Interview of Ralph Cornell

1.1. TAPE NUMBER: ONE, SIDE ONE JUNE 14, 1967

CORNELL:

I was born in the little town of Holdrege, Nebraska on January 11, 1890. This period perhaps was transitional from the pioneer background to the more modern and contemporary era into which we have grown and developed in the last seventy-seven years. I was born in an area in that part of the world, which was one vast prairie of short-grass country, so called because of the buffalo grass, which is a very low growing, highly nutritious forage for buffalo, cattle, and horses. The buffalo grass was still common with interspersed areas of bluestem, which is a native grass. There were buffalo wallows as part of the landscape. There still were a few bones and remains; buffalo fur coats and buffalo robes, lap robes for warmth in the open buggies that we drove, were still in use, indicating thereby the fact that we weren't too far behind the period when the buffalo was abundant. You could look as far as the eye could carry to the horizon line across these prairies. And at that time the roads did not follow the conventional section lines because the section lines hadn't been fenced. You'd start off across the country almost in any direction you wished to go. And time was more or less measured by how far a horse could go in a day, either as an animal to be ridden or as an animal to be driven. So I really grew up on a horse, and I rode my first horse at the age of five. I owned my first horse at the age of about ten. And when we finally left Nebraska for California, I had five horses, which I had to dispose of which were my personal property. I spent much of my time alone on horseback. And in that way I became familiar with the country. I enjoyed it, and I knew where the birds lived and where and how they nested. There were coyotes, prairie dogs, and prairie chickens abundantly and bobwhite quail. In the spring and the fall there would be migratory birds which would stop over during our cycles of wet years. We would have a drought period when the crops wouldn't mature. Everything would curl up, dry up, and blow away. The hot winds would blow sometimes for days on end, day and night. These hot winds would blow in from the south. Some years we'd have wet cycles. And what we'd call the lagoons would all fill up with water. The buffalo wallows would fill with water, and the migratory birds followed the water. Those would be the best years. Crops were fine and everybody prospered. Well, within my memory, the sod house was still a common feature in the landscape, houses built from the grass sod cut from the prairies, earthen floors, sod walls, and even sod roofs. The weeds and the flowers and the grass would grow on the roofs. They were nothing but dirt. Those were mostly built, I suppose, by immigrants, people who had come in. I'm not sure about the homesteading law, but it seems to me, as I remember it, that practically all the farms were based on an original homestead. And many of them in the area where I lived were held by immigrants; Scandinavians, for there were lots of Swedish people where I was raised. They were hardworking and thrifty; everything they had as a rule was a quarter-section of land, or it was based around that, so that those things which have now disappeared were cut into the background of my memory. I went to school, naturally, where I was and graduated from high school in Holdrege. The family came to California for the winter of 1905. That was our first experience in California. We returned to Nebraska, and then in 1908 we moved out here permanently. So the first eighteen years of my life were spent in this rural, agricultural, by modern standards, rather primitive environment, but a very wholesome one. We were very conscious in those days of the weather. Everybody had an eye to the sky looking for weather. And when a big dark black cloud rolled up in the northwest and moved in fast and ominously, then we knew something was coming. The cyclone cellar was almost a standard bit of equipment on the farms. The people could duck underground when the heavy winds hit. Weather was severe and sudden, as it is in that Mississippi Valley funnel between the tropics and the arctic areas. And when those two fronts met there were usually fireworks. Farmers would work hard all year to produce a crop of corn, wheat, oats, or what it might be, and have it wiped out in five minutes by a hailstorm, have it wiped out by heavy rains or heavy wind. The weather was vigorous; it was hot or it was cold. And we had blizzards, howling blizzards, and we had hot winds in the summer. It was a rugged climate. Well, in 1908, my father and the family moved to California.

MINK:

Did you have other sisters?

CORNELL:

I had two sisters, yes. There were three children, a sister older than I and a sister younger, and they are both living here in California, one in Los Angeles and one in Atascadero. I had registered at the University of Nebraska. But when the family moved out in August of 1908, and having been here one winter anyway, I sort of weakened. I gave up my University of Nebraska aspirations and came out with the family, which meant that I lost a year in my school continuity because at Long Beach where we moved, their educational system did not recognize the Holdrege Nebraska High School on a parity basis. I came out too late to enter Pomona College, whether or not they would have admitted me. So I spent a year in what was referred to as post-graduate work in Long Beach High School. The high school was on American Avenue, It was an interesting year, and it was a step up no doubt from the Holdrege environment.

MINK:

Did you find the work more difficult?

CORNELL:

I found the work heavier and more difficult, but very rewarding. I studied language there which I hadn't received in Nebraska. It was helpful. I feel that I benefited by the delay, the slowdown, and the additional work sandwiched in between the high school and the college. I entered Pomona College in 1909 graduated from Pomona in 1914 after losing a year between my sophomore and my junior years at college.

MINK:

May I ask at this point, what was the decision that made the family come to California; what made them decide?

CORNELL:

Well, my father and mother had been out here several winters, and they liked it. After all, the amenities were rather few, certainly weather wise, in Nebraska at that time. I think the family just liked California and wanted to come out. Father had prospered. He was in the lumber and coal business in Holdrege. He had lumber yards in three different towns, and he had some farms that he called ranches. He had accumulated enough which, in his opinion, justified a gamble and a break. We would visit these "ranches" once or twice a week, and I would go with my dad on many of the trips. We could make the loop in forty miles of driving. We could do that in a day with a team of horses and have a number of hours at each stop because the country was flat. With a good spanking team we could do nine or ten miles in an hour.

MINK:

What were the purposes of these visits, to check up on the tenants?

CORNELL:

Well, yes. He owned the farms. He had a rancher on each one of them who was responsible. But Dad was checking up. Dad went into the cattle business, and he shipped livestock. He would buy livestock, graze it, and ship it to the markets, to "St. Joe" as he called it (St. Joseph, Missouri), and sometimes Omaha, depending on where they hoped they would get the best price. He was keeping his hand on the pulse of the operations. And from the standpoint of a boy, it was great experience and great fun. I'd do it on horseback sometimes, or I'd do it with the team. When I was growing up, on horseback, I used to earn a little money once in a while. For example, in Holdrege the local butcher kept his cattle, which he would purchase, in a pasture about three miles out of town until he was ready for them. All they had to eat was this grass in the wintertime. This was dry grass. I would get up before daylight in the winter, when the days were short, and ride out to this pasture and pick out the cattle they wanted to bring in and drive them down to his "abattoir," as they would call it today, and get back home, have breakfast, and be in school at nine o'clock. That meant I would have a fairly early start because I would have to drive the cattle about four miles. Of course, when you drive cattle you drive them on a walk. I would do that and get fifty cents a trip. That was quite a nice little piece of money you know. Then sometimes I drove cattle by the day, and I would be paid a dollar and a half a day for myself and my horse. I would feed myself and my horse. Forty or fifty miles per day on a horse without cattle to drive up was a good day's ride. I had done sixty miles a day with a team, but that is pretty hard on the horses. It's a big day even in flat country. But as I said, if you're doing ten miles an hour, you can cover considerable territory and still have time to operate. Well now, you sidetracked me a little bit. Exactly where were we? I entered Pomona in the fall of 1909 and registered under the tutorage of Professor Charles Fuller Baker who was a biologist. That was before they segregated the sciences quite as precisely as they do today. One man covered a lot of sins in that way, you see. Baker was an exceptional man. He was the brother of Ray Stannard Baker who was, I think, a Wall Street operator in New York and also quite well known. But he was very different from this brother because the brother was a moneymaker and Charles Fuller Baker was a manmaker. He took an interest in students, mostly men, as I remember it, often those who had a good deal of energy and pep. But because of that they were probably a little inclined to get into difficulties. He would channel those enthusiasms into lines which he directed. The result was that a lot of the men who started with Charles Fuller Baker made progress, even national positions in the lines of biology, entomology, horticulture, whatever it might have been. A number of them have been in the Washington Bureau of Plant Industry, The one-time agricultural director of Los Angeles County, Harold J. Ryan, was one of his men. He just seemed to have a knack of finding talent and developing it. He may have developed a talent that nobody else knew about. So, anyway, I worked under him. I did summer work with Baker, and he taught a course in plant propagation. I don't think he gave me any college credit, but he gave me quite a lot of experience and training. Then he decided that maybe I was a landscape architect in embryo, at a time when the profession was hardly known by name or otherwise. He encouraged me along those lines. He sent me out to sketch gardens. He was not trained in that department, but a good teacher doesn't have to know the thing he teaches precisely if he has the ability to inspire the students and get them to work. So he instituted this course in landscape architecture, which, if you think about it, was a joke in one way, but which basically was invaluable. He was a great plant collector of herbarium material, and economic plants were his specialty. He assembled, I guess, an outstanding herbarium collection of economic plants, which went to Pomona and is still there. He carried on a tremendous exchange with botanic gardens all over the world. And one of the things I did was to acquire my own herbarium. I collected eight hundred sheets of garden plants, all of which were identified. They were pressed, dried, mounted on sheets, and classified. I did the work. You learn more that way than you learn any other way. Whether your instructor knew it or not, as long as he could guide you, why, he was doing a pretty good job. He published a journal of economic botany and horticulture. It had some good material in it, and it had some things by scientific men. But he would publish things that some of his students would do. He would publish some of my writing which was pretty amateurish and pretty raw by any other standards. But again it's the boost, it's the help. Baker sort of sat on my interests, and as a result of the horticultural plant propagation that he taught, I imported some avocado seeds from Mexico at a time when the avocado was just coming to the attention of horticulturists and growers and the market. It's a tropical fruit from Mexico, Guatemala, and Central America. But such as they were, there were just a few scattered trees here and there. They were finally referred to as "alligator pears." After some correspondence I imported one thousand seeds of the avocado and propagated them. And because I didn't want to be there all year around, every year, I took on as a partner the grounds superintendent of the college, a fellow by the name of Forest Hutchison. When I was away he would take care of the seeds, and we agreed to split the income. When I graduated from Pomona College, we had grown enough plants and were fortunate enough to find a buyer to net us $2200, half of which went to Forest Hutchison and half went to me. That was a nucleus with which I entered Harvard as a graduate student. After four years of college work I received a degree, Phi Beta Kappa, and summa cum laude at Pomona College. And again Baker knew there was a landscape school at Harvard and that it was the best landscape school at the time, and maybe it still is. He was instrumental; I am sure, by his recommendation, in obtaining a scholarship at Harvard which paid my tuition. I took three years of graduate work at Harvard, ending up with a master's in landscape architecture.

MINK:

That was a three-year degree, then?

CORNELL:

Three years of graduate work, but it was a master's and not a doctor's. With the scholarship for one year and the $1100, which I had gotten from my avocado venture, I went to Harvard. They renewed the scholarship, so I paid no tuition for the three years I was at Harvard. I'm not one who deals with superlatives too much in my thinking because I think there's a lot in relativity, and it just depends on what your approach is. But if I were to say what my three most memorable years might have been, perhaps they would have been the three at Harvard because it was very wonderful and very enjoyable. And it gave me my boost.

MINK:

Who, principally, at Harvard did you work under?

CORNELL:

At Harvard at that time, the head of the department was Professor Prey. He was James Sturgis Prey. The chief instructors were Henry Vincent Hubbard and Bremer Pond. At that time those three men maintained a landscape office in Boston. They were not theoreticians alone but were dealing from practical experience. While I was a student at Harvard, Professor Hubbard wrote a book, which up until today is a classic in appreciation of landscape design. It is the classic to which all refer in their study. I got that as class lectures, Hubbard and Pond were exceptionally fine men. Prey was a fine man, but he was more the administrator; he was the head of the school. But Pond and Hubbard could design, and they could reason and rationalize these things as no one else with whom I had experience.

MINK:

What principally was involved in the instruction?

CORNELL:

Instruction, of course, was rather all-inclusive. But the graphics of drawing are fundamental because if you can't express yourself in words and in writing, you can't get your ideas across. If you can't express yourself with a pencil in the preparation of plans and designs, even though you may have fine ideas as to how things should be designed, if you can't express that accurately, clearly, and succinctly, you're handicapped. You're without facilities with which to work. When I went back there, I had studied graphics and this and that in college. I suggested that maybe I could skip that course. They were quite diplomatic and polite and nice about it, but they thought that it was a good idea to take it. Well, it was a good idea.

MINK:

For you to take it?

CORNELL:

Yes. Because it was far ahead of what I had gotten back in Pomona College and theretofore.

MINK:

Did you feel that you had, prior to obtaining an interest in landscape architecture in Pomona, any artistic talent? Could you draw?

CORNELL:

I didn't feel that I was artistically inclined. I could draw graphically.

MINK:

Had you drawn as a boy?

CORNELL:

Drawn what?

MINK:

As a boy, did you draw?

CORNELL:

No, not just for the joy of drawing. But in addition to the graphics of mechanical drawing, they taught freehand drawing, sketching, which would be another facility of expression because you draw in perspective. If you get an idea, you can sketch it out and analyze it much better visually than you could without that. Then, of course, they taught the history and the background of landscape architecture, which wasn't called that at one time.

MINK:

What was it called?

CORNELL:

The old artists, obviously, were almost universal in their developed talents. They were trained in design, in architecture. They would do sculpture. They would do painting. They were all-around, well-developed individuals. They would lay out the grounds along with their other designing. This is the way it should be. But by modern methods and approach we have become specialists, and we pursue facets of design. But the landscape profession, landscape architecture, is concerned with spatial design, land planning, and the relationship on the land, on the ground, of everything: buildings, all types of structures, pools, walks, roads, the modeling of the earth's surface, and the planting of trees. One of the elements of landscape design is the sky, which enters into compositions. We were taught the basic graphics approach. We were taught the history and the background of design in its many aspects. We were taught design. Those were the old standards. We hadn't emerged from the background of the classics. Most of the approved design was a form of gardening design, which was probably inspired by the period of the Italian Renaissance and the villas of Italy and the work of Le Notre in France. Architects in those days were taught more or less to copy. That isn't strictly creative. And when you copy, you not only fail to create, but you often deteriorate that which you are trying to copy. But they were just beginning to think a little more broadly.

MINK:

Did you get some of this newer approach from these men?

CORNELL:

Not too much at that time, except in a theoretical way. This was the Harvard School of Landscape Architecture. It is now the Harvard School of Environmental Design. It considers architecture, landscape architecture, and all that goes with it. Well, now, since you have to deal with materials, and you design in materials, we also, in addition to graphics and the theory and the history of design, studied topographic engineering, surveying, the making of a survey, taking of notes, drawing it up, plotting it. Then came the remodeling of the ground into a new contour and road design, profile studies, cross sections, drainage. All the practical fundamentals that go into this sort of work, construction of minor structures, walls and pools were included. We are not architects of buildings. It doesn't mean that a man might not acquire such skill, but it's not an integral basic part of it. We did study architectural appreciation and visited gardens in the capitols of good architecture.

MINK:

What was available for visiting around Cambridge at that time?

CORNELL:

Well, there were formal gardens. The garden of Weld was one of the classics that everybody visited. That was at the Lars Anderson estate. I think it was in Brookline, although I don't remember for sure now. There were gardens on the North Shore and many local places of interest. Then we would broaden out and get down to New York, Long Island and different places.

MINK:

Would the faculty go with you on these visits?

CORNELL:

Yes and no, depending on the circumstances. Then, of course, we took courses in plant nomenclature so we would know plants and their care, how to take care of them, where they would do well, where they wouldn't do well, and in the basics that broaden your perspective and your background, so that you're not doing a theoretical thing which may not work. Of course, with all the preparation and study you still have a lot to learn through experience. But they did what they could. And at that time it was landscape. Well, before I got out in 1917 they had taken on a study major which they called City Planning, so that the third year of my graduate work I was exposed to city planning, which again was fifty-five years ago, a little different from problems of today. You see, a good design meets a number of prerequisites. It must be functional to its intended purpose. It must work. It must be appropriate to its environment. And then as a landscape architectural concept it must be beautiful. It isn't enough (and Dr. Murphy here at UCLA has stressed that in particular, this last week, if you are aware of where he went on Sunday, he dedicated the Sculpture Court), it isn't enough to live in squalor even though at an intellectual plane, but we should live in beauty and its environment. While personally I think that heredity is a basic important factor because that establishes your capacities, the environment has to do with the development of those capacities. If you are brought up, as I say, close to the earth, in a stable, the stable becomes home-sweet-home. If you are brought up in association with beauty and culture and intellectual achievement, then you are comfortable there and you are not comfortable in the stable. So the environment is very important as well as heredity. We were taught that things should be basically functional and attractive. That's boiling it down to a pretty terse statement. But I think that's sound; it always holds. And good design is not a matter of passing fashion. It's fundamental, it's basic. The same principles apply to everything. Now the stages through which we go in this modern idea, much of that is no more than passing fancy. It's like the things that we wear. It may look like the wrath of God, but if they're in style, why, the girls all like it. And men, too, but they may not be sound from the standpoint of good design, of good appearance. We also run in cycles, as with our dress. You go back fifty or seventy-five or a hundred years and re-enact what was in vogue at that time. But in garden design, too, that happens. And of course people are always seeking something different; they want change and variety. I think that's what leads them to these periods of changing popularity. Garden style, or any basic style, becomes the result of many things—environmental controls, economic and use controls. It is something that is developed and accepted and practiced by a sufficient number of people to establish a sort of a plateau. Individual things may go up or down on that but those are styles—as I think I said—nothing is good, which is just a copy. Nothing is creative, let's put it that way. You may make an exact copy. It's all right, but it's not original; it's not creative. That doesn't mean it may not be good because, if it copied something that is good, why, it's a copy. But it doesn't fit a different condition. How in architecture, the New England colonial, the Southern colonial, the Monterey colonial were not copies. They were strongly influenced by the background of the people who came over from the old country. They were modi\fied by the new way of life, the new climatic environment, and things of that sort. And as they were adaptations to a different period, they were successful. If they were merely copies they didn't fit in, and they didn't live. So that really our traditional architecture, if it's good, might go back to the sod house that I spoke of. There's a basic simplicity and directness to that which is beautiful. And the same way with our adobe buildings in California. It's the same principle, excepting the sod house is cut out of the turf of these heavily sodded prairies. The adobe is a clay mixture into which they put straw and other materials to bind the adobe and dry it into earthen blocks. The principle is the same. Now a lot of those things were fine, though you might not want to live in them today. They were good. Now I think we are getting into another period where we are creating, as a result of change in materials, techniques, capacities, and abilities. We can do things now with cantilevered forms and reinforcing steel and concrete that were absolutely impossible at an earlier period. The classic work of Europe, the cathedrals and old buildings—some have been there for hundreds of years—were designed on the gravity principle. In other words, a wall had to be so wide, so thick that it wouldn't totter, so it wouldn't tip over. A thin slender wall would have lasted no time at all. Today we're getting away from those gravity principles. That's a slow transition and a painful one for the old boys who grew up under the old school. You see, they hate to relinquish it.

MINK:

I was going to ask you, as a landscape architect you were dealing with something that was not irrevocable like a building. A garden can be changed.

CORNELL:

Yes, very definitely. You see with a new building it's more or less immutable within the limits of the endurance of the materials. It's rigid and it's precise. But in landscape architecture where we deal with plants, we're either building for the future, putting in things now which we envision as they will appear fifty years hence, or we are maybe cutting them back to hold them, keeping them from getting too big. For example, take the Pomona College campus. We planted redwood trees there that were about three feet tall, just little whips which are now—I'm guessing—probably sixty or seventy feet tall with three- to four-foot trunk diameters. That's within the span of a lifetime, maybe two generations of twenty, twenty-five years each, as a generation is measured. When those go in they don't look like they do today. So that's part of your required skill: to be able to visualize and anticipate and to get something that isn't too bad when you finish with it, but which is going to get better as the trees grow. While we're speaking along that line, it depends a little on the level at which one is working, the level of experience. But in much of our landscape work there isn't five percent of the total time or money spent that goes into planting. It goes into all these other things. I did a job in Los Angeles at First and Broadway, the Los Angeles County Law Library, where about seventy-five percent of our gross landscape budget went all underground, soil excavation, replacement, and drainage. Once they're done, it doesn't look as though anything has happened at all. Then we come in with five or ten or twenty percent of our budget and do the planting. When we' plant big trees, we do that to save time. We capitalize years into dollars and pay the cost of a big tree to save ourselves twenty or twenty-five years in results. That again is a calculated factor. Where you're dealing in commercial industrial work and in university design, and you don't want to wait fifty years to find out what It's going to look like, you budget to accommodate the cost of trees as we did on the campus here at UCLA, on the north court particularly. Dr. Murphy refers to that as the instant project, the instant trees. And we moved trees, of course, sometimes trees that were a hundred, a hundred and fifty years old.

MINK:

Where did the trees that were planted come from? Did they come from elsewhere on the campus? Or did they come from somewhere else?

CORNELL:

I think that on the north campus most of our trees were imported. There were several items that we moved. There was some holly that came over from the Law Building, and a few minor things. But most of those were purchased. Again, there is no established or precise market for big trees because you have to pick them up where you can find them. The freeway developments have been a great source of material here because they slash through an old section, and all the trees have to go. If there are things there which can be moved and are worth moving, commercially, economically, some buyer picks them up, boxes them, holds them, and sells them. That's been quite a source of supply. In the East, more than here, of course, they have more woodlots. They go out and pick these things up out in the forest. We did some work for the Ford Company in Detroit. I think they went as far as 250 miles to find tree specimens which were dug out of the back forty or woodlot or wherever they could find a proper plant. The control is fixed by the cost. Beyond a certain point you feel it is unjustifiable. But they scouted the country to find these things, and they had to be dug and moved in.

MINK:

You said that you graduated in 1917 from Harvard. What did you do then? Did you go into business right away?

CORNELL:

No. The only job I ever held in my life was that year, the balance of that year after my degree. I finished the work required for the degree in March. Of course, it wasn't awarded until the graduation period, and I didn't go back for that. Instead I got a job in Toronto with a landscape firm, a firm by the name of Harries and Hall. Mr. Hall came to Cambridge looking for a boy and interviewed several of us. I got the job, but at twenty-five dollars a week, five dollars a day.

MINK:

That was a pretty good wage?

CORNELL:

Yes. I turned down a job that offered me ten dollars a month less, quite to the surprise of the man who offered it because that was F[rederick] L[aw] Olmsted, Jr. They were the biggest landscape firm in the country at that time. I think they were looked upon as little gods, and they were. They were good, but I think they were aware of the fact that it was a privilege to work with them. I might have been smarter if I had taken it, but they offered me ten dollars a month less to go to Florida. This shows how your faculty can influence you. Professor Prey, and I've thought since that it was perhaps with a little malice aforethought, urged me to take the Toronto job. He told me afterwards that Olmsted was very much surprised that I didn't accept his offer. I really didn't know enough. I have never been one who could see my future clearly. I just have done a job that came to me, and as best I could, and went from there. So I went to Toronto. I was in Toronto until December of that year. By that time we were in the war. I wrote Washington and said, "Here I am, am I required to register?" And they said no. Nobody outside of the United States, even though a citizen, had to register for the draft. But you know how you are when you are young and impetuous and full of vinegar. You feel like you are not doing your duty. So I registered in Los Angeles by mail. I left Toronto about the middle of December.

MINK:

What was your job at Toronto? Did you design gardens?

CORNELL:

Yes. I was the only man in the office besides Mr. Hall. Mr. Harries was in a branch office in Buffalo. Mr. Hall and I were the only office men, so I was a general man Friday and did the drafting, designing. Little things come to mind. At that time much of our work was rural. We had a sewage disposal problem. And so one of the landscape architect's jobs was to design septic tanks. I designed a lot of septic tanks in Toronto. I did the design studies, planning, and general work. It was a step in the ladder of experience. All these things are fundamental and important. A child's learning to walk is important too, but after he gets to where he can walk, he doesn't place any great emphasis on the fact that he had to learn. So my Toronto experience was valuable, but I couldn't have taken perhaps anything any higher than that at that time. I left Toronto in the blizzard of December, 1917. I think it was the day they had the big explosion in Halifax when a munitions ship blew up and shattered the whole waterfront. You probably weren't living then, but you might have heard about it. I crossed northern Canada through this blizzard on the train. It was 32 below in Winnipeg; I was there three days and nights waiting for a train to Prince Rupert which ran only twice a week. It was 48 below when we went in to thaw out our steam pipes in Edmonton. Then I came down the west coast through the inside passage to Seattle. It was the biggest snow storm of the century, I guess because there was heavy snow way into Seattle. Everything was white. Then I came down here and went into the service.

MINK:

Where did you go from here when you went in the service?

CORNELL:

I went to Camp Lewis for preliminary training and was shipped over to France. We sailed up the river Clyde to Glasgow and by train down to Southampton, across the channel at night, in a ship that was absolutely nothing but a shell. It was a troop ship. Everything was taken out, and they stuck the men in like cattle. We crossed the channel at night and went into France. I was with the infantry, the 91st Division. We went into action in the Meuse-Argonne offensive which came late in September. We were pretty well shot-up and decimated. Then we were sent into Belgium as shock troops and were there when the Armistice came. It took us from November 11 to the following June to get out of Europe. They had so many men there; we were just stacked up waiting.

MINK:

I don't think I've ever asked anybody what this trench warfare was like.

CORNELL:

Well, as Sherman said, it was rough. You see, we went over there and opened this offensive, but we hadn't had experience in trench warfare per se. The French were all sealed and holed in for the winter, and they opposed, the thought of an American offensive in the fall just in the beginning of cold winter weather. They opposed it very bitterly. But the American command insisted, and they opened the big drive in September and ended it on November 11, so it was quite a blitz. We knocked the Germans out instead of going into another winter of trench warfare. Trench warfare was very confined and it was a bit messy. And, of course, we went into Belgium, to Ypres, where the Canadians had fought for so long. The Canadians that served in Ypres called it "Wipers." That was certainly a demonstration of the terrible destruction of war because the whole country was just churned from shellfire. And villages through which we passed were nothing but a pile of rubble. We just walked up the road, walked over piles of rubble that at one time had been stone walls and buildings. There wouldn't be a structure left, just steel and dead animals and all sorts of debris sticking up out of the mud. We had gone through so much in the Argonne that we used to kid about it, and when we were withdrawn, we thought we were going to a rest camp, but no, we were sent into Belgium as shock troops. We went in the Argonne with 240 men in our company and at one time there were only accounted for that we could find. But we came out finally when we gathered up the remnants. About 90 or 100 men survived out of the 240. Practically every man had diarrhea. They were all emaciated and sick and tired. They had been in there day and night. Then we went to Belgium as shock troops. So on our first day in Belgium there was no place to bivouac. We had to move; we hiked twenty-eight miles, carrying our packs and our equipment, before we got into a village that had enough walls left to form some modicum of shelter. Then we were all scheduled to cross the river Scheldt on the morning of November 11. That was the order. What we call "scuttlebutt" today was referred to then as "latrine gossip," and latrine gossip told us that there was going to be an armistice. Nobody was very enthusiastic about hopping off on the morning of the eleventh. But as is so characteristic of the army, a change of orders came in at the last minute, and we didn't storm the Scheldt. But we were bivouacked there on the banks of the river. If the thing had continued, we would have crossed the river and gone on from there. Our action was short and hectic, but the fighting that we did was all in the Meuse-Argonne. That was a very memorable experience. One of the things was the barrage that preceded what they referred to as the "jump-off hour." Unless you've been in one of those things you just can't envision it. Big guns were in back of us; big guns were where we were; there were big guns in front of us. The constant fire and flare from the muzzles of the guns kept the whole landscape alight. And just that alone, that din of shells whistling over you, one thing or another, was pandemonium. That preceded our advance, and then we moved in.

1.2. TAPE NUMBER: ONE, SIDE TWO JUNE 21, 1967

DOUGLASS:

You said in the other tape that you moved to the area just before you went to Pomona [College]. Is that correct? Had you lived in Nebraska until then?

CORNELL:

I lived in Nebraska and we moved out in the fall of 1908.

DOUGLASS:

Did you move to Los Angeles?

CORNELL:

Long Beach. I was too late for the opening school period so I took that year at Long Beach High School in what we called post-graduate. They didn't call it graduate work.

DOUGLASS:

Post high school; what caused your family to move from Nebraska?

CORNELL:

Well, they had been out here a number of winters before. The whole family had been out one winter and we liked it and I think that's the reason they came primarily.

DOUGLASS:

Had your father been a businessman or a farmer in Nebraska?

CORNELL:

He was in the lumber business, which in those days meant coal and lime and plaster and lumber and related products. He also was interested in ranching, had farmland and livestock and places we called ranches. He used to do the tours with a team of horses and buggy. Or I'd go on horseback often times, alone. I think he got to the position where perhaps he felt he could afford to move, and they liked California and wanted to come out. There was no precise reason of which I am sure at this time.

DOUGLASS:

Did he go into citrus ranching or anything of that kind?

CORNELL:

No, he came out, and this might perhaps have influenced the decision to move, he went into the eucalyptus business at the time of the eucalyptus boom.

DOUGLASS:

That was a boom-and-bust affair, wasn't it?

CORNELL:

Yes, do you know anything about it at all?

DOUGLASS:

Well, I heard it discussed a little. They misjudged the quality of what the wood would do.

CORNELL:

They misjudged many things because they didn't know about them, but they were planting acreage of eucalyptus up in the San Joaquin Valley around Pixley and Tulare chiefly. The Santa Fe was planting eucalyptus down in Rancho Santa Fe; they were growing them for railroad sleepers, which mean railroad ties. They were saying you could cut a grove every seven years and take off enough firewood to make it profitable. I guess you could if the market stayed up, but at that period we were beginning to leave the era when wood fires were a way of life.

DOUGLASS:

And were they suitable for ties? Did that prove to be true?

CORNELL:

Here was one of the main problems. They did try to pickle them, as they called it, cure them in vats, for it was a curling of the wood that caused trouble. When the wood dried it would warp, it would twist, and they had great difficulty in developing usable lumber. They handled it satisfactorily in Australia, but I think they had vats in which they soaked the wood in chemicals. Then they would kiln-dry it. That was not worked out sufficiently, here, before the thing broke up.

DOUGLASS:

So they never did develop a process by which it was commercially usable?

CORNELL:

No, the processing was difficult. We had eucalyptus furniture that was made from local wood—office furniture, chairs, and desks—as well as indoor finishing lumber. It's very heavy, with wonderful grain and polishes well. If you could select the pieces that were cured properly and didn't warp, it made an excellent finishing material.

DOUGLASS:

So your father briefly was involved in that.

CORNELL:

Yes, that's where he lost the savings he brought with him. They misjudged in many ways, simply because they had no experience. For example, in the San Joaquin Valley where they did their heaviest planting there was frost damage. The trees were frost-killed above ground and root-killed below ground by alkaline soil. So the whole thing was one of those pioneer projects which looked well. It was endorsed by the federal government, which got out booklets and pamphlets on eucalyptus culture, with illustrations and figures and facts. The U.S. government endorsed it very completely. So it was a case of trying something new in a different environment, and it didn't work out.

DOUGLASS:

Well, how did you happen to decide you wanted to go to Pomona College?

CORNELL:

That's a little complex. I've never been one who had a firm conviction of predestination, of where I was headed. I've lived as I went along, doing the best I could, but not with a clear-cut bright star and perspective that I was following. My mother was quite an exceptional person—I suppose all mothers are—but I think she was really outstanding. She had friends who knew about Pomona and told her about Pomona. Mrs. Carver was one.

DOUGLASS:

Mrs. Carver?

CORNELL:

Yes, whose first name I do not recall but who had a son in Pomona College, a Kaufman Carver. Anyway, I think that is where the thing started, through my mother and through her acquaintances. Again, I had no sharply defined vision of where I was going.

DOUGLASS:

So it appeared to be the likely place to go and you went.

CORNELL:

Well, it seemed to be the best place of which we knew.

DOUGLASS:

So you went in 1909, is that correct?

CORNELL:

I entered in the fall of 1909. That was the year that Dr. Blaisdell came to the college, during my freshman year. [President] Gates was gone, and there was an interim. But Blaisdell arrived on the Santa Fe, the only way to get there, and he and my class were freshmen together. The students met him at the depot with a one-horse shay, only they didn't have a horse, and they pulled him from the depot up College Avenue to the college. Of course, he was a good sport and a fine fellow, and that was his, entree into the city of Claremont as far as I know.

DOUGLASS:

"Were you one of the ones pulling?

CORNELL:

I didn't happen to pull. I was cheering.

DOUGLASS:

Had you been here when he had come earlier and made a chapel talk when he was apparently being considered for the job?

CORNELL:

I don't recall whether I was or not.

DOUGLASS:

Your first impression then was seeing him arrive?

CORNELL:

My first Impression was when we met him at the depot.

DOUGLASS:

Do you recall any first personal impressions of him?

CORNELL:

Oh, not precisely, excepting that he was an inspirational, visionary man. And you never have a dream come true unless you had the dream first. And I think perhaps he set the pace in my thinking. Pomona, to my opinion, is an exceptionally fine, genteel institution where the standards are pretty high, and of course I associate that all with Dr. Blaisdell. Comparisons are never good, but I think he had broad visions that many people do not have. Incidentally, referring to President Gates I still correspond with his son, who is in Reading, Pennsylvania, Carleton College. He's an emeritus now. I met him at Harvard when we went back there.

DOUGLASS:

Did you ever know Gates himself? Did you ever meet him?

CORNELL:

No, I never saw him.

DOUGLASS:

Well I guess the financial burdens of the college were just more than he could stand.

CORNELL:

I don't know, but they might well have been. I do remember the million dollar campaign that they launched.

DOUGLASS:

Blaisdell launched?

CORNELL:

Yes, and they made it, but when you compare that with the modern campaign, it seems puny, although it was pretty big in those days. The million dollars was a lot of money just to go out and gather in from the bushes.

DOUGLASS:

This was 1910 and 1911 that he launched this. Someone mentioned that at one time he spoke to the graduating class and made a plea saying, in effect—you are identified with this institution now, we have to have money, you should be motivated to go out. And this really worked. Were you in on any [part of the campaign]?

CORNELL:

Not that I recall. Not as a member of any team.

DOUGLASS:

As a student, were you aware of the degree to which the college was in trouble financially at that time?

CORNELL:

No, I wasn't.

DOUGLASS:

As a student, what do you most closely identify Dr. Blaisdell within your daily living? Would it be chapel talk or seeing him? Did you have an opportunity to see him very much around the campus?

CORNELL:

The first personal relationships that I recall other than casual meeting and general friendliness was when they put me on the campus committee, about 1912, I'm guessing. And Myron Hunt was the architect for the campus. Myron built "Little Bridges." Did he do Smiley Hall?

DOUGLASS:

He may have. He also did some initial work at Scripps in the beginning.

CORNELL:

No. Sumner Hunt did one building at Scripps as I remember.

DOUGLASS:

Yes, Balch Hall.

CORNELL:

Yes, but Gordon Kaufmann did all the others. By that time I had become somewhat oriented toward my future life and profession, and so they put me on the Pomona campus committee with Myron Hunt and "Chem" Jones and Blaisdell, I think, to discuss plans. I have felt increasingly, as I have grown older, that that was a courtesy to me [in order] to fan a little flame of interest and enthusiasm because at that stage I could have had nothing to contribute, you see.

DOUGLASS:

But you got to know him a little bit in this situation.

CORNELL:

Oh, yes, and that was about when the planting along College Avenue of the Pittosporum tobira was made. It's the low-cut shrub that they use as ground cover. Pittosporum tobira goes by the common name of tobira. Those tobira have been there now—those that haven't been replaced—since about 1912, which would make it fifty-five years. They are naturally a tall growing shrub, but they have been controlled.

DOUGLASS:

They go all along in front of Marston [Quadrangle], the [Claremont] Inn, the President's house to Sixth Street.

CORNELL:

They go up to sixth through the old-time campus.

DOUGLASS:

So you were involved when that project started?

CORNELL:

I was on the committee, I think. At least I remember that I was quite conscious of it. The width of College Avenue was determined and the width of the parking strip between the curb and the sidewalk—the sidewalks are set back, you know—instead of putting in a little four-foot sidewalk, they put in an eight-foot walk, which was a way-out, courageous thing to have done in those days. I think most of that improvement stemmed from Myron Hunt. Some of it has been changed because it was a horse-and-buggy thing at that time and the traffic problems changed, but that was chiefly at the intersections (he had narrowed down the intersections).

DOUGLASS:

So had Myron Hunt drawn up some plans then at that point?

CORNELL:

He was the architect and he initiated the two, east- west axes that run through the campus from College Avenue: the southern one going underneath Little Bridges, you know, and it's arcaded through Sumner Hall, and the northerly one runs from Smiley Hall through to Mason Hall, and those, I think, are eight-foot walks. So he had established that much control over the future plan which wasn't very far advanced at that time.

DOUGLASS:

You mean the walk from the middle arcade in Smiley straight through the Student Union.

CORNELL:

And that arcade in Smiley was one of keys to the thing.

DOUGLASS:

So he was at that point the major person working with the college in terms of a master plan.

CORNELL:

He was the only one at that point. Myron was a very dynamic, positive, aggressive individual. He was a wonderful man on expediting things and getting them done, and very forceful.

DOUGLASS:

How did he happen to get involved with the college?

CORNELL:

I don't know how he was hired, but there was another architect they had.

DOUGLASS:

Let's go back to Dr. Blaisdell for just a minute because I know you must have had relationships with him through the years. Are there any particular anecdotes about him in your dealings with him as it went along that you think would be interesting? As a young landscape architect you must have dealt with him, too.

CORNELL:

Well, I attended Pomona four years and spent three years at Harvard Graduate School. I worked for ten months in Canada and then enrolled in World War I. I came back in the spring of 1919. And the first job which I had as a landscape architect after the war was as supervising landscape architect—only I think it was not called that—of Pomona College campus. I always have felt that George Marston was behind that chiefly, but Dr. Blaisdell certainly was amenable and friendly and positive in his attitude. So they made the arrangements, and it was Marston's money and I think perhaps his inspiration. But it was an unheard of thing to have a college landscape architect at that time. The profession itself was hardly known, and so it was very bold and very far out and daring.

