, surfing or not.

Little did the Oil Piers crowd know, Mobil had stopped pumping the pier rigs after deciding extraction was no longer economically viable. By 1994, all 37 wells connected to the piers had been plugged and abandoned. The end was near.

Mobil cited its original lease agreement from the 1920s, which required the cleanup of piers and wells once operations ended. But the proposal sparked immediate concern.

Surfers worried about losing a surfbreak shaped, in part, by the pilings. The pier and hundreds of pilings collecting sand that would be whisked away, and the peeling waves would disappear with it. Environmentalists raised questions about sand retention and the ecosystems that had formed around the structures. Locals pushed back against the idea of erasing something that had become part of the coastline’s identity.

A State Lands Commission study ultimately concluded that removing the piers would not significantly impact wave quality or sediment movement. So the piers came out in 1998.

Environmental groups stepped in with a solution. An artificial reef. In 2002, the Beach Erosion Authority for Clean Oceans and Nourishment (BEACON) agency, working with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers proposed an artificial reef at the former Oil Piers site. The next 5 years resulted in plans to build the nation’s first successful artificial “surf reef”. It was environmentally backed because the reef was designed to slow the massive erosion at the beach.

The $4 million project was proposed by BEACON. What followed wasn’t dramatic. The project quietly faded out by 2007 and was replaced by County plans for parking improvements and coastal access upgrades. In 2010, those plans appeared in the California Coastal Commission and Ventura County documents.

And within them, almost casually, a new name surfaced: Beacon’s Beach.

No explanation. No origin story. No recognition of what came before. Just a name, printed as if it had always been there.

The name “Oil Piers” was a direct reference to the structures that shaped both the shoreline and the culture around them. It was a name that came from use, from repetition, from people showing up over and over again.

“Beacon’s Beach” might sound nicer. Cleaner. Easier to put on a sign. But it doesn’t tell you anything about the place. So maybe this is nitpicky. Or maybe it’s just noticing how easily a name and its history can slip away.

And I can’t help but wonder why, when given the chance, no one thought to keep it.

— Shannon Kenny

Subscribe now

Two words: Dot Matrix.

I grew up with a grandfather who had a dot-matrix paper taped to the wall, with family names, dates, and notes scattered across the continuous sheets. When I was 25, he put me in charge of cataloging family photographs, some dating back to the early 1900s. This is when the switch turned on.

The flea markets should have locked their doors. My head was on a swivel, driving by free roadside items. The thrift stores became my personal treasure hunt. I found digging through boxes piled with someone’s purge addicting. To add to the problem, my job at the time included merchandising a surf shop. Antique furniture, rugs, wooden crates, and boxes were my best friends.

But I also wanted to know more.

Who was in that old photograph tucked away in an archive? A forgotten building on a familiar street. A railway that changed a town forever. The name of a town on a map that no longer exists. A surf film that quietly slipped out of memory.

Over the years, I’ve found myself collecting these stories. Not because I’m a historian, but because I’m endlessly curious about the places we live and the people who came before us.

Most of what I share begins the same way: with a photograph, a newspaper clipping, a strange detail, or a question I can’t stop thinking about.

That’s what brought me here.

Lost California is a place to gather those stories.

Some will be about Ventura County. Some will wander farther up and down the California coast. Occasionally, a story from somewhere else will make its way in if it captures that same feeling of discovery.

What you’ll find here

Subscribers can expect stories about:

• California history

• Ventura County and Ojai

• Historic homes and architecture

• Surf culture

• Forgotten places

• Old photographs and archives

My goal isn’t to write a history textbook or start a new career. It’s to make the past feel alive again.

What to expect

Some posts will be short discoveries. Others will be deeper dives into local history, architecture, surf culture, and the overlooked stories that shaped California.

If you’re the type of person who slows down to read old plaques, studies historical photographs, or wonders what a place looked like 100 years ago, I think you’ll feel at home here.

Thanks for being here at the beginning.

— Shannon Kenny

The bathhouse era. Where necessity meets social life. Before the public water system, communities had bathhouses for bathing and entertainment, serving as community hubs. An all-inclusive public gathering place with private baths and showers, lockers, and dressing rooms. More extravagant bathhouses featured hair salons, dance floors, cigar rooms, and movie theaters.

The Ventura Bathhouse opened for business around 1917, with big plans.

Five things you didn’t know about the Ventura Bathhouse.

1. The Bathhouse was built to host a ton of events. The 2-story building had a “plunge” in the lower part. The “plunge” or pool hosted public swims and sports competitions like high diving, fancy diving, water polo, and races. The auditorium was the hub for dances, boxing, orchestra, and big bands. The 2-story hall had an upper balcony for viewing. The largest boxing matches supported 700-800 spectators!

2. Bathhouse Park and Playground opened in 1925. The playground on the beach, with “plenty of clean white sand for the littlest folks to play in”, slides, rings, swings, and seesaws. The park had picnic tables, a track, a baseball field, tennis, volleyball, and basketball courts. All with flood lights at night. On Sunday afternoons, the local baseball teams used to meet teams from all over the state.

3. Pretty quickly, the bathhouse became less popular. The physical decline of the plunge was too much to keep up, and with the advancement of home plumbing and water heaters, the effects of the depression, the pool was shut down. In 1930, the swimming pool was covered, the outdoor skating rink was moved inside, and put over the pool.

4. By the 1950s, it was considered an eyesore. Once described as a place with an “appearance of a fairy land castle dropped in the midst of a bewildered and dazzled community”, the bathhouse endured many hardships with changing focus within the community…plus the freeway was coming.

5. In 1958, the Bathhouse was burned down. Double-whammy as the cheapest way to demolish the building and as a training exercise for the Ventura Fire Department. The Fire Department, with visiting firefighters, started at 9 am on a morning after rain. The fire chief felt the conditions were ideal. The fire took some time to get going until it hit the skating rink, then it got out of hand. At one point, there was so much building burning that spectators across the street began to retreat from the intense heat, and the crew considered entering to put it out.

— Shannon Kenny