Perhaps this story has been long in the making. I think it may have begun in the late 1940s when I was a little girl growing up on the beach in the area of Venice, California, which is now the Marina Peninsula in Marina Del Rey. When I was a child the land that is now the beautiful Marina was nothing more than a swampy area with weeds that included a local dump-site. However, in one corner away from the weeds and refuse, was a magical area called Hoppyland where Hopalong Cassidy, a famous movie and television cowboy [William Boyd], would often appear. One day when I was about eight-years-old I was visiting Hoppyland, when I got to meet him and he actually kissed me on the cheek. I was delirious with joy! Until then the even more famous cowboy, Roy Rogers, had been my favorite, but after that kiss, Hoppy had stolen my heart! Six years later my girlfriend, Leanne, and I were visiting her parents’ friends for the week in Palos Verdes, California when I met a boy, and again, lost my heart. He was a special boy, and I became so enthralled by his shy ways that I was unable to eat nor sleep for the several days remaining of the visit. My emotions were further unhinged by the fact that our friends’ mother came for an afternoon visit and seeing my 14-year-old state, began to sing, “the love bug’s bitten and you can’t sit still.” I was horrified that my feelings were so transparent to her and relieved when the week ended, and we went home some sixty miles away.
During the following school year, that quiet boy sent me a special delivery letter every single week. Plagued by shyness, and hampered by the cost of long distance, we did not even try to talk on the telephone, but feelings were running high. The next year my friend Leanne and I again visited the same friends. This time that boy came for us with his friend Jerry. They had invited us girls for a day’s outing. You can imagine our surprise when they arrived on horseback!
CHAPTER 11
Tony Moiso recalled some of his favorite parade moments. For many years the Ranch joined in the parade, riding on a big wagon filled with Ranch people. More recently the Portola` Riders represent the Ranch. When I asked Tony if the story about Larry Buchheim riding his horse through the Swallows Inn during Swallows Day was true or not? He smiled and replied, “Yes, for sure. I rode my horse through there as well!” We laughed.
Later, I was to find a photograph of Tony on that horse in the Swallows Inn. When I asked for permission to use it, he offered me this advice, “Please remember: if you have the right horse-very calm, anyone can ride through the Swallows!” [I am amused at the notion that anyone might have of me riding my horse through the Swallows Inn. Well, maybe it’s not that crazy, considering those cross-country horse races!]
Tony went on to explain that for some years, the Portolȃ Riders erected a big tent in the open field behind the Esslinger Building to house the after-parade party. One year a group of rowdy Marines came in to crash the party. Fred Love, who is not of large stature, confronted those Marines and got them out. Smiling at the memory, Tony concluded, “He is great; he’d fight if he had to!”
The parade has become an iconic symbol for San Juan, which celebrates the Mission, the swallows, and our equestrian life. The events surrounding La Fiesta de las Golondrinas are not only classic and traditional; they are also a way of binding the community together. While serving as a powerful economic engine, they are in many ways a cultural experience. People love parades, missions, animals, and just plain being together. An important by-product for our City is that when people gather they also spend money that supports the community’s everyday economy.
CHAPTER 13
This is the 70s. John and his wife live in Hidden Valley near Tar Farms. As a long-time horseman, John Clifton, reminded me, there were about ten of the men of our little community (including Dan Doyle, Don Shaw, John Clifton, Ken Friess, Stan Griffith, and Bob Youngren) who each purchased a roping steer to keep over at Jimmy Jackson’s horse operation. It was probably around 1975, Jimmy, a well-known cowboy and ferrierrange landed the range land that stretched across where the Hunt Club would eventually be built to what would someday be Stone Ridge. John thought Jimmy probably had about 600 or 700 acres and 90 horses. There was an old barn on the place (the former Belford property, perhaps Father Quetu’s old horse barn?) The guys were all in, seeing themselves as ropers. They created a friendly competition, putting money in the pot for the winner of the roping contest.
One day Jimmy Jackson called the newspaper to tell a reporter that a famous trick roper was going to be in town named “Monty Clifton.” When the reporter showed up to grab the scoop, John Clifton had to confess that it was a prank, he was neither a famous roper, nor named “Monty.” John says to this day, 40 some years later; many of his friends call him “Monty.” Many don’t know him by any other name! To make matters worse, recently he joined a paddle board club, and even they call him “Monty!” John chuckled while he shared that with me.
I wasn’t any too aware of the guys’ roping activities until one Sunday afternoon when my mother was visiting from Los Angeles. I decided to drive over and show her what fun the neighborhood dads were having. We crossed Ortega Highway which in those days was a very curvy two lane road, more crowded on the weekends than during the week, and headed up the dirt road to Jimmy’s. It turned out to be a day none of us would ever forget.
CHAPTER 17
At the end of the trail.
As our journey through the equestrian story that is San Juan’s comes to a close, I hope you have come to have, perhaps, a new respect for the countless ways in which the lives of our residents are enriched not only by the presence of horses, but through our devotion to the larger cultural celebration of our Western heritage. This book has been a way to memorialize the lived experience of some in a place such as ours.
As the personal stories have shown; we have ridden horses in competitions, raced on them for sport, bet on them for fun, cantered with them on the trails, depended upon them as therapy assistants, have needed their help in transporting us, in cultivating the soil, in harvesting the crops, in carrying those crops to market, and in some cases even carried ammunition across enemy lines. Many of us have relied upon them for our livelihood as stable owners, trainers, veterinarians, breeders, grooms, competition judges, and/or feed and tack store owners.
My hope is that this trip backward in time has allowed you moments of reflection, and, perhaps a renewed interest in cherishing our four-legged equine friends. We, with our children and grandchildren, and future generations, have the opportunity to help preserve this unique aspect of Western culture in our little corner of the planet, at the edge of the continent.
My best, Donna
www.drdonnafriess.com
(949) 496-8895 or cell (949) 533-0810