DOUGLASS:

I want to discuss Marston's project in detail with you, but for right now, is there any particular thing you remember about dealing with Dr. Blaisdell in those years?

CORNELL:

Well, he was sensitive and', interestingly, or surprisingly perhaps, I don't have any sharp personality impressions other than his general attitude and his friendliness and his open-mindedness to all ideas and to all students. And, of course, when I entered college there, Professor Brackett and Professor Stearns and the musical—?

DOUGLASS:

Bissell?

CORNELL:

Professor Bissell and Dean Norton. Those boys were all there, and I guess many of them had been there since the college was founded. I have a little stronger impression of them than I have of Dr. Blaisdell.

DOUGLASS:

What do you remember of Mr. Brackett, for instance?

CORNELL:

Professor Brackett was loved by everybody, and he was a very kindly, very understanding and very friendly sort of a man, and very generous of himself and his time. My thoughts and memories of him all are benevolent in every way.

DOUGLASS:

I imagine most of the professors in those days were deeply involved with the students?

CORNELL:

More so perhaps than today, but I'm too far away from [the scene] now, you see.

DOUGLASS:

Well, it was smaller.

CORNELL:

Oh, much smaller, yes, and we were close to them. Dean Norton, of course, was the one that they talked about mostly, perhaps because he was more controversial. But he was a splendid man and a wonderful influence. He and Brackett and Blaisdell and, in a lesser way perhaps, Professor Stearns, were the motivating forces, seemingly, to a freshman at that time. Ernest E. Jones had just graduated and was in the business office, and he was still pretty close to us in age and so "Chem" was someone to remember.

DOUGLASS:

Now is "Chem" a nickname?

CORNELL:

"Chemistry" Jones is a nickname. I am assuming that he took chemistry and was good in it. Everybody knew him as "Chem." Dr. Brooks came in while I was there. And he was beloved by all the students.

DOUGLASS:

For you, who were the outstanding [professors]?

CORNELL:

The man that was closest to me personally and perhaps shaped my destiny was Professor Charles Puller Baker.

DOUGLASS:

His period in the college just paralleled yours. He left, right, before you did?

CORNELL:

Well, as I remember it, he was there during my first two years and then I stayed out a year. Everybody said, "Oh, you'll never come back."

DOUGLASS:

Did you decide you'd like to drop out for a year, or was it ill health?

CORNELL:

Oh, no, it was just a decision, and I did my first job in Los Angeles during that year.

DOUGLASS:

Your interest had already started at that point?

CORNELL:

Well, Baker set the scene and triggered the explosion, if you want to call it that.

DOUGLASS:

He was a biologist. Was he principally a botanist?

CORNELL:

He was a biologist, and I would say principally a botanist, but it was in the day before the high specialization you now see. It was biology then; now it's entomology and zoology and things of that sort. But Baker was a wonder-ful man and he had the knack of inspiring young men, some of whom were inclined to be a little too energetic, and to dissipate their forces, you know. He would get them interested and tutor them and encourage them. As far as I know—and of course this would have no statistical significance—he sent more men out into the useful world, all full of fire, than any other Pomona instructor of his day.

DOUGLASS:

What do you suppose made him think of you as a landscape architect?

CORNELL:

I wouldn't have any idea.

DOUGLASS:

This was terribly new then.

CORNELL:

Oh. I hadn't even heard of it myself.

DOUGLASS:

Did he talk to you about it? And the possibilities?

CORNELL:

He wasn't a man of many words, but was a man of action. I took botany, as I remember, in the very beginning—quite a while back in my first year—and I worked under Baker. During that year he sort of singled me out I guess and decided that maybe I ought to be a landscape architect, and so he initiated a little work—you couldn't call it a course—in what he called landscape architecture, and I was the only one concerned; He gave me projects and work of that sort, and he didn't know anything about design either.

DOUGLASS:

But he knew the plants.

CORNELL:

He was a teacher you see and economic botany was his specialty, and he developed herbarium sheets of economic plants which he sent in exchange all over the world. I was interested in plants, and my first summer after the freshman year I worked up there in summer school. I don't recall that it involved any credits. I just worked. That was Baker. I made up a herbarium of my own of about 900 sheets, working in Los Angeles and Santa Barbara and around. By the time you find your plants and press the specimens and mount them and label them and identify them, why, you are quite familiar with the nomenclature. So he assigned jobs that were actually nothing at all, but neither was I. I was just a youngster.

DOUGLASS:

But as you look back on your career, and when you went to Harvard, this probably was a great strength for you, wasn't it?

CORNELL:

It's background and it's foundation. He had me go out and sketch front yards and make little plot plans of them and identify the plants; but as far as design and anything of that sort was concerned, there was nothing.

DOUGLASS:

You knew your botany well though.

CORNELL:

Well, I was getting familiar [with it] and he published some of the material in his journal.

DOUGLASS:

Did you have some things published and some drawings in that journal?

CORNELL:

Oh, yes, several issues of it.

DOUGLASS:

Mark Durley told me he thought Mr. Baker lived where Honnold [Library] is now, did he?

CORNELL:

He lived at the southwest corner of Honnold.

DOUGLASS:

Mark Durley thought you had helped plant some trees in back of Mr. Baker's house that still stand, would this be?

CORNELL:

I don't know that I helped plant them. As I remember Baker lived alone, and he had his yard full of things, and when he left Pomona College—I used to work up there and he had some propagating frames—he made a deal with me to maintain the yard.

DOUGLASS:

Do you think some of those things are still there?

CORNELL:

Well, when they put the Honnold in, there were one or two trees at the southwest corner that were in Baker's yard. So one thing led to another. I don't remember that there was ever any sense of pressure or coercion. It was just his ability and leadership.

DOUGLASS:

He was sort of leading you there.

CORNELL:

He suggested that Harvard University was the best school in landscaping design that I probably should go there.

DOUGLASS:

But by the time you returned to college for the second time he had left and William Hilton had arrived. Now did you work with him after this?

CORNELL:

No, but a fellow named Heath came in on the botany angle—Hilton was more a zoologist—and I worked with Heath the last two years. He was in Claremont not too long ago, but I didn't see him. Baker had an inquiry from George Wharton James. He was a promoter and writer. He was the Chuckawalla and Palo Verde Irrigation Association, and I think he was what you might call a speculator. He inquired from Baker for somebody who could go over into the valley, into the desert, and check out the existing agricultural development and make a report on it. And, characteristically, Baker had to pick somebody. So he picked me and I went over in July, the hottest time of the year.

DOUGLASS:

What year would this have been? While you were in college?

CORNELL:

As. I remember it, some of that report got in the journal. I may not have done it. Probably it would have to have been not later than the summer of 1911 because Baker left and I was out of school. But anyway I went over on the train and took livery rigs, stage coaches and mail stages. My first stop was at Palm Springs. Dr. Welwood Murray was still living in Palm Springs. Dr. and Mrs. Kaufman were just recently of Palm Springs and they had a little, white, two-story frame house and were already operating something of a' hostelry, and I stayed there. George Wharton James gave me letters to both Dr. Murray and to the Kaufmans. I stayed at the Kaufmans. To take a bath I had to wait until after dark, go out and stand under the water tank and pull a rope. It was an eight- or nine-mile trip from the station, which is now Garnet—it was called Palm Springs Station then—on the mail stage, through sand and dust and arrow weeds and it was really hot. Then I went down to Indio and checked out down there and at Thermal and Coachella—always getting a livery rig and going out over the country—and down into the Imperial Valley and then over to Yuma. I think it was about as hard a two weeks as I've ever spent because I scarcely slept at all. No air conditioning. The hotel quarters were just boxes with a window and a door and it was like going into an oven. But this area always interested me. In that whole circuit there was only one man whom I encountered who had any record, who knew whether or not he was making money or where he was losing it, and that was Webb. Now I'm not sure whether it's the same Webb that founded Webb School, but it's the same family. There was a John Webb, too, whom I knew afterwards, who was a brother.

DOUGLASS:

Were they growing dates?

CORNELL:

No, he was growing vegetable crops, truck gardens. He could tell what everything cost and what he got for it and how much he lost.

DOUGLASS:

But the rest of the farmers weren't keeping records, they didn't know where they stood?

CORNELL:

They probably weren't trained adequately to keep records. So I wrote up my report and George Wharton James used it in his publicity, I guess. I don't remember whether it got in Baker's journal or not.

DOUGLASS:

Well, I find here an article in Out West from 1912: "Date Culture in Southern California" by George Wharton James, Paul D. Popenoe, and Ralph D. Cornell.

CORNELL:

That wasn't Baker's publication?

DOUGLASS:

No. That must have been a result of your trip.

CORNELL:

That was published, yes. And I took pictures of a sort and used these photographs.

DOUGLASS:

Did you put anything in the journal when Hilton had it?

CORNELL:

I don't recall that I did.

DOUGLASS:

Then you weren't involved at all with the Laguna Beach Marine Lab operation? That wasn't your interest?

CORNELL:

My first summer at college I took courses in plant propagation and I became interested. So after correspondence I negotiated for some avocado seeds down in Mexico. I imported 1,000 avocado seeds and planted them in the old facilities that Baker had left. Because I didn't want to tie myself down for twelve months of the year right along, I made a deal with Forest Hutchison, who was the grounds superintendent, that he would care for them on vacations and summers when I was gone and we were to split the profit. We were lucky; I think it was more luck than anything else because in my senior year in college, we sold what we had propagated for $2200. That gave me eleven and him eleven. And in the meantime, Baker had—well now, I'm giving this credit all to Baker, but Heath may have had something to do with it. Anyway they recommended me to Harvard and requested a scholarship. So on the basis of their letters, I'm sure, I was given a scholarship which paid tuition. So this $1100 and the one-year scholarship is what started me at Harvard.

DOUGLASS:

May I digress for a moment and ask about the avocados. My uncle, whom you may have known, was Edwin Giles Hart and he planted in San Marino.

CORNELL:

Sierra Madre.

DOUGLASS:

Right, my father was born there and they grew up there. I grew up in San Marino where the present City Library is, which was my uncle's home, and he planted a grove there that went out in the 1913 freeze.

CORNELL:

He was the Southern California Music Company, wasn't he?

DOUGLASS:

Well, that was cousins of mine.

CORNELL:

That boy purchased all the plants in Baker's garden.

DOUGLASS:

Well, he had gone to Mexico as a young man and got interested in avocados and then he owned a whole area in San Marino below Huntington Drive, and he planted on that area groves but the 1913 freeze wiped his plants out.

CORNELL:

What I'm trying to say is that Mr. Hart, I think it was Ed Hart, and as I recall it, he was with the Southern California Music Company, purchased for a lump sum from Baker any plants, which he might wish to remove from the old Baker place. When I took over, it was subject to anything that Hart wanted to dig out.

DOUGLASS:

Then he moved and planted in La Habra and Whittier. He planted all of that area in avocados.

CORNELL:

Well, I worked with the Popenoe's West India Gardens in Altadena, with Wilson, who was about my age, and his father P.O. Popenoe. They sent Carl Schmidt down to Mexico on one or two trips to collect. And, of course, as you would know, they brought in the fuerte and the puebla, and several other clones. But it's interesting that the fuerte in all these years has never been equaled in desirability from the commercial standpoint. The Hass has come in recently and it's a different fruit, but it isn't, I think, quite as acceptable as the fuerte. I worked off and on for the Popenoes and they sent me down to Thermal where they were establishing what they called the West India Date Plantations and they imported date offshoots and seeds from Algiers, Syria and the Persian Gulf. I think they were the first commercial growers, that is, the first to offer commercial quantities. There were dates before that time, but there was no local source of commercial stock ahead of that time. So, they brought these offshoots in and that was still the horse age. We hadn't automobiles and their acreage was two miles out of Thermal. And I worked there one summer. Wilson Popenoe went to Pomona College as a special student. He never graduated from high school because he was too far ahead of the kids and didn't want to waste his time. Wilson is still living. He is a world authority on avocados. And, of course, he and his dad knew everybody who ever planted a tree at that time.

DOUGLASS:

Well, we are digressing.

CORNELL:

Among other things Baker sent me in to meet Theodore Payne. He was an Englishman who came here; I guess it was in the '90s. And Theodore ended up as one of the foremost saviors—that's not the proper word—but conservationists for California native plants, seeds, wildflowers and several things he saved from extinction where they had a very limited range. For example, the San Fernando Valley had an unusual barberry, Berberis nevinii. I think it has never been found anywhere else other than in the San Fernando Valley—where now are only houses—and Theodore rescued the barberry before it was too late. So that was saved to horticulture and future use. He was a great disciple of the outdoors and loved it. Baker sent me in to meet Theodore, saying that Theodore was a man I should know. So I made an appointment and hied myself in to Main Street in Los Angeles and met Theodore and that was the beginning of a friendship that lasted for over fifty-five years until Theodore's death. I was associated with him in many ways.

DOUGLASS:

Yes, you were associated with him in business for awhile.

CORNELL:

Yes, for about four and a half years.

DOUGLASS:

Well, let's go back and just finish up the Pomona College period. The Phi Beta Kappa chapter was established in '13 so you must have been in the first group that went into Phi Beta Kappa in Pomona, would that be right?

CORNELL:

That's right; I was in the first class. Now it was retroactive. Some people were admitted who had graduated before '13 but I was in the first class that graduated after the charter. Well, so you can say that the people who got in then weren't working for Phi Beta Kappa. It was purely coincidental.

DOUGLASS:

Very interesting, the first real group that went in. What about your fraternity, the KDs [Kappa Delta]? Was this group particularly identified in some manner at that period in the college history?

CORNELL:

I don't think so and I don't know how frank one should be, but I've always been allergic to the idea of fraternities and group meetings and I've always resisted it and haven't ever been too enthusiastic about it, but it was one of those things. When they rushed the people, why, they picked them out. I was reluctant, but I did join.

DOUGLASS:

It was mainly social, wasn't it?

CORNELL:

Nothing vicious about it and nothing particularly constructive at that time. Like so many of these things, I don't think they always know why they start.

DOUGLASS:

Right. Well, I wanted to ask you too about any students whom you might have known while you were at Pomona. Did you know Bill Clary?

CORNELL:

Oh, yes, very well. You know of course that they referred to him as the "man with the million dollar toe." He kicked the field goal on the last game at which Pomona College won from USC. Now if you can imagine Pomona College football team even playing with USC today, but they won that game by three points. And Bill [William W. Clary] kicked the football; it was a drop kick as I recall it. And I knew Bill. We had to work, you know. I waited table at the Inn, and also to add a little to my income I used to rub football players. Hardest work I ever did in my life. I'd get two bits an hour for it. And so I have rubbed Bill Clary; [laughter] it wasn't to me a very pleasant job, and the last day or two before they would have a game, they wouldn't shower after practice because they thought it tightened the muscles. I think they've outgrown that myth, but anyway the day or two before the game was an especially poor time to be a masseur.

DOUGLASS:

Well, do you associate Bill with anything else particular in college?

CORNELL:

Oh, yes, Bill was a wonderful guy and he had a good voice and he had aggressive, constructive worthwhile attitudes in thinking. I remember Bill very well.

DOUGLASS:

How about A.O. Woodford, did you know him?

CORNELL:

Sure, I knew Woody very well. We were in the same class for the first two years.

DOUGLASS:

Was it obvious at that point that geology was his great love?

CORNELL:

Oh, I wouldn't be prepared to state. I wouldn't have an opinion even though I knew Woody, knew him very well, knew Mary, and knew Peg. But I wouldn't know whether he knew where he was going at that time or not.

DOUGLASS:

Well, was there anything else particularly that you as a student in your own group that you remember in college?

CORNELL:

Of course, Buddy Ryan was in my graduating class. Baker started him in orbit and he spent most of his active life as County Horticultural Commissioner in Los Angeles County. And then Avery Hoyt, who went to Washington in entomology, and Johnny Graff and quite a few of those boys were all Baker men.

DOUGLASS:

You knew fairly closely the other young men working in the sciences, if sounds like. Or you retained relationships with them perhaps?

CORNELL:

No, I haven't. Joe Neuls was another one. They were all in federal work. The Bureau of Plant Industry, it might have been, or entomological work of some sort.

DOUGLASS:

Is there anything in general then of those days as a student that you would like to comment on, the life, or the way the campus was run? What's vivid to you about it?

CORNELL:

Well, I don't know. Maybe some do but at that period of life one is not as extroverted perhaps as years later. And, of course, we had to go to church and we had to go to chapel, and they couldn't smoke on the campus or in the buildings. I never smoked so it didn't bother me, but that's one of the things. One thing along that line that I remember. There are two young men that came in as professors. And I can think of the name of only one, Pecker. He was a French professor and there was another and they were buddies and they roomed together. And they came home from Los Angeles one Sunday night and I think they were living at the Inn because they were walking up the Inn steps with a suitcase. The suitcase broke open and the contents fell out and there were two or three bottles of liquor, which broke on the steps of the Inn. Well, they had to make a public apology before the students.

DOUGLASS:

That was the extent of the feeling there.

CORNELL:

That's the degree of feeling, which they had towards those things. And I think that attitudes and background do affect you throughout life. Heredity is basic, you are born with or without certain capacities, but environment develops or inhibits those capacities depending upon what it may be. So I think these things we are discussing in background were a bit subtle and perhaps not too precise, but it all adds up to a heritage and if you're raised in squalor, then that's home-sweet-home. If you're raised with a culture and surrounded by beauty, then that's where you're comfortable. And that's why this youth business is rather important.

DOUGLASS:

Right, the tone of your life, at least your life's work and some of it, was certainly influenced a great deal by the years you spent on the campus. Well, this leads into the more specific discussion of your work as a professional at Pomona. I thought of you immediately in terms of Blaisdell's vision of a college in a garden. It seems to me that you have been very implicated in that becoming reality at the college.

CORNELL:

I think Blaisdell and Marston—and I give them both a lot of credit—may not have been too clear in their visualization of the outcome. Perhaps they were living their philosophy. As I look back I think there was perhaps humanitarianism in some of this and they were giving me a chance. Of course, I was the only man who had ever taken landscape architecture, only Pomona student, at least until up after World War I. I don't know whether any others have or not. When Marston and Blaisdell were thinking of expanding this thing, why, they were decent enough to consider me, you see.

DOUGLASS:

Did you know George Marston?

CORNELL:

Very well.

DOUGLASS:

Through your family? Or how did you come to know him?

CORNELL:

Through the college. And, you see, the first thing of which I was conscious that Marston did for the campus was when the Marston Quadrangle was started. And I remember that because I was in it. That was right after World War I.

DOUGLASS:

That was what I was getting at. Was it because of Marston, do you think, that you got, that job, or Blaisdell, or both?

CORNELL:

All I would have would be an opinion. And I would suppose that it perhaps emanated from Blaisdell because Marston wouldn't have known anything about me, excepting what he might have been told until we became acquainted through the quadrangle project. But Marston used to send for me in later years right up to his death. I would go down to San Diego and spend two or three days, and we'd go over all the things in which he was interested.

DOUGLASS:

Now he gave that gift of $100,000 originally anonymously, I gather, and then later it was named Marston Quadrangle?

CORNELL:

That might have been, I don't recall, but that was all we had and we had to get our capital outlay for Marston Quadrangle out of that and it was endowed on the basis of a $5,000 a year income. I think, in fact I'm quite sure, that when I was employed, I was paid out of the endowment income and for twenty-three years after, beginning in the year 1919. I was on an annual retainership payable in monthly installments.

DOUGLASS:

In conjunction with Marston Quadrangle only, or with the college?

CORNELL:

No, for the whole campus. I was up there in Claremont from one to three times a week during that entire period. That was continuous. And since then it's been on-call. I visit the campus and I'm still doing work there, as they need it, and as they want me on special projects. But during that period I was on retainership.

DOUGLASS:

This must have been a tremendous project to create that quadrangle. First of all you had to move Sumner Hall, is that correct?

CORNELL:

Well, you see we had $5,000 a year for everything. That meant for capital investment and for maintenance. So the first year we did first things first, we graded. After we got it graded there was no maintenance for that investment.

DOUGLASS:

It was just rocks and sagebrush, right?

CORNELL:

No, it was just an open field. After the ground was shaped, modeled, in more or less sequence, the walks went in. Trees came next and, of course, water lines were needed ahead of planting. The trees and the shrubs were planted first because they didn't take much maintenance. Then the last thing we did was to plant lawn. When the lawn was finished, then our capital outlay was accomplished and the $5,000 was available for maintenance.

DOUGLASS:

You could only spend $5,000 a year, though, that's what you're saying.

CORNELL:

I don't mean that we had to spend $5,000. That was our maximum. And if we accumulated a little, the surplus could be allotted to other campus items.

DOUGLASS:

How long did it take altogether?

CORNELL:

Three or four years, as I remember it.

DOUGLASS:

Well, now did you initially move Sumner Hall?

CORNELL:

Well, that was handled by the architects. We moved that of course before anything else could happen. You would have the records, you could find that out. But one interesting thing in student psychology, as I recall it—and Blaisdell was president then—was that whole rectangle between Big Bridges and the old Carnegie Library was graded and seeded to lawn—which meant deep cultivation and loose soft dirt on the top. It was loose and wet so that if you were to walk on it you would go in several inches. Ever since the beginning of time the students had walked diagonally from Smiley Hall down to the Inn. And so as soon as we got the quad finished, they formed a serpentine and went through there beating a path six or eight inches deep in that soft lawn. Well, what to do? It was a study in psychology. So, as I recall it—and I think it was Blaisdell—a student body meeting was called. Blaisdell discussed it very calmly and logically as he would and told the students in effect that it was their campus and it would be what they made it, what they wanted. He said, "If you want trails through it, why you have them, but we are trying to make a beautiful campus and trails wouldn't help. So it's up to you." And nobody ever went diagonally across it again.

DOUGLASS:

Well, did you at that time build those nice paths that go on each side, on the south and north side?

CORNELL:

Yes. And then there is another construction item I didn't mention. There were the concrete curbings along those paths. Once done there was no maintenance on them.

DOUGLASS:

Really keeping the lawn in shape was all there basically was in terms of maintenance.

CORNELL:

Well, we had to put in sprinkler systems, but the basic maintenance after that was lawn mowing.

DOUGLASS:

Did Marston work closely with you on this?

CORNELL:

Yes.

DOUGLASS:

Did he have a definite idea of what he wanted in there?

CORNELL:

No, he had nothing to do with the design. Marston was interested in plants and he had a very good sense for grouping plants.

DOUGLASS:

And he must have wanted an open space area in there.

CORNELL:

Well, I don't remember whether he specified that or not.

DOUGLASS:

The vista that you created there has always impressed me so, I was wondering if that was purely yours or whether Marston felt there should be that open feeling there.

CORNELL:

Well, I don't recall that he had any direction of that.

DOUGLASS:

Then you were pretty free in designing that great open space?

CORNELL:

That's my memory, but I do recall this. After it was done, between those two long east-west walks (you know, that parallel each other), there were no trees and no planting other than clumps of yews near the walks. And Marston came in one day and we went out together, and he said, "Cornell," (he always called me Cornell. The Mexicans called me 'Ralph' and everybody else, but it was always 'Cornell' with him. Marston was a real boy.) "What would you think of putting some trees inside these walks to soften it up a bit?" We discussed it and we decided that it would be good.

DOUGLASS:

Those are those huge trees that we see there now.

CORNELL:

The sycamores. Not the others but the sycamores. And so he originated the thought.

DOUGLASS:

That is beautiful.

CORNELL:

And I think that has done a great deal toward the effect and the success, if that's the word.

DOUGLASS:

As you were working on that project, did you envision the structure such as Big Bridges being at the other end of that vista? Had you thought about that?

CORNELL:

Oh, yes.

DOUGLASS:

Bridges wasn't built then?

CORNELL:

No.

DOUGLASS:

But you envisioned there would be a large major building at the other end.

CORNELL:

That's right. It would be a vista terminus. Because a vista that goes nowhere has little meaning.

DOUGLASS:

Right. Well, I must say that as a student at Pomona one of my vivid recollections is the enjoyment I had walking through that quadrangle, and I could see the mountains and the snow and this to me was just very important.

CORNELL:

Of course, the mountains are something that everybody wants to see, but every time you add something to the community you block some of the view of the mountains. So that's been one of the problems.

DOUGLASS:

You didn't then actually get involved in the moving of Sumner.

CORNELL:

I was there at the time and was working on the site, but I had nothing to do with the building.

DOUGLASS:

It must have been quite a project to move that.

CORNELL:

Oh, not actually. They cut it in two and moved it in two pieces.

DOUGLASS:

Whose decision was it that that should be moved?

CORNELL:

Well, of course, the quadrangle was predicated on the concept of free space within its bounds—I guess it was moved before we started the big quadrangle plan.

DOUGLASS:

The quadrangle was predicated on the notion that Sumner Hall would be moved.

CORNELL:

Yes, unless it had already been moved when we started the quadrangle planning, and I don't recall. But Jamieson and Spearl of St. Louis were the architects at that time. They built Harwood Court, designed it, and they did Mason Hall, and they moved this building and transformed it into Sumner Hall, as now seen.

DOUGLASS:

Well, it seems to me that Marston, that going in there, sets the whole tone for all the landscaping that followed. Do you see it that way?

CORNELL:

Yes. That was thought of as a campus quad, and it was thought of as the center of things, and, of course, at that period we were thinking much more generously in land space than is done now because values weren't so high.

DOUGLASS:

Is there anything else you think is important to say about the Marston project before we go on?

CORNELL:

No, I got the impression, though, that $5,000, after we got wound up and going was more than they used specifically on the quad. Marston's direction was that the funds were to be used solely for the quadrangle unless there was a surplus, in which case they could use them for other things. I think they had some surplus.

1.3. TAPE NUMBER: TWO, SIDE ONE JUNE 21, 1967

DOUGLASS:

Let's start with Blanchard Park. Now is it correct that you landscaped, did some planning on that area.

CORNELL:

Not originally, no. Blanchard Park was there when I entered college, and at that time it was something of a jungle. Speaking of the inhibitions of the period, we weren't allowed to smoke. The boys had a jungle out there with old bedsteads and mattresses where they used to go out in the bushes to have a real wicked smoke, something of that sort.

DOUGLASS:

That always has been a center for those activities.

CORNELL:

Blanchard Park was much nicer then than it is now. I wrote a little squib on Blanchard Park at the request of Agee Shelton just this last winter, I guess it was.

DOUGLASS:

Is that a little monograph?

CORNELL:

Well, I don't know what it is. At that time they were hoping to get some funds for Blanchard Park and they thought something of this sort might be helpful.

DOUGLASS:

Did you ever have anything to do with Blanchard Park?

CORNELL:

Not until recently, with this new athletic playfield.

DOUGLASS:

The Fuzz Merritt Field. You helped them with that?

CORNELL:

And the recent tennis courts but not the original tennis court.

DOUGLASS:

You mean the women's tennis courts.

CORNELL:

Well, women's and the ones in Blanchard Park too. I think it was that three or four new courts were to go in there and we made plans.

DOUGLASS:

Oh, yes [the ones] that haven't been built yet.

CORNELL:

But in those days Blanchard Park was quite wild, and it had shooting stars and mariposa lilies, conchalagua, yellow violets and wild pentstemon. Conchalagua now is called Centaurium venusturn. That's the lovely little pink thing that flowers about this time of year and just covers the ground with color. Well, there were yellow violets and there were purple nightshades. And there's a Pentstemon spectabilis, which is endemic to this area and grew lushly in Blanchard Park and now is becoming almost extinct because it's driven out by civilization. And what else might have been there? There were lots of little things and it was just a lovely place.

DOUGLASS:

That whole area really extended to what is now Mills [Avenue], right? Before any of the courts and things went in?

CORNELL:

Yes, it was really between the campus and Mills. And the knoll where the astronomy observatory [Brackett Observatory] is, is the western edge of it.

DOUGLASS:

Did you have anything to do with the Greek Theater being in out there?

CORNELL:

All I did was a little planting on the Greek Theater. I think that goes back to Myron Hunt. And I think he did the structural work, which has all been taken out. But Blanchard Park was wild and lovely and everybody liked it. And I think what spelled the doom of the vegetative luxuriance of Blanchard Park was when they put the gravel pits into the east, which drained the water out and lowered the water table. And you see those pits, now I don't know how deep they are, maybe thirty or forty feet. That's all very light gravel, and it's my personal belief that that lowered the water table, which proved disastrous to the oaks. Aside from the fact that people picked the flowers and trampled them. The yellow wallflower is another one of the native things that was growing there. It was really a lovely place. Then in the early days, Mason (I think he was a Chicago man, or Evanston, who gave Mason Hall) also gave some money for planting a strip of native plants along First Street, which extended into Blanchard Park. And that was done in the early 20s and, of course, I did that planting plan and put in that concrete sidewalk and water lines. When I say put them in I mean did the planning.

DOUGLASS:

Well, now did you do any of the work in the courtyard around Little Bridges?

CORNELL:

Yes, all of it. Little Bridges and Harwood. Those were the days of no money. We never had enough money to complete anything. And this is one thing with Dr. Blaisdell, which I have always felt was perhaps not such good judgment. He used to say if we get it started and don't finish it, somebody will see the need and complete it. But I think that's a mistaken philosophy because I think they are not interested. But if you can get them interested and do a total job, then it may be something beautiful. How, as I said earlier, the idea of a landscape architect and all was so foreign to contemporary thinking of the time that it was a surprising idea. But Dr. Blaisdell told me some years after Marston Quadrangle went in that he felt, dollar for dollar, it was the best investment the college had ever made because it created a beauty spot, it attracted interest, people came out there because it was beautiful. And he felt that it brought more than it cost.

DOUGLASS:

I think that area around and in Little Bridges is beautiful though.

CORNELL:

Well we did all of that.

DOUGLASS:

That is between Sumner and Bridges and the little courtyard with the fountain. And you planned all of that?

CORNELL:

Yes.

DOUGLASS:

Did you have a sort of a general master plan and then as the money was available you added to it? Instead of putting it all in at once?

CORNELL:

Yes, that's the theory; but, human nature being what it is, there was a tendency always when they were going to do something to ask, "Where shall we put it?" Instead of referring to the plan, it was just, "Where shall we put it?" And Dr. Sumner would go into that if he had money and it was really a— [laughter]

DOUGLASS:

Incidentally, did you know George Sumner very well? Was he teaching?

CORNELL:

He was teaching when I entered college and for the twenty-three years I was on continuous retainership. For the latter part of that at least he was the business manager. And so every time I'd go to Claremont I'd go around and pay my respects to Dr. Sumner. He was quite a character.

DOUGLASS:

Yes, I interviewed him once before he died and we have an oral history interview with him. Did you have the feeling he was interested in letting the money go for this kind of thing or was it hard to get the money from him? I hear he was a pretty hard man with a dollar.

CORNELL:

Well I don't have that impression. It wasn't for me to question what they had, what they could do. And I never had the impression that he was holding back. That was specifically part of the gift requirement.

DOUGLASS:

He was apparently very powerful, though, in the total picture of financing?

CORNELL:

Yes, he was the one who wrote the checks, and he was an aggressive personality, strong individual. He wasn't easily brushed aside. And his opinions were usually pretty pragmatic, well worked out. I have always liked Dr. Sumner. He used to explode all the time, but I never minded that.

DOUGLASS:

It was part of his personality.

CORNELL:

It never bothered me. He'd get red in the face and talk in a loud voice. [laughter]

DOUGLASS:

I've heard that, yes.

CORNELL:

But it never bothered me.

DOUGLASS:

Actually you were dealing principally with Dr. Blaisdell and then when he went on to the Claremont College you dealt with Edmunds, right?

CORNELL:

Yes, but by that time Sumner was sitting on the throne.

DOUGLASS:

So you had to go through him.

CORNELL:

Well, Edmunds didn't figure so directly with me. Sumner did then, you see. The decisions would be made and then Sumner would take over.

DOUGLASS:

Was there anybody else in the administrative hierarchy of the college you dealt with particularly, besides Sumner and Blaisdell, through the years at Pomona?

CORNELL:

And Edmunds. No. Bill Howard and Peg Woodford were always in the Business Office, and they were my good friends.

DOUGLASS:

Let's go on and finish up the campus. Did you for instance do the plantings around Harwood Court dormitory and Wig and all the residential dorms, and Clark?

CORNELL:

Yes. As far as I know I think I have done all of the landscape campus planning since 1939.

DOUGLASS:

And that would be the student union, and everything. And the new women's athletic field, were you involved in that?

CORNELL:

Yes and Stover Walk.

DOUGLASS:

I think that's a lovely addition, incidentally.

CORNELL:

I like it and they're hoping now to extend it west towards Harvard. We have made preliminary plans for that and we have made preliminary plans for Crookshank Court, south of Crookshank.

DOUGLASS:

Is there money for that or are you hoping that someone will come up with the money?

CORNELL:

To my knowledge there is no money but one never knows.

DOUGLASS:

That will go in that little science quadrangle between Crookshank and what was Mason.

CORNELL:

And Pearson. Of course, that central building [Harwood Hall] would come out; maybe it is already; I don't remember, in the middle of the quad [Harwood Hall was removed in late 1965 or early 1966—Ed.] And they're even talking about hooking this into the park area west of the Carnegie building and making it continuous.

DOUGLASS:

Is the plan to keep that with the trees and open area?

CORNELL:

My understanding is that that [the land on which the Carnegie building was placed, given by a group of Pomona trustees] was given to the college with the specific condition that they not put buildings there. It was given as an open space and was planted when Baker and I were there, and I don't think it was ever designed. I think they just put trees in.

DOUGLASS:

Well, now the Carnegie Foundation of course gave the money for the library, but someone must have given the college the land.

CORNELL:

I don't know who did but—

DOUGLASS:

That's where the condition came in.

CORNELL:

And I have understood that that was a definite condition of the gift.

DOUGLASS:

That's a good thing.

CORNELL:

It presents a control. I was going to say a problem, but it presents a control, which can't be ignored.

DOUGLASS:

What about the Claremont Inn? Have you been a consultant on the plantings around the Inn?

CORNELL:

Well, I would probably say no. The Inn was there when I arrived, and the only planting that was added would have been that Pittosporum tobira that we spoke about along College Avenue.

DOUGLASS:

Otherwise it's substantially its own.

CORNELL:

Yes. I think the Inn was designed by Arthur Benton, an architect who was a railroad architect, who did a lot of railroad stations. It is my memory and understanding that he was the architect for the Inn.

DOUGLASS:

Of all the things that you have done on the Pomona campus, what do you place the most value on? What do you feel best about?

CORNELL:

Oh, psychologically, I am not a superlative thinker because it's hard to compare things and say one is better than another. It depends on many things. But I suppose that the most significant, obvious things would be the quadrangle and perhaps Stover Walk. They would have more organic mass, if you could call it that, in the total picture you see. Others are fragments and bits of the mosaic that fit into the pattern. But they would have more effect on the total pattern.

DOUGLASS:

As you look to the future of the campus, do you have a priority list in terms of landscaping of what you think is important to do?

CORNELL:

Well, of course, this will all be determined by budget, finance.

DOUGLASS:

I mean ideally.

CORNELL:

I think the completion of Stover Walk westerly and the addition of Crookshank and the extension maybe into the area back of the library will do more to make it cohesive and put it together than anything else of which I am aware. And Dr. Lyon said not too long ago that before he left that he and I were going to get those things done.

DOUGLASS:

Good. That gives you two years, right.

CORNELL:

He's the one that has to get the money, and that's what controls you.

DOUGLASS:

You did Seaver and Milliken then?

CORNELL:

Yes.

DOUGLASS:

May I say that the plantings indeed make those buildings.

CORNELL:

Well, of course, theoretically nothing can be judged honestly, or correctly, until it is all complete, all put together. And landscape architecture, which involves environmental planning and architecture, which calls for planning can't be judged until the whole composite is put together into one thing.

DOUGLASS:

But you have the continuity to have seen this come through the years.

CORNELL:

Sometimes we resent it, but they call us in ostensibly to pull things together. And that's what landscape, environmental planning does. It considers everything, even though the landscape architect doesn't design the building; it considers the total picture and ideally it develops the circulation pattern, the land use determination, the location of these things, which it doesn't design in detail but, which go into the composite. Are you familiar with what we call the North Campus here at UCLA?

DOUGLASS:

I'm not familiar here, no.

CORNELL:

Well, that illustrates. They have five buildings to create that court. It's about two and a half acres in extent. It's open space. And the buildings are not too similar in textures or colors or design. And so they had a good deal to say about, "Well, the landscape will pull it together." And of course that's what we tried to do but it—

DOUGLASS:

It's a challenge, isn't it?

CORNELL:

Yes, sometimes. Sometimes it works out nicely, but they shouldn't be thought of or considered independently. Everything should be coordinated and fitted into place.

DOUGLASS:

I take it you go along with Dr. Blaisdell's view of the environment of a youngster going to college, the beauty of the environment is terribly important. Would you say that the Pomona campus to you is very satisfying as a place you would take someone to look at in terms of being that

CORNELL:

Oh, I think in a modest way, yes. You see, if you're a designer or a planner, your attitude becomes very critical. It should. Otherwise you don't do the best you can. And so I think we intend to dwell on the shortcomings and not ballyhoo the good points. But from the general reactions, which we get and from the thing as it begins to mature I think Pomona campus is very satisfactory. And I think that the campus did not begin to show maturity until about the time Stover Walk went in.

DOUGLASS:

That was only what, seven years ago, perhaps?

CORNELL:

Something like that. And of course as I say, the old attitude for years and years was that we never had enough money to do a job, any one single job. It's only within the last seven or eight years that we have been able to complete that little spot.

DOUGLASS:

At the time that you did Marston Quadrangle, did you draw up a general master plan for the whole campus in terms of landscaping?

CORNELL:

That's another story. We made several campus plans that went clear up north of Foothill Boulevard, took in the other schools. That seemed to be a pattern that they followed. All kinds of people made plans. I'm trying to think of the name of an architect who used to be at the School of Architecture in Cornell, and he made plans. Allison made plans. Millard Sheets made plans, Jamieson and Spearl made plans. We made plans; we made maybe three or four or half a dozen. But the college never caught up with the plans, and by the time they got ready to do something, they had interjected new thoughts and ideas.

DOUGLASS:

But in terms of just Pomona itself, you've worked with it continuously, were you working from a general plan from that time on? Did you have a general idea of what next you were going to do?

CORNELL:

Yes, in a broad way, but as I say, it was modified.

DOUGLASS:

Is this correct that when you first started working on Marston Quadrangle you were retained as an annual consultant for how many years, twenty-five years?

CORNELL:

Well, I think it was twenty-three.

DOUGLASS:

Twenty-three and then after that you were pulled in sporadically. Would this be correct to explain your relationship to the college?

CORNELL:

Let's put it this way, I opened my office in Los Angeles on July 1, 1919, and about the middle of June, before my office was officially operating, I was given this agreement for an annual retainership at Pomona College. And so that's when the planning began, when things began to happen. We went through a period of growth, you see, and I used to go up, as I say, from one to three times a week and walk the whole campus every time I would come up. We were pretty well in touch with things. Then they went into a period of suspended expansion when there was no change, and somewhere in that time they dropped the continuous supervision to casual, and part of the time just on call when they wanted me. But to my knowledge, I think we have done all the campus design since 1919, and before that there wasn't really any.

DOUGLASS:

Yes. Now when Claremont College was incorporated and finally Harper Hall was built, did you do the Harper Hall landscaping?

CORNELL:

Yes.

DOUGLASS:

Has your firm been involved at all in the McManus-Harper East addition landscaping?

CORNELL:

No.

DOUGLASS:

Now I understand you did the landscaping south of Honnold [Library], the area facing toward Pomona College. Is that correct?

CORNELL:

We did all the landscaping around Honnold south of its north facade. We didn't do that quadrangle. But we did the parking lot to the east of Honnold and the road pattern. That was started on one of my master plans where College Way goes up directly towards Honnold Library and then it wyes [sic]. And they put in that one segment, and after which the thinking changed again, you see, and so it didn't go any farther. Some of our studies took in the area way over east, which would now include the Pitzer and Claremont Men's College.

DOUGLASS:

You didn't do any work for Claremont Men's? Someone said they thought they had done their own work.

CORNELL:

I don't know whether anybody has helped them or not, but Herman Seyfarth, I think, helped some in the beginning. But we didn't.

DOUGLASS:

Now I talked to Tom Holland at Harvey Mudd College. He said that your firm has done the implementing of the specifics on the Harvey Mudd campus.

CORNELL:

We have done all of that and we did have some influence, not in the location of buildings, but in the modification of the contours to fit the plan better than it was being contemplated at one time.

DOUGLASS:

And a lot of this was a question of preserving those many trees that were in that area, wasn't it?

CORNELL:

Well yes, but for instance, it's an east and west campus and it creates an east-west vista or mall. And the buildings were all located by the architects, but the grade is a cross grade from north to south; so as it was set up, the buildings on the north side of the axis were considerably higher than the buildings on the south. So that in a cross section you had a diagonal cross pitch, which is not appropriate for a stiff formal pattern. in other words, a pattern of this sort should have a fairly level cross section. We modified the grading after this plan was made, so that we dropped the grades a little on the north and we reduced the cross pitch. Of course you might not realize this looking at Marston Quadrangle, but as I remember it now— [pencil sketch]

DOUGLASS:

Yes, there was a grade there.

CORNELL:

We had our central, east-west mall with a diagonal drop of several feet in elevation. On the north edge of the mall, which had been flattened in the center panel, we climbed abruptly to street grade and on the south we went down to street grade. That's exaggerated [on the sketch] but the mall itself as you look down the vista is flat in appearance. And if you will go back and look at it, you will find it drops out on the south and it climbs up on the north to compensate and adjust to existing conditions.

DOUGLASS:

In other words, you did some leveling on the north and lowered the grade a little bit there.

CORNELL:

We cut along the north edge and filled on the south. And my memory is that we had a nine-foot differential, diagonally. While to the eye it might look fairly level, there's a nine-foot differential in grade on Marston quadrangle.

DOUGLASS:

It's quite a challenge then when you're laying out the campus.

CORNELL:

If you're going into a formal pattern and vista like that in the quad and you were to do it without grading, it would appear unbalanced. It would be very much out of equilibrium. So you try to achieve occult balance. And then, of course, with your planting on the sides, you're not aware of grade adjustments.

DOUGLASS:

What about Pitzer? You haven't done anything with Pitzer, have you?

CORNELL:

No.

DOUGLASS:

At this point are you personally—are you principally only dealing with Pomona or do other members of your firm do the—?

CORNELL:

Well, they do now, but thus far I think I've been in fairly close touch with everything that's been planned. Of course, at one time I did everything. On Marston Quadrangle I went out and worked on the survey and made the grading plans and did it all. Now I'm more on the consulting end.

DOUGLASS:

I do want to ask you something about the community because I feel you had an influence in the city. I did my master's degree on the Planning Commission and its history, and I have been very aware of the fact that Claremont is known for its lovely parkways and trees, and I noticed you talked to the City Beautiful Committee in the early 20s and discussed these things. And I have a feeling that you may have been very influential in what we now benefit by. Could you say something?

CORNELL:

I did some planning for the City of Claremont and then during Lela Ackerman's reign as chief factotum for the Chamber of Commerce, she was very anxious to do something to improve the city and she asked me if there was any way that my services might be available and we worked out an arrangement by which every new member who joined the Chamber of Commerce would be given one hour of free landscape consultation for improvement of their front yards.

DOUGLASS:

For their home planning?

CORNELL:

Yes, for the beautification of their yard, front and/or back, and it may have expanded beyond new members. But on a professional basis where you have to go eighty miles roundtrip and spend time, you can't afford to come up for an hour. So she would accumulate requests until she had enough people to take one day of my time.

DOUGLASS:

Where would those houses be? The old part of town?

CORNELL:

It was all over town, yes, and she kept a record.

DOUGLASS:

You recommended the way they could landscape their yards and the kinds of trees.

CORNELL:

When she had gotten enough requests to take a day of time she'd phone me and I'd go up and she'd be on hand as the secretary and we'd go from house to house and give each one hour, or if they wanted more time, they might purchase it personally. But that was what the Chamber of Commerce contributed. That went on for several years and I wouldn't know how many places we checked. And, of course, a lot of that is wasted because people either don't understand, don't comprehend it, or they lose enthusiasm when it comes to spending a little money for this and that. But on the other hand there probably would be many cases where it was helpful.

DOUGLASS:

What about the Foothill Boulevard, did you have anything to do with this?

CORNELL:

Yes, I made the cross section for Foothill Boulevard.

DOUGLASS:

Did that include the plan for the median strip that we now have with that?

CORNELL:

Yes, that included everything from curb to curb, and one of our problems there was that we couldn't widen or expand on the south because of private property. But on the north at that time it was all college property. So we could push it north a bit. And there's an interesting sidelight on that. The cross section of the street I think has about a twenty-foot median strip. And we drew up the plans and made cross-section studies and determined the planting, types and varieties, and it received quite a little publicity at the time and some way or another it got back to the publication called American City. They wrote us and asked us if they could publish it and use the material, or could see it with that in mind. So I sent it to them and they rejected it. They said that was not proper planning, that these median strips should never be less than forty feet, and that they didn't care to show that as an example. As I just said, the width of that was controlled by the available space. This shows how thinking changes and how so much that we do is following the leader and it's just unthinking. Today, a street with that much room down the median strip, which is enough for a car to stop protected between the traffic channels, is very acceptable and it's quite an accomplishment. Yet at that time this magazine, which was supposed to be a leader in planning, rejected the idea.

DOUGLASS:

What year would that have been that you worked on that? Would that be the 20s?

CORNELL:

I think so. For this reason, as I recall it. I was a member of the firm of Cook, Hall and Cornell when this road was planned. That firm broke up in '33.

DOUGLASS:

When were the huge trees that line Indian Hill all the way down from Foothill planted? Are they oaks?

CORNELL:

Those trees are American elms.

DOUGLASS:

They are very old I imagine.

CORNELL:

Probably about the same age as Pomona College. I did work on the high school up there, the old high school. Herman Seyfarth called me up several years ago. He said that there was a beautiful tree growing up there, Catalina ironwood. And he wondered if I knew about it and he thought I should come up to look at it. And it was one that we had planted.

DOUGLASS:

My word, how nice. How about the public library, were you involved in that?

CORNELL:

The county library?

DOUGLASS:

Yes, the county library in Claremont.

CORNELL:

Yes, I did that.

DOUGLASS:

What about City Hall in Claremont, which is right across from the county library?

CORNELL:

No. Excepting that nice big eucalyptus tree, which is what they call a red ironbark, up toward the north end of the building, between the building and the street. It was one that Lela [Ackerman], and I planted when the Chamber of Commerce was there. And I think that is about the only tree that was saved from the old Chamber of Commerce building. Also Lela and I did that little triangle of sycamores where Indian Hill bends [Fifth Street intersection]. Those trees were about seven inches high out of gallon cans we got from Theodore Payne, of whom I spoke. Lela and I went out personally and supervised the planting of them. Now they are so big they have topped them once, at least.

DOUGLASS:

What about the little park there, which we now call Mallows. Did you do anything?

CORNELL:

No, but up on the old Garner place. That was a do-it-yourself job and we did plans for it.

DOUGLASS:

You did, when the community acquired the property?

CORNELL:

Yes, and some time later we were informed that it had won a national award as a do-it-yourself deal because they did all of the work themselves.

DOUGLASS:

I love that area, and the wonderful old trees.

CORNELL:

Yes, I did that, worked on that.

DOUGLASS:

Are there any other parks? Your firm I know has helped plan a lot of parks.

CORNELL:

It seems to me that I made two different planning studies for the City of Claremont personally. And then the firm had one contract for, I think, six or eight parks for the city, including Blaisdell Park.

DOUGLASS:

I was on the citizens' committee that both made the study for the need and then worked for the taxes to go ahead with that plan.

CORNELL:

Some of those things I had nothing to do with personally. It was the firm.

DOUGLASS:

Well, I'm interested in you personally. Were there any public buildings in town, like the post office or anything, that you were personally involved in?

CORNELL:

I don't remember that there were. I did a little subdivision south of the tracks, east of College Avenue on the Nichols property (Harvey Nichols of Pomona), on what they used to call the China tract, the China gardens or something.

DOUGLASS:

You mean south of First Street?

CORNELL:

Yes, across the tracks south and running from Mills Avenue west. Not all the way to College. Where Arrow Highway makes an ogee curve.

DOUGLASS:

What about parkway plantings?

CORNELL:

Well I did a subdivision. You know the subdivision that is west of Indian Hill, a block or two, and south of Foothill Boulevard.

DOUGLASS:

The Oxford tract?

CORNELL:

I think that's it and it has the stone wash-boulder wall along Foothill. That was one of my subdivisions. I made that plan, where they have a lot of the crepe myrtle trees.

DOUGLASS:

Now did you recommend the crepe myrtle for the parkway.

CORNELL:

No, but I did the road pattern for the subdivision tract. It just happened that the controls were such that we could get a curvilinear feeling to kill that rigid rectalinear layout of a checkerboard pattern. I did it right after World War II. Claude Bradley was the boy I worked with.

1.4. TAPE NUMBER: TWO, SIDE TWO JUNE 28, 1967

MINK:

When you opened your office in 1919, were there any other landscape architects in Los Angeles?

CORNELL:

At that particular moment I think there was not, what you might say, a regular landscape architect operating in Los Angeles. That was right after World War I. There were not very marly at that time anyway, and I think there was nobody who had an office there. There was a chap named Charlie Adams who had been a realtor and decided that he wanted to become a landscape architect. He thought he could make money, and that was seemingly his motivation. I don't remember about him, whether he was here or not, but I don't think there was a professional landscape architect.

MINK:

The competition was pretty open.

CORNELL:

The competition was pretty open, but also nobody knew about the landscape architect or what he was supposed to do or what he was worth. There had been a chap named Wilbur David Cook who plotted the original Beverly Hills city plan and the location of the present Beverly Hills Hotel up on Sunset. If you see the early map, which Cook prepared, compared with what they have accomplished, with the exception of very minor modifications, it's exactly the same pattern. Now I wouldn't be sure of the dates, but I think Wilbur David Cook operated around 1908. I didn't know him, but he was a professional landscape architect who had trained in the Olmsted offices in Brookline, Massachusetts. He worked with architect Myron Hunt who designed the hotel building for the old hotel on Sunset. It's still there, most of it. And he made that plan. When the war came, that would have been about 1914, business stopped as you would understand, and Cook went in with the federal government in what they called war cantonment planning, which is army camps. A good many of the free landscape architects of that time took work with the government, shut down their offices, just as they did in World War II. And so Cook went back to Washington, and there were assembled there other landscape architects, the profession still being more or less embryonic, probably is even today. He met a chap named Hall, George Duffield Hall, whose home was St. Louis. And they got to working together in Washington on this cantonment work and became well acquainted and apparently fond of each other. They decided that after the war ended they would join forces and Hall would come back out here with Mr. Cook, and they would open an office. I beat them to it by some time, and I don't remember now exactly how much. But I opened my office in 1919, the old I.W. Hellman Building. Sometime thereafter, Cook and Hall came into my office. They were always very friendly, and they were probably the best men of their day out here.

MINK:

Where had Hall had his training?

CORNELL:

Harvard.

MINK:

Was he there about the same time you were, or before?

CORNELL:

No. He was ahead of me. Hall was, as I remember it, about ten years older than I, and Cook was about ten years older than Hall. I think that is the way it was.

MINK:

And Cook had had his training with Olmsted, you said?

CORNELL:

With Olmsted. The Harvard school started about the beginning of the century. This was Olmsted, Junior, the second one. His father had done Central Park in New York and built up a reputation. And F.L. Junior was quite competent, capable. He built up his following and did a lot of splendid work. Cook trained in that office. In those days there was a little more of the apprentice attitude than there is now. Now you come out of school and you're worth more than the man who's been out for twenty years. You know how it is. Then you worked for nothing or practically nothing in an office, proud of a chance to work with a good firm. Cook worked with Olmsted, and so they were two pretty good men. I don't remember how long I operated my office, one room, one man. I was the man, no help, and they drifted in one day and were chatting. They said they were going to open an office out here, had decided to come out, and said, would I be offended or object in any way if they opened an office in my building. They didn't want to come in if I was going to feel that they were intruding in a professional way. In other words, they were gentlemen. So I said I didn't mind, that I'd be glad to have them as far as the proximity was concerned. They opened an office, one room, down the hall on the same floor. So that was Cook and Hall, and I was up the hall. Then they got to the point where they needed two rooms. They had to expand, and they couldn't get a room adjoining the one that they had, so they came in again. And by this time I was "Ralph." They said, "Well, Ralph, we can get two rooms next to you. Would you object if we took those two rooms and were elbow to elbow?" And I said, "Absolutely not. We can do our business in that manner, and I have no reason to feel any objection." So they moved in. Well, they hadn't been there very long when they came into the office and said, "Ralph, why don't we open the door between our two offices?" (You know how those old office buildings were, a door between every two rooms.) "Would you object to that?" And I said, "No, if it would please you, it would please me." I acceded that such might be a very pleasant arrangement. Then we left the door open day and night; we never closed it. We had two entrances side by side. And that went on for a while. It was, I think, four and a half years after I opened my office when they came in another time. And they said, "Well, how would you like to become a member of the firm? There will be three of us. We'll call it Cook, Hall and Cornell." And again I felt it was a good suggestion. Of course, I was young and humble and had a lot to learn. I thought it would be a fine thing, as far as I was concerned, and it pleased them. So then, we became Cook, Hall and Cornell. That went on until I guess it was about 1933 when the Depression hit, and the offices all drained out again, became empty, and the landscape architects, practically all of them, went into government work once more as the result of the Depression—lack of business.

MINK:

Were they planning CCC camps and doing that sort of thing?

CORNELL:

Yes. Cook and Hall both went from that partnership into CCC camps. Cook I think remained for the balance of his life—as long as he worked—in government employ. Hall didn't like it; he tried it but he didn't like it. He retired, and I think he lived for another twenty-five years. He passed away just a short time back, as one thinks of time. But he didn't practice again after that. I went on my own then. Of course, I had a small clientele and work project program, which I had developed personally, alone, which I retained as far as they wanted to continue, and that included Pomona College campus work. When we broke up in 1933, I went on my own. They gave up private practice. There was quite a period of time when again I was back to a one-man operation. I did my personal relations work and did my own designing and my own drafting. I made my own plans, kept my own books, typed my own correspondence, and didn't even have an office girl. Now am I getting confused between the World War II and the Depression era? I may be confusing those two a little bit. But it was a more or less continuous period of time. And when we got along to the point of the army work again, I once more was the only landscape, office in Los Angeles that didn't close his office. I was alone and operated independently. When we got into the government work we didn't call it cantonment planning this time, we called It housing and designing of army camps. When we got back into that, most members of the profession had accepted or had sought government positions again. So some corking good-class men whom I could name were working for the government for $1.50 an hour. The Douglas plant here in Santa Monica, for one thing, had a very elaborate camouflage pattern developed where the whole plant area was covered with network. Streets in perspective were brought up over these faked hills, so that the roads were continuous. The boys who worked on that, some of them, were getting $1.50 an hour. Roy Kelly was the supervising architect for that camouflaging work, and he had several of our local men like Edward Huntsman-Trout.

MINK:

You didn't go into government work?

CORNELL:

I didn't seek it, but I might say this, that there was a great deal of planning activity, mostly housing and army camps. It was done by prime contract with engineers or with architects. All the service was provided through the prime contractor, and he was the coordinator and worked all of the facets of the profession that were necessary to proper design and development. Well, it was the government's apparent policy at that time, probably a good one that they didn't want to break in a new group of men on the new jobs; so those who got in at the start were kept pretty busy all through the war period. Those who weren't in on the start didn't get anything because they were too busy to stop and train recruits, rookies. I was available, and there were a number of architects who were doing housing work for the government, prime contractors. It was sort of a routine where they would get a job, and they would call me. I'd do the landscape work, which didn't amount to much actually in either dollars or design, but it was part of the program. It was a very simplified form of planting and erosion control and things of that sort. As I recall, I have had as many as three and four jobs phoned in on one day, and all set for the same deadline. I was on my own and alone, so I was able to obtain and called in good help as needed that would work weekends and nights and we'd knock these things out. And then I wasn't saddled in between times with a fixed overhead, you see.

MINK:

Were these army camps mainly in southern California or all over the area?

CORNELL:

Well, I worked from Paso Robles down to the border in San Diego and inland as far as Barstow.

MINK:

Camp Roberts?

CORNELL:

Camp Roberts was one of my camps. I didn't do as much of the camp work as I did housing; but again, considering the time and the period, the pay was not high and the gross was not high. Relatively I did well enough to survive and didn't give up my office and didn't take a job, which would require full time. It worked out fairly well. Then of course Cook and Hall were gone, and I was alone for quite a long period of time. A chap, I guess it was in the Depression era, named Herbert J. Kopp, who was a Harvard graduate, decided that he wanted to work out here. He wanted to work with me and so he came in at some period along the line there. Then for quite a while he and I were the only functionaries in the firm. He was with me I think nineteen years. Things began to expand and develop and he got fed up with the vicissitudes of existence perhaps. He finally dropped out after nineteen years. But he was out here at UCLA at one period. He was trying to resolve his own thinking and philosophy and do what he wanted to do about the time that UC Riverside was developing and Fred Barlow was the landscape architect. Barlow died more or less in the midst of things. And so what to do? Appoint a new landscape architect or this or that? It was recommended that Kopp be given the commission of completing Barlow's plans.

MINK:

Is this the UC Riverside campus, not the citrus station?

CORNELL:

It was the campus, yes. And that would have been in the 1950s. The plans were completed here at UCLA in the A[rchitects] and E[ngineers'] office. Kopp was commissioned—I don't know the official title, but you might call him the "Project Landscape Architect"—to pick up the Barlow picture.

MINK:

This was after he left your firm?

CORNELL:

This was after he left me, and so that was the way that thing evolved. I guess there is no more point in expanding any more on Kopp's activities unless you think it important.

MINK:

Oh, certainly.

CORNELL:

After he finished, he was sort of lost; he didn't know what he wanted to do.

MINK:

You said a moment ago that he was trying to resolve his philosophy. What was his particular philosophy?

CORNELL:

Well, Kopp was an exceptionally talented and well-rounded designer. He was good and he was sound and he was dependable. Now, when I get into personalities I don't want anything recorded that would be in any way hurtful, no malice or anything of that sort. I wouldn't want anything used that might cast aspersions. But his blind spot, his weak spot, was public relations. He shrank from facing people. I can't think of a better, finer designer. He was absolutely dependable and always trustworthy and always the gentleman. You could count on him for everything. But that public relations thing bothered him.

MINK:

You said that he had a particular philosophy that he was attempting to figure out.

CORNELL:

Well, I think his philosophy was somewhat that of a leisurely life devoted to creative art. I think that the grind that one gets into in an office (and particularly when our UCLA work expanded, and he was with me for quite a while after my UCLA appointment), the meticulous requirements of specifications and planning detail became drudgery. He had that creative desire and the ability and the instinct, and I think he would have liked to have been a gentleman artist. He had fine sensitivities and fine appreciations, and I think this mechanical world that we've gotten into is unpleasant. Then he went up to Palo Alto and tried to work up there for a while with a chap named Allen Reed who is a landscape architect. I don't know what their arrangement was, but I think they sort of tried to associate on jobs that were so constituted, so set up, and still maintain a degree of individuality. Anyway, it didn't work out because he wasn't there for more than a year or two, perhaps three, I don't remember. Then he did retire; he lives in Wisconsin. I think he was financially able to live comfortably without having a job, and that always affects your activities. If you have to hustle for a loaf of bread, why, you may live a different life than if you can relax a little and expand your own developments and your own appreciations, your own sensitivities. But he was a fine chap.

MINK:

Well then, after he left you (and you continued your firm through the 1950s), when did you finally close it?

CORNELL:

Well, it's still in operation. But again my dates will be a little fuzzy. Before Kopp left me we had an office force of a number of people. About 1950, we were interviewed by the Atomic Energy Commission at Los Alamos. They interviewed other landscape architects including Barlow and one or two more. I don't know why they came to any of us, but they probably checked around. Of course, UC was very much interested in Los Alamos. And Kopp was with me at that time. They came down and interviewed me and then they said, "Well, we can't promise you a thing, but we would like to have you come up to Los Alamos If you feel that you can on your own without obligation." I felt that I could without obligation, so I took Kopp along with me and one other chap, which was unnecessary. But if we were going to go up there and check out and perhaps have them check out on us I felt that it wouldn't hurt to give them a cross section of some of the boys that would be working on it. So three of us flew up to Albuquerque and then took a private line up to Los Alamos and spent a day or two. It ended up that we got the Los Alamos assignment. I think it was about five years that we worked off and on at Los Alamos. We didn't have a retainer or a specific commission of any precise duration. But as the work—and I think perhaps a good deal of the government work is done [in this manner]—when they get appropriations then they have something to spend. So when they would get an appropriation for things, which they had requested, they would give us another contract. We had to maintain an office in Los Alamos because of their requirement, not because of ours. We were back and forth an average of perhaps once a month for about five years.

MINK:

What kind of landscaping were they requiring, or did they have anything particular in mind?

CORNELL:

At Los Alamos?

MINK:

Yes.

CORNELL:

Well, they called it erosion control. A lot of the stuff we did was called erosion control because of government regulations. There was no appropriation for landscape architecture. It had to come under some category, so they assigned it to the category of erosion control.

MINK:

But you could do a lot of things?

CORNELL:

Yes. We did a lot of things. We did a number of school grounds. We did a park, and we did planting where there were cuts or fills and general work. A good deal of it was planting, but there was also a reasonable amount of patterned designing. We didn't do any of the original site's work. That of course, by that time, was pretty well along anyway. There were new units and areas that went in, but the general pattern was pretty well under control. We did the grading plans and the sprinkler plans and the planting plans and wall constructions and things that were related to landscape. Kopp was with me through that. And so that brings us into that UC Riverside period, which probably would have been in the 1950s, middle or latter 1950s.

MINK:

One of the things that I have been wanting to ask you, when you first opened your office, what was the nature of the commissions that you first obtained? Were they for private parties?

CORNELL:

As I have said, my first commission was for Pomona College. Whether that portended anything or not, most of my work over the period of years has been outside the category of the small garden, home garden. I did gardens, and Cook before me had worked on the Dan Murphy garden on West Adams Street. Hall had done gardens, and I had done small gardens. But personally I think I always had a predilection toward the less personal things, where it wasn't just a matter of I like a pansy or I like a petunia, but where you get into fundamental design problems. Cook and Hall were both very well trained in subdivision work. During the latter half of the 1920s, Cook, Hall and Cornell were probably the outstanding subdivision designers of that period.

MINK:

Did you do work, for example, for H.J. Whitley?

CORNELL:

No, not for Whitley. Let me see If I can recall real quickly some of them that we did: one in Mar Vista, which is out here near Rancho Road; it is a residential subdivision of Rolling Hills. Carthay Center off of Wilshire Boulevard was a Cook and Hall design, just about the time that I came in, that they had done. We did quite a bit of work on the east side. We did plans in Bandini, in Montebello Park, Montebello Park Country Club, and Midwick View Estates. We designed cemeteries and that type of thing largely, and we did some park design for Monrovia and Anaheim and for Long Beach. Just before Cook, Hall and Cornell broke upland when I say "broke up" I say there was no dissension but they went into government employ—we did that strip along Santa Monica Boulevard in Beverly Hills, which runs from Wilshire east to Doheny. It's about a mile long, I think, and runs about sixty to eighty feet wide as a buffer strip between the high-type residential areas, which they were trying to retain unpolluted and the business and the commercial development on Santa Monica Boulevard south. That was part of Cook's original layout for Beverly Hills. There was this mile length of frontage on the north side of Santa Monica Boulevard, which was almost unoccupied. I think there was one church on it and maybe two or three houses. The rest was all vacant because it was zoned for residence, and nobody wanted to front on Santa Monica Boulevard, understandably. The Pacific Electric cars were still operating, and so some of the residents got the idea that it would be nice to make that into a buffer strip of planting, a park area, and went to the city council saying, "We would like to initiate an improvement district and put it up to a vote by the people and let them decide." The general attitude of the council seemed to be, "Well, it's all right, if you want to do it, but you know nothing will happen." Well, so they put it on the ballot. And sure enough it passed. As I recall it now—I may get my figures confused—there was about a $750,000 bond issue and the residents voted that as an improvement district assessment against a certain number of local properties. With that money they took off the two houses and acquired the entire strip of land except for one church property, which remained.

MINK:

These were residents?

CORNELL:

Residents. They left the church, which is still there; you'll see it. They called for planners, had interviews, and I was given the job. It was one of these personal affairs perhaps where one individual gets the leads and inquiries come into him. He consummates it and the rest of the firm doesn't pay much attention to it.

MINK:

But you said that Cook had had a plan.

CORNELL:

That was the overall city plan, not the plan for a park, but the road pattern had been established by Cook. That was quite a deal for quiet times and a young fellow. Anyway that was a personal job as far as the patterning of work in the office was concerned.

MINK:

The basic plan remains there?

CORNELL:

The basic plan was Cook's and then the detailed plan was mine as it was worked out for this section.

MINK:

The basic plan that you worked out in detail still remains?

CORNELL:

Oh, yes, that was in 1933. I think it was just about the time the old firm folded up. That was how it worked out. The city acquired the man, paid for the plans, did the construction, built the park, and they had money left over, which is quite a case in favor of a community redeveloping an area. If they want to do it, it can be done. I don't know how much you want me to go into details.

MINK:

As much as you wish.

CORNELL:

But jumping back, we were talking about subdivisions. Going back to the Cook, Hall and Cornell half of the 1920 decade, when we were doing these things the whole field was in flux. It was agitated with new ideas, new acceptances. The way we got started with one firm for which we did a number of subdivisions and at fees, which for these days were very generous might be of interest.

MINK:

That firm was?

CORNELL:

Well, I don't remember the name of it. There were two men; Ransom and Gabriel were chief administrators. They came to us with a plot of ground and a program, which they wished to work out for a subdivision. The property was wedge-shaped; it was longitudinally east and west of long dimension. The west end was quite a bit wider than the east end; so it was a tapering piece of land. It lay between Whittier Boulevard and the railroad tracks on the south. They came to us and asked us for a price. We told them what we would charge, and they didn't come back. And so nothing happened. In time they did come back with a plan, which an engineer had made. They said the City Planning Commission or the Regional Planning Commission refused to accept this on the basis of inadequate design. They were in a hurry. They were paying interest. They were all set to go and they couldn't move. And they said, "Will you still work on this as you originally proposed?" We said we would. So they assigned us the job after they had had this engineer lay it out. Then we came up with a study. They looked at it and they said, "What's this?" We said, "Well, that's a planting area, a roadside park." "And what's this?" "That's a planting area." And if I could now refresh my memory, I might be able to give you precise figures that I could count on. But anyway, they got a little sarcastic. This will amuse you now because they said, "The base cost of this land to us is $5,700 an acre and we cannot waste open land that is that valuable." And they said, "We thought you were designers, but we are wondering maybe you're not." We said, "Well, have you analyzed it?" "Well, yes. There's twenty acres in open space and that's all we have to do." We said, "Well, you realize that you have the identical number of lots on our design as you have in the other design." They hadn't realized that. They hadn't thought of that. That engineer's design wasn't a design. He had picked up every street that had run up to the property and run it through on a gridiron pattern. I don't know how many he had run dead-end right smack up against the railroad track where they couldn't get across, couldn't go anywhere. We ran no streets up against the railroad track. We designed streets parallel to it. We eliminated the majority of the cross streets, the short cross streets, which did nothing but take up space because the traffic was all longitudinally east and west. And so when we got through we said, "You would have gotten all this land for free, this park land that you are complaining about, it hasn't cost you a cent. You have the same number of lots." They looked a little interested and said, "Well, maybe we'd better take this back and give it another look.” And they did. It ended up by their coming to the office and saying, "Well, our appraisers who price our property have upgraded the sales value of the land by half a million dollars because of the frontage on these park strips to which they had been objecting." So in analysis they not only saved twenty acres of road paving and all the cost of road grading, they got the land for nothing and they got an upgrading of half a million dollars in sales value. So that fixed them as far as planning was concerned. They were sold on the idea of planning from then on. I don't say this with any criticism of the engineer because he did what engineers do, and he wasn't a planner. So that is the only before-and-after comparison contrast that we have ever been able to make precisely between the value of planned' and unplanned areas. This plan went on to London to some international exhibit and won an award there. But now today, like many things of fifty years ago, it doesn't look too exciting, but the basic facts are there. If they had gotten a planner in the beginning who had done what we did, or something even better, they never would have known whether that was good or bad, you see. From then on they were sold on planning. Then of course after that era, things around the Regional Planning Commission developed, and they began doing plans for clients. Sub-dividers had to bring in a plan for approval by the planning commission. They couldn't go out and plan somebody's property for them. A sub-divider would bring in the plans, and they would object to it and correct it so that it was satisfactory. So that began to ruin the market for freelance operators.

MINK:

For actual planning of subdivisions?

CORNELL:

Yes.

MINK:

That occurred about in the 1930s?

CORNELL:

Well, yes. I think so, the late 1920s and the 1930s. Of course Cook, Hall and Cornell were together until 1933, and that would have been probably about 1928 or 1927 until maybe 1932 or something like that.

MINK:

What was the name of this particular subdivision of which you were speaking?

CORNELL:

That was Montebello Park.

MINK:

Montebello Park, and then you spoke of one other that you did too.

CORNELL:

Well, this was just before the Depression and the Depression stopped it all. But before the Depression stopped all activity they sold the lots on the park-like frontage in Montebello Park. Those were the only lots that were sold and were occupied. During all the Depression that big subdivision stood there empty and bare except those strips of housing along the things to which they had objected. And then across the boulevard north of that there was Montebello Park Country Club, which included the golf course design. We designed the subdivision and the golf course, calling in a golf architect on the technicalities of the golf course. That was an interesting problem, an interesting pattern. Edison right-of-way ran through both of these properties. And then Bandini was one of the jobs on which Cook and Hall worked before I was with them. Midwick View Estates, up toward Garvey Avenue, Monterey Park section, was another one of our plans. Midwick View Estates was owned by another operator.

MINK:

Did you have anything to do with developments further east, for example, in Arcadia quadrant?

CORNELL:

No. We did a job in Whittier for one of their financially prominent citizens. I'm trying to think of his name. He owned a telephone company and just recently died. He was one of the operators who appreciated doing things well. Some do and some just want to get a quick dollar and get out as fast as they can.

MINK:

Well, for the rest of this tape let's begin now with the University of California at Los Angeles. You said that you were approached by the University. You didn't seek it out yourself.

CORNELL:

No, the first I heard of it was when Professor Gregg wrote me.

MINK:

Professor Gregg?

CORNELL:

Yes, John W. Gregg. I had known Gregg. He was the head of the landscape school at U.C. Berkeley, and the school of course was much more elemental than it is now, less advanced naturally. I think Professor Gregg is still living. He was a member of the American Society of Landscape Architects, and I had known him that way. Maybe they sent him to me just because he knew me. But anyway the approach came through him.

MINK:

And you said that you believe it was because of Dr. Sproul.

CORNELL:

Well, as you look back maybe you do a lot of imagining that isn't accurate, but I felt from what Gregg said was that my appointment came from a combination of circumstances, that it resulted from the work that had been accomplished on the Pomona College campus and which Dr. Sproul had liked and thought was fine, or satisfactory from his viewpoint.

MINK:

When you were appointed as landscape architect on the new campus, what was the state of the campus as far as landscaping was concerned?

CORNELL:

Well, when I was appointed (that would have been thirty years ago, yes, thirty years ago), the main core of buildings included: the Administration Building, Royce, Library, Chemistry and Biology Building. There were really about five buildings. The arroyo of course was wide open and sixty-five feet deep. There was the one bridge across the arroyo, and to get from one side of the campus to the other, you either had to walk along one side up to the bridge and over and then back down the other side or you had to climb down into the canyon and up the opposite bank. That wasn't encouraged, although there were plenty of foot trails that the students used. There were a considerable number of trees planted all over the campus without any pattern or rhyme or reason. Many of them were given by the Del Amo nurseries. Old Dr. Del Amo was the owner of it, and the trees were put in just for quick-filler and cover-up and erosion control without any knowledge of relationships of the future. And I'm trying to remember whether the old theater down where the Medical Building now is was built after my day. I'm inclined to think it was. When I came out here there were meadowlarks nesting and singing on campus down where the medical group is now, and in all this open land there were occasional deer that came in, occasional coyotes. There were foxes and there were jackrabbits that lived here. It was quite an open area, and there was nothing much of any size in the way of trees. There was a long strip of land that ran down a ridge on the west side of the arroyo, which they were eyeing and considering as another mall axis for buildings. Thinking changed rapidly. The sights one sets often are inadequate to the future, and if you wait enough and think it out enough, maybe changes are made. But I do remember when the Medical Building came in. As I recall, it called for sixteen acres right out of the middle of the campus. Well, that changed the whole pattern, the whole program of need, and so finally somebody suggested that they fill the arroyo. Oh, that was a horrifying thought you know.

MINK:

How did you feel about it?

CORNELL:

Well, it's a little hard to know, but I am inclined to think that I supported it. I recall making analyses and presentations of one thing and another. I figured out that at that time each student made one trip from the Administration Building across the bridge and down the tip of this elongated, attenuated strip, which they were planning as a mall. If each student made that round trip every day, the total distance walked would be that of from here to New York City, about 3,000 miles. And when you begin to think in terms of that—it doesn't seem to be anything to spend five minutes, but when a million men spend five minutes it's quite a lot of man-hour labor involved. And so it was just a gradual evolution of thinking and thought. Someone even got so bold to suggest they put garages in the arroyo underground and cover it over. Well, that was really too much. They did fill it, but that underground garage thing was just frightening. Now, if it were done today, the chances are that that's what would happen. And that's just one more comment relative to master planning. You can master plan only as far as you can see and then circumstances change, technocracies change, and the whole thing may need modification. So a master plan does not necessarily become a sacred animal that must be kept forever. It's a guide, a directional guide. When circumstances change, you have to be ready to adjust to that. When the Medical Building was built, it called for an entirely different relationship of volume, mass, and positioning of your different academic facilities because it brings in new needs. It changes relativity, importance of need. It changes the physical association of need, so that your thinking has to make an about-face and adjust to the new requirements. Thus the campus story was a good deal one of change and beginning with ideas and developing and going on that way but not with disregard for total and original concepts.

MINK:

Did you feel frustrated?

CORNELL:

No.

MINK:

Not at all?

CORNELL:

If you feel frustrated, I don't think you can be much of a planner, because the planning profession, concerns itself with the adaptation of land development and usage to requirements.

MINK:

Well, there is the office of Architects and Engineers, and they probably have definite ideas about landscaping; and you are the consulting landscape architect. To what degree do your opinions get put into action?

CORNELL:

I would say to a high degree. But I would also say, with an institution of this size and the able departments, which they have to apply themselves to the problem that anything that is done is pretty much boiled over. You see it put together as a composite of everything. Now you have a programming committee. You have your academic requirements, which I suppose really are the background of all that occurs. They will vary with the academic programming requirements. Then you have to get the building facility that will meet these requirements and the relationships of the different departments, physically as well as academically, both ways. And then your office of Architects and Engineers has been very competent. They have architects and engineers—electrical and mechanical, civil—all the engineering fields that go into the trade. When they get through, everybody has had a little bit to do with it. Of course at first you have to get it programmed. You have to know what you need and where you are going. And the University does all that. Their programming is a terrific bit of operation. They have a campus planning committee and building planning committees, and then the whole thing gets boiled down into a consolidated idea. And so your landscape planner is a site development or environmental space planner. He is not concerned alone with the building or with something else. A good architect is not either, but he is concerned with relationships and ratios and proportions. First of all, it must function and then last of all it must be attractive. If it fails in either of those purposes or falls in between, why, it falls short of the best it might be.

MINK:

One question: this space, bounded by the gymnasiums and the College Library, it has been said would always be left open. This will be the one space on campus where there never would be a building. Was this concept developed early or has it been a later concept?

CORNELL:

Well, my opinion is that it might have been either or both. I don't know whether the original concept was to keep that free. But I do know that the possibility of putting structures on those slopes on both sides of the east-west axis has been considered and has been debated. You might think that there were two schools. I think that the predominant attitude has been to save it. That is our very strong feeling about it. I don't think that that's the only one that's going to be inviolate. I think our north campus court should be kept open. Now there might be those who may say, "Here's a nice big space, put a building in it." Well, the same way about our parterres. Pretty soon you would have a solid block of timber, and you can't see the forest for the trees. I think that your buildings and your three-dimensional proportions take on value only as your ground spaces are planned in relation to them. They are not only important but they are critical to the success of a campus. That's why we go up instead of spreading out.

MINK:

When Mrs. Kerckhoff, for example, donated the money to build Kerckhoff Hall, did this present a problem in the extension of the landscape?

CORNELL:

Well, anything presents a problem because if you have two hundred acres of land and you want to put a building on it, you have problems as to where it goes. You can't put it down without, what you might term, some master planning. This predates my experience out here. But the architect, which was a San Francisco architect, developed a very definite pattern of architectural design. He started this east-west mall, which crossed the bridge. These four buildings on the west side of the arroyo were around a court, and this was the nucleus. When the thing began, this was all the campus had, and they were close together because of the relationships. They didn't want to have one over on the residence hill and one here in the beginning, even though it might end up differently. And as you know, the uses of these original buildings here have been changed as the campus grew. The buildings don't move, but they are re-done inside and they are used for different intent than originally planned; yet that doesn't mean that anybody was wrong or planned improperly. They planned to a concept. You take the span of forty years or fifty years in the past half-century and they have seen an awful lot of change in thought and change in ability. You do things from a technocratic standpoint—change in teaching needs. All is in constant flux. And while we do become frozen by architectural structures, we try to keep uses and functions in order.

1.5. TAPE NUMBER: THREE, SIDE ONE JULY 5, 1967

MINK:

This morning I would like you to talk a little bit about some of the plants that are listed in the University Garden, which was the small leaflet prepared by Dr. Mildred E. Mathias and published by the UCLA Visitors Center recently [The University Garden, UCLA, n.d.]. Would you comment, Mr. Cornell, on some of these?

CORNELL:

Thank you. Of course I've been on the campus now as a landscape architect for thirty years, and all of my life work and training has been basically that of landscape architecture. I think my innate interest basically has been in plant materials. So I have always been interested and concerned with new varieties and. adaptation of plants to different situations and have perhaps felt a little more than average plant consciousness. When I came on the campus, and there was a small opportunity, I would sometimes stick in a plant or two here or there that we didn't know much about and didn't know whether it would do well or not. It wasn't going to ruin the campus if it didn't thrive, and if it did, it would be a note of interest. Some of these things I may know a little about. Referring to the list in this book on the University Garden by Dr. Mathias, this second item on the list, Xylosma [congestum], interests me because probably that was introduced about forty years ago. So far as I would be aware, I knew of this plant early in the period of its introduction. At that time, which would be somewhere in the 1920s, the Bureau of Plant Introduction (the BPI) in Washington, D.C., a branch of the Department of Agriculture, was sending plants out over the nation for experimental purposes, to check their adaptability and value as ornamental or commercial plants. At that time, I was working on the Pomona College campus, and the BPI would send out a list every year from which qualified people might submit requests. Every year I would send in a request for these unusual things, checking at random as best I could judge, what might be of interest, and we would plant them on the Pomona College campus. That was an opportunity for me and an enjoyable one. We planted many things that didn't thrive. But one of the plants that looked quite interesting when it arrived was a xylosma. We grew it on the campus from these early plant-introduction specimens, for possibly—and I'm guessing again—twenty years, maybe longer, before it became known in the nursery trade, which illustrates in a mild way how some of these things operate. It took that long before the nurseryman became familiar with it, picked it up, and decided it was an economically valuable thing, before they offered it to the trade. It's a good plant because there in Claremont where we grew it, it stood temperatures during the summer of up to 112% and on the coldest nights of record, when the thermometer dropped down below 20°, 17° sometimes, it didn't faze the xylosma. So it's a valuable plant from that standpoint. It is hardy, it has a wide range. It also can be used as a shrub or developed into a tree. The color and general appearance of foliage probably comes closer to that of a camphor tree than almost any other thing that I can think of at the moment. So it's a fine thing. Then number three is Strelitzia nicolai. The Los Angeles city flower is the bird-of-paradise, Strelitzia reginae, a close relative to Strelitzia nicolai.

MINK:

Before you go on with number three, was the genus Xylosma introduced on this campus as a result of your work?

CORNELL:

No. On the UCLA campus it came in through the trade, and it was specified on planting plans because it had become available. That's another thing about any work that a designer does; he has to use material that can be obtained. And however good it is, if it's new and unavailable, unless he can pick up an odd plant here or there, as I would do occasionally and stick it in some place, why, he can't specify it. It can't be had. So Xylosma was established in the trade before I got on this campus. Number three, as I said, is a close relative of the bird-of-paradise, which is also a strelitzia, which is the official city flower for Los Angeles. But whereas the bird-of-paradise, Strelitzia reginae, only grow three or four feet high, Strelitzia nicolai grows twenty or twenty-five feet high and has an enormous flower of interesting structure and color. But it does not have the orange and blue brilliance at all, which appears on the bird-of-paradise used by the city. Now this Cussonia [spicata] is number four.

MINK:

Before you go on to number four, I wish you could comment in each case whether each particular plant came through the trade or whether it was a special.

CORNELL:

Well, Strelitzia nicolai came through the trade, as most of the things on the campus would have done so. Number four, however, came in as seed, which was grown by one of the professors on the campus. He came around with the special request that he be permitted to plant this outside of his office window. Well, as a practice—and you can understand why—the University doesn't encourage, nor even permit, individuals to bring in their pet plants and put them willy-nilly, hither and yon because it would disrupt the organization. But as a special concession to this gentleman we said go ahead and let's see what happens. So that is how it started. It was a little plant and he went out and watched it grow. He has since passed away, but it is an interesting thing, and it's a specimen on the campus.

MINK:

Did you say he brought the seeds in from Africa?

CORNELL:

It came from Africa, whether he brought it or someone sent it, I don't know, but my memory is that he visited Africa and brought this back. But that could be challenged. Now number five is Eucalyptus maculata, which is commonly called the spotted gum. It is called spotted gum because of the spotted appearance of the trunk, after it has shed its bark. And as you know, many eucalyptuses, perhaps most of them shed their barks annually. That helps give them that clean, clear appearing trunk. Maculata is closely related within the Eucalyptus family to the lemon-scented gum, but it is a sturdier tree, a hardier tree, a more robust tree, and it's terrific in my opinion. Now when the campus was first planted, as I have mentioned before, by contributions from the Del Amo nurseries at Dominguez, it was my understanding that there were a considerable number of maculatas donated. I know we had several nice groves on the campus, and Mr. Davie told me that they came from Del Amo. It is one of our finest eucalypts. It's a clean, straight-trunked tree, so we have planted maculatas recently. But the only trees on the campus, which originated with that first planting and have been preserved is the cluster of trees between Dr. Murphy's residence and the new Dickson Art Center Court. The road goes through this little grove of trees, and I think—if you observe it you'll agree—that they are a fine group. Now number six, which is a holly, stems from the oriental group of hollies and was developed in Oregon. It's a very dependable, rich-foliaged, heavy-berried tree, which we all like and which you can count on. Number seven is the Jacaranda [acutifolia], as the Latins call it, the jacaranda tree. It has lovely lavender flowers. We have a nice one at the northwest corner of the Powell Library. It is not an outstanding tree but a better-than-average tree. And in South Africa, Pretoria, for example, there are whole cities, which are planted with jacarandas. And in the spring when they are all in bloom, early summer, that lovely lavender they make is a sight to remember. So that is a tree, which grows pretty well in mild climates,

MINK:

Was this tree that is planted here permanent now?

CORNELL:

Well it's hard to say. As far as we know it's permanent, but nothing is really permanent in one sense. Incidentally, the slopes that rise east from the two gymnasia on Westwood Boulevard up to the campus are intended for development and student use, not for building use, but for development. When those plans are worked out, things could change, but I would expect that a tree like that jacaranda would be saved if possible because it is just fine. The acacia trees that were planted on that slope were planted as a temporary cover that wouldn't cost anything to plant or to maintain and with the expectation that they would be sacrificed when the time would come. They are already getting ready to leave us because they are looking old. Number sixteen, Harpullia [pendula], is an interesting and unusual tree. The first tree of that species, which I ever saw or knew was in Glendora up against the foothills. When I was a schoolboy way back, I used to make pilgrimages to see this Harpullia pendula. But for some reason, it's frost-tender. It never got into the trade and so we couldn't use it. But occasionally you could pick up a tree or two. I got two or three trees at different times. I planted one in the Sciences Court at the north end of the court, and that has flowered and fruited. The interesting thing about the tree—of course it has good foliage—is the fruit, a red-bladder pod, which bursts open, and then inside of that is a jet, ebony-black, shiny, hard seed. So the contrast of the red and the black is rather interesting. Number twenty-one, Kigelia pinnata, has a story. When I was in Hawaii somewhere around the early 1930s there were two kigelia trees in Honolulu, I think only two, and these only two were particularly known. It is called the sausage tree because the fruit grows to as much as eighteen or twenty inches in length, and it forms a cylindrical pod that will weigh maybe sixteen or eighteen pounds, the larger ones, and inside of which are flat seeds and of a catalpa nature. This belongs to the same family as the catalpa tree. The one on the University of Hawaii campus was probably the most photographed tree in Honolulu at that time. They had a tree across town in Foster Park. They had to carry the pollen from one tree to the other across town to fertilize the fruit. Now it isn't monoecius but for some reason it doesn't fertilize well unless you take pollen from two separate trees. So they used to do that on this tree on the Hawaii University campus. It would be laden with these long sausage-like pods. I picked one of those, or they gave me one, and it was probably fifteen to eighteen inches long and, I imagine, five or six inches in diameter. On that pod I wrote an address here in California and put stamps, stuck them right on the pod, no wrapping, no packaging, and sent it to a friend in Santa Monica. He germinated some of the seeds. When they were up a foot or so high he gave me three of them. I have planted those three on the campus: one up at the old Provost House, one on the south side of the Education Building, and one on the southeast corner of the Administration Building. The one up at what is now the Chancellor's House died after a few years for reasons unknown. I think it was phytoptheza, which is a water-root fungus. The other two flourished. By cross-pollinating, by hand pollinating, they have produced some very interesting crops of fruit. They are not edible, but you can see where they got their name. So those two trees that are left from that original planting, and two or three or four more small ones that we since have planted, constitute our sausage tree colony. Going down the list, I might mention the tree at the southeast corner of the Music Building, which is called the mano de mico, or the monkey's hand. [tape off] This plant to which I refer [Chiranthodendron pentadactylon] is number sixty on the list. It comes from Mexico or Central America. It is a soft-wooded, fast-growing tree with large leaves, but the flowers are what give it its name. It has many common names in Latin America. Because they have a cup, with stamens on five fingers pointing up within the cup, it collects water and nectar. It's a bit dirty for that reason. But the birds love it. They drink it, and they get all stuck-up sometimes, their feathers, and sometimes when it's a little fermented they get quite happy and gay. But the human interest I think basically is in the flower. It is an unusual thing with us. It's tender, and we have oddly only the one on the campus, at least the only one of any size. And that was brought in as a specimen when I was able to get a hold of it, and it's not a thing you plant in great quantity.

MINK:

How did you get a hold of this plant?

CORNELL:

Well, of course, you find these things. Anybody who is a plant lover is always on the lookout. You hear about them, and somebody has one or two or three and maybe you can get them. But they don't occur in quantities, for whatever reason. Now right there, near the southeast corner of Schoenberg Hall, but on the east side, are three trees of the sacred peepul tree of India. That is a Ficus, which means it is one of the figs of which I have spoken in some degree and of which there are about a thousand species. It has a very interesting sort of heart-shaped leaf with a long, slender tip. I found those in a little nursery in Palms and requisitioned them. It takes extra doing and extra manipulating to get individual plants like this because of the way the University operates. But if you can get a grower to hold them for you, while you go through the red tape, why, you can easily pick them up.

MINK:

What number is that?

CORNELL:

This sacred peepul tree [Ficus religiosa] is number fifty-nine. And while there are a lot of other things here, which have interesting stories, at the moment I think of nothing else, which has a special, private, personal history. We have trees, of course, some of which have been moved two or three times, the same tree. They get accustomed to it and seem to enjoy it. We don't always know when we put up a new building, and we think it's going to be permanent, whether there are going to be changes later on. So if a tree is good enough, if it's worth it, why, we may move it and use it somewhere else.

MINK:

Now you told me that most of the colored plates and a few of the black-and-white plates that are to be found in Southern California Gardens: An Illustrated History by Victoria Padilla, printed by the University of California Press in 1961, were reproduced from photographs that you have taken. In fact, you have been photographing plants in color for a good long time. Now I wonder if you would talk about that for a while.

CORNELL:

Well—going back to the college days—when I was young and hopeful, I worked quite a bit with Wilson Popenoe, whom many of the horticulturists or old-timers would know or know about. He and I used to take trips up to Santa Barbara and all around locally, with a camera and a vasculum, and collect herbarium specimens and identify them, press them, mount them, photograph the plants and the trees with a little old Eastman Kodak roll of film. That's the way I got started with pictures, and it interested me as plants interested me. Most of the photographs that I've taken over the years were of plants. That is, they had a little reason back of them rather than only the mad desire of working a camera like you work an atomizer, you know, and shooting the lens at things and people. So I always had a camera, Kodak, we called it. It was the first time that I got any, what we would in common vernacular refer to as real charge out of photography. And in those days we photographed without benefit of light meters, exposure meters or anything. Everything was by guess. I was working—this was about 1910, I suppose, or 1911—down in Ganesha Park in Pomona. Incidentally, that is a park for which we have just recently made the master plan. There was a little stream running through there with a tiny storm bridge over it, and I shot that and it just happened to be a good exposure. And that, you know, is just like taking a vitamin pill; it's a complex. And it stirred me up. Then in the same way—this was some years later, probably about 1919 or 1920—I had gone up to Yosemite Park for my first vacation, for two weeks. I was climbing from Camp Curry to Glacier Point up the three-mile trail, which is almost vertical, with my camera. When I got about halfway up, and looking back across the valley, there was Half Dome with a white cloud behind it and snow on the top of it. It snowed a little on the night before. Again, by guess and by gosh, I took a shot and that turned out, of the many pictures that I took on that trip, to be the best one, so that gave me a little stimulus, a little enthusiasm. And so just gradually I got into it. But I was always looking for plants, and everywhere I went I had some kind of a camera. When I went to Harvard, of course I took my camera, and I made walking trips around different places. I graduated from the little Kodak I started with and got into a view camera, and I still use the view-camera box, which I bought in 1920, which would make it about forty-six years old. It's old-fashioned, but it provides what I need. It's not as heavy as some of the modern ones and the lens is what counts. So I had a dominant interest in plants and in deserts and in the mountains and in the country. I have shot and spoiled many a film through the years and it was all a sort of trial-and-error deal. I never have had any instructions. But it became a rather fascinating hobby. I enjoyed it and have saved some of the better stuff but have thrown away lots of it. And that's the way I really got started on photography such as it is. Now Los Angeles Beautiful has just published a third of a series of color booklets on plants, and we are now working on the fourth of the series. Most of the photographs in those booklets are from my color films. I had no particular reason for taking the pictures, no precise end in view, but I liked to do it. Since then I have sold quite a number to publishers and periodicals and things of that sort. The Meredith Press has used some and I think they called it The Gardens of the World. Some of the different presses and Horticulture magazine, published in Boston, have been pretty good customers of mine. They buy the stuff, but it doesn't produce much income. Maybe it pays for my films and the cost of the prints because I make so many that aren't sold, you know. Anyway I do it for the pleasure. I enjoy it, and that's how I got started on this book. Now then, at one time it occurred to me—I thought that some of these old-timers were getting old—that it would be nice to sort of work on portraits of some of these old horticulturists. I started out, and maybe I got half a dozen. I don't know. I got Theodore Payne, Manfred Meyberg, William Hertrich, Ed[ward] Howard, Fred Howard, and H. M. Butterfield, who is still up at Berkeley. He's getting kind of mature now; and John S. Armstrong, who lived to be nearly a hundred, I guess, who is a citrus and nursery grower in Ontario. Several of these portraits are in the book; I don't remember now how many, two or three or four. I was perhaps the only one who had been foolish enough to spend four-by-five, color film on this sort of thing because the market is so limited. But I wasn't doing it commercially; I was doing it for the pleasure. So when they wanted some color shots for the book, I had some. That's the way it happened.

MINK:

Were most of your photographs done in public gardens, on the campus at Pomona, at UCLA, in various parks, or did you go into private gardens?

CORNELL:

Oh, again, most of my photographs were the result of an innate interest. When I was working as a landscape architect (and I still am), I would take shots of the work, sometimes before and sometimes progress shots and sometimes after it. So I acquired about the Pomona campus quite a collection of rather good scenic shots. I have a few on the UCLA, campus. I took plant materials, and also I was a great outdoor man. The deserts and the mountains appealed to me, and I took native plants. When we went to Europe I carried this heavy camera. I had about forty or fifty pounds, boiling it down to the absolute minimum. I had taken it to Hawaii eight or nine times. I've gone over the Sierra on horseback with the camera. I've walked down the Grand Canyon, from the south rim to the Kaibab suspension bridge and up to Phantom Ranch then back out that long eight-mile pull up, with every step lifting, I carried this heavy camera and tripod. It's all view-camera stuff. Why do you do it? Why do you work and exhaust yourself and strain? Why do you climb Mount Everest or do any of these things? As an urge, you love it and you like it. I took photographs of the things in which I was interested. I've had the camera down in Baja California on two trips and on a number of trips in Mexico. None of them were specifically camera trips, but the camera as an incident.

MINK:

Why have you felt that it was not necessary to utilize newer equipment?

CORNELL:

Well, there are two or three reasons. One is the newer equipment is mostly heavier. You see, my old camera is a wooden camera. And I remember on one trip to Monument Valley—my wife and daughter were with me—we went out with Harry Goulding to the monuments. Because he had two loads we got split up, and I was in one jeep and my wife and daughter were in the other jeep. Well, that's not the way to take pictures, but if you're bitten by the bug and it's in your blood, if you see something, you try to get it. When there was an opportunity or something that looked interesting, I'd jump out and try to shoot it with my camera. My wife told me afterwards that the people in her car kept referring to me as "the old man with the wooden camera." Well, the wood camera isn't as heavy. In photography, the basic things that are important are to be able to frame your picture, focus it, to make the necessary adjustments to attain focus and to give it the right exposure. You can do that with any kind of a box. If I got a modern camera, which I would love to have, like a Linhof or something, I'd have a lot of metal. I'd build up my weight. I'd have to have a heavier tripod; I carry a wooden tripod. So even with all that, I am up to forty or fifty pounds, and that's getting heavier every year. When you get in an airplane, where they allow you forty pounds of luggage and you have fifty of cameras, why, somebody has to adjust, you see. So that's the chief reason, and of course it's a common question: "Why do you use that old camera? Why don't you get yourself a modern one?" Well, I'd like one if it were different. Just two weeks ago I was up in a little trip, went up to Box Canyon. It was 117° in Box Canyon. I saw a smoke tree in blossom, and I thought I might try to photograph it. I got out with what I had in 117° and took a picture. It was much easier with my equipment than it would have been with the heavy equipment. The trouble with photography in my opinion is that everything they make is a specialty item; it's good for one thing. There's not much flexibility within that. So if you want flexibility, you have to have another gadget and another gadget. You just build up an endless mass and weight and bulk and cost volume of material. You don't use a lot of it frequently unless you're in commercial work and doing precise things repetitively, you see. But for my kind of thing, I have limited myself on the four-by-five camera to two lenses, and I have double swing-back and adjustments, which let me focus pretty well. I carry a 35mm Leica for that type of thing. That would be for projection. And those are my reasons. Of course, my four-by-five film is not good for projection unless you have real special equipment that will take four-by-five. Then it is a film and not glass, not a mount. However, It has been my experience, my feeling, that there is no film that I have ever found on a roll that does as good work as cut film. Now there are no doubt lots of people who will disagree with that. But the cut film is a thicker film; it's a heavier film; it has more body, more substance. And I have taken with the same camera, the same lens, the same time of day, the cut film and the roll film and invariably the cut film is better than the roll, black-and-white or color, either one. And so by now I'm probably just an old fanatic, you know. But it's too late to change at this point. I'm not going to load up with a lot of heavy equipment now. [tape off] Well, you asked about John Armstrong, and I knew him and of him as far back as I remember California. He was in the early days a citrus grower for nursery stock. When they were expanding orchards and the nursery stock was in demand, he provided a great quantity of citrus trees. He was interested in roses and he was interested in ornamentals. He was in Ontario, and I was going to school at Pomona College. I knew him at that time, and he was vigorous and young and active. Through the years, I presume as a matter of business judgment and circumstance, his specialties have seemed to change. He grew a great many fruit trees at one time, supplying the orchard planters and that sort of thing. But as the lands filled up and the demand for fruit trees lessened, he had to switch to other things, I’m assuming, to keep his volume going, although he still does grow citrus and that sort of thing. He was an old-timer and he knew all of the old-timers. Anybody who knew any horticulturists knew John Armstrong. I knew him as a boy would know an older man. The last time I saw John—time flies, it might have been ten years ago, I don't know—I took his picture. And I think this is it in this book.

MINK:

The Southern California Gardens.

CORNELL:

In this Southern California Gardens. He was then married to his second wife. He was in his nineties then and still alert and still active. He still had the old spirit. Also it was interesting when I was trying to get his photograph to see that ingrained attitude of the commercial grower who wants to get everything all set and just perfect, you know, with him in the right pose and all. He took a very definitive picture. He had a son, John A. Armstrong, Awdry they call him. He now operates the business. He's not real old yet, but he's probably in his sixties, a good operator and a fine chap. They had the finest retail nursery, I think, in southern California, in spite of the fact that Paul Howard and Howard and Smith may not agree to that. Maybe that's an overstatement, but they had a very lovely, well-organized, well-ordered nursery for a long time on Euclid Avenue in Ontario. That's gone and I think now they do nothing but wholesale work.

MINK:

Did you get quite a few of the plants for the Pomona campus from the Armstrong Nursery?

CORNELL:

Yes. We used to buy plants from Armstrong, not only for the Pomona campus but for much of our work. He was a little different. Most of the growers had what they called a trade price for contractors or landscape architects or people who were using a lot of material over the year. But Armstrong never—well maybe I shouldn't say "never"—at least toward the end, he wasn't interested in that at all. As a special concession sometimes he'd give ten percent. But he was basically a retail grower when they had the retail nursery. He didn't compete with himself in that way.

MINK:

He wanted to sell to individuals for their gardens.

CORNELL:

Yes. He sold at retail prices. He liked to sell to landscape architects and everybody else but not at a fifty percent discount. Most of the growers would give from twenty-five to fifty percent. Now a professional landscape architect never accepts or keeps any kickback on any discount, any financial emolument. Anything of that sort goes to the client.

MINK:

He passes it on.

CORNELL:

Yes because the professional landscape architect is like a doctor or an attorney—he's paid a fee for his service. He works for the client, and if he can get a discount price,, that goes to the client, not to him. I think that may have been one of the things that Armstrong thought, I'm only guessing. Why should he give a wholesale price to the owner? He was basically retail. Now I think he's basically wholesale.

MINK:

Did he take a personal interest in his nursery, and was he active in it?

CORNELL:

Oh, yes. He was right on the job; he was a hard worker, applied himself. And his son Awdry is sort of a chip off the old block. They are good growers. Now there's a grandson, Awdry's boy, who is a hybridizer, working in the business. And of course Armstrong Nurseries have produced some of the notorious rose hybrids of the world. He's a rose specialist.

MINK:

You say "notorious."

CORNELL:

Famous, yes. And Walter Lammerts, who once worked here on the UCLA campus, was working for a while for Armstrong, was doing hybridizing for him. And it's my understanding that Walter Lammerts produced the Charlotte Armstrong rose, which, as the story goes around town, has paid off several million dollars to the nursery as a result of this one rose hybrid. And Armstrong is very active in the All American Rose [Selections Garden] program and has frequent placement in that category, the All American Rose of the Year. So he advertises nationwide as a rose grower and is known worldwide as a rose grower. That's the thing that comes to mind first. Whether he grows other things, I'm really not sure. [tape off] Well, with respect to Theodore Payne, I knew him intimately for at least fifty-five years. I first met him in 1910. He had a little store on 345 South Main Street, Los Angeles, right next to a burlesque theater, which at one time was the popular and proper Belasco Theater where drama was played along with the better things. Times even then had begun to change. But Theodore came from England. He came from England as a young chap who had just finished an apprenticeship there. He landed in New York with $7.50 or some such sum in his jeans and headed west and made it. And of course he went to the horticultural centers first, to Germain's seed store on Main Street, where Manfred Meyberg was then working, I think. And he got a job on Madame [Helena] Modjeska's ranch over in Orange County. And that's all in this book. I don't think there is any point in going into that. But by 1910, he had acquired this little business of his own and was growing and selling seeds. That was the era of the so-called eucalyptus boom. Did you ever hear of that?

MINK:

No. I don't think I have ever heard of that.

CORNELL:

They were planting eucalyptus trees in the San Joaquin Valley and down around Rancho Santa Fe—I think I spoke of this before—for use in commercial activities. Theodore was making hay, by selling eucalyptus seed. He sold it by the sack, hundreds of pounds, and that is something a little difficult to acquire because it's way up at the top of a big tree. The favorite method of getting the seed was cutting the tree down and laying the branches on tarpaulins. Then the seed would pop out as it dried. Theodore haunted the road-widening areas where they were going to widen the road. Where they were going to put in a new building and there was a eucalyptus tree. Theodore was right there behind them and would get permission to get the seed. So he sold hundreds of pounds of eucalyptus seed and built up quite a business, which I imagine is remunerative. Charles Fuller Baker at Pomona College, of whom I have spoken (he, in a sense, sponsored me and encouraged me), said that Theodore Payne was one of the men I should meet. I think he wrote a letter and either gave it to me or mailed it in, so I went in to see Theodore. Well, I walked into the office and there was a plump young lady named Jessie Tomlinson, who was his clerk, and I guess for the balance of her life she was with him in one way or another. And I said, "Is Mr. Payne in?" And she said yes and sort of nodded her head over her shoulder. I looked over and here at a little table with his head on his arms was this young chap. He was taking one of his catnaps, which were characteristic of his life as long as I knew him. He would be a great hand for getting up early in the morning and starting out. We took many, many trips together. He'd say, well, let's do this or that and I'll pick you up at five o'clock in the morning. And at five o'clock on a winter morning it's a bit dark and cold. He was invariably late, though he didn't realize it, and I'd sit out on the doorstep shivering, waiting for the headlights of his car to come down the street and then we'd start out. Well then, along about normal breakfast time he'd begin to get drowsy; so he'd stop and take a little catnap. Now that was just a little thing, which was interesting, and that's the way I first met him. He was basically a plants man—fundamentally, totally, his one love, his one interest. And if you had to love him you had to "love his dog." You couldn't take him without his plants. He was very observant; he was very thorough. He was interested in everything. We would go out and spend glorious days together, interested in everything, looking at everything, taking pictures, gathering specimens to identify or to mount, gathering seeds. And that was Theodore. After I got through World War I and came back here, Theodore wanted to go into business together. I think all of his life he had a longing to be more than a horticulturist, to have interest and facility in raising and using plants in attractive ways in garden design. But he wasn't trained in design. So he suggested to me that we form a partnership and go into business together. And I said, "Well, I'm a landscape architect. I want to be professional. It isn't professional to be [associated] with a man who has interests, which could profit from what you're doing professionally. It's like a doctor selling pills."

MINK:

Or a doctor going in with a pharmacist.

CORNELL:

Yes. Because the designer, the professional man's interests should be uncontaminated, uninfluenced. He said, "Well, you can run your business and I can run mine. There won't be any relationship." But he said, "Maybe there will be inquiries. I can turn to the design department." So anyway, we tried it, I was young and with absolutely nothing. It was a sort of security in a measure, although financially it wasn't that, but a psychological security. We were together for about four and a half years. During that time I did all of the designing and all the plans and everything. He had nothing to do with my office, excepting that he was interested. We were interested in many of the same things; we did lots of trips together. And when I would make up a planting plan, I would work it out without regard to whether he had any materials to sell or not. There was no urgency for anybody to buy anything from him. It was strictly professional business but under the shadow, you see. After about four and a half years, and the circumstances I spoke of with Cook and Hall, things changed. So I swung away from that commercial relationship, but our friendship remained for the balance of his life. It was one of those things that was very real. He should have been at some school where he was endowed and could have followed his research. He loved it. He was a natural-born teacher because if anybody would ask him a question he would, if necessary, spend days running it down and getting an answer. He never begrudged any question or seeming interference or imposition. He was free and friendly and easy and would give the last that he had in that manner. He was a great source of information. Everybody would go to Theodore for identification of plants and plant names and seeds. And I would think, this is a personal opinion, that probably there was no one contemporary who had as broad and wide an interest as Theodore. Now he soon developed, after coming over here to California and having his little stint down in Santiago Canyon on Madame Modjeska's ranch, a deep interest and love for California's native plants and wild flowers. Even in the early turn of the century he could see these things disappearing. One plant, which Theodore Payne saved from extinction was Berberis nevinii (Nevin's barberry), once native (quite exclusively) to the San Fernando Valley.

MINK:

Could you describe this?

CORNELL:

If anybody knows barberries, I think they have certain characteristics, which are more or less recognizable. For the most part their leaves are serrated something like many of the hollies, with sharp points on the leaves. The size of the leaves and the color of the leaves can vary. Nevin's barberry has a rather small leaf, very spiny on the edges and very prickly. It has a yellow flower, which occurs in clusters or panicles. That's characteristic of the barberries. It has a purple fruit, which is edible, but nothing you'd seek. It's edible in that it's not poisonous. It doesn't taste badly and you could make a good jelly from the fruit. It's a shrub that grows probably from six to ten feet high, rather dense, and it was Theodore who located it in the Tujunga Wash. Now whether it was a personal discovery and he introduced it or not, I don't know, but that's something for the record. He did preserve it, though. It isn't a thing that has had popular demand in the trade, and things that aren't in demand become lost because nobody buys them; therefore, nobody grows them. But it's growing now at La Purisima Mission up in Santa Barbara County up in Lompoc. And in different gardens around, it's still available. The San Fernando Valley at one time in the spring was a solid mass of yellow poppies. You go up there now and you probably couldn't find a poppy. He was very early aware of the fact that these things were disappearing as a result of man's depredation; so he began collecting seeds and growing native plants for sale. Those who were interested like Judge Silent and some of these old-timers, all knew Theodore and they'd come and talk with him. He knew everybody. He'd provide them with seeds of native plants, and he built up quite a reputation. I never felt that the volume of his business was sufficient to make it a financial bonanza, but while he would like to have been soundly prosperous, he basically loved what he was doing and that was his work.

MINK:

Did he ever tell you about his work at Madame Modjeska ranch? Did he ever take you there to show you what he had done?

CORNELL:

Yes. He took me down there. As far as the work he did was concerned, there was nothing particularly to record. He was a ranch foreman. He was a ranch hand. He has written a little book about his life on the Modjeska ranch. That is available in his own words. He enjoyed it. It was pioneer country, and he was young and impressionable. It was an exciting experience and he never forgot it. He never forgot Madame Modjeska and the count and their kindness to him. He was fresh from the old country, as he always referred to it, from where he was an apprentice. It's almost a feudal system, you know. An apprentice works long and hard and gets practically nothing for it, and where they have great respect for the lords and the ladies, I don't know, but maybe some of that attitude—Modjeska was from the old country, from Poland—has something to do with the buildup. But he was very fond of those memories and very loyal to them.

MINK:

Now, you said that you took the photograph of Theodore Payne, which is in Mrs. Padilla's book.

CORNELL:

Well, I took this photograph of Theodore Payne in Glendale. He had a friend up there—a French name, I don't recall it now—who had a Fremontia, which is sometimes called slippery elm, but better perhaps, it's called flannel bush because the leaves are very fuzzy and flannelly. There are two native species of Fremontia, one is californica, one is mexicana. They are similar, but the [F.] mexicana is a much larger flower. He told me about this chap up in Glendale who had a hybrid, which was at that moment heavily flowering. He was always calling me, wanting me to go places. And of course he always liked to have me take pictures. He always liked to have prints of them. So everybody was happy.

MINK:

When was the picture taken?

CORNELL:

I could tell by looking at the film. It might have been twenty-five years ago. So, we went up. It was a beautiful bush, probably twelve feet high. The flowers are clear yellow and probably bigger than a silver dollar. I wanted some shots and I thought, well, here's a chance to get one maybe of Theodore and his element. But Theodore never wore very gaudy clothes. I had on a red shirt, and I was going to shoot color. I had this four-by-five color in 35mm, I think. And so I said, "Theodore, if I took my shirt off, would you put it on? You can put it on over yours." He hesitated a little bit and then said he would. I took my shirt off, and he put it on. I shot the picture without a shirt, and that is it. And being red and with yellow flowers, that made an interesting combination. So that's just a little, simple anecdote about the way things work out sometimes. [tape off] You asked me about Dr. Francesco Franceschi of Santa Barbara, whom I knew when I was a youth. He lived up on Mission Ridge in the hot sun up against the hot rocks where he planted the introductions, which he brought in. Now Franceschi was a collector; he wasn't a grower; he wasn't a horticulturist. And anything that survived his treatment was a hearty plant because they were neglected and under-watered. His interest was introducing them, let somebody else grow them. But he was a fascinating old gentleman, and a scholar. He had a daughter and, I think, two sons. And Wilson Popenoe and I, on our trips, used to go to Santa Barbara and would stay downtown on State Street in a hotel. We'd walk up Mission Ridge carrying our cameras. We'd look at his plants. I would see him, I suppose, maybe a half-dozen times. I was there in his home. He at one time started an acclimatization business where he was acclimatizing plants and selling them in a nursery down on State Street. We used to go in there and check that. Well, in the summer it would be pretty hot. We'd climb that ridge with our equipment. This was one of the things that I always remember. This probably was a hangover from Europe where drinking water was questionable from the standpoint of sanitation and all. So when we'd want a drink of water, he'd never let us drink pure water. He'd always have to put a little red wine in it. Now I'm sure he didn't put enough red wine in there for a bacterium even to notice. But it satisfied him. He'd pink it up a little bit with wine, and then he'd give us a drink. But he was a true scientist, and he had an interesting family. Those were my personal contacts; they were limited. I think he brought in the Proteaceae, and those things again would be in this book on gardens, so there wouldn't be any point in my taking time to do that. But many of the specimens that he had on his place didn't survive, which might have if grown with better care. He finally went back to Italy and spent the last years in Italy.

MINK:

Did you ever ask him why he didn't water the plants more?

CORNELL:

No. I was young. I was a student in college. He was an elderly gentleman, a scientist, and a scholar. Why should I ask him? You know how it is. There are lots of people that way. They are wonderful, enthusiastic collectors, but they don't have time. They are spending their time at the other end of the line. Let somebody else grow them. Doug[las W.] Coolidge, the man who founded Coolidge Gardens over in the Altadena area, was one of those. He was a miserable grower, but he collected more varieties and had more things than others of his time. He'd pick up a little two- or three-inch pod that was covered with green slime, with a sickly chlorotic little plant some four inches high in it. He'd tell you what a beautiful thing that was. You'd practically be shedding tears by the time he got through telling you about it, and he loved it every bit. But as far as care, why, that didn't bother him. But seemingly we are, most of us, I suppose, limited in our time and capacities. Our interests are one-track.

1.6. TAPE NUMBER: FOUR, SIDE ONE JULY 12, 1967

CORNELL:

I think when you ask a question about architecture or art or any phase, you're asking for opinions and even the experts don't agree.

MINK:

Opinion is what she [Mrs. Enid Douglass] wanted, and in fact opinion is what we would like on some things I want to ask you this morning.

CORNELL:

I think the Oldenburg school has been controversial. I think the fact that it's controversial could indicate, but not necessarily, that it was a little unusual, perhaps outstanding. But, I think it is good as architecture. I think it's consistent and well done. As to function, I don't know, but I would expect that was pretty well worked out.

MINK:

Do you feel it's appropriate to the campus at Pomona?

CORNELL:

Well, "appropriate to the campus" I think again is a sort of a difficult term. It doesn't have any apparent relationship to any of the other architecture, but you could say the same thing here at UCLA.

MINK:

You could indeed.

CORNELL:

We built that north campus court with five buildings and no two of them resemble each other. I think the Oldenburg is a step away from what they have, but they have a lot of things, which are no good—maybe I shouldn't say a lot of things, which are no good, but they have architecture, which is not outstanding in any way, things you wouldn't want to copy. I think the mass and the color tones and notes are compatible. But I don't believe there are any two buildings on the Pomona College campus, excepting maybe the two science buildings (built by the same architect and the same donor), which are really what you might think of as companion pieces. The old architecture at Pomona is rather mediocre, a great deal of it. Harwood Court and Sumner Hall are not outstanding. The old Mason Hall and Crookshank Hall were done probably in the taste of the time in which they were built. They were presumably done by good architects. But I think these are difficult questions.

MINK:

They are. Did you say that you did do the landscaping?

CORNELL:

We did do the landscaping at Oldenburg.

MINK:

Well, this brings up an interesting departure from traditional architecture, such as this certainly is—Oldenburg Hall. What do you consider is necessary in landscaping? Would you treat that the same way you treat a traditional building?

CORNELL:

The basic principles behind all design are constant and fundamental. Your planting is not just putting in flowers or interesting things. But it is trying to set off the architecture, augment it, help it where it needs it and supplement the form and accent, which it attempts or achieves. The planting is not pinning the tail on the donkey. It shouldn't be, though oftentimes It gets to that because everything is done and then they call somebody in and they say, "Well now, let's plant it." Environmental planning, space design, relates everything—architecture, circulation of traffic, function—and attempts to do it in an aesthetically satisfactory way. Now I think I mentioned once before in regard to the north campus here, five architects,[and] five buildings. Then you keep saying that the landscape will pull it together. Well, it may do so. I think it does in a way because it forms a cohesive treatment, which creates views and vistas and screens out defects and gives spaciousness. And so your landscape design is just as functional, is just as important as anything else. But it approaches the problem from the broad concept of totality, which oftentimes a building may not do. It may just think of the building and not of the adjoining building and not of the spaces so much. We are getting away from that, which is an older concept, but we still encounter it. And as you know they now have design departments, not architects, but they have these environmental design departments, which look at it from the broader total aspect, which is the way it should be done.

MINK:

Such as Berkeley's school?

CORNELL:

Yes. And of course with the Oldenburg Hall, There is a preliminary schematic design for a court west of Oldenburg and between Oldenburg and Sumner, When that is completed it will, I think, tend to pull the thing together and give it unity. You see, that will become the center, the nucleus, with these other things around it. It is never fair to judge anything in an incomplete stage, and that is a human tendency. They see it started, and they like it or don't like it. It isn't finished and they don't know what it's going to look like when it's finished, but they immediately state impressions, and they may be good or bad. So I think that Oldenburg Hall, when the concept is completed there, is going to be very fine. I don't know whether Sumner Hall will stay there forever. That could be taken out, you see. I'm not sure whether Sumner Hall was built as a hotel, but it was built as a promotional structure in the boom days along in the late 1880s or 1890s when Claremont was started. It was a two-and-a-half or three-story structure which, at the time I came to Pomona College, was used as a girls' dormitory. That was on the center of the east-west axis of Marston Quadrangle of which we have spoken. It was facing College Avenue. So, when the Marston Quadrangle went in, Sumner Hall became a liability and so shall we destroy it or shall we keep it? What shall we do with it? And it was cut in two and moved. They called it "face-lifting," whether it was lifting or depressing might be hard to say, but it was moved to its present site and put together and sewed up and redecorated. It served very happily as an administration building. It's a frame structure, and it's probably now seventy or eighty years old. It's conceivable that the day will come when it goes out. They're-needing space, and they're needing a new inn facility. The old [Claremont] Inn has been decommissioned as far as residence is concerned and is used now only as an eating facility. But for years and years, they have had rooms, which were available, and so what will happen, nobody knows. I think nobody could say.

MINK:

Mr. Dudley has commented that north of the Pendleton Business Building there are some unusual tulip trees, and he thinks that you planted them. We wanted to know whether you could describe them.

CORNELL:

Well, now right north of the Pendleton in the same block?

MINK:

Yes.

CORNELL:

Well, I'm not sure. Dartmouth Avenue, on which Pendleton Business Administration Building faces, has liquidambar trees, which are relatively old, and when I say that, I say fifty years maybe or such a matter. I am not sure who planted the street trees. I'm just wondering if he might have felt those were tulip trees.

MINK:

Possibly.

CORNELL:

There may be a tulip tree or two north of Pendleton, but I do not recall it right now. And the liquidambar is the southern sweet gum. It's a timber tree, commercial timber, and it makes fine finishing lumber.

MINK:

For furniture?

CORNELL:

Well, for interior finish and things of that sort and for the woodwork in the house. It's a fine-grained wood, and it's one of the few trees that provides autumn color in this climate because usually autumn color requires cooling weather, which we don't have. So many of the trees, which will color so nicely in the Midwest and East don't have good autumn color here. Liquidambar does.

MINK:

Is that why you chose those trees?

CORNELL:

I didn't choose those, and I didn't plant those. But they were very small and very young when I was at the college. It's my memory that they were planted just before or just after I went to Pomona. I don't know if this was mentioned or not, but they were touted as an excellent street tree, which wouldn't heave the sidewalks or the curbs with its roots and wouldn't buttress and wouldn't do this and wouldn't do that. Right up until recently it has been sold and recommended as a street tree. When you look at those Claremont trees, they lifted the sidewalk in places a foot, and they just tear the concrete to pieces although they still are young, juvenile trees. So it's another case of premature judgment. People see the little trees. They look nice, and they say they are fine when they don't know what a big tree looks like. They don't know how big it will get from having seen it, and so they make errors in judgment and misstatements.

MINK:

Would you react to this. H.L. Popenoe was head of grounds for years, knew every pipeline that was ever laid on the Pomona campus, but it was all in his head. There was no map and therefore when he died there were no records for the campus.

CORNELL:

Well, of course, H.L. wasn't there at the beginning. When I went in there in 1909 Mr. [Forest Glenn] Hutchison was the superintendent of grounds. H.L. came in fifteen or twenty years later and I'm guessing because I worked with "Hutch," as we called him, for many years. Hutch was there when we built the Marston Quadrangle when we did the grading. So I think probably he may have been there for eight or ten years after World War I before H. L. Popenoe came in. I'm not pointing fingers or accusing anybody, but in the early days—and it was customary, they had no money—they were hesitant to pay for things they didn't have to pay for. So many of the pipelines and things of that sort were sort of planned off-the-cuff. They were just put in, with the result that they probably didn't have working drawings to begin with and never made "as-built" drawings. So when H.L. left, why, he left confusion in the minds of those who didn't know. That always happens. Something with which you aren't familiar is very confusing, and if you know about it, it's very simple. It was not necessarily Popenoe's fault. We get that in our own homes where we put our neckties and things of that sort. But anyway, I would think it was pretty chaotic for years and years. After the automatic sprinklers were in vogue, they did not install any automatic sprinklers because of the cost, until they reached the point where the labor cost forced them into the automation. From the standpoint of planting, in my judgment, it would be better if we did not have automatic [sprinklers] because they are just that: hot or cold, wet or dry. They are automatic. If you have a good man in charge who is attentive and alert, he will water his plants as they need it, not by the clock, not by the calendar. To that extent, if it is properly handled manually, you do have a much more satisfactory control. But today things are such that labor drives out anything of that sort. When I came on the campus here thirty years ago, it seemed that everything was getting too much water. It seemed the lawns were too wet, and the trees were too wet. Of course, drainage was poor here, and so we made some checkouts and investigation, and we withheld water. I don't remember now whether we cut it down one-third or whether we cut it down to one-third of what it had been getting. We found that the things did better with less water than they were doing with the water they had been receiving.

MINK:

Was this because the initial planting on the UCLA campus was more of the native ground cover?

CORNELL:

No, that's because the soil on the UCLA campus is very compact. It is very tight. Drainage is very poor; it's heavy. That means that it's harder to get the water into it, but once it gets in there it holds it. Sandy soil, you pour the water through. It runs away underground, and you lose it. But a heavy soil, it's retained.

MINK:

Is there a lot of adobe here?

CORNELL:

Yes. Well, you'd call it a colloidal soil, a very heavy clay. And so when you overwater it—what happens? Your soil fills up and the interstices, air spaces, are full of water. It is hydrated, not dehydrated, but it's the air that's forced out, and so the soil sours and it becomes soggy. Your roots have to have oxygen, which means air. The best method of irrigation is a flooding, which fills all the porous spaces, forces the air out, and then the slow drying lets the air come back in, so that in effect the soil breathes. The air is pumped in and out by the water. Where it is continuously clogged you drown your plant. You drown your roots.

MINK:

Would you say that the intensive watering that occurred in earlier days was related to the fact that this was an arid place?

CORNELL:

That's opinion—all I say is opinion. But I think it is a habit that people get into and oftentimes those are not too well grounded on the reasons for these things. If a plant looks poorly, they water it. If it turns yellow, they pour on more water. They may be simply aggravating the cause of that yellowing because the symptoms on the plant with too much water or too little water are the same to the extent that the foliage turns yellow. It looks what we sometimes call, chloritic. It's all the result of malfunction of roots. In one instance, the roots are drowned. They are suffocated for lack of air. In the other instance, they are dehydrated for lack of water. The net result on the superficial symptoms is the same; so you should never treat symptoms. You should find out what the symptoms mean and then treat the cause. I think it's a gardener's hazard that he usually encounters.

MINK:

Were you instrumental in getting this reduction of water?

CORNELL:

Well, yes. It was a result of my initiative. Alex MacGillivray was the ground superintendent or foreman, whatever they called it at that time. He was very cooperative. We at that time had no A[rchitects] and E[ngineers] office. I worked through the [Buildings and] Grounds Department, and Mr. A.E. Davie was the superintendent of grounds and buildings. Everybody was very cooperative, and, of course, they were interested too in the economy—saving water. So we went through all of that together, Davie, MacGillivray, myself, and anybody else who was on the grounds staff. We withheld water; we just came to conclusions. I don't know how much of this sort of thing you want, but there would be an interesting story in relation to the fig trees that come in from Hilgard, the Ficus that we have a four-row lane coming in. I won't go into some very interesting detail at this time.

MINK:

I wish you would.

CORNELL:

Well, about those trees. This goes way back to campus beginnings. They had debated what to plant as the entrance tree. Different people, I don't know how many, two or three anyway, had given consideration to it. I think that one time they had the red-flowering eucalyptus in there, which of course is highly inappropriate.

MINK:

Why?

CORNELL:

Well because of several reasons. One is this heavy soil is not suitable for that tree. Another reason is that the scale and size of the tree is inadequate to the cross section of the street and the mall because the trees, just as the architecture, must be in proper proportions. The size of the ficifolia was not adequate. Also, it might live long in Australia but it doesn't live long here. There are just three or four very solid reasons. They had tried it, and it wouldn't survive. It was because of the soil condition.

MINK:

Does it have a shallow root system?

CORNELL:

Most anything has a shallow root system in heavy, solid [ground] because the roots follow the water. Roots will not go where there is no water. They will not go into dry soil. They do not search for water. They will follow it, but they will not search for it because they have to have the moisture to grow.

MINK:

So you decided on this other variety.

CORNELL:

Even before I came out here there was a chap named Wilhelm Miller who is a prairie advocate. He came from, I guess it was Illinois, and he was quite a boy in his day. He called me up one time, wanted to know what I would recommend. He was considering deodar cedars. He got angry at me because I don't think the deodar cedar is appropriate because it's a pointed tree, narrow at the top and broad at the base. I think we need here something that will get up in the air. We've got them on campus. You ought to look at one. They are cone-shaped. They were unsuitable, and he got quite provoked at me, but it never got to the point of trying it. When I came out that was one of the first questions. It was a rough one because when there are 5*000 trees to choose from, you might expect that one of them would be what you want, but it seldom is a perfect tree for the special use. Anyway, it occurred to me that the rubber tree—so-called, it's a fig—might be used. There are about 1,000 species of Ficus. The Ficus is the fig, but we call some of the ornamental forms rubber trees. The edible fig is a Ficus. But the commercial rubber is not obtained from the Ficus, from the rubber tree, so-called. It's obtained from another genus entirely. But anyway, it occurred to me that the rubber tree might be suitable. That was thirty years ago. I was thirty years younger and a little more devilish and reckless, and also we were thirty years farther back in our experience with plants here. So it was just a little speculative from the standpoint of survival. There were nice big ones here and there in different locations, and It looked like they would be ideal. Sawtelle had some. But it just hadn't been used enough, so we weren't quite sure. It was so—I don't think I should say "unpopular," but it was so out of demand that there were none available. I tried to get I think about thirty or forty trees. I tried to find them, and I couldn't find them in southern California, excepting at one place, at Wilcox Nurseries. They had some in wooden butter tubs. They had trunk calipers of three or four inches on standard stems of probably four feet and had been clipped and sheared into little round balls. Well, they were a mess. They had been grown for tub plants as standards, as far as plant structure was concerned because of the ball of twiggery and foliage at the top was interlocked and intertwined and distorted and dwarfed. The roots were almost solid wood in the boxes. Today I wouldn't have the nerve to plant a thing of that sort because of, I suppose, thirty years of aging. But I felt, "Well let's try it." So we got them out here, and we all worked on it.

MINK:

How much did they cost?

CORNELL:

Oh, maybe $7.50 or $5.00 at that time; not a lot of money. MacGillivray, who was the grounds foreman when we planted them, took the butter boxes off and here was this solid mass of interlocked, root-bound xylem, as they call it. So he took a sharp ax, and he cut those vertically on four sides.

MINK:

Square?

CORNELL:

I don't mean that he shortened or reduced the size of the ball, but he made a vertical cut with the trunk in the center, radiating out from the trunk in four directions. He made vertical cuts through those roots. Now the reason for that was, if those were so root-bound, they never would have recovered from that twisted ball. But by cutting them, they started new roots. And as we hoped they made it.

MINK:

Did you tell him to do that?

CORNELL:

No. That was MacGillivray's idea. He was an old Scotsman. He knew plants and planting, and was pretty good. But the tops were just as bad as the roots, and so we undertook by pruning to resurrect those and to create a proper superstructure. That's where Dr. Chandler came in, William H. Chandler. He and I worked on that along with Edward Focht, who has been here twenty-seven years, I think. He was top man for pruning on campus. Eddie Focht and I, under Dr. Chandler's direction and in cooperation, worked on those tops. It must have taken us five or six or eight or ten years—I don't remember now—to get those things up into a good structure. Now we could do it with a rubber tree because they grow quickly, they are responsive, and they are vigorous. We couldn't have done it with many kinds of plants. Now those trees are the ones that you walk beneath and between as you come in from Hilgard.

MINK:

They are marvelous.

CORNELL:

And I presume that if you have interviewed Dr. Chandler he may have mentioned it.

MINK:

We have.

CORNELL:

Do you remember whether he mentioned that? Yes? He wrote a book on pruning, and this was one of his guinea pigs. He was trying his theories. We were working on it together, and I took photographs at various stages. The surgery that was performed was heroic from the standpoint of the tyro who doesn't understand what it's all about. But you go out there now and you wouldn't know that those trees were ever anything but normal. Well, anyway, what started this tirade is that in all of our innocence and anxiety and desire to do a good job we dug holes six feet square and six feet deep and filled them with light topsoil and loam. We put our little tree in the middle of that hole and felt we were doing a pretty good thing. And we were, if we understood nothing beyond the point of doing it. But what we had done actually, you see, in this very tight colloidal clay substance, we had dug a cesspool. We had filled it with porous material into which the water went quickly, and so it filled up. It drove out the air. It soured, and there was trouble. The trees started to decline. They grew with a grand flush at first and then started to yellow. Of course, everybody turns to the gardener as being responsible for everything, so we asked MacGillivray about it, and, well, he didn't know. So we decided to make a soil test. We put down augers, and that was what we found—soured, soggy soil. The plants were being killed by lack of aeration. So we told Mac to hold off the water and dry them out. He did, and then they started to grow again beautifully. Then they once more began to yellow, same symptoms identically as the first; so we went in with the soil augers again and they were dry. He had overdone it. You see that's where your blind reactions without test controls can get you into trouble.

MINK:

I see here that in early stages on the UCLA campus it was a matter of experimentation.

CORNELL:

That's life. Unless you've had the experience, you're experimenting. Even if somebody else has had it, you either take his word for it or you try it yourself. And there are no two things that are ever alike. But we were all trying to be intelligent, and we were doing the best we could. We called in the local talent. But we went through two or three phases where it was first too wet and then too dry, and the only way to know was to make soil tests with an auger, a core, like you plug a watermelon.

MINK:

Did you take your soil to Martin Hubbardy?

CORNELL:

Well, we did in the later stages of our work. I don't recall that we did at that time. We didn't need to take the soil to anybody when that check was made; it was in the one case sour and in the other case dry.

MINK:

You made your own soil checks? You didn't give it to the Department of Irrigation and Soils?

CORNELL:

No, MacGillivray made those, but what happened was that until we got those six-foot tubes filled with roots in sufficient quantity to take up the water we had problems. Now, once the trees are big and they're using all the water, that six-foot space is nothing to the total root area of the tree. It doesn't mean a thing. In the beginning, you see, it was a problem. Really, it's a very informative example, I think, of what you get into because this is not theory. This is actual happening.

MINK:

Mrs. Douglass would like to know if you care to comment on your working relationships with two of the board members who served as chairmen of the Pomona College Buildings and Grounds Committee, Mr. Clarence Stover and Mr. William Himrod,

CORNELL:

They are both friends of mine. Bill Himrod was ahead of me in school, and Stover was behind me. During the war period, starting with Stover, he was very, very busy on war projects, war housing. He worked very hard. Then when the war urgency was over, he had a little time and a little energy left and lots of interest and enthusiasm, and so he devoted some of his attention to the campus. And Clary, as we called him, was a wonderful guy and a nice fellow to work with, and having been in the work that he had followed, he was precise, "precise" isn't the word, but he was effective. He got things done, and he knew how to do them. He knew how to economize if there were ways to economize. And he was definitive. He didn't vacillate. So Stover was a wonderful man to work with. He was very generous in his attitudes, top, towards the college. I don't have any very strong impressions of Bill Himrod. He was a very fine chap and very likable. But he was an attorney, and I think he was working out of his element. However fine and good he might be, he was dealing with things of which he had little experience, and Stover was dealing in things about which he knew. I would say probably that would be the basic difference. But the period of greatest achievement as a result of any individual action, so far as I recall and was impressed, was the time when Clary was on the grounds committee. I don't want them to think that. I am unappreciative or criticizing, but we had a long period when we would have campus committee meetings once a month and absolutely nothing would ever happen. We discussed it, and we agreed. I do think it was probably funding. That was always a problem, but basically it was the lack of time and initiative, I think, on the part of those who were on the committee. It was something with which they were unfamiliar. We would discuss these things. They would tell Popenoe to do certain things, and he'd agree to it. But he had to have money, he had to have authority, and those things weren't forthcoming. Another chap is Leonard A. Shelton, known as Agee Shelton, who was quite effective on the committee in expediting work, in getting things done. When he went on the committee it became animated and accomplishments resulted because there was an individual again who had the interest and the energy and the time and the drive. Those are the things it takes. So I'm not casting any aspersions about the other men.

MINK:

I think you have delineated it very well. Now so much for Claremont. You remember we talked about the line of trees along the Westwood Boulevard between Sunset Boulevard and Le Conte known as Presidents Row and planted with the money donated by the Daughters of the American Revolution. I think the drive was statewide to raise the money, as I understand It, and the point was made by Mrs. Jerdine, who was asked by Regent Edward A. Dickson to spearhead this drive to raise the money to plant these trees because the new campus was devoid of planting, that many of these eucalyptus trees were purchased with money made available by the DAR and that additional trees beyond those, which were planted between Sunset and Le Conte on Westwood Boulevard (known as Presidents Row) were planted elsewhere on the campus. Would you clear up this point because I think you had something to say about it.

CORNELL:

I don't think I can because those trees were in when I came to the campus. They were very small. All I knew is casual hearsay, but I understood that those were the Avenue of the Presidents. I don't know about the purchase or the cost or any of that. But I had the impression that the miscellaneous trees planted over the campus for the most part, and I spoke of this before, were contributions from Dr. Del Amo. That may be in error even though it came from his nursery. Maybe those eucalyptus came from his nursery. They might have been purchased. But I just don't know. Now Mr. Davie—if still alive—could probably give you some information on that.

MINK:

When you first came to the campus in this early period, there was a very small budget on which to operate?

CORNELL:

Oh, definitely, and when I first came I was assigned no specific duty. I was just appointed as landscape architect. I never had a directive. I was assigned to the Grounds and Buildings Department. There was no Architects and Engineers office. That was interesting because Mr. Davie was an engineer by training. The architect at that time for the campus was Dave [David Clark] Allison. Never was there a finer man. He was a good architect, and in his day he was about the top of the totem pole. But Davie as an engineer saw no reason for spending a lot of money on landscape—get a lot of plants and stick them in the ground. Allison was of the old school, before landscape architecture was very well established. And while he was sympathetic in an academic way, in a precise way, why spend money for soil preparation and this and that? Just get some plants and put them in. Well, of course, landscape architecture is not just planting. Not five percent of our time of work in an office is spent on plants, or plant materials. It's site development design. So it was a difficult situation. We never had enough money for anything. The landscape was an obvious place to save money. So I worked with Davie and this fellow MacGillivray of whom I speak, and it was as much a maintenance supervision as anything else in the beginning.

MINK:

That's all you did? You didn't try to spread the landscaping but simply sought to maintain it?

CORNELL:

Well, of course, as you would know, at the University we only do what is funded and what we are authorized to do. At that period, there was not very much building expansion. You see, you go through eras, epochs, and that was a quiescent period as far as building expansion goes. Like these rubber trees I spoke of: that's fundamental planting and structural design. We were simply picking up what we had, and there was no expansion like the north campus here and things that we do today. There was never any funding. When these things came up here, there was never any support. At that time John Gregg up at Berkeley, who was the head of the landscape department up there, was academically the head landscape architect. I was responsible to him, but that was chiefly protocol.

MINK:

You never had any contact with him?

CORNELL:

Oh, he used to come down here two or three or four times a year and smoke a cigar and walk around and say hello, but he pretty much was a figurehead from that standpoint.

MINK:

He had no concrete suggestions to make?

CORNELL:

If there was something to be done, I would submit the plans to him, and he would endorse them. I'd send them up, and he'd say, "Well, whatever you think is best, Cornell because you're closer to it than I am."

MINK:

Would he send it on to the president?

CORNELL:

There was a time when I used to make presentations to the Regents direct at their meetings.

MINK:

The Regents?

CORNELL:

The Regents, yes, and at their board meetings when I would have a plan to present. As the organization grew and became more efficient, it merged over into the present system where it's a timesaver to let all these things be thrashed out by lower echelon people and then just go into the Regents when it's all settled for a final approval.

MINK:

What proposals did you make to the Regents for this?

CORNELL:

I don't remember now the specific drawings, but I remember some of the occasions when I met the Regents. [tape off] I remember when MacLean asked me to come in and present one of my schemes, but I don't recall what it was. And I remember his apprehension, his concern, for fear that I would not do it properly or would do the wrong things or this or that. However, after it was over, he seemed to be very well satisfied. But I think quite properly, they felt that plan details should go to the Regents only after being thoroughly worked out. The Regents should not concern themselves with preliminary studies. So it evolved gradually from that into what we are doing now. Now as I recall it the last time I appeared before the Regents—whether it was [me] or one of the firm. I don't remember—was at Riverside, but I was on the campus here when somebody all of a sudden decided we didn't have enough trees.

MINK:

Do you remember who that was?

CORNELL:

Well, it might have been Dickson. It might have been Mrs. Chandler. But I wouldn't be sure. In effect, I was called on the carpet to explain why we didn't have more trees. Really, it was a very pleasant meeting and I enjoyed it. I got quite a reaction out of it and I think the Regents maybe had fun, as well.

MINK:

What was the answer? Why didn't we?

CORNELL:

Because it never had been funded. I mean the trees were here, but they were little fellows, and here was this great mass of big buildings and no big trees. We had never up to that time been permitted to spend money on specimen trees. And so this meeting with the Regents was not only enjoyable, but I think they kind of had fun out of it. Bob Evans of Berkeley, after the meeting, accused me of kidding the Regents. I didn't have any intention of kidding the Regents, but it was all relaxed and easy and comfortable. There were answers to the questions, and so then, as a result of that, they requested me to make a survey and come up with a statement of what was needed, which I did. As I recall it (this might not be that accurate), the recommendation was that $125,000 would put the campus in pretty good shape as far as trees were concerned. Of course that was an outrageous sum, for the campus had never spent anything for trees. People are apt to become defensive and I think the administration was perhaps more concerned than I about being called up and accused of not having enough trees. That was when the Medical Building was under construction, and we had a special concession from Berkeley (we wrote specially and got permission to buy one tree that cost $1200). That was an unheard of thing. That was the first tree ever bought. Bo we made quite a pointed issue there. They had bought a big tree, a big tree.

MINK:

What was that tree?

CORNELL:

That was the big rubber tree, Ficus that was out in that turning circle before it was taken out, if you recall.

MINK:

Yes.

CORNELL:

And that tree has now been moved down to, the Physical Rehab, I guess it is one of those new centers on Veteran Avenue. So that's at least the second move that tree has made, but as a result of the report, which I think was probably a little horrifying, although everybody took it bravely, I think it was Regent Carter who moved that we appropriate $50,000 for new trees, after which we could take It or leave it. And that was done. We were authorized to purchase $50,000 worth of trees, which we thought would be most helpful, most effective. That again horrified Berkeley because there was no money. The Regents had voted this, and yet there were no funds. Well, of course, that meant that they had to obtain funds, but Mr. Weaver and Mr. Evans took their jobs seriously as they should. As I said they are both fine boys. They were quite concerned where the $50,000 was coming from. But anyway, we made it. We got it.

MINK:

For these initial specimen trees, is this the beginning then of this development here, which I believe may be unique in the American campus scene, where we have a developing landscape tour. We numbered the trees and this was then the beginning of that idea.

CORNELL:

I would think that this was the beginning of our expansive era, when we began to recognize the need and the value of these things, which up until that time had all been depressed.

MINK:

You say "need and value." Now what is the value of having these specimen trees? What is the need?

CORNELL:

The need of having trees is to create beauty and functional values—shade and air filtration and things of that sort. The value factor is purely a matter of time. Now as we had done we had always planted little trees. After ten or fifteen years someone said we had no trees, what is the matter? Well, we had them, but they were little. Under the new impetus we moved in trees that were maybe fifty years in getting to that size, maybe sixty or seventy years. So we saved time. We get what they now refer to as instant landscaping. We capitalize time, you see. So for the next fifteen years, beginning today, we had good visual values and aesthetic effects instead of waiting that long, with everything dog-eared and depressing in appearance. Now I don't think that it is necessary, or probably there's a space for economic value of beauty to be discussed, but there is real social and economic value in attractive surroundings. The very homely illustration, which I have made and which I may have quoted in one of these interviews is that we like the things with which we are familiar. We love the old things whether they were good or bad. We grew up with them and we knew them. So I say if we were raised in a stable, and that is our environment, then the stable is home-sweet-home. If we are raised in an attractive, beautiful environment, then we expect that. The amenities from that and the reduced wear and tear and the increased joy of living are very real. What the environment does, and this applies to education (I mean if you are raised under our educational system, that's the whole purpose of it), is to create habits and tastes. During the war I did a lot of housing and government work, and therefore drove a lot. I always picked up men in uniform regardless because they were trying to get somewhere whether it was good or bad. I picked up one boy who was just back from Guam or the South Pacific or somewhere. He was from Chicago, and he climbed in and settled down and his comment was something like this, "My God, it's nice to get back here where they have billboards. I was raised in Chicago and we had the nicest billboards I've ever seen. I didn't see a billboard all the time I was over"—wherever he was. [laughter] To me this was a very interesting and pointed comment on the value of the background, of environment. So Dr. Murphy could tell you, and has told you, his opinions about those values here. He has been a wonderful force in expanding some of these virtues and concepts on the campus.

MINK:

The question I was going to ask you was—so you had $50,000, why not select a tree that is suitable to this soil? Instead of buying a variety of trees, why not buy this one sure thing and plant it everywhere?

CORNELL:

Well, that's again something that's conversational and debatable. It's a little like putting all your students in uniform, putting them all in the same garb or letting them wear things with color and style. It creates monotony, and there is up to a point, value in that. We sometimes have a theme tree, which carries throughout a campus. I think at Pomona College we had the California live oak as a theme tree.

MINK:

What is our theme tree?

CORNELL:

I don't know that we have one here.

MINK:

Maybe the eucalyptus.

CORNELL:

Possibly. There are more eucalyptus probably than anything else. But that can create monotony. Of course you want harmony, but absolute harmony becomes monotony. You want accent and animation, but carried too far, it becomes chaos, you see. So you wear a somber suit maybe and put on a bright necktie. And that's the same way with planting. Those rules apply with everything.

MINK:

Well, bearing this in mind try to tell me how you think this has been accomplished here on the campus.

CORNELL:

This campus is a very special problem. Now I'm going to digress again. Dr. Chandler of whom we spoke, William H. Chandler, a very good friend, was very fond of the Pomona College campus. After I came in here, he and I became acquainted. He said, "I never would have thought, seeing these two campuses, that one man could have been responsible for both of them." But that's because your controls are so different. Now Pomona College has sprawled a little bit. There are no tall buildings. I guess three stories is the highest. There is too much space from the standpoint of maintenance. It all has to be cared for. Here we're crowded in. We're condensed. We have an urban type. Instead of having what you might think of as a theme tree or a totality, we have units. Each one is treated as a unit, like our north campus court, our central court, and things of that sort. So we have a series of units rather than something that carries through. Now at Harvard, the Harvard Yard is famous for its elm trees. The elms dominate it, and that was about it. They didn't do much else. When they put in the Boston subway at Harvard Square, it drained the substructure's water, lowered the water table to a point where the elms died because they were used to the high water table. This was fifty or sixty years ago. They took out the dead trees and moved in big elms. So the idea of big trees isn't so brand spanking new. The big elms were able to adjust because they weren't already established on the basis of the high water table. But you take your architecture here. It started out as Romanesque and was to be carried all the way through. The Regents were very devoted to that idea. They had a supervising architect. They had all the controls. But they have gotten quite a bit away from that.

MINK:

Were you disappointed in that?

CORNELL:

No. I don't believe I'm disappointed. I think again that to have this whole thing, all the same kind of red brick and filigree, would have been pretty monotonous. It's so big, so massive. But we have our units; we have our courts; we have this old unit, which is Romanesque; we have the north campus, which is something else. I'm not saying that it is good or bad, but I think it's consistent and the distances are considerable. I think it adds interest and variety.

1.7. TAPE NUMBER: FOUR, SIDE TWO JULY 12, 1967

MINK:

Regarding the planning communications between these units, one of my colleagues said, "Why do these people not put paths where people go?" Now let's take the court out here in back of Royce Hall, for example; that was put in between the Humanities Building and the Public Health Building and Royce Hall and Haines. At the west end is a raised lawn. There a path has been made across the lawn out to the parking structure. Now why not put a walk in diagonally to begin with, knowing that people are going to walk across there and ruin the lawn?

CORNELL:

Well, it's a proper question. To illustrate, you go back to Harvard, which was founded about 1636—wasn't it—over three hundred years ago, and that was their theory. I spent years there, and I am very familiar with it. They would run a path from one door to the other door until their whole yard interiors were crisscrossed with ribbons. Then the only thing left to achieve any sense of unity and attractiveness and harmony was to put the elm trees in, in line with the building facades, which reflected the formality of the buildings and the yards, as they called them, the courts without those elm trees they would have been nothing. With them is better than without. But let me digress just a moment. There are different controls in design of ground and environmental space. One of the first things is function. That deals with traffic, and that is just what you're asking about. We feel you don't get good design by just creating a spider web of ribbons all over the campus. We think that proper design can be accomplished and still serve the traffic needs. In the beginning, we fought that here; why all this monkey business? In the Sciences Court we “broke the sound barrier." You may have that sufficiently in mind to know that there are no ribbon paths. How we could have started between the Engineering and the Geo-Chem[istry Buildings] and run those cockeyed diagonals from the corners where you come in at the north and had that whole thing just a confused hodgepodge. But we tried to design it on the modular pattern, which surprisingly provides the need of traffic without cutting up and breaking down the design. That total thing, as I remember it—and that included down to the south end, down to the Life Sciences—had about 63,000 square feet of pavement. That is appalling to the man who says, "Why, all you need is a ribbon, is a path." But what you are doing there, you are capitalizing maintenance because your paving doesn't have much maintenance cost; the planting does. Your paving and patterns are worked into a composition, which is intended to be pleasing, and we hope it will be pleasing. So you are accommodating functional requirement with something, which is aesthetically pleasing. That's the theory of it. And while you have the capital cost, the pavement, which would be more than sprinklers and lawn and bushes, you reduce your maintenance. So in the long run, it's an economy. Now then, when I went over to the University of Hawaii and was working on the campus there, the only man they had there on the staff who was concerned was an engineer, the head of the Engineering Department. His word you might say was law. They had three-foot-wide duckboards running around the campus such as you ask about. They were up hill and' down dale and there was a hodgepodge. I wanted to work out a scheme with wider spacing or wider paths. He said, "Why? When it's not raining you walk on the grass, when it's raining, this suffices." Like the man who couldn't fix his roof when it rained and didn't need to when it didn't rain. So that is your whole Scot's idea maybe. But then here we have another angle of volume and mass. We have a terrific load. You go out and look at the campus during classes and walks look abandoned. You get out there for ten or fifteen minutes when students are shifting, and every space of pavement is occupied. They're just like ants in all directions, and we need the pavements. But now then there are different ways of accomplishing the function that you refer to, and I speak of, without going into the ribbon pattern. If you notice we have planter boxes. We have seat-high ledges around which people walk happily. People are not happy if they feel frustrated. If they can stand at one point and see another point, and if they are wanting to go to that other point, they want to go in a straight line unless there is a reason, which is logical. Now on the north campus our paths curve. I don't think we have any problem of trampling of lawn there at all. But they curve gently and directionally. Students don't feel that they are being thwarted or frustrated or pushed to make an unnecessary turn. The reason for the turn is obvious, and it's present and comfortable. You take north of the men's gymnasium, there in those tall deodars, we were asked to provide a walk where the road comes in off of Westwood.

MINK:

Near Parking Structure 5.

CORNELL:

Where it comes down off of Westwood and turns left up there by the parking structure. Between that road and the swimming pool and the men's gym there are some big deodars, and we were told to put a walk through there. The only thing that anybody would have thought of fifty years ago would have been a straight walk maybe along the curb or set a few feet in from the curb—absolutely unimaginative. We proposed—Jere Hazlett was a strong supporter of this—a curvilinear walk through the trees. They said, "Well, they won't follow it; they'll cut." They do follow it and it's delightful. It's a relief from the rigidity and the formality of the rectilinear pattern. While I don't express myself too well, there are a number of reasons, aesthetic, economic, functional, why we prefer to break from ribbon walks. The old thing that you speak about might be illustrated by our parterres. Now those parterres, two of them, have diagonal walks from the four corners and crosswalks north and south.

MINK:

This is in front of the old Dickson Art Center and Schoenberg Hall, two parterres.

CORNELL:

Yes, and that's obvious and it functions well because about the only lines that traffic might follow are the walks that break into the parterre. There is a little cross-traffic, and that's all right as far as it goes. But I don't think that the campus would be very interesting if everything we have were that way, you see. And that also is a step ahead of something like Harvard Yard because again of the traffic controls, which make it work. We create, in our design, traffic controls. Oftentimes, instead of a little diagonal path, we put in a module through which they can walk diagonally, which is part of the design and contributes to the general effect. We may put in a bench, a sitting-height ledge, around which they go, instead of cutting the corner. Things of that sort. So we do have spots such as that on the campus that are not well, they weren't sought. They weren't chosen. They happened. There might be an answer. We might have to redesign that whole court. That has been discussed. But on the southwest corner of the Administration Building is an illustration where they were cutting a corner. I don't know if you remember that.

MINK:

Yes.

CORNELL:

Badly eroding the ground, killing the lawn. Scarring the tree roots, and in that instance, we would put in some junipers with a little flowering cover under them. They go around that now. Once the things are tall enough so that they're self-supporting, so to speak, there won't be a problem.

MINK:

Another one that I was thinking of, that I can remember was here when I went to school and that is still here is on the southeast corner of Royce Hall and the steps that go up.

CORNELL:

That's bad right now. That could be cured very easily by putting in a wall, you see. They'd go over the steps. So I think if we can design and plan attractively and functionally in a way that will satisfy traffic, it's better than to take the line of least resistance.

MINK:

Well now, you mentioned that at one point, when they decided to start the arroyo and fill it in, they thought about putting parking underneath it, but they didn't, and now we have parking structures all over campus. Can you say something about the problem of landscaping that you have had to face as a result of these structures because I think they are again fairly unique, if I may use the word "unique."

CORNELL:

I would like to correct your statement to this extent: I'm not sure that they thought about putting in parking structures. It was suggested, and I believe they didn't think about it.

MINK:

Not very long.

CORNELL:

I didn't think they conceived any of its import. Of course, a parking structure presents no more problem than any other structure. Its control in those things are the scale and the size. The trouble with building up these urban monuments is the space factor. You have a big mass and a little narrow space in which to nestle it among the trees. So it's all relative, but there's no more problem. I think that in a campus like this one we should have a series of interesting expressions, which are properly articulated and related one to the other, with traffic access, and so on. As I have said, we have a north campus court. We have the parterre in this east-west mall here, the center of the old campus. We have the dining area. We have the different courts and the different buildings. I think each of these should be a happy expression. Now on our north-south axis where we end up at the Dickson Art Court on the north and Franz Hall on the south, we're putting in another court, which will be an intersection of two important axes. There will be a water feature involved, and we hope it will be interesting. But I think this type of development is so different from the old concept where there was lots of land, lots of room. They loved the woodsy, rural feeling and still do, but it's not appropriate in this instance. People said, "Why don't you do that here?" Well, you couldn't do that here. And when Dr. Chandler was saying he wouldn't have thought the same man did the UCLA and Pomona College jobs because they were so different, he struck a key note. If your work is successful, it has to face and meet the requirements and controls. The problems are entirely different on the two campuses.

MINK:

What were Dr. Chandler's opinions or evaluations of the landscaping on this campus?

CORNELL:

He was very generous. He was very kind, and he felt that it was satisfactorily handled from his standpoint. But I'm sure he preferred Pomona, the greater freedom and the more rural atmosphere. But again, those are matters of taste, and in design you can't confuse—or you shouldn't confuse—design principles with personal opinion or personal taste. In other words, you might like one style. I might like another, and they might be very different. Either one could be designed well for that period, that style, but your personal taste—and this is something you're just doing for yourself—shouldn't enter into it. It should be a pragmatic conclusion drawn from proper analysis.

MINK:

You were here under a number of chief campus officers. Aside from Franklin Murphy, the present chancellor, who would you say showed the most concern about the landscaping of the campus?

CORNELL:

Well, that's a tough one. Of course, let's say that Murphy sparked a tremendous period of campus growth and without him we might not have had it. Without him it would have been very different. But I was very fond of Sproul. He was very interested and concerned. But they were under a different economic control and attitude where those things were discounted in value. There was nobody to carry the torch and push campus design to the fore until we got the A and E office, and that was the beginning of the change. McElvy who came in as the director of the Architects and Engineers was a strong force in this swingover. But it was a long, slow process, and it was a laborious process. It may not have reached its climax yet, but it has certainly made progress.

MINK:

One thing that UCLA had to contend with, once the decision was made to put in dormitories, was building dormitories and providing another kind of landscaping. Could you talk about that a little bit?

CORNELL:

The dormitories are on a site, which again creates a different problem and creates different controls. The size of the dormitory structures is so great that they need a tremendous flat pad on which to sit. They were to be built on very hilly land, a series of ridges and gullies, as you may recall, which certainly didn't look suitable for the occupancy of large structures. That complex was designed from the environmental standpoint, and the approach to that was vehicular access and suitable pads at different levels to accommodate these buildings. Because of the topographic situation—whether we like it or not, and I think it's good—we were forced into slopes for open space and for trees. Someday, when the trees are big and the site has settled down, we hope to simulate in a way that rural, woodsy atmosphere; we all will be happy with this change in pace of design. Such planning freedom could not have been achieved on the main campus with its high use intensity. Jere Hazlett was a strong force on that residence unit and on the adjoining recreation. He has given his all to it, his intense desire and interest. It has been his life, and I think we have a better campus because of him than we would have had without him. Again these circumstances fall into place and sometimes it's pretty hard to say who really keyed it.

MINK:

Were you involved in the planning of the dormitories?

CORNELL:

Yes. But now, you see, the architect designed the buildings and that is a dominant control. But the landscape group worked out the road pattern and the pad locations and the elevations of the pads and the access into them with the cooperation of the architect and with his final approval. But it was basically a site planning problem until we got the details resolved. Now there might have been more buildings if we had violated some of these other principles. But there is quite a differential in grade between the base of the road and the top, and I don't remember how much. But to negotiate a satisfactory road on a proper gradient and to service four or five enormous pads like that, we'd have a real engineering problem. And of course all of that is landscape work, all inside work. The road grading profiles, drainage, sewage—all those things are landscape problems. And we don't ignore the architect and the architect doesn't ignore the problem. We work together. But they are basically site problems, you see. And ideally, if you can get proper talent, that's the only way it should be done. If you don't have adequate talent, then maybe the architect has to attempt more than he would otherwise do. But for the most part he has a real job in architecture.

MINK:

What do you think of the architecture of the living unit, the dormitory?

CORNELL:

You refer to the function, the appearance, or what?

MINK:

The function.

CORNELL:

Well, I think they're functional. I think they are very good. There again it's so easy to say: "Well, I'd have done something different" or "Why didn't they do something different." But you recognize the problems, and I think they have done a very excellent piece of work. I think they have solved the problem. How you feel about their function on the campus I don't know, but as far as I would know it's satisfactory.

MINK:

I know that when Dykstra first went in, it was a monolithic structure of ten stories, nearly, and it was called the "Hilton for men."

CORNELL:

Well, that part they're forced into by Regent policy. The architect has no choice. He is given the problem of providing housing for so many people. Now that's where the mistake comes in. Your work has to be programmed. They are very conscious of that at the University, and they have a very competent and large staff that does nothing but programming. Once you decide what you have to provide in the way of accommodation, then you are stuck with that. They had to go up eleven stories. They had to do this. You couldn't have done on those hills, I think, the kind of thing, which maybe you or I or Hazlett might have liked to see—rambling broken-level, informal, more or less domestic type of architecture, which you can vaguely visualize in your mind as being lovely. And it would be, but you couldn't have met the requirements. That's another thing on this campus that we have to meet because of the density of use—population. Either we make a low-rise, solid building of the whole thing or we go up at points to provide open space. You see that's all we're doing. We go up to provide open spaces. We need the open space. So the balance lies between that. But if I interpret your question correctly about the west campus, I'm sure there would be plenty of people who would feel as I think you are implying, or at least needling me to answer, that that might have been more like Mira Hershey [Hall], perhaps. But you haven't got then the required room. You couldn't do it. Wow like downtown and Bunker Hill and all that, they're going up now thirty or forty stories because they haven't got that space to flatten out. But the law requires that the ratio of open space to density must remain constant. The old Los Angeles law was that you could go up 150 feet on the lot; that was all. Now you can go up 1,000 feet, but you cannot provide more floor space than you would have if it was 150 feet high and covered the whole space. So what I'm getting at is you can take half the space for open area and then double your height on the other half. Or you can take three-fourths for area and triple your height on the other quarter and get the same ratio. You have to set those controls or you're all out of scale, and you can't get in and out because of congestion. Now that is a very important thing in this type of planning. Beyond a certain point your access is gone. So those are things that force us up into the air.

MINK:

Now when it was decided to build Pauley Pavilion, this created another problem?

CORNELL:

Everything does.

MINK:

How did you feel about the landscaping?

CORNELL:

Well, the way I feel about these things (and lots of them I don't particularly relish, the things we get into) is the planning, as I say, goes back to programming. If it's a Regents' decision that we're going to have the Pavilion, that we're going to have it here, then we do the best we can. And that's programming. And the same way with housing. Those are things that are beyond our control, beyond our experience, beyond our background. So the first step in any planning is the programming. Without that we're running blind because we're writing the prescription and the "doctor" doesn't know what he's writing it for; he just writes a prescription. If you just go out and design something without a purpose, it doesn't have any meaning. So my attitude is not so critical. It's easy to say, "Well, maybe we should have done this or that." But here we are and policies, decisions have been established. They're made, and they may be forced on you. Now when the Medical School came in, right up to the time it arrived, as far as I was concerned, we didn't know anything about it. It took a bite of sixteen acres right out of the heart of the central campus and it has expanded since. It not only occupied that much, but took it away from other uses and also changed the whole relationship of a curricular pattern.

MINK:

It upset your planning of the campus.

CORNELL:

Yes, your academic program; it's made different demands, different densities and intensities of use. So as these things come along, you don't criticize the policy makers. Everybody can criticize, but it takes a pretty good man to work it out. So my attitude is: maybe you don't like some of these things, you prefer it differently, but your job is to take what you have and do as best you can with it.

MINK:

Well now, in the landscaping of the Medical Center, did you have discussions with Dean Warren about this?

CORNELL:

Oh, yes. Of course the Medical Center is getting so big that there's nothing left now but just a few little patches of unoccupied soil.

MINK:

Did he have some definite ideas of his own about it?

CORNELL:

I don't think Dean Warren was too concerned about what we did. I think he was concerned about the hospital. He was willing to let somebody who is supposed to be trained in that line to do the other things.

MINK:

He had no definite suggestions?

CORNELL:

I don't recall if Dean Warren ever came in with any precise landscape requests. There wasn't much space to work on.

MINK:

Has anyone? This is one of the things I'm trying to get at.

CORNELL:

Nobody that I recall. This stuff now is all function, is all filtered through the A and E office. Berkeley has a voice, of course. The chancellor and the planning committee have voices. The local staff and the landscape architect have voices. We argue. We make presentations, which are modified or discarded completely, and we start all over again. We have to meet functional requirements and and budgetary requirements. Now sometimes it's evident that they weren't balanced, that we can't get what they require for the budget they've allowed, so then we either have to change the budget or change the statement of what we'll do. I think my feeling is that these things are matters of teamwork. It's not a matter of liking it in some ways or not liking it. We get the best we can, and it all depends. We have meetings with the architects. We have meetings with everybody. Sometimes one factor will change its whole attitude, or we'll be overruled. It can be either way. Somebody can come up with an idea, which you think will be wonderful, and it will be tried out a little bit and then it will be overruled, turned down, or it will be modified, or it will be accepted in principle as it is.

1.8. TAPE NUMBER: FIVE, SIDE ONE JULY 19, 1967

CORNELL:

The Howard boys [Fred, Edward, O.W., Paul, and Arthur] were all in the horticultural business, I first knew of them about 1910, I think, or 1912. They had a nursery down on Olive Street. It's where the eucalyptus tree was featured. There was Howard and Smith; I think Paul and some of the others were together at that time. This Eucalyptus citriodora that is shown in the photograph is illustrious because they skinned it up to a little tassle way up at the top of a very tall, slender stem.

MINK:

That's in Southern California Gardens, page 175.

CORNELL:

That's right. It was a freak, but it was an attention catcher. Everybody of course knew where that was. That's where they knew Howard and Smith had their nursery. Well, in the early days some of the plants, which I used in work came from them. At that time Al Roberts was with them; he was a very fine, outgoing young salesman. He's still around, and he's retired now. But he was my greatest contact. However, there were Paul and Ed and Fred with whom I was acquainted. The last contact I had with Ed was out at Paul Howard's Flowerland nursery on National Boulevard where I went purposefully hoping to get some photographs of him and and of Paul. Ed was a very affable, friendly, outgoing sort, interested in plants. He had done a lot of Mexican exploration for E.L. Doheny. He brought in a lot of things that went to the [Doheny's] conservatory. And Ed had a little miniature garden. You wouldn't call it a bonsai, but in effect it really was. It was ten or twelve feet long, a little oval-shaped piece on which he had little pine trees and things growing in miniature. He just loved that. So I got Ed's photograph standing beside the California rose. I talked with Paul and asked Paul if I might photograph him. And he said, "Well, Ralph, I never let anybody take my picture. But I think for you I may. I'm not a good photographer. I'm not a good model." So we arranged it, and I went out to his house. Paul was a little bald and usually wore his hat, and so he insisted in being photographed with his hat on. I think it was probably for that reason. Anyway, we had a pleasant visit out there, and he showed me some of his wife's photography. She did color work. I took a few pictures of him and got one that was fairly good. But for the most part he was difficult to pick up. I think he wanted to be photographed with a sculpture piece, a fountain or something nice and have them shown. I said, "Well, Paul, we are taking portraits, and you should be the dominant thing. You shouldn't be an appendage or attached to something else." Well, he loved gadgets and accessories. But after it was all over he said, "Well, Ralph, I guess you were right. The ones without the other things were better pictures." Paul was sort of an introvert. He was independent. He did things by himself and didn't conform. He was very conscious of the fact. Whether he was proud of it or not, I don't know, but he said to me one time, "Ralph, you and I have known each other through the years, but I never went to any meetings, any gatherings of nurserymen or horticulturists. I stayed away from them." He didn't mingle. He had friends. He had close friends. William Hertrich of Huntington Gardens was one of his good friends. But as an individual he was a loner. He built his business, his nursery, his trade, and methods of operating all on his own theories. So Paul is quite a boy and very successful financially, including oil on some of the land he operated as nursery sites. That was probably the extent of my experience with Paul.

MINK:

In 1912 Paul Howard left the firm to establish his own landscaping business, and I imagine you met him in that connection.

CORNELL:

I knew him before that. I think that when he opened his nursery at Third and La Brea. He had a block there, and he had a very active landscape department. At that time, it was competitive to other small operators. But basically Paul was not trained as a landscape designer or landscape architect.

MINK:

He was not professional?

CORNELL:

No. He was definitely not professional. He was commercial. But I think if you told him he was not trained, he would object very strenuously. He had old country background from England and definite ideas, but he hired designers. He was not interested seemingly in selling design that didn't include plant materials that he had to sell. He was a commercial operator in my opinion. Now I don't want to give wrong impressions. There is nothing illegal, there's nothing immoral in being commercial. It's just the difference between the commercial and the professional operator. And of course professionalism in any activity is not concerned in commercial profits. It's concerned only in fees for its service.

MINK:

Did Edward Howard ever tell you anything about his experiences with Doheny?

CORNELL:

Of course he would go down to Mexico and collect. Doheny had quite a conservatory collection there at Chester Place during his lifetime. I think Ed was given more or less carte blanche because nobody else knew much about the new plants, which he collected. Doheny, I suppose, was acquainted with Mexico through his oil interests. Ed collected palms and cycads and the various types of xerophytes and succulents that were native to Mexico. It was a rugged life in those days. The most that he's told me about it was that he'd go out on these long collecting trips, and they were exhausting. It was hot. Conditions were primitive, and he was afflicted with malaria. He would have these malaria attacks and would come home and go to bed and sweat it out and, I think with the aid of a little alcoholic stimulus, he always seemed to recover. When I took his photograph, he was living right near the nursery. As I remember it, it was on National Boulevard.. His wife was with him. He was a very pleasant sort of person. Both she and he spoke of their Mexican experiences but mostly in the physical aspects of the difficulties, the ruggedness and the primitiveness. I believe that she knew him down there. She was not a latina.

MINK:

I see. Now about Fred.

CORNELL:

I didn't know Fred Howard as well as I did Ed or Paul, but he went into the rose growing business. He was out in Montebello; so was Paul at one time. But he hybridized roses and introduced new discoveries, new hybrids. At one time towards the end he was very much interested in amaryllis, and he did a lot of hybridizing amaryllis, putting them on the market commercially. The boys were all individualists, all different, and most of them were attentive to business and details. Those were the things that seemed to interest them. Ed was seemingly an exception. He was kind of a happy-go-lucky sort, loveable, likeable. Everybody liked Ed. And when you speak of him, they say, "Oh, yes, I know him." Very fine sort of a fellow. They were all fine men.

MINK:

This was Fred?

CORNELL:

No. This is Paul Howard. When Paul Howard was on that La Brea property for quite some years, Third and La Brea (that was the end of the yellow car line incidentally coming out from Los Angeles), for years when we wanted to recruit daily labor for the garden we would go out to Third and La Brea. There would be always a bunch of men loafing around waiting for a pickup. Paul Howard's nursery on the Third and La Brea power line terminal was something of a landmark. If we needed a man or two we could always drive out there and. find somebody waiting for a job. I don't think Paul had anything to do with that. But it was located at the corner of his nursery. Well, when that land got so valuable and his business acumen I think began to trouble him a little bit, he sold out, probably at a tremendous profit over what it had cost him. Then he moved out on National Boulevard in the West Los Angeles area, pretty close to the Santa Monica Airport. I don't know how much he bought, but he bought some acreage and established this nursery that he called Flowerland, which was nothing but an outlet. It wasn't a growing ground. He had a growing ground up in the San Fernando Valley. This was simply a retail outlet. He developed a fantastic, very colorful and rather elaborate sales division there and seemingly did a tremendous business. He owned the four-corner intersection there at National Boulevard and, I think, Barrington. He built colonial type structures on these corners, one at a time, until he had three corners occupied. His Flowerland occupied the fourth corner. He spoke to me about that a time or two, how beautiful it was, and it was beautiful. It appealed to you. I mean it was beautiful to him. But he had done it with considerable thought, and most of his work seemingly was strongly influenced by his traditional background.

MINK:

You said that his designs were stiff in your opinion?

CORNELL:

Well, I would think that probably his designs tended on the formal, to put it that way. I think he liked the formal pattern. That's the impression I got. The formal handling and treatment of materials—spacing, controlling, pruning, and trimming—probably was an influence from his background and childhood and the things that he liked. We usually like the things we are familiar with, [those] with which we grew up.

MINK:

The Bodgers, did you know them?

CORNELL:

I knew Jack Bodger. Jack was a grand old man, and he was in the seed business. And incidentally, he was a philatelist. At one time the entire interior walls of his office were papered with envelopes, which he had received with the stamps on them from foreign countries. It was interesting, and just a little quirk I think in Jack's personality. He enjoyed it and so did his customers. But Jack was a kindly and loveable chap, very friendly and generous. Toward the end of the old school, Roy Wilcox and Manfred Meyberg and Jack Bodger and some of those boys were interested in horticulture to the extent that they were contributing toward flower shows, the display of their materials and that type of publicity. In the early flower shows those men were very active. At the Hollywood Park race course, where we staged flower shows for several years under the auspices of the Southern California Horticultural Institute and the florists' association—I don't remember the title, but it's the wholesale flower dealers of Los Angeles that jointly sponsored these shows. Toward the end, Paul Howard and Meyberg and Roy Wilcox became very competitive in their displays. They were very costly. You could always pick out Paul's display. You knew without the label that Paul had done it. There was a certain formality and an abundance of annual flowering materials, which characterized his work. And that is probably the English background.

MINK:

What about Peter Riedel?

CORNELL:

Peter Riedel was a Santa Barbara boy, when I knew him. I don't know how long he had been there. You can get that out of the record. But he was another likeable, loveable old fellow. He was basically a horticulturist, but he dabbled in planning. Now you see it's a simple and an easy step from growing plants to planting them in somebody's yard. Whether you had particular training or experience or training in design doesn't matter too much. You know plants and you know where they grow and how they grow. So anybody who is engaged in that type of activity, that is, the growing end, and is interested and amenable is subject to many calls to come out and do gardens. Well, Peter did quite a little of that sort of thing, and quite a little maintenance work. He was just a nice chap. He worked I think up into his eighties in Santa Barbara on consultation and garden care and maintenance. One of the last things of significance that Peter did was to compile a list of plants, which had been brought into California. It's quite promiscuous. Of course, a list should be inclusive. It should be total. But whether they remained or not, and whether they proved adaptable or succeeded here or not, did not show in his compilation. Some of my ideas may be a little distorted, but I think a Miss Harvey, who is of the Santa Fe Harvey House family, financed this compilation, which he did in Santa Barbara. This is a reference, a big, thick thing. There were twenty-five or thirty copies made, maybe more. It isn't anything of popular value, but it should be in all reference libraries that relate to California horticulture.

MINK:

This is a catalogue of plants that are, have been, and might be grown?

CORNELL:

Yes. It's pretty broad: they are, have been, or might be. So that takes in the field.

MINK:

Now we come to William Hertrich of the Huntington Botanical Gardens.

CORNELL:

William Hertrich was a gentleman of the old school. As the name suggests, he was of Germanic background. He was born in Germany. He has written his own story of the development of Huntington Gardens and that probably will tell more than anybody else could. Did he write a biography of himself? Or has anybody written a biography? No, nothing of that sort to my knowledge.

MINK:

Just the development, I think.

CORNELL:

It was a saga of fifty years of building and operating the Huntington Gardens. Now seemingly he basked in the esteem of Henry Huntington who apparently had great confidence in him and turned these things over to him. Well, Bill was of the old school, which was basically horticultural and in which they mixed a little planting and what they called "design and maintenance." He had certain skills, and, as I understand it, what happened at Huntington was practically all Bill's design and Bill's work, and it reflects and smacks of the Germanic. For example, there's a big mall that runs north from the Art Building aligned with statues on two sides. It's an allée with a terminus feature at the other end. It all has the German feeling, I think. He collected in the course of fifty years probably the best-known and the most complete collection of xerophytes, cacti, desert plants on this continent and perhaps in the world. It's visited from everywhere and known by all horticulturists. It's quite a remarkable collection, and it still exists. He built the Japanese garden. He bought out some garden that a Japanese had built, moved it over stock and barrel. He did quite a bit of that in the beginning. He moved in big trees, big plants. He was very kindly, but stern. He had the Germanic training. Everything and everybody belonged in its place. He was quite an advocate, or quite an example, of protocol. I think that's my opinion. But I loved Bill, he was a fine chap. He lived to be more than ninety, and he certainly left an impression on Southern California. This was one of my photographs.

MINK:

When was this taken?

CORNELL:

He was seventy-four when I took that. He lived to be ninety-four, more or less.

MINK:

Do you remember the occasion of this picture?

CORNELL:

Oh, I'm one of those, you know, who doesn't take photographs of trees and plants unless you love them because there is no other reason for taking them. There's not enough outlet; there's not enough demand to give it commercial importance to an individual. As I said before, I was interested in photography from the beginning, and this was when I got the idea of photographing some of the old-timers. I spoke of that before.

MINK:

Was Mr. Hertrich the first one you took?

CORNELL:

I don't recall that he was, but he was probably among the first.

MINK:

Do you remember the occasion of this photograph?

CORNELL:

Yes. We were in his office and I said, "Bill, what about a portrait." And he was always very willing to pose, He'd come out any time and stand by a cactus or a tree or a flower and let me shoot him. And he said, "All right, Ralph, where shall we go?" I had noticed these delphiniums growing outside. They were enormous, and they were beautiful. So I thought they might give a horticultural background, and I shot them in color as well as in black-and-white. The color was more interesting because these purple, blue, lavender delphiniums were quite stunning. The criticism, which I have received of this after it was taken.

MINK:

From Mr. Hertrich?

CORNELL:

No, not from him. It was: "Why did you take him with the delphiniums? Why didn't you take him with the cactus or something with which he worked?" My thought was, and it usually is, to get something that is colorful and interesting, and I do have a photograph of him with cactus. He told me that his wife said that she thought this was the best photograph that he had taken recently, and she would like to get some extra prints. So that was when I lost the negative. I loaned It to Bill, and he lost it.

MINK:

I wanted to ask you about this photograph of Peter Riedel, which is on page 187. The one of Hertrich is on page 192 of Southern California Gardens. Is this one that you took?

CORNELL:

No. I photographed Peter. Peter was frequently seen with a pipe in his mouth, and I photographed him in his studio. He had his pipe at that time as usual. This is not my picture.

MINK:

Well now, Edward O. Orpet.

CORNELL:

I knew Orpet. I knew of him way back when he first came to Santa Barbara, but I didn't know him intimately or personally until during his later years. He made great contributions. Of course, he was an old world product. He worked in the East in big gardens there and greenhouses and made quite a reputation, and then he came to Santa Barbara. He introduced to Santa Barbara many of the South African plants, bulbs and woody plants including the group known as the Proteaceae. The family of Proteaceae includes proteas and leucospermums and leucadendrons and banksias, all of them interesting and unique plants. And then the Aloe, "A-lo-ee" as it's pronounced in the trade and in the profession. But he brought in a lot of aloes from Africa. And probably Southern California owes a great deal to him for its variety and supply of aloe varieties and banksias, which are only now coming into what appears to be the beginning of a commercial era. Up until now the Banksia and Protea have been novelties and luxuries. Orpet also brought in, I think, some eucalyptus. There is one eucalyptus named after him, a variety, which is a hybrid known as Eucalyptus orpetii. I photographed him and his wife in the little nursery glasshouse hack of their dwelling on north State Street in Santa Barbara. I photographed him alone and them together. But I rather insisted on—when they wanted a picture of him—on their using the one that included the two because Mrs. Orpet (who I guess is his second wife and who lived with him during his later years) was certainly his mainstay and his support. She carried on correspondence, and she just helped him in every way possible. Without her, his later years would have been pretty bleak unless there had been a duplicate for her. So I felt that Mildred Orpet deserved a place in the sun along with him. Of course, she modestly demurred as usual, but we overruled her.

MINK:

This is on page 198 in Southern California Gardens along with the photograph. Did you do the one of the eucalyptus?

CORNELL:

No, I have photographs of that, but this is not my photograph.

MINK:

Now, I think this is a man you have already mentioned, Manfred Meyberg.

CORNELL:

I've heard more people speak of him. He was lovingly referred to by his friends as "Manny," as being the best friend they had ever had. His good qualities seemed to include the desire and the ability to help young fellows get started. People that I never even felt might know him have told me that he was one of their best friends. So I think he started a lot of people in business. He was strictly a businessman, but with imagination, not the stodgy one-track type. He was a man who initiated the writing and publishing of the book on Southern California gardens. He funded it in large part and maybe entirely. I don't remember now. But he paid the author for her time in writing it. She took a year's leave of absence from her regular work and wrote the book at his request and at his expense. That was all done not for any personal gain but because he loved horticulture. He wanted to see it expand and wanted to see the public and world learn and know more about it.

MINK:

Did you tell me how it was they came to choose Victoria Padilla to write Southern California Gardens?

CORNELL:

I don't think I've told you how they came to choose her, and perhaps I don't know. I would suppose that Manny might have had a good deal to do with it, if not all to do with it. But she has facility in English. She teaches school. She did teach school. I should know, but I think it has to do with speech, rhetoric and things of that sort. She had that training. She also has a horticultural interest and background. Bromeliads have been her pet fancy. She was well known in horticultural circles. She knew the horticultural people. She knew the language. She was familiar with all that is concerned with horticulture. She also has the ability to communicate. I think those are the factors that decided the choice of her as the author of the book.

MINK:

I was much interested in reading of Meyberg's work with Germain's Seed and Plant Company and of his window displays.

CORNELL:

Yes. Well, he was a big factor in the company from the beginning, and it ended up I think with Manny on top of the heap and establishing policies and things of that sort. Certainly after his death, the whole outward, external attitude of the Germain Seed Company changed and seemed to lose that—"abstract" isn't the word—impersonal interest. They were interested in seeds and selling. They gave up their retail connections, but I think they did that before Manny died. But he built of the Germain Seed Company a showplace of big trees that he moved in, and he spared no expense. He made a beautiful thing out of it. Well that's all changed now. They're no longer interested in those things, and I don't know whether they have sold the land or not. But it's occupied, what shall we say "remuneratively" instead of "aesthetically," though there's real value in these other things, too. Manny was a great boy in his flower shows. He put on a wonderful exhibit one year—every year for that matter—showing redwoods. They had thunder and lightning and rain coming in. I said, "Well, Manny, how much did that cost?" He said, "I don't dare look it up. I don't want to know." But that was his attitude. It wasn't a case of bleeding everything and squeezing the last dollar. It was a case of giving value and getting value and helpfulness. He was very helpful. And Mrs. Meyberg who is still living has been very generous in carrying out his tradition. She's been very helpful in some of the work that is being planned in the [Los Angeles] State and County Arboretum in Arcadia. She is doing all she can to perpetuate Manny's tradition and his memory.

MINK:

Is this a photograph that you took of him?

CORNELL:

No. I didn't take Manny. I wanted to. I had him in mind, and I missed him. We all get busy. We discussed it, and he was willing, but we never got around to it.

MINK:

But what about Hugh Evans?

CORNELL:

So many of these horticulturalists, it seems to me, have a humanitarian quality, which is not universally found in people. If you are a horticulturist you may go anywhere in the world, you knock at a garden gate or a door and announce yourself and say, "I am interested in your garden." It's an open sesame. They welcome anybody who is interested in horticulture. Well, Hugh Evans of course was also British. When I first knew him, he was in the real estate business here in Los Angeles. But he couldn't take it, I guess, and went back to the nursery trade. He developed a nursery in West Los Angeles that has had no counterpart in its introduction of new varieties and the growing and dissemination of new varieties. He was a gentleman of the old school. He would never say, "Hello" or "Hi, how are you." He would say, "I would like to pay you my respects" or something of that sort. He was very beloved by the youth and the younger generation coming up as well as the oldsters. [This is] one thing that's just a little anecdote that I recall. We went out one Christmas day, with a camera of course, to the Evans and Reeves nursery. It was locked up on Christmas. Well, there was a caretaker on the grounds. We asked him if we might come in, and he said yes. We entered around through a side gate and went wandering in with the camera. And here, down one of the aisles, came Hugh Evans. He had come over. He couldn't stay away that long. And he said, "Ralph, do you think I made a mistake in closing the nursery on Christmas day? I debated whether or not I should keep it open so that people could come in and see the things." Well, I told him I thought he did all right, and so that's one of the memories of Hugh. This photograph was taken in his nursery. It doesn't show any background, but he was sitting under an exotic plant that had big foliage.

MINK:

He had three sons.

CORNELL:

Well, I met all of them. One is no longer living. Jack Evans was a very likeable, outgoing chap. He was interested in the nursery end of it, but in a little more businesslike, practical way perhaps. He was very friendly and outgoing. Jack started a little landscape work on the side. In fact, I think the nursery all through the years did some garden planting.

MINK:

Was Evans active in landscape design?

CORNELL:

Not Hugh himself.

MINK:

But his son Jack?

CORNELL:

Jack passed away recently. Morgan is going on. He is making quite a name for himself in garden design and other types of design—Disneyland, and work of that sort. Then the third son—

MINK:

Bernard.

CORNELL:

Bernard is an offshoot; he doesn't conform to the pattern. He's a likeable fellow. He doesn't look like the other two brothers; they had family resemblances in stature and size, but Bernard is taller and larger and heavier. I forget now, but he's in another type of business.

MINK:

He didn't stay with the nursery?

CORNELL:

No. He was apparently never interested in the nursery. He was just a sport, as it were, off the family tree. A fine fellow and talented but with different interests.

MINK:

You never met Sara P. Cooper, I don't imagine.

CORNELL:

No. She was earlier, ahead of my time.

MINK:

Well, are there any other photographs that you'd like to comment on? I was especially impressed with the color photographs. This one that's opposite page 220 in Southern California Gardens appears to be Mount Rubidoux. Is that right?

CORNELL:

No. The upper photograph would be of Lupinus nanus, and it's up on the Bear Mountain grade in Kern County. The mountains in the background, the shadow of some of them, would be the Tehachapi range. Photography is purely a matter of form, light, and composition. You can take the same spot and photograph it a dozen times and hardly recognize it as being the same, depending on light, time of day, and the things that enter into it. I got up early; that was one of my habits: to get up before daylight and get out in the field about the time the sun comes up or a little after. The day I took this I was out early. I was out on the Bear Mountain grade by sunup, and you get the horizontal light and shadow and you get better effects that way. So that little Lupinus nanus is a low blue lupine that used to cover thousands of acres in the San Joaquin Valley. It grows westerly to the coast, goes right down to the ocean's edge. We saw it last spring in Cambria, right up smack against the ocean. It grows in Santa Maria. It grows in San Luis Obispo County, and then it grows over in the Antelope Valley. But the San Joaquin Valley and around those Tehachapi Mountains is where the grand, big displays used to occur, see it at its best.

MINK:

At Arvin.

CORNELL:

Well from Arvin outward, yes. From the Grapevine grade to Arvin, all those foothills that were masses of blue purple were covered with this lupine, also with owl clover and California poppy and other things. In a good year they would give a two- or three-month display in sequence. I remember when I was working at Camp Roberts and going back and forth one winter, they came in sequence, depending a little on the altitude and also on the variety of plants, so that for about three months there was some kind of lovely interesting flower there.

MINK:

The California poppy, where did you photograph this?

CORNELL:

That's photographed with tidy tips. The tidy tip is a pale yellow; the California poppy is an orange yellow. They intermingle. I couldn't say precisely where this was taken. It might have been taken almost anywhere because that's a combination of things, which you frequently see. These wild flowers intermingle and overlap.

MINK:

Now here are some very beautiful stands of cacti.

CORNELL:

Are these pages numbered?

MINK:

No, they are not.

CORNELL:

Well, It would be on the second page, the overleaf of the colored segment. The top one is taken in Santa Barbara. The top two, those are aloes. That funny thing that goes up and then gets discouraged and starts back down is an agave from Mexico. Down at the bottom of that page, the thing with the red fruits is a cactus from South America. The lower right-hand picture shows barrel cactus with aloes, and that was in Huntington Gardens. The full-page picture on the opposite page is of the Mexican fan palm (Washingtonia robusta) taken at the Arboretum. Some of the oldest and tallest fan palms in California, I think, have been at the Arboretum.

MINK:

Now this one of the jacaranda, when was that taken? [tape off]

CORNELL:

Probably the jacaranda tree was photographed about 1959 or 1960, it stands at the northwest corner of the Lawrence Powell Library near the head of Janss Steps. It's a better than average tree but not an outstanding specimen. It usually flowers heavily and has a beautiful deep blue color in its flowers. So that's a UCLA campus tree.

MINK:

On the next page are some commercial pictures.

CORNELL:

Well, there's a passion flower. Then there are two commercial shots, which I didn't take. One shows flower fields up in the Lompoc area, and the other shows poinsettias commercially grown. Then on the last page in color, the top photograph, again is a commercial shot. The left center is taken at the Arboretum in a demonstration garden. The lower right-hand shot is taken in Santa Barbara of succulents. Now the succulents are a wonderful group of colorful plant materials, which, if properly handled and maintained, are very effective. But they need a good deal of maintenance because they increase so rapidly that you are eternally digging them up, separating them, replanting them, and throwing about nine-tenths of them away. But if they are kept in order they make a beautiful garden detail. [tape off] But you asked me how I became connected with the Arboretum and got started with them. Of course, it all basically goes back to horticultural interest. I have been a member of the Southern California Horticultural Institute for years and years, as long as I can remember. Whenever there were flower shows or any types of activity of that sort I was interested. So there was a committee formed from the Horticultural Institute to explore the possibilities for an arboretum. Those possibilities naturally included a number of things. Perhaps first of all would be a site; and then second how to obtain it, how to fund it, and how to organize it. I was on the committee that used to go hunting for sites. We used to go all over Southern California looking for sites. We found some beauties.

MINK:

Could you tell us some of your experiences in hunting for sites? This is always interesting. This is what they did with the University, you know. They hunted.

CORNELL:

Well, it was amateurish, and this is a do-it-yourself deal. But one of the sites that we explored was the Hastings Ranch up against the foothills in the Sierra Madre area of Foothill Boulevard. Everybody was very enthusiastic, a beautiful site. We had terrain from relatively level land at the base up to the mountains. Think of the rains, of plant materials we could grow in those different conditions. There was ample acreage, I think. As I remember, we looked at 1000 or 1200 acres. It doesn't matter now. But when we began to talk about a million and a half or something for the land, what does that do to you? That deflates your enthusiasm because we just had nothing. We had no sponsors. We had nothing at all. And one thing led to another. Others could tell you exactly how we settled upon the site at Arcadia. But it had a historical background. It had heritage quality in every way—physically, intellectually, and historically. It had a natural lagoon, no artificial water. It had some lovely old trees. It had some historic ruins, and that was on a piece of property, which I believe belonged to the Chandler company exclusively or a company in which the Chandler company was interested. I'm not sure, but it belonged to a syndicate. They were subdividing it. There was a Mr. Davies who was connected in the development from a business standpoint representing other interests, or someone in some way. That's probably all in the book, too. They became aware of the fact that here was 120 acres still undeveloped but was planned for subdivision. But it came to our attention, and if there was any way that we could obtain it physically and financially, it would be available. They would hold it up for a while. And I am of the opinion that they gave us a good offer, a good deal. So we elicited the help of various people, W.S. Rosecrans and others who were socially and intellectually and financially active in the community. It was finally purchased through funds, half of which were provided by the state and half of which by the county. That is why it is called the Los Angeles State and County Arboretum because the state owns a half interest in the physical purchase of the land. But they lease it to the county for a dollar a year or something like that, and the county was given jurisdiction. That's the way it began. We developed this California Arboretum Foundation, which is a private citizen group dedicated and devoted to that sort of thing, to try to work it out. We were thirty or forty years younger than we are now, twenty years younger maybe. With the talent and the help that we had, we were able to get the proper papers, organization, and this and that funded in a satisfactory way. The county took it over, you see, and they leased it to the foundation. The foundation being ambitious and young—and shall we say ignorant was hoping that they could fund the maintenance. They struggled, and it was pretty rough, pretty hard. We couldn't get the money in sufficient quantity, nor fast enough, to do much good. After a try, it was suggested that maybe the county would be willing to take over the maintenance, and then we could work in fund raising and whatever way was possible to help the thing out. That's the way it ended up. The Arboretum Foundation relinquished any claim to the maintenance problem. The county took it over. Well, then we went to work on organization. Over the years the foundation itself has been responsible for a coniderable contribution, and of course they are responsible for much of the thinking, planning, and organizing that goes into it. I don't know how I got on the board, but it seems to me that it was just one of those things. You started so long ago that it's what they refer to as "a natural, so I've been on the board ever since its inception and was chairman of the board for a number of years. I am still on the board and on the executive committee. You have the same thing in the Hancock Park County Art Museum, friends of this and friends of that, and that's what this foundation is. They have no legal status because this is not their property and is not operated by them, but they have strong powers of recommendation. And what they want or don't want bears a good deal of weight. The county has been wonderful. They are very cooperative. They are very helpful. Often in these projects we'll match funds. We'll produce a certain amount, all that we can. The county will match it, or maybe a little more than match it, and that way we'll get something done. And it's done at a minimum of cost to the county, much less than they could do it themselves. There's no point in going into all the details and intricacies.

MINK:

What have the objectives of the foundation been, as far as what they wanted to make out of it?

CORNELL:

Well, the objectives in one word are basically educational. They introduce plants. They run tests and checks and research on different pests and controls, on smog, and on fire-resistant plants. They have educational courses, some of which are accredited in the schools. They have children's courses in plant appreciation and propagation. They are basically an educational and a cultural factor in the development.

1.9. TAPE NUMBER: SIX, SIDE ONE AUGUST 2, 1967

NYSTROM:

Mr. Cornell, we are standing here on Janss Steps looking east, and as we look across the old central campus I notice that it's laid out in a geometric pattern, in contrast to the newer north campus. Now this was evidently laid out by David Allison and was done before your time. Would you like to comment on that?

CORNELL:

I don't know if this was done by Allison alone or whether Kellam had something to do with it. They were both architects who worked on the original planning of the campus. This is an axis, which they established as a beginning, as a nucleus, and as a central campus. Whatever has happened since then has come in increments. The ideas and thinking have changed with the expanding academic program. It all has evolved, however, from this first beginning. Now I had nothing to do with the original campus planning. nor with the planting around these first buildings. But I have done supplemental planting in this court and at the entrance coming in from Hilgard, which was lined originally with four rows of fig trees, or rubber trees, as we call them, some of which have been taken out to make way for buildings. There are still basically four rows between Hilgard and this main central campus. That was not the axis, but the planting part of my job.

NYSTROM:

What year was this?

CORNELL:

This was at the end of the 1930s. Of course I would not remember, but I came on to the campus as landscape architect in 1937. It's been thirty years since I've been here, and that was one of the first things, which we did when we got into campus expansion. It probably was around 1940 or thereabouts.

NYSTROM:

Were the trees good-sized trees?

CORNELL:

No, sir. They had had a considerable problem deciding what to plant here. They had had different consultants with different ideas. They had had in one or two things, which didn't do well. They had considered other things. One time I think they had considered the red-flowering eucalyptus. At another time Wilhelm Miller, who apparently was consulting on it, called me and asked what I would recommend. That was before I was employed here. He wanted to plant deodar cedars. Well, they are conical in form. They spread widely at the base up to a pointed peak. In my judgment they are not the type of tree that lends itself to this sort of use because these trees should be umbrageous. They should clear the ground areas so you can walk beneath them. They should form a spreading top rather than a pointed top. I remember amusingly that Wilhelm Miller called me by telephone, and he was quite indignant because I didn't endorse his thought of using cedars. He came from the Middle West, Illinois. He was a prairie landscape architect. His background was different. He was definitely of the old school. Well, anyway, we conceived the idea of using what is commonly called one of the rubber trees but which is botanically a fig. There are just about 1,000 species of Ficus, which is the fig family. They include the edible fig and many other types and the ornamental trees, which we refer to as rubber trees. We conceived the Idea of using these, thinking they might be satisfactory, but they were not in common supply nor in common demand. They were known, but they weren't used in those days. We couldn't find two or three dozen fig trees of any form or suitable character whatsoever. The only ones that we could locate were some in butter tubs out at the Roy Wilcox Nurseries in Montebello.

NYSTROM:

Approximately what height were those?

CORNELL:

They were four or five feet, probably. They were on standards in these tubs that had maybe three- or four-foot stems. The heads were globular. They had been sheared and clipped until they were just tight balls of interlaced twigs. They were not suitable material whatsoever for any type of planting. The roots were bound in the tubs and there was no room left. But being thirty years younger than now, one takes a chance and does things a little differently. So we thought it was worth a flyer. We took these things out of the butter tubs, and the root ball was almost a solid mass of wood. The former superintendent of grounds, Mr. MacGillivray, suggested that we cut the roots, which we did by taking an ax and cutting down on four sides of the ball, severing all that tangled mess of roots to get new areas and surfaces from which the roots would start. Then we worked on the tops with the help of Professor Chandler, who is the head of the Agriculture Department here.

NYSTROM:

He was a pruning expert, wasn't he?

CORNELL:

Pruning was his specialty. He wanted to make this a project, experimental in a way but not without basic foundation of experience. We had a chap named Edward Focht, who is still with us on the University staff as a grounds man, and Eddie did the pruning. Dr. Chandler did the counseling. I sat in and helped as I could, and I took progress pictures of the thing. From those seemingly impossible plants, which we would reject instantly now for any type of planting use, these things were brought into what they are today, and they are very nice plants. The tops were opened and pruned. It took us about five years to straighten things out. But I think it's worthwhile, and I do believe that it was about the beginning of more or less extensive use of rubber trees in ornamental planting here in Southern California. They had been known since the early colonial days but only were used sparingly. Almost every old ranch house had, where the climate was suitable, at least one rubber tree and had pepper trees and certain things of that sort.

NYSTROM:

These trees are a little over twenty-five years old then, according to the figures.

CORNELL:

I would say they have been planted here at least twenty-five years, and they were probably five to ten years old in the tubs, which meant nothing excepting their deterioration because they were underpotted.

NYSTROM:

Now when the decision was made to plant the ficus trees in the central court, in the central axis here, did you consult with George Kellam and David Allison?

CORNELL:

I don't remember that I did, particularly. Of course, when I first came out here I was still nominally under the direction of Professor John Gregg at Berkeley, who for some time was head of the Landscape Department there. Gregg supervised the original landscape planting, though they did employ outside talent. I think Hammond Sadler did some of the planting around these first buildings. But when I came in, I was nominally under Gregg, though he pretty much left it to me and had nothing much to say. I would defer to him, but as a rule he would endorse what was proposed. I don't recall that we had any particular consultation with Kellam or Allison excepting that they would have approved it.

NYSTROM:

Did they make any comments as to the scale of the trees? Did they desire the trees to fit in with the scale of the buildings? Did they want the buildings to be shielded from view or did they want them to be open and visible?

CORNELL:

As I recall they had little to say excepting on this old unit here between Royce and the old Library Building and this quadrangle established by four buildings.

NYSTROM:

Dickson Plaza.

CORNELL:

That was open when I came in, and when we planted these trees coming in from Hilgard in four rows, I felt that it would be pleasant to carry the line through to Westwood. But in discussing this central plaza here, Allison was very conservative and very reluctant about letting any planting in because he didn't want to hide the buildings. Well, the buildings are pretty dominant, pretty big, and I don't think they could be hidden. I think they would be improved by a little enclosure and softening.

NYSTROM:

I notice the absence of ivy, too.

CORNELL:

Well, yes, there is no ivy now. We have gone through that cycle, however, and I think at least twice, when the buildings had ivy on them. The ivy went up to the top floors of these old buildings, but there was always objection to it from different standpoints. Architecturally it confused or eliminated the architectural lines. From the standpoint of maintenance, these vines were great collectors of bugs and bird nests. And they were rampant growers. They would go in through the window casements and go into the inside of the rooms. They were dirty, and they had to be pruned. That was costly and difficult. So there was a great deal of objection to them from that standpoint.

NYSTROM:

They also hid the building, which also would be an objection of Allison.

CORNELL:

Yes. [There was] some objection from the architectural approach. The last time they were taken out was quite some years ago. Since then, it is a recurrent thought. Somebody gets the original idea that we should have vines. They work on it for a while, but the probability is that we shall never have very many, if any.

NYSTROM:

Now if we may turn around and look towards the west, Mr. Cornell, and as we do we see that this line of ficus continues right down the slope here. Now are those in the original group of ficus, the ones that go down the hill?

CORNELL:

Yes. That was originally planned when we put the ficus in and carried them through this central plaza. When we got down into the plaza between the two gymnasia, we put a ficus in each of the four corners, making the ficus into a theme tree, so to speak, for this particular portion of the campus. It makes a continuity and a homogeneity that we wouldn't have gotten with some other types of treatment. Whether it is good or bad may be a matter of opinion.

NYSTROM:

I understand that this crisscross of paths that go through the trees was put in several years ago, maybe fifteen or twenty years ago.

CORNELL:

Well, maybe ten or twelve.

NYSTROM:

It's quite in contrast to the geometrical layout of the upper level.

CORNELL:

This slope between the gymnasia on Westwood and the Library Building and Royce Hall on the top of the bank here is unfinished. It's transitional. It has never been laid out by design. For years it was nothing but a problem of grass and weeds, which had to be kept cut and under control and through which the students had worn diagonal, crisscross, spider-web paths in their travel between their different points of interest. Mr. Sweeney came in one day and said he could fund it if we could suggest a tree that would be quick, cheap, and wouldn't hurt anybody's feelings when the time came for removal and which might not even live very long. He would like to put in a temporary tree, more or less at random, put Bermuda grass in where the weeds were and pave the paths as they were. So that's what was done. The appearance of these two slopes has been much-improved by that, but they are still unfinished. There are master plans, which contemplate the development of these slopes into terraces and usable space for students because this is a place where great quantities of them congregate, where they sit out, where they have lunches, and where they study. It will be used, but we want to keep it open. If there is an open space anywhere in the world in connection with cities and so-called civilization, it's always in great demand by those who want a cheap or a free site for a building. So logically there have been times and thoughts when it has been considered as a possibility that buildings might go in on these slopes. The landscape architects have strenuously opposed that. I think the architect is also against it because we need the open space. It's part of the environmental pattern, and without it everything goes to pieces. Some of our most highly used area is what is referred to as open space.

NYSTROM:

Now the temporary trees that you mentioned, are some of them sycamores?

CORNELL:

No. The temporary trees are Acacia mollissima. It's a short-lived, quick-growing, flashy tree for the moment. It doesn't take water, nor care to speak of. It was just an expedient, so when they have to come out nobody's feelings will be hurt. We'll be glad to get rid of them because they are already beginning to deteriorate. This will be ultimately—the Lord and the legislature all willing—developed into a very usable and attractive area.

NYSTROM:

Now aren't there a row of sycamores going down by Bruin Walk? You might comment on those.

CORNELL:

There was a double row of sycamores that went north and south on the east side of the two gymnasia and then at Bruin Walk it turned east and west. It was lined by sycamores. Those are what we call oriental plane trees, Platanus orientalis. When they originally were planted by the architects, I think they were intended to have been kept in what we refer to as a pollarded condition, which means that they are topped annually, and the tops become more or less firm, architectural, and box-like and never take on natural form. In the evolution of the campus both of those two avenues—if you want to call them that, those two double rows of trees—have been permitted to grow naturally, which will get them higher into the air, provide more shade, and soften up the effect. And again, whether it's better or not is a matter of taste and opinion. In matters of that sort no one ever agrees.

NYSTROM:

We might turn again to the east, Mr. Cornell, and I would like to have you comment on the ravine that used to exist there. I understand that the bridge is still there and has been closed in on either side of it. I understand this was done in phases. Would you care to comment on that?

CORNELL:

When I came out here there was this arroyo, which ran practically from Sunset Boulevard and the chancellor's house down to Le Conte. The present Botanic Garden is in the lower extremities of the onetime arroyo. The arroyo was originally about sixty-five feet deep below the established grade of central campus. As we began to fill up and as we began to need more room, we were facing the space problems caused by congestion and expansion.

NYSTROM:

Are we talking about the late 1930s and early 1940s?

CORNELL:

I would say we are talking about the 1940s, probably the early 1940s. And so they began to wonder how to handle things and to get more campus.

NYSTROM:

How did Ernest Carroll Moore stand on this?

CORNELL:

That was after his day, and all he would, have said would have been a personal opinion. I don't know what that might have been because he was no longer active on the campus. He was inactive when I came out in 1937. Anyway, they finally decided to fill the arroyo. There was about a half-million yards of fill required on each side of the then bridge. Allison was still active at that time. While the landscape architect felt, and the profession felt, that such work was entirely within the scope of landscape architecture, the architects still clung to the old tradition that there was nothing quite as good as the architect, and that he should have an engineer come in and work under him. So he hired a civil engineer, a fellow named Ropp, who was a very good man, a fine gentleman. Ropp made the grading plans for the north half, and that moved a half-million yards of earth and filled up to the bridge. We never filled beneath the bridge. They erected walls on the two sides of the bridge to hold the fill and the thrust. When they got to the second half, we moved up a little bit. I don't remember whether Allison was still active here then or whether he dropped out a little.

NYSTROM:

I think he was active up to the early 1950s. About 1952, I think he left.

CORNELL:

Anyway, they turned the second half over to the landscape architect. We made the grading plans for the lower half, and that was done just ahead of the construction for the Medical Center, which would date it. Of course, it is on the records when it was done.

NYSTROM:

I suppose it was also a convenient place to put any fill dirt from the medical construction in the arroyo. Those two things were coincided.

CORNELL:

Well, yes. I don't recall that we imported any fill. I believe we worked this out on a balance, cut and fill because we cut down ridges and filled gullies. There may have been import, but I don't recall that there was.

NYSTROM:

We're up in the late 1940s and early 1950s. This would be the beginning of the real density on the campus, when the Medical School was started and when the south half of the arroyo was filled.

CORNELL:

That is correct. That was the beginning of the new era, which has taken us along so rapidly. Up to the time of the Medical School we had relatively simple problems. But the Medical School suddenly—rather quickly as far as we were concerned—took a bite of sixteen acres right out of our center of campus. It's much more than that now.

NYSTROM:

The Greek Theater went with it.

CORNELL:

The Greek Theater went with it, and that was quite a thing. It upset the whole academic planning schedule, everything else because with the Medical School coming in, it called for new academic development, new courses, new classes, new instructors, a different relationship between the existing facilities. It threw out all the master planning, as far as academic relations and spatial relations are concerned. So that's been mere or less the story ever since because the Medical School has expanded. New things come in, which were not originally planned, and each time you interject something into a total structure you upset balances, which call for adjustment. That changes things. So that's what has happened.

NYSTROM:

When the north half of the arroyo was filled, Mr. Cornell, in the early 1940s, what buildings were to go on that? Do you remember what their plans were at that time?

CORNELL:

The first building that went on the land, as I recall it—of course those things are all dates on the record—was the Law Building, and the old Art Building came in about the same time.

NYSTROM:

That's right. They came in 1951 and 1952. Now this building that we call Public Services today or Social Services (the original Economic Building was built in 1948), was that made possible by the filling of the arroyo or was that necessary? The one with the tower here on the other side.

CORNELL:

That's off the arroyo. But the old Art Building is centered right smack down the center. So the Art Building and the Music Building (Schoenberg Hall) are right over the bottom of the center of the arroyo.

NYSTROM:

Then there was almost a decade after the arroyo had been filled in the north that there weren’t any buildings on it. It was done, say, in the early 1940s, and It wasn't until 1952 that they put the buildings in. Comment now on these ficus, if you would, Mr. Cornell.

CORNELL:

Well, we are looking at the central campus quad in which there are six ficus rubber trees. They are lined up with those that come in from Hilgard, but they are not evenly spaced. They are not balanced within this court. That's purely a matter of decision and design. Horticulturally, these might interest you in contrast with my story about the starting of the ficus row. The difficulty in planting large trees oftentimes is a matter of getting the new root system established, because you have so much overhead, which offers wind resistance and is liable to tip the trees over. The caliper of your stems of nursery stock often is inadequate because they have been grown staked up in nurseries, which isn't the proper way to do it. Working again with Professor William H. Chandler, we took cuttings of some of the ficus over on the Sawtelle grounds of the Veterans Hospital and rooted them here on the campus. Then when they were tiny plants of maybe a foot or two, but rooted, we moved them in here, planted them where you now see them, without the roots ever having been bound or twisted or turned or ingrown and without the tops having developed far beyond the normal capacity of the root system. And we had to protect them. In our program—and I say this is properly Chandler's research, I think—instead of pruning them up from the ground the way the nurseries do, to a little tuft of foliage on the top of a stick, we left the lateral branches in place, right down to the ground level, and didn't do any lifting of branches until the trees were of pretty good size. Now the reason for this was to develop a trunk caliper rather than a slate-pencil type of thing that went up for six or eight feet with nothing to hold it up. It worked, but the trees looked a little unusual because they aren't usually done that way. Well, when they got big enough so that we felt we could start doing it, first we shortened these laterals. Instead of removing them we shortened them, because they are all fed from the root system, and if you reduce the foliage area then you reduce the caliper development—and that may be exaggerated in statement, but I hope illustrative. Each trunk was a sort of a cone. It was broadly based, and it tapered up to a thin tip at the top instead of being pencil thin all the way up. That way they developed their own support and their own structure. As we were able, we lifted those until now we have all the branches at probably an eight-foot minimum above the ground. They are walking height, and the trees don't show it. The root system has never been twisted or turned or warped inside of a container, and we have trees here, which will not, we hope, ever cause us any trouble in tipping over. Now those we brought in, that I spoke of earlier—

NYSTROM:

Where are they located?

CORNELL:

Down at the entrance to Hilgard, those that were grown in the butter tubs. They have caused us all kinds of trouble because we didn't have the root system to anchor the tops in the beginning. But I think now they are all set and anchored.

NYSTROM:

I notice that there also are some other trees in the court. They were added later?

CORNELL:

The eucalyptus? Everything in this court, which is inside the peripheral walks was added later, including several eucalyptus trees. But the planting at the entrances, the Italian cypress on the north side of the court, those were all originally done when the building was completed.

NYSTROM:

They were small trees? Small budget?

CORNELL:

Yes. The big eucalyptus at the ends of the building, between the buildings, were done on the original scheme. But the lower material in here the ground cover, junipers, things of that sort—as I remember it, was all I did in addition to the trees of which we've spoken. Now this crosswalk between Royce and the Library originally was a bifurcated walk. There was an open panel down the center.

NYSTROM:

There was planting there?

CORNELL:

It was lawn, and the capacity of the walk system was entirely inadequate as our population grew and our enrollment developed. So now, you come here between classes and this is just a sea of people, this whole area. Also I think in scale with the buildings it's better probably than it would be to have this split into three ribbons, with the walks on the two sides and the turf down the middle because the breadth of the walk is established by the architecture of the building. It is now one unified passageway.

NYSTROM:

I notice the practical absence of trees against the facade of the library.

CORNELL:

Of course, Allison was protecting those buildings when he was here, defending them from obliteration. He did permit the eucalyptus, which you see to go in. Of course, they will grow tall and people look through them. You look beneath them. They will not provide a dense screen. He conceded that much. Dave was a fine architect and in his day was about the number one man in the Los Angeles area.

NYSTROM:

But being of the old school, didn't he still consider you an underling?

CORNELL:

I think Dave would never countenance the word "underling," but I think he was indoctrinated in the old idea that it all should emanate from the architect's office, that he should have total control of environment as well as interior. Usually when he got to the environment, he floundered a bit because he was dealing with materials with which he was unfamiliar. But that doesn't mean that man can't do anything or be anything. The old Renaissance artists designed buildings and did painting and sculpture and designed gardens. They did everything, but that again was not in our high-speed era of today. They were more leisurely in their approach.

NYSTROM:

Bo you recall any interesting incidents, as we walk along the central court, that you've had with various Regents or perhaps the chancellors as far as landscaping is concerned? Have any of them ever consulted with you or talked to you about it or anything of that nature?

CORNELL:

Well, about the only Regent that I recall having taken a personal interest in talking with me personally was Regent Dickson. When I was appointed as landscape architect here on the campus, it was not done directly in communication between the Regents and myself. Professor Gregg from Berkeley either wrote me or came down, or both, and discussed it and asked if I was interested, I understood that he was impelled in that action by Dr. Sproul. When I did say I was interested, why then I was recommended, I presume, to the Regents for appointment. The only Regent who took a personal interest in it—and this is not in criticism, because this may have been good; I don't know—was Regent Dickson. He immediately wanted an appointment for me to talk with him before he would approve or disapprove of my appointment. So I went at his request. I went to his home, and he interviewed me and after that I was appointed.

NYSTROM:

This was done at his home?

CORNELL:

The interview was in his home. Of course, later on in the development of things, I attended Regent meetings for a time and issues were discussed, and I was included in some of the discussions. But one occasion that is amusing and interesting in a way was after we had been going here for a while. At the beginning of the present upsurge, all of a sudden the Regents got the impression that we had no trees on the campus. In effect, I was called up on the carpet to discuss why there were no trees, why we hadn't done it, and so forth and so on. Well, up to that time we had never had any money. We had never had any support, moral or psychological. Everything was pinched and squeezed down budget-wise, and when the Medical Center unit was developed as a very, very special concession, I went directly to Berkeley with an appeal to Roscoe Weaver, who was in charge of the distribution of funds, requesting funds for one tree down at the Medical Building. It's the first and only big tree up until that time that we had ever gotten.

NYSTROM:

You didn't have any specimen trees before this?

CORNELL:

No, excepting there were some brought in originally before I came. Some of the deodars around these old buildings were moved in. Well, Roscoe was reluctant, but he had a good deal to say about it both at the time and after he conceded. But he said he would allow $1100 to move in the big rubber tree, which we put in the big turning circle there. It set the thing up; that's at the south side of the Medical Center, the entrance. So when I was called up on the carpet they said, "How come no trees?" I said, "We have trees but you can't see them. They're not big enough." And they said again, "Why aren't they?" [And I replied] "Because we've never been funded. We've never been allowed to do it." Of course, this kind of put Weaver on the spot in a way because now, having defended the budget and worked I presumed under direction, the thing had turned on him; so he was squirming. He recited then the fact that they had a tree at the Medical Building. Well, I had a lot of fun out of that. We had a very pleasant meeting, and Mrs. Chandler was quite concerned—or was interested, let's put it that way—about trees. And Mr. Carter was interested about trees. I said, "You either have to wait thirty years, or you have to buy thirty years in time by moving in some big ones." They said, "Well, what would it cost?" They authorized me to make a campus survey and come up with a statement and recommendations of what we could use in the way of big trees in the old areas, not in the new areas, but in the older areas of established buildings. We made this survey. We made the report. I don't remember exactly what we figured it would cost, but I think it was $125,000, which would be rather breathtaking for a campus that up to then had had only one big tree. So that was debated. But as I recall it, Regent Carter made the motion that they appropriate $50,000 for trees, have me make a plan and proceed with the planting of that many trees, and at that point review it and see where we stood. So the Regents voted then and there to appropriate $50,000 to buy big trees. Again, that threw Weaver and his boys into a tizzy because where [could they] get the $50,000? They didn't have it. It wasn't allotted, but the Regents had ordered it. So that had to be worked out, but that was their internal business. But it was all very pleasant, very friendly. It was very interesting and I thought quite amusing. I got a lot of fun out of it, and I think a number of the Regents did too. At one point in the discussion—they were asking why—I said, "Well, we never had any money. We weren't allowed to buy such things." And Mr. Carter said in a very straight-faced, droll way, "Well, now that's a new thought," or something to that effect. They never had that happen, you know.

NYSTROM:

Mr. Cornell, as we stand here on Portola Drive looking towards Haines Hall, I notice an axis that runs from the Social Science Building (the new building on the north campus), straight down past Knudsen Hall, and it terminates in this new wing of the Psychology Building. It looks like a fountain is being built there. Would you care to comment on this axis and the trees along it?

CORNELL:

This axis was started in the original planning, but it only extended for what you might think of as one block on either side of the east-west Hilgard entrance axis. It was planted with carob trees by the original designers. I think that probably included Kellam and Allison, possibly Sadler. I don't know just how much Sadler should be tied into this.

NYSTROM:

Who was Sadler?

CORNELL:

Hammond Sadler was a landscape architect, and he was an Olmsted Brothers trainee from Brookline, Massachusetts.

NYSTROM:

This was before your time?

CORNELL:

This was before my time, and I think that relates to these four original buildings here, so I don't know.

NYSTROM:

Which tree is this that we're looking at?

CORNELL:

It's St. John's Bread of the Bible, or the carob tree. This tree was in here and established. There were twice, I think three times, as many trees as we now have. They are pretty close together, and the tops were clipped into tight cubes. So whoever did this, you see, was clipping the carobs and was clipping the sycamore trees of which you asked about a while ago. That seemingly was part of the architectural concept. Well, the carobs were a stiff, tight formal thing. The carobs were growing and expanding. Of course, clipping is a terrible maintenance factor too. But I think we all agree that it looked just as well, If not considerably better, to let the carobs grow into natural form and to remove two-thirds of them. As. you see now, they are almost growing together at the tops. It makes an allée down which you look and through which you see the termini at the end.

NYSTROM:

They are very much a deciduous tree though, aren't they? I see the leaves all over the ground, and constant raking I suppose is required here.

CORNELL:

No. They are not deciduous, if you will pardon me. Maybe if one is a tyro in horticulture one doesn't understand all the terms. They are evergreen. But every tree, regardless, sheds its leaves. Some of the trees will keep a leaf one year. Deciduous trees will keep a leaf only during the growing season of the year and then they drop them all at one time. Other trees will hang on to leaves for a year and shed them. Others will keep a leaf two or three or maybe four years.

NYSTROM:

I'm comparing this to the ficus. I'm noticing how clean the ficus tree is, and then we're looking at this pile of leaves all around us here.

CORNELL:

That's just a circumstance because if you'd see them cleaning leaves from beneath those ficus you would reverse your thinking.

NYSTROM:

Oh, I see. There is no difference there.

CORNELL:

They all drop their leaves, but they do it in different manners. Some varieties of trees shed just before they blossom, some after; they shed at different times. Now you can see the seed pods on these, and this is the locust of the wilderness, which St. John is supposed to have subsisted on. Breadfruit is strictly tropical. It's a large fruit, sometimes as big as a man's head.

NYSTROM:

This is St. John's Bread?

CORNELL:

This is St. John's Bread, and the pods carry most of the nutrition. They are very rich in protein and sugar, sometimes up to nearly forty percent. The seeds are very hard. It's a legume, of the bean family, and they grind them for stock feed, seed and all. But the health stores sell the seed pods of the carob as a delicacy, and in Spain they sell these pods in the markets to the children in place of candy because they are sweet and pleasant.

NYSTROM:

Then, these trees dated before your time. Do you think you might have chosen something similar?

CORNELL:

Oh, that's a random shot. You wouldn't do the same thing twice on two different days.

NYSTROM:

Do you think it is a good choice?

CORNELL:

I think they are very pleasing and effective. They might be ruled out for any reason at all.

NYSTROM:

They are a hardy species.

CORNELL:

Excepting for cold. They are very drought-resistant; they are vigorous; they grow quickly; they are soft-wooded, I think they are fairly long-lived. But they tend to breakage and inside decay. So there isn't a perfect tree from all the thousands of plants from which to choose. There isn't a perfect tree for any job seemingly. You'll just rack your brains to try to make a decision, and, as I say, it might be different on different occasions.

NYSTROM:

Now we are going into the north campus. And of course we are looking at the work of another generation. We notice that there is quite a distinct architectural break. The buildings of Allison and Kellam's day seem to blend rather nicely with the work of the 1950s, by that I mean the Public Health [Building], the Humanities [Building] and the Dickson Art Center (that is, the old center). But then suddenly, as we approach the Social Science Building, it's a complete change with no apparent relation to the earlier phases of our campus development. Would you care to comment on that and also the way the architecture and the landscape have tended to tie together here?

CORNELL:

That's a real controversial matter. This north campus has caused more comment and controversy perhaps than anything else that's been done on the campus. I think it's rather involved, that is, the reasons back of it all—why and how it happened. But for one thing, and I think quite properly, every artist is an individual. An architect is an artist. He wants his building to be outstanding. He would like to have it the nicest building in the group or the nicest building on the campus. The average architect doesn't want to copy something from the Middle Ages. In fact, it would be difficult to obtain anybody who could design that way now.

NYSTROM:

Now in Kellam's day the thinking was different, wasn't it?

CORNELL:

That's right. At the turn of the century, we began to emerge from what we refer to as traditional into the contemporary, which recognizes the new materials, the new techniques, the new technocracies, and making it unnecessary to design in the manner of the Middle Ages or whatever era you pick out. You see, before we developed steel and concrete construction, the old cathedrals in Europe, and the things you see in the Old World, were built on the gravity principle. That means that the sheer weight of the building was all there was to hold it up. That meant that you didn't have opportunity to cantilever. An arch would span an opening, but a flat beam was out of the question because they couldn't get a stone that was heavy enough to span more than four or five or six feet. Well now, it's natural not to want to live in the old way and to want to take advantage of the new materials. They are stronger; they are cheaper; they may be lighter. So perhaps it's inevitable that we break away from tradition. It's interesting and exciting that we have these different units more or less segregated and yet held together by such things as these axes to which you refer.

NYSTROM:

And the landscaping helps to connect them.

CORNELL:

The landscaping becomes a little more a matter of adaptation and adjustment to the local situation. So this north campus court is created by five building, designed by five different architects, enclosing the space of about two and a half acres, as I recall it, with no particular axial or geometric relationship between building entrances. It calls for an entirely different sort of a treatment.

NYSTROM:

No particular architectural theme.

CORNELL:

No.

NYSTROM:

This is one thing I noticed: it seemed that Kellam and Allison, and the architects that followed and worked on this central campus area and the Medical School too, were all speaking in unison. They kept a common conversation amongst themselves. Now today you feel that this is looked down upon if an architect does this. I remember Ernest Carroll Moore making a statement in defense of the same criticism that you mentioned here, about referring to the historical styles, he said, "Well, every time you speak or write, you don't have to invent a new alphabet." He was defending Allison, you see. But with that criticism you made then, do you feel that Allison, even though he had steel and concrete, was out of step with his times? He wasn't mirroring his age correctly?

CORNELL:

I think Allison probably was mirroring his age, but I think his age was before the current-trend. And referring to Dr. Moore's statement that you don't have to invent a new alphabet every time you speak or say something, if you are growing, you do increase your vocabulary, you do broaden your scope of ability to express and communicate. I don't think that we would still be in the Stone Age if we accepted that thing literally, that you shouldn't change.

NYSTROM:

So you feel Dr. Moore in this respect was a little narrow in his scope.

CORNELL:

That's probably correct, but I wouldn't say it that way. He was looking backward instead of looking ahead. With most people it's very, very difficult to accept the new and reject the old. There is an occasional genius who is inventive and creative and imaginative, who steps out front, like Frank Lloyd Wright, and he's highly criticized and laughed at, but pretty soon something evolves as a result of that type of thinking. You take the old cathedrals and the old structures in Europe. They spent two or three hundred years building some of them, and an architectural student can tell you the different eras under which the different portions were built because they are not always the same. So you will have a cathedral that will have several architectural styles in it. And it looks pretty well; they go together. But they can be criticized. These are things that you could go on discussing forever and ever.

NYSTROM:

I notice one thing interesting in Knudsen Hall, which is a building that was just completed this year or perhaps last year (1965) that even though it's a new building and modern in every sense of the word, again I notice a very nice rapport—the use of the red brick and the Roman arch at the top of the building. Now that is a comment that I was making about the north campus: I haven't seen them bring over any of the old theme. It seems to me like a complete divorce. Now this seems to have laid a greater burden on the landscape architect who has to come in with his axis, with his landscape, and lead up into this area and connect them.

CORNELL:

Naturally a thing of this sort is defended by those who do it, and probably with good reason. But I think we are skating on very thin ice. It's hard to know and only time will tell. Time softens things. You can take an old building that is mildewed and softened by centuries or decades or whatever it might be, design the identical building today, all spic-and-span and clean, and they don't look alike. So age, as with people, adds maturity. There was a very common comment when this north campus was under construction. It was mentioned that the buildings were all different. They didn't relate physically excepting by proximity. And there was much comment: "Well, the landscape will fix that. It will pull it together." So when we get up here, we have an entirely different problem and an entirely different program. My mind jumps back to Professor Chandler again, who was a good friend of mine, and he was very fond of the Pomona College campus, which I laid out and planted. When I came out here, he said to me one day, "I would never have imagined that the same landscape architect could have worked on the Pomona campus and the UCLA campus because they are so different." And I said, "Well, that's because of your controls." You have to meet conditions, which are fixed and which you don't or can't change. So any space environment or planting must adjust to those things. So up here we have no basic geometrical symmetry. The buildings are all different—different sizes, different heights—and so the thinking was to create a passing-through court, which would accommodate the traffic without establishing the spider web of ribbon walks and which, since there were no recognized axes, would appear to ramble a bit and also provide spaces and places where students could sit out and could study, where they could have their lunch, and where they could even assemble.

NYSTROM:

More of a Japanese approach in the free forms, isn't it?

CORNELL:

I don't think there's much Japanese about it. And you'll notice there aren't any paths worn in the lawn here. The walks meander, but they do meander without seeming to frustrate or take you out of your way between points. Now the four corners of this are where you enter or leave, and so they become the entrance and exit points. We have the art complex at one corner and the theatrical parts at another and the library on the west side and social science on the other corner. The thing that interests me is that when you come up here on a Saturday or Sunday, when school is not in session, you see students up here on this court. You'll see dance students out here doing their control gymnastics, and art students, and people taking naps on the lawn and eating lunch and just relaxing. And this was also set up. We have these, whatever you want to call them, five or six of these—

NYSTROM:

Sculptured forms are really what they are, for seats.

CORNELL:

They are literally sculptured forms because these were designed and modeled by a sculptor, and the model was built and then the architectural drawings were made from the model. So they are sculptured forms. But this is sort of a display court.

NYSTROM:

Now are these trees here in this court what you would call specimen trees? There doesn't seem to be a general theme, is there? Or am I wrong on that?

CORNELL:

We don't think this is a place for a formal planting, so you get a mixture of a little of everything. Again, when these trees get big they begin to take over, and the effect will be entirely different. Already you notice a difference within the year or two that this thing has been growing. It's a case of whether you like it or not. Now on the west side of this court we have the north-south axis of which you spoke, which runs from the art center complex clear down to the southern terminus, and that pulls this all together. A campus like this is a little like a house—the interior rooms of a dwelling—you don't have to have every room the same. You may have a Chinese decor in one room, or you may vary on the second floor and have a different theme. Each one should be a unit in itself, totally homogenized, so to speak, if you can get it that way. And yet they are tied together by these walks and axes that were developed.

NYSTROM:

Are these trees that we are looking at now on the north court, are they trees that were brought in at a fairly good size because they are only a couple of years old?

CORNELL:

Practically the size, which you now see.

NYSTROM:

Which means evidently, then, that the budget has increased over the years and things are easier now.

CORNELL:

Oh, yes. When I began there was absolutely no support, no sympathy from any source. Then when the Office of Architects and Engineers was organized things began to improve. Then we came to the grand climax when Dr. Murphy stepped in and took over and supported the theme that beauty is part of education and is part of life and that we shouldn't have our schools look like barracks but should beautify them and make them attractive, pleasant places. Incidentally, this court, whether you like it or not, has received more acclaim than it has criticism and has been heralded throughout the profession. People have said that this is the finest thing we have ever done. Now you might not agree with that. You might think it's the worst thing, but—

NYSTROM:

I think it's very fine. My only comment previously was the relationship with the rest of the campus. Now I feel that I've left UCLA, and I am in another school. I have that tendency. That was my point. I like it. I think it is very fine.

CORNELL:

There may be an advantage in that because it avoids monotony. It adds interest. I could show you some other courts. There is one that we have just done on the west side of the Law Building, which I think is a definite step away from anything else. But it's a court all by itself and [functions] as a unit.

NYSTROM:

Wouldn't you say that the architects today, the younger architects, are more sensitive and more interested in landscape architecture in relation to their buildings than, say, Allison and Kellarn and the men in those days?

CORNELL:

Oh, very definitely. Of course now the professions are all taught under the same roof, the same department, and maybe it's the department of architecture and environmental planning. They have problems, which they share with the architect and the landscape architect. They are assigned a problem and both professions will work on it. So we are much more sympathetic and understanding, one of another.

NYSTROM:

I wonder if you would name a few of the specimen trees that are within our vision here [north campus court], just for the comment on them.

CORNELL:

Well, you take this tree here, this tall, slender conifer, that's a Canary Island pine and it's native to the Canary Islands. And then on the left here is another Canary pine, and California redwoods, native to the coastal fog belt of California. Now those are evergreens, and they are both conifers. Then the tree over here is a California sycamore. Now that's deciduous; it drops all of its leaves. Then we have, what you might think of through the center of this, a planting of jacarandas. You might think of them as a theme tree for this court. They will have their lavender blue flowers in about June or July, and they will be just that splash of color. We have a few deciduous things. We have some other conifers perhaps besides canaries. We have a podocarpus over there against the building, which comes, it seems to me, from Africa.

NYSTROM:

The Social Science Building?

CORNELL:

Yes. And we have evergreen hollies. This is a deciduous oriental magnolia, which has attractive flowers that come out in early spring or late winter before the leaves appear. So you have these flowers on bare stems.

NYSTROM:

These are tropical ferns. Are they Australian ferns?

CORNELL:

In the shade, yes. That's an Australian tree fern.

NYSTROM:

A very delicate pine, that's not the same?

CORNELL:

That's a canareinsis, yes.

NYSTROM:

That's not the same as this one back of us.

CORNELL:

Yes, but you see these are moved in at good size. Those big trees that are moved in don't do much growing for the first year or two because they are developing roots. They have to get roots before they can expand their tops. These little fellows are growing faster and look different because they were smaller. So that looks like an Aleppo pine, straight in there. I guess it's an Italian stone pine, yes. Sometimes when they are small they have similarities of appearance.

NYSTROM:

I notice that there is an axis and a line of trees in front of Macgowan Hall that goes straight down. What are those?

CORNELL:

Those are coral trees.

NYSTROM:

An African tree, too, isn't it? South African?

CORNELL:

Yes. That's the promenade in front of the Theater Arts Building, which terminates at Macgowan Hall. I think the day will come when that will be quite famous, if it thrives.

NYSTROM:

It has a bright red flower.

CORNELL:

Yes. It's a legume, the pea family, the bean family. And that terrace was all the landscape architect's design. In fact, the landscape architect on this campus designs everything that is not under a roof. That includes interior courts and patios.

NYSTROM:

Now you're speaking of your office now.

CORNELL:

Well, my office has done it up until now.

NYSTROM:

Are you still doing this? You are campus landscape architect and supervisor?

CORNELL:

Yes, that's right. And that terrace in front of the Theater Arts [Building] was entirely the landscape architect's design. That met with some opposition in the beginning because the architect, I think, may have felt we were encroaching.

1.10. TAPE NUMBER: SIX, SIDE TWO AUGUST 2, 1967

CORNELL:

In regard to this north campus, I might say that we could never have accomplished this without the support and the enthusiastic help of Dr. Murphy. And of course the client is one of the facets of contact in an architect's or landscape architect's life, which is very important. In the first place, a landscape architect or any designer cannot design beyond the limits of his imagination and his ability. In the second place, he cannot do anything that he is not permitted to do, and many times he's curbed and curtailed to the point of frustration by a client. And then, if he's not only permitted but he's also encouraged sympathetically to do something and is financed properly for the project that provides the optimum condition. I have always felt very deeply grateful to Dr. Murphy.

NYSTROM:

Have you had personal meetings with him?

CORNELL:

Yes. Of course, he's a pretty busy man. We don't get into long personal discussions, but there is a campus planning committee that is headed by Dr. Murphy, which meets regularly and at those meetings these things are discussed.

NYSTROM:

You are on that committee?

CORNELL:

I am on that committee as well as the supervising architect and Dean [George A.] Dudley.

NYSTROM:

That would be [Welton] Becket?

CORNELL:

Becket, yes. And Dean Dudley.

NYSTROM:

And I imagine some faculty members.

CORNELL:

Selected members from the faculty and the A and E office. They meet regularly.

NYSTROM:

I even understand there is a student body leader present.

CORNELL:

Yes. The student body president is present at different times, and that I think is a master stroke in diplomacy.

NYSTROM:

He certainly brought everyone involved into the picture, hasn't he?

CORNELL:

Yes. Now you take this court right ahead of us, in front of the Graduate Business Administration. That is beginning to have something of an air of maturity, though it is very young. But see the trees?

NYSTROM:

The height is diminished now with the trees growth.

CORNELL:

Yes.

NYSTROM:

I notice very few flowers on this campus, but I see some right in here. You might comment on those.

CORNELL:

Well, we get flower color in wherever we can. Over a period of twelve months you'd be surprised how much of a maintenance problem flowers are, a much greater work load than lawn or shrubs or trees, and for budgetary reasons we can't go all out. This is the blue lily-of-the-Nile from Africa, the blue flower. The red flower with them is the amaryllis. And they are both—well, everything practically on the campus is—subtropical.

NYSTROM:

Now I notice these precise trees here.

CORNELL:

Those are California alders. This on the left is another ficus. We moved that in in practically that size. On the right is a California alder, and they are fragrant. You sleep under one of those and you think you are up in a mountain canyon.

NYSTROM:

I notice, Mr. Cornell, that some of the trees have labels. Has this been a project of yours?

CORNELL:

Dr. Murphy, he's a boy that thinks of everything. He instructed the Botany Department, Dr. Mildred Mathias, to go over the campus and label the tree varieties, and they have a chart, which you may obtain and follow.

NYSTROM:

Does that tour have a name?

CORNELL:

Well I suppose, you could ask Julie Nichols in the Public Relations Department.

NYSTROM:

I think I have heard somebody mention a "Green Thumb" Tour. [The UCLA "Green Thumb" Tour is included in the University Garden, first published under the supervision of Dr. Mildred E. Mathias, professor of Botany and Director of the UCLA Botanical Garden. Since the time of this interview, the University Garden has been expanded and revised by Elizabeth Y. Pixley, with the assistance of Dr. Mildred E. Mathias, Wayne L. Hansis, and David S. Verity. For the reader's convenience, both the first and the subsequent revised edition have been appended to this volume.]

CORNELL:

Some days they have guides, but I think you can get a folder and go around on your own. Even if you are not on the tour, why, these plant names are very helpful.

NYSTROM:

I notice that, of course, we have sprinkler systems. Is this part of your responsibility?

CORNELL:

Yes. We do everything on the campus from grading, sprinklers, storm drains, paving, walls, lighting, practically everything that isn't, as I say, under a building roof.

NYSTROM:

So you worked with an architect then—oh, excuse me, a sculptor—in designing these seats you mentioned in the north court. A sculptor was called in as consultant?

CORNELL:

We called in a sculptor, and every one of those five compound things, whatever you might want to call them, was modeled and sculpted and worked out in miniature form before we made any architectural drawings. Then we scaled the models and made drawings for the construction, you see. And the walls are bushhammered to give us some texture.

NYSTROM:

Oh, now this is part of your responsibility, these walls?

CORNELL:

These walls, the sprinkling system, the walks.

NYSTROM:

Now you say "bushhammered," would you explain that term?

CORNELL:

Well, we start with poured concrete, and then they bushhammer the cured concrete with a big hammer that looks a little like a meat-tenderizer hammer that the butcher has, with a lot of little studs on it. Walls are hammered to bring out the aggregate and to kill the mechanical look.

NYSTROM:

Now this is after the cement has set up and hardened.

CORNELL:

Now this is not bushhammered, but those other things around are.

NYSTROM:

This is done with rock salt or something.

CORNELL:

We do walk[ways] with rock salt. The way that's done: when a concrete slab is poured, the salt, which is graded and screened to whatever size you wish is pressed into the surface of it. Then when it sets sufficiently, so that the concrete is solid, they wash the salt out with water and leave it pockmarked. Concrete is one of the most mechanical materials you can use. Now concrete is one of our cheapest materials for walks and wall construction. Yet there is nothing more mechanical and more monotonous, sad looking, than endless concrete walks all just troweled to a hard surface. So we do all we can to break up the textures and change the colors and to develop patterns. We do it by two tones—or more—of concrete. We do it by what we call a salt finish. And what you're looking at ahead here is nothing but a concrete slab. It looks almost like sandstone. We are looking at the walk on the north campus.

NYSTROM:

There must be glass in this too. It picks up little flicks of light.

CORNELL:

Well, metallic dust is put in there, and then these joints are pebbled.

NYSTROM:

Pea gravel.

CORNELL:

Yes, exposed aggregate. These walks down in the central campus—let's go over this way for a minute—are done with a special material. Now you see here, if this were just a concrete ribbon running through here it would be pretty cold and mechanical. So this is done in an attempt to create interest and attractiveness and add beauty. Then these big poured and sculptured [seating] units are solid concrete. The top is an ordinary finish; it's a trowel finish. The sides are the same material, but they are bushhammered. That exposes the aggregate, and when you get a bushhammer job you may put integral coloring throughout the mix. The concrete material is shown in an irregular, roughened surface, making a very much more interesting, colored texture.

NYSTROM:

This is hammered then by a tool after the concrete has hardened.

CORNELL:

And then this is a different type of pebble surface. You see, by troweling the tops and bushhammering the sides, it begins to get interesting results.

NYSTROM:

And then the coloring of the base structure gives a contrasting color.

CORNELL:

And then these walks that come down to the main walks, that come through this north campus, are all poured concrete, but again with a special material.

NYSTROM:

Now does that have a fine salt thing in this?

CORNELL:

Yes. That is dissolved out and washed away after the concrete hardens.

NYSTROM:

A very rich effect and also functionally, I think, it improves traction.

CORNELL:

It does. It makes good texture, and it catches the light. And to think that this is concrete and that is concrete, if you didn't know anything about it, it wouldn't seem quite possible.

NYSTROM:

It seems almost like cut granite.

CORNELL:

Yes, it doesn't look quite right but is honest construction.

NYSTROM:

Then we get to brick set in sand.

CORNELL:

Of course, this is all part of the patterning design and the texturing, because we have acres of walks on the campus, and if it were all one monotonous color and texture, I think it would not be as interesting as it is this way. But there again, I think you'll get debate on that. Bob Evans, for years and years, has advocated the exclusive use of what we call "Uclan" buff in concrete. We have a lot of Uclan buff. We had it in the early days, and we still use it.

NYSTROM:

A cement dye, is it?

CORNELL:

It's just a mineral pigment put into the cement.

NYSTROM:

Now we are going into the court here of the Social Sciences Building. We are walking on tile.

CORNELL:

This is the architect's. We had nothing to do with that.

NYSTROM:

What about the court?

CORNELL:

This inner court because it is not under a roof, was one of our jobs. It created something of a problem. We wanted height here. We didn't have room for much heavy material. We settled on palms. And I think it has been rather interesting and a happy solution.

NYSTROM:

Now this is a low maintenance type of thing. There is practically no leaf droppage, practically none, with this type of planting.

CORNELL:

Of course, as the palm leaves brown, die and droop down they are cut off but that is nothing compared with this constant raking of leaves. These palms were all moved in at the size you see them. Those tallest palms are four stories high, which means they are probably forty or forty-five feet.

NYSTROM:

Now there is going to be a problem when they want to grow higher.

CORNELL:

They are going to go through the roof. We'll have to take a panel out of the grillwork up there and let them go through, which is probably what we'll do—or replace them with smaller plants.

NYSTROM:

It's a slow-growing tree though, isn't it? Won't it be another five years or more?

CORNELL:

Yes, relatively. Those grills were put in to control light, and, of course, if a palm grows up through one of the panels that will take care of the light control. These were moved in at the size as you see them, and they were lifted by a crane from outside the building, up over the top of the roof, and down into the ground. That again becomes quite an operation.

NYSTROM:

Now this louver business prevents a certain amount of rain from getting in here.

CORNELL:

No. I think not. I think the water all gets through. It just controls the light to a degree and softens it and eliminates too much direct sunlight. A court like this, with the hot sun beating into it, would be a pretty intolerable thing.

NYSTROM:

What is that interesting arrangement there? It looks almost like a sculptured slab.

CORNELL:

That's a water fountain. And that was a controversial item, and I don't bring up these controversial things with any sense of criticism or ego. The architect opposed it very strongly. He said it was too jazzy, and it wasn't harmonious. But that was designed by the landscape architect, as you see it.

NYSTROM:

Of your firm?

CORNELL:

Yes.

NYSTROM:

I think it is very beautiful. And that is covered with a tile, isn't it?

CORNELL:

It's a mosaic. We have this graduated color and tone pattern. It's not a pattern. It's a diffusion.

NYSTROM:

It's sort of a bursting forth.

CORNELL:

A drinking fountain is a difficult thing to design and to have attractive and have fit into the design because it's something of an obtrusion unless well handled.

NYSTROM:

It's almost like the whole thing is a sculptural group.

CORNELL:

Well, it was our design and that was our hope.

NYSTROM:

A mosaic, a metal form on your fountain, and then you have the circular holes there for the plants. Now what is that plant? Is that a specimen?

CORNELL:

That is a Tubidanthus. It's a tropical plant, and it's grown here only where it isn't too cold or where they don't have too much frost. It's a nice foliage plant, and it flowers and fruits and has some interesting red berries. In Hawaii, they call it the octopus plant. It grows very nicely there because it's hotter than it is here. It grows well enough here, but it seldom flowers; [it] seldom fruits.

NYSTROM:

What did you call the big palm again?

CORNELL:

The big palms are Mexican fan palms and the botanical name is Washingtonia robusta, named after Washington.

NYSTROM:

They are a slow-grower. How old would you think those would be?

CORNELL:

They might be twenty-five or could be forty years old. It depends on where they grow. They like water, and if they get plenty of water, they grow pretty fast.

NYSTROM:

What about the lower palm here.

CORNELL:

This is the Howeia [forsteriana] palm. It comes from one of the South Pacific islands. I think there is only one island on which it grows naturally. It is a palm that is used much for potted plants in hotel lobbies and interiors, because it will stand the shade. It takes the shade, which is one reason why we have it in here. It does have a fruit, which sometimes occurs, red berries. But all the seeds for these commercial plants that are grown—and there are thousands of them—thousands I think come from that one island.

NYSTROM:

Now how old would you say those howea palms are?

CORNELL:

Oh, I'm guessing when you ask me these questions, you know, but that one probably could be fifteen or twenty years old from seed, maybe not that old. I have some in my house that are outdoors at the corner of the house. They grow up above the eaves of the second floor, and those palms were given to us about 1930 as tub plants for the office. That would be thirty-seven years ago. They were four or five or six feet high then, and they might have been that many years from the seed.

NYSTROM:

Is that about a mature tree then?

CORNELL:

Oh, no. They'll grow way up here as tall as these others. Well, this drinking fountain, which is in the Social Science patio was quite a project, and we employed an artist, a specialist in the design and use of tile to work with this. It's a mosaic. Let me describe the fountain. It's a rectangle block, which might he ten-by-fifteen feet in size, and which rises from the floor maybe twenty or twenty-two inches. In one corner of that is the circular planter box in which has been planted a Tubidanthus. In the opposite diagonal corner is a copper-basin drinking fountain. [tape off] We were struggling with an idea and a concept, which we were trying to develop and which we felt had potential, and the mosaic tile in concentric bands radiates out from the drinking fountain. The drinking fountain is copper. The tile below the drinking fountain is of a lighter tone, but a soft buff. Then it gradually darkens to the farther extremities where it's a very deep brown. Interspersed throughout this tile floor pattern is an occasional gold tile to sparkle and animate it. We were trying first of all to develop an idea and then to express it. The architect didn't think it was such a good idea. However, we had samples made, segments of the gradation of the color, and we worked on it. Finally it was accepted and it went in.

NYSTROM:

Was it required that the architect accept it before it could go in?

CORNELL:

No. It was not required. This is a thing that the University can decide. However, when we are working as we do, we don't want to ignore the architect. He shouldn't be ignored. We should do things, which he approves and likes. It should be a joint concept all the way through. But it could have been overruled. I don't think he actually accepted it, though he may have conceded. And yet, when it was done, he liked it, and that illustrates the fact of the difficulty of communications. A successful designer, an artist, must be able to communicate, and a landscape architect or an architect must be able to communicate by the written word, the spoken word, and drawings. Even with those facilities, which may be fairly well developed in the individual, oftentimes it's difficult to present something that gives to the observer the effect that is sought. But the problem becomes one in which the man who designs something may not even be sure of how it's going to look, but he thinks he knows, and he works to get that effect. The observer who doesn't have his background and his interest may just like it or not like it immediately, without any real [sense] of what is proposed. So I think many things are done, which are a surprise to the designer as well as to the client. Sometimes it's a happy surprise, and sometimes it's maybe an unhappy one. But communication is a very vital factor in human relationships all the way along the line, from matrimony to international affairs.

NYSTROM:

We are standing on top of the observation deck of the Social Science Building and looking to the northwest. As we look to the northwest, Mr. Cornell, I am reminded of remarks by Allison and Moore in reference to the surrounding countryside, that the trees and landscape recalled Italy to them. Would you care to comment on that?

CORNELL:

Well, of course, I think that their comment was inspired some years ago. These hills originally, before the areas were subdivided and planted, had much more the appearance of the Italian landscape than they would have today. Now about all you see are masses of trees and occasional patches of roof sticking up through them. But the Italian hills—and these hills here before they were developed—were more or less dry and sere, with occasional clumps of cypress or something sticking up through them. I haven't been to Italy just recently, but I would think this doesn't resemble Italy too much today.

NYSTROM:

I notice looking towards the chancellor's house that it's completely hidden, isn't it, in a grove of—is that eucalyptus trees?

CORNELL:

That's a spotted gum, Eucalyptus maculata, which I believe is about the only cluster of the original planting now left on campus.

NYSTROM:

Now you say "original planting." Was this original growth of the old rancho?

CORNELL:

No. That group and some of the trees down on the elementary school are about all of the trees left, which were planted by the University. And, of course, the view from a height like this is one that you never get from ground level. It's more the way you see it when you draw a plan, because it explains the pattern and circulation.

NYSTROM:

It certainly is a bird's-eye view. It's revealing and pleasant, isn't it?

CORNELL:

Yes, and as the trees get bigger and soften it, It's going to be better. It looks a bit busy right now, wouldn't you say?

NYSTROM:

Yes. What are these small, clumpy plants that grow around the graduate library and the court there? They probably stick up from the ground four or five inches, but they make little round clumps.

CORNELL:

They are ground junipers.

NYSTROM:

That's a nice contrast with the smooth lawn.

CORNELL:

Well, that's ground cover, you see. In a design you have to have harmony and unison. Things have to hold together, and yet a perfect harmony can become monotony. You have to accent it sometimes maybe with a little cacophony to balance it up and make it interesting.

NYSTROM:

I notice that in front of Macgowan Hall it seems to be a different type of juniper cover. It doesn't clump. It spreads.

CORNELL:

There are dozens of forms of ground juniper that are used all over the United States, some that are only good in cold climates, some that are only good in warm climates, and some that will take both. Again, to avoid monotony we vary our types, our textures, our tones, and our color shades.

NYSTROM:

We are on top of the observation deck of the Social Science Building now looking towards the south, towards the Medical School. Mr. Cornell, would you like to make a comment about this vista?

CORNELL:

I think this vista illustrates a point, which you yourself made a while ago, that the original center of campus had a homogeneity and a unity, which has been lost in some of the outlying areas. In this instance, the building for the most part is a concession to the idea rather than being an attempt to dominate the scene. On the north campus, I feel that there's more a cluster of individualistic things rather than an architectural totality of expression. Each perhaps has its reason. Each has its advocates, but this is very apparent when you look out here. You can take the Business Administration Building. You see, that was a harsh note in this group. What do you call it now, this corner building right here that has so much grey stone on it?

NYSTROM:

The corner building? The Social Services Building.

CORNELL:

Well, you see that building is a harsh note in this concept. It stands out like a bandage on the finger because they broke away a little too fast. If you will confront the designers of much of this with these things we are discussing his defense will be budget.

NYSTROM:

As was your defense with the Regents and the trees.

CORNELL:

Yes. And when you hide these things on the roofs of buildings, you're spending a lot of extra money to do it. When you put tile on the roofs of buildings, [you're spending] more extra money to do it. So budget and economics have done a lot. Now look at the roofs of the old Physics Building, look at all that conglomeration and compare it with these first buildings and you can see what we are discussing.

NYSTROM:

Yes. Now, as we look over to the Law School I see a very nice garden patio area. Has that been a recent addition?

CORNELL:

Well, that's barely completed, and in my opinion, that's another digression from a theme that might continue throughout the whole campus. The way the thing has worked out is that with the high concentration of use (the relatively small open spaces as compared with the building areas), we get into a series of complexes, units, courts—whatever you want to call them—which I think can vary from one another. I don't think they need to be all cut from the same cookie cutter. I don't think they should look that way. So this thing on the west side of the Law Building is a breakaway from anything that we have ever done anywhere else on the campus, and I think it is rather pleasant. I hope you like it. Maybe we ought to walk over there and take a look.

NYSTROM:

I like it very much. And I see more of a relation with this court than with the north court because it is basically geometric, based on rectangles and squares. I think for that reason it ties in nicer with Dickson Plaza than the north court. Now I like the north court. There's nothing wrong with it, but I'm now only speaking of integration.

CORNELL:

Well now, let's just say this in defense of anything at all. This Law Building court is a relatively small area. The north campus court is two and one-half acres and to put that into formal gardens or patterns or parterres would he very different than to put this thing into formal pattern.

NYSTROM:

We have roughly the same area in the two parterres of Dickson Court?

CORNELL:

I would suppose so. An acre is roughly 200 feet square, so we probably have two acres over there. [tape off]

NYSTROM:

We are now sitting in the court of the new Law Building, the west court. We are sitting on a bench looking across the scene here at the pergolas and the trees and the landscaping. Mr. Cornell, this is one of your latest projects. Now would you care to make a comment on this area?

CORNELL:

This has interested me because it's a departure in theme from anything that we've done on the campus. It has an earthy quality, which I rather like and a solidarity, which appeals to me. The question of course arises: should we have all the courts similar or should we vary them? I think it's more interesting and more exciting to have them different. Like different rooms in the house, [we] don't want every room the same color, same decor, same treatment necessarily. But they are tied together and pulled together by the campus plan and the buildings. But here, with its pergolas, it's a lunch court. We have vending machines adjoining. In effect it is a glorified eating facility done in a little better style perhaps than some of them. The planting also digresses slightly. Part of the court was existing from the old Law Building. We have added to that, extended it, so some of the planting, the redwood trees and things of that sort, were established here. But we brought in poinsettias, other red flowers, some aloes with their red flowers, and things of that sort ,which we haven't used much on the campus.

NYSTROM:

Those are box beams, aren't they? Why was the box beam used instead of the solid beam?

CORNELL:

Economy! A solid beam that size would be a costly thing. While the box beam may call for a little extra labor, it's much less lumber. And that would be the reason. The effect, of course, to anybody who isn't an architect would be the same. We are planting vines on these, which we hope will cover them.

NYSTROM:

What is that vine going up there now?

CORNELL:

It's Bougainvillaea. There is a number of Bougainvillaea in different colors. They come in many colors. All of them harmonize and scintillate very nicely, and so we mixed up the colors. But when these are covered with bougainvillaeas and full of flower and the fall poinsettias come out and the aloes, it will be quite a warm, delightful place, we hope.

NYSTROM:

It certainly has all the makings of a pleasant court. I wanted to ask you a question, Mr. Cornell, about the building itself. Now this new Law Building addition is to the north here, but I find great difficulty in finding where the old building ends and where the new building begins. In other words, I think they have brought the two together beautifully. Now in contrast to that, Franz Hall (the Psychology Building down here) has been added on to at least three times. The third time is that large building with the fountain in front of it. And as you know, they are all connected by bridges but still are completely different. What do you think of that solution as compared to the solution in the Law Building?

CORNELL:

I like this integration that we have achieved here, but you might say that the same architect had done all of it. He designed the original building, I think.

NYSTROM:

Do you remember the architect's name?

CORNELL:

Risley and Gould, I think. The Law Building is all their work, so there wasn't any argument about continuing what they had started. I think the result is very satisfactory. I think this is the way it should be done.

NYSTROM:

Franz Hall is just a little too broken up. I think your point about having a difference on the north campus is fine, but yet they are units by themselves up there. But when you take a building and chop it all up like that, then I think you have some aesthetic problems.

CORNELL:

That! s right. These flowering trees here on the east side of the court were old planting. That's the silk tree. Right now they are in flower. I think they make a very nice tree.

NYSTROM:

That's a rather rare specimen, isn't it? I don't believe I've seen one before.

CORNELL:

Not really rare, no. It's native to southern United States, Oklahoma and Texas. "We have silk trees, and here we have some sweet spire, a yellow-flowered, very fragrant tree. And you have some alders. You have different things. These redwoods were an older planting, and we have saved them, kept them, worked around them.

NYSTROM:

Yes. I think the fact that you have brought more in has tied it together. You have kept a theme again in this little court here. What do you call this building structure we're under here?

CORNELL:

I think probably "pergola" is the proper name.

NYSTROM:

I notice that you've very cleverly put some lights in the corner posts here.

CORNELL:

Well, lighting is one of the landscape architect's functions, and this was worked on in the office to achieve light without its being obtrusive. So that's the meaning of those lights. If I can recall it, in one of our campus planning committee meetings, Dr. Murphy leaned forward across the table and said, "Ralph, from now on"—this is when we were working on the north campus court—"l want everything to be overplanted, overseated, and underlighted."

NYSTROM:

Underlighted.

CORNELL:

Yes. In other words, he didn't want glaring light to read a newspaper by. Soft lighting was sufficient for visibility and protection.

NYSTROM:

I have passed this way in the evening, and I notice that the lights are very pleasing. They do more to orient you than anything else. You don't see much, yet they are very effective.

CORNELL:

Well, if you have a soft glow, that's preferable to bright, glaring lights. There was a lot of thought spent working out this little detail. As an architect you would understand that, but the layman wouldn't give it a second thought.

NYSTROM:

I again notice, the detail on your concrete is the bushhammer technique, isn't it?

CORNELL:

Yes. That's bushhammered. I think that does a lot to concrete.

NYSTROM:

Now did this come under your realm, the furnishing of these courts? Is the furniture also selected by your office?

CORNELL:

Yes. Everything—all the paving, all the patterning, all the structures, all the lighting—is designed in the office. Now that's the decision of the University, and that hasn't always met with favor but it's the University's decision.

NYSTROM:

Now who would object to this? The architect himself would object to this authority?

CORNELL:

That has happened, yes, where he felt that his prerogatives were being infringed upon. He didn't want anybody monkeying around his building with architectural detail. But that was the University's decision, which was made in the beginning. It has been challenged, but it's never been changed. Of course, from the landscape and architectural standpoint, assuming always that the people are competent (that they know what they're doing, that they are able and cooperative, and that they are willing to work with others), I think it's a good approach. And nothing is done arbitrarily from the standpoint of an individual.

NYSTROM:

I gather from what you have said, Mr. Cornell, the campus planning committee is perhaps the final word with the exception of the Regents. But possibly the Regents would take the recommendations of the planning committee, I imagine.

CORNELL:

Well, usually. Of course, the beginning, and when I say "beginning" I mean when I first came here, the Regents were deciding everything and you can imagine what a time-consuming procedure it became. I used to meet the Regents with plans for their approval.

NYSTROM:

There was no planning committee liaison, is that right?

CORNELL:

Oh no, not until Dr. Murphy came. Pinal approvals were channeled through the Berkeley office to the Regents.

NYSTROM:

Dr. Murphy created the building committee?

CORNELL:

He was the one who put the spark plugs in the motor and got things working. Now I think basically the Regents are more concerned with the broad angles of the thing than with specific details. That's about as far as they will take a personal interest, I think. I think that's the way it should be. If their deputies can't handle these things, why, they ought to get some other deputies. There's too much that they have to take care of anyway.

NYSTROM:

Does the campus planning committee meet regularly, monthly, or are they just called when the need is apparent?

CORNELL:

Well, it's based on need. During the past few years it met once a month quite regularly because we had a tremendous and a very active program. But since the building expansion has receded, we don't meet so frequently. We meet on call. You were discussing what the styles were and how you would define them: tradition and tastes and the fact that maybe the Romanesque style of architecture on the campus in the beginning was preferable to the modern breakaway. Maybe It is. But personally I am a great believer in heredity, which means no more, in my opinion, than the capacity, which you inherit. Then after you are born, and with what experiences you may have picked up along the way, education comes into the field. Education has a tremendous influence on what you do, and maybe what you do is controlled by your hereditary capacities, so there's an interlocking there. But what I am leading up to is simply this: that for the most part we like things with which we are familiar. We like old things. We like the things with which we grew up. Anything that is new digresses and we have to become familiar with it before we appreciate it, before we understand it, before we like it. So I am wondering as the years move along, where things will be. Will it still be with the old ancient things or will we like the contemporary things then because we grew up with the contemporary things and they are familiar and they are not the same. Now we go to Europe and we love Italy; we love France; we love England and all of her old traditions, but we don't want to recreate them because they express something of their era, of their time, of their age, which was an expression of life and philosophy and also the mechanics and technocracies of living and of building at that time. To perpetuate those under present conditions where all has changed might not be as satisfactory as to revere the old ones. Now you go back to our own East Coast, and there are certain sections where it is almost immoral to live in a house that is less than 200-years-old, you know. They revere age and antiquity because they have been raised that way. So I am wondering when we get into another generation or two, whether we'll think of those things more as you might think of museum value, things that you perpetuate, rather than as living values. I don't know. But take the innovator in thinking out ideas. He always meets tremendous opposition. And it may take history to prove that he had something that was good because he was way ahead. A lot of our finest musical numbers were not accepted by the public at all when they were written, and now they are revered. So what we are talking about is pretty hard to say, isn't it?

NYSTROM:

Now we're looking at this new building here, Mr. Cornell. This is the extension of the Law Building, and yet you must admit, with its tile roof and its red brick, it certainly is reminiscent of Kellam and Allison's buildings. Yet it has a modern touch to It. It has a glass veranda that we can see here. It has steel sash windows. And yet I still think it is a very pleasing building.

CORNELL:

I agree very definitely. I like it. And I am not saying that a lot of that which we have is the best we could have done. Maybe they went too far in some cases. Maybe they went a little ahead of the game. I would agree with you that the harmony and the cohesion of things is very important. You don't want a collection of museum pieces, each one screaming for attention.

NYSTROM:

You have mentioned Chancellor Murphy's important role here. I wonder if he was confronted with this problem. Did you have any occasion to hear his reactions about the abrupt change in the north campus? Did he approve it?

CORNELL:

I think he likes the north campus.

NYSTROM:

I'm sure he likes it, but has there been any statement or comments about the abrupt change?

CORNELL:

I don't recall that he ever made any personal comment in my presence. Becket, I remember his speaking about it, he was a little inclined to defend it as being an entity in itself. The north court attaches to and, you might say, projects somewhat into the rest of the campus, but it is a different expression. Of course, Murphy has many problems but I think he's aware of everything as nearly as anybody can be.

NYSTROM:

We are now standing in the inner court of the School of Architecture. Mr. Cornell, would you like to comment on this?

CORNELL:

Well, this of course was one of the landscape architect's designs. As you will notice on the east and west sides of the court, there's a corridor, which comes down under the building's roof at about the center of which there is a break in grade with the steps. Well, we were given the plan here. There was what we refer to as a terraced bank that cuts east and west across this court with the north half elevated about three feet above the southern half. We were given this and a floor job on which to work out a pattern. We worked on it. This was after the Architects and Engineers office had been established. We worked with them, and we worked with the committee from the Art Department. At first glance that looked pretty terrible with the slippery bank right across the center, but we cut back the center of the court and put in a walk along the south building wall, which is at the north side of the court. 'We designed planter boxes to take up the changes in grade and paved the whole center area. At the time this was done, this was pretty bold. It was real devilish. We were breaking away from the old traditional cliché here on the campus. But the thing that interested me at that time was that the committee from the Art Department objected to what we were proposing. They wanted to keep that thing across the middle, that straight line, which cuts the area in half totally, and instead of unifying it, bifurcated it, so to speak. But there again it was the University's decision, and the Office of Architects and Engineers accepted the idea. This from our standpoint was very reckless, very contemporary at that moment relative to what the University had been doing.

NYSTROM:

Yes. Now originally the Art Department wanted, you say, a passageway, a walk?

CORNELL:

I don't know what they wanted. They didn't want this. As I remember it now they wanted to keep it on that two-level basis. We still have two levels, but we have one level, which dominates. It's not two levels, which are split down the middle by a straight, harsh line.

NYSTROM:

I notice that we have another silk tree in this planter here. Am I correct?

CORNELL:

What with the silk tree with the pink flowers and the blue lily-of-the-Nile beneath it, and the red brick and pink hibiscus, and then this rice paper plant here with the big leaves, it has a tropical effect.

NYSTROM:

That's not the Mexican palm there?

CORNELL:

It's a Senegal date palm. It's a Phoenix reclinata.

NYSTROM:

That's a slow growing tree? Maybe a century old?

CORNELL:

No. It might be fifty years old. But it's grown quite a little since we have planted it. Now this was a heavily used court when the Art School was in here. It was full of tables and chairs, and it was one of the most animated spots on the campus.

NYSTROM:

Well, the building is in sort of limbo now. You see, the Architecture School is just organizing. Now would you say that this was the first truly enclosed court, then, to be built on campus where you're actually enclosed by the outline of the building?

CORNELL:

I think so. I don't recall anything ahead of this. As you said a minute before, there was a Kerckhoff court, but that was enclosed only on three sides. Since then we have expanded it to include the space to the east.

NYSTROM:

Let's cross the court now.

CORNELL:

Now we're right over the middle of the old arroyo. We're about sixty-five feet above the bottom of the original arroyo.

NYSTROM:

I remember Moore expressed several times his love of the arroyo and the wildlife that it contained, the natural growth, and that this should always be preserved. He also made a statement once I can't remember where, that in those days we had the academic here on one side and the administration on the other. (Of course, that's changed today. They've added other buildings). He felt the bridge was a logical division between administration and academic.

CORNELL:

Well, he was a man thinking back instead of ahead. It's your programming and your scope and your functional requirements that control these things. We don't have enough campus acreage as it is, and if we tried to maintain a naturalistic, rustic gulch down through the center of it, we would be losing many acres of very valuable land when you don't have enough land anyway.

NYSTROM:

This density problem is certainly different from Pomona. As I look at these trees in the Dickson court, Mr. Cornell, I notice some are very straight, and yet now we have a bent tree. That's a different species, I take it.

CORNELL:

Some of these straight-stemmed ones like these two are sycamores, but the slender ones are eucalyptus. These distorted trees are California sycamore. That is a characteristic, which they seem to carry. The California sycamore is rather prone to picturesque growth. If we had used the oriental plane instead of this we would have had much tighter, more cylindrical, compact masses. We used the California sycamore because of that informal tendency. I think we are achieving variety here, which adds to the interest. These two so-called parterres are pretty stiff, and they are pretty rigid. Of course, I think that's all right. It's in the center of this big mass of buildings. But I feel also that the informality of the California sycamore adds to the appearance and helps it. So that was the purpose and the reason in putting the sycamores in.

NYSTROM:

Schoenberg Hall, which we are approaching here, is one of the rather rare buildings that Welton Becket himself designed. He did design the Medical School and the parking structures and the dormitories, but I think this is the major one that he designed as far as an instructional building. Schoenberg Hall was done in 1956 and Dickson I think in 1951 or 1952, but I see that they tie in very nicely across the court. They share the same brick and the same post-and-lintel style. Dickson is more symmetrical, but yet again, I feel that they match nicely across this arcade here.

CORNELL:

Well, they were becoming transitional at that point. See, they have gone into a flat roof. They were breaking away.

NYSTROM:

Yet there are four to five years separating these two buildings.

CORNELL:

That was a conscious transition into which they went. Of course, the first campus and units were laid out on a very, very costly pattern—the sidewalks and everything.

NYSTROM:

Costly with space?

CORNELL:

Costly with space and costly with materials. With all the fancy brickwork and everything that they used, the cost was prohibitive, I think, as a continuing factor. So they were cutting down. Their budget was less, and there was a long period of debate and consideration and discussion.

NYSTROM:

Knudsen Hall, I think, makes a nice relationship. It is a brand-new building, and yet it ties in with the round arch and the red brick very neatly.

CORNELL:

Well, personally I like the building very much as a building. However, side by side with the Romanesque, it doesn't seem to belong to the same age.

1.11. TAPE NUMBER: SEVEN, SIDE ONE AUGUST 9, 1967

NYSTROM:

Mr. Cornell, what were your feelings about the coming of the Medical School? Originally there had been some plans that it might be in downtown Los Angeles. Then there was the decision, I believe in around 1950, or perhaps before 1950, to bring it to this campus. Do you think that was a good decision because it certainly has affected the density of the campus?

CORNELL:

Well, I am really not in the position to say whether that was a good decision or not because too much is involved. Those top-level decisions are made by the Regents after much study, thought, and analysis. They don't agree always; they are not unanimous; they have opposite opinions, and the majority rules. I frankly don't know that I am entitled to have an opinion on that.

NYSTROM:

How do you feel the campus has been affected by the Medical School? We lost sixteen acres. This certainly changed the master plan, didn't it?

CORNELL:

Yes. We lost sixteen, plus what we have given the Medical School since. It crowds things. It creates a different problem. Of course, the designer's attitude I think should be to meet a situation as it develops. He may design something. He may do well that, which is not his particular choice, but it is the result of circumstances and decisions. He works with what he has. So you are asking in effect: is the congested campus preferable to, or less desirable than, an uncongested campus? And obviously the answer would be the greater space is preferable if the circumstances make it possible. But when conditions are such that you can't give a lot of room to many things and you have to concentrate, then as far as the design problem is concerned it's just as challenging, maybe more so. Sometimes the mere fact that you have controls and restrictions beyond your capacity to modify makes a more interesting problem this court by the late David Allison. Would you care to comment on the landscaping of this court?

CORNELL:

We were speaking a minute ago about the buildings and the architects and the design of the building. Of course, I had nothing to do with that or the choices or the decisions. The building pattern was established, but it was established on the basis of an elongated north-south axis with a closure at each end, the north closure being the library and the south closure being a building. Perhaps at the time this was undetermined. But my influence or interest or activity came in with the design of the court. This was the first big court on the campus. It was predicated and laid out on a geometric plan.

NYSTROM:

Now this, you would say, also is a geometric layout? It's symmetric.

CORNELL:

Very definitely, but this is the first breakaway from the old traditional cliches, which were neither the balanced geometrical pattern nor the random spiderweb system of paths such as had been used in the past. We were trying to avoid these diagonal, random type of walks that went from here to there, wherever anybody happened to want to walk, but which had no relationship to the general scheme. So our basic problem was to accommodate traffic diagonally or lengthwise or crosswise over this court in a manner that would be functional and yet would have some modicum of organization and design. We tried to do that by breaking from the geometric, such as occurs in what we call the parterres, and also avoiding the diagonal, random walks by creating larger paved areas, which could be crossed diagonally or in any manner at all without interference or damage to planting and to lawns. As you stand here and watch the students go back and forth from one entrance or control point to another, you'll see a great deal of diagonal traffic, but there are no diagonal walks. Now if your design is properly laid out, we feel in theory at least that the design pattern can control use and traffic. This court demonstrates it to a considerable degree and was the first attempt here on the campus to break away from traditional. It's done on what we call a module design pattern. Not only do you put in larger masses of pavement where the diagonal crossing occurs, but you create certain obstructions, which help to keep the traffic in control. If you stand at one corner of a rectangular space and want to get to the diagonally opposite corner, your instinct is to walk straight across. But if you have benches, sitting ledges, hedges, planting of any sort, which discourages this direct diagonal crossing, you don't feel frustrated if they are well located and if you have to walk around them if they are not too obviously done, if they are worked into a pattern. So that's what we tried to do here. You see where we have a diagonal crossing now in this little court here, and it goes in both directions? The court itself is rectilinear in pattern. It's a module design. These modules can be picked up and repeated and moved around, same as in architecture, all over the court. I think It was a success particularly as the first instance. Now it met with—what shall we say?—criticism. Everything does; nothing you do is accepted unanimously by everybody. It met with criticism, and Berkeley was a little skeptical. We enlarged the paving areas relatively. As I remember it, there were about 63,000 square feet of paving in this court. Now that's about an acre and a half.

NYSTROM:

Is this concrete?

CORNELL:

This is pre-cast concrete.

NYSTROM:

It looked like a flagstone sort of effect.

CORNELL:

Yes. In the medley of tones.

NYSTROM:

How was this textured?

CORNELL:

These are pre-cast face down on a poured concrete bed that had the texture moulded into it. These pieces are cast upside down, face down, and then are lifted. They are in random shapes. They are all rectilinear, but they are in random pattern. You might call it "random ashlar" with the color combination of from three to five tones, all of them metallic and earthy and harmonious and blending but enough different to give it vibration and animation.

NYSTROM:

As I look at the court, Mr. Cornell, I notice the way you've massed the planting at various levels, and again not always symmetrical. You'd have a line of bushes here and then at right angles another line with whatever this type of bush is.

CORNELL:

It's a viburnum.

NYSTROM:

I notice the difference in height of the viburnum as it cuts across here. That has a tendency to break up a strict geometric pattern, doesn't it? And then the various levels, the trees are raised up in planters rather than at the level of the court.

CORNELL:

Some of them, not all of them.

NYSTROM:

There is a variation, which adds to the interest, I think.

CORNELL:

Well, by raising a tree and putting a planter in, that diverts traffic around it rather than through it. There are two distinct types of balance, you know, in design. There is geometric balance, which, is the old type and the bugaboo of the modernist. And there is the occult balance, which is a visual balance. We seek balance, rhythm, symmetry, harmony, accent, contrast, and all the things in the vocabulary of design.

NYSTROM:

Would that north court be an example of the occult balance?

CORNELL:

I think it would. That was the attempt. Of course, that again is quite different from this court. That's the latest court on the campus up until now.

NYSTROM:

Then this was sort of a transition to that?

CORNELL:

This was the first breakaway, and if you are sufficiently astute, you can almost walk through the campus and see these different periods. But there was a struggle to get this. Now what I started to say a minute ago was that there was about an acre and a half of pavement. Well now, that just simply floored the boys at Berkeley—economically, the cost of it. But here's what happens. The area is paved, and it has practically no maintenance cost. So what you do, you capitalize your maintenance into things of this sort, which become permanent. Now where we have lawns and planting and ground covers, we have a lot of maintenance, which is perpetual. It is continuous every year, and that goes on and on. If you capitalize five or ten years of that into an improvement, which goes in and is permanent and requires no maintenance, why, you may be ahead in the long run. But from that standpoint it's usually the economy angle of Immediate cost, which draws the fire because they don't care too much if they can afford these things.

NYSTROM:

I notice we have some eucalyptus to our right as we're facing south, and then I notice to our left an interesting group of trees. What are those?

CORNELL:

Well, on our left, that's the cape chestnut from South Africa.

NYSTROM:

That would he a specimen tree?

CORNELL:

Yes. In that little court we originally had four cape chestnuts, one in each of the four corners. Two of them died. We don't know for sure why, but probably [because of the] soil condition. It might have been inadequate drainage because they are a tree that requires drainage. Yet it's interesting that the two survived at the lower side of the rectangle, so maybe it's in reverse. It's a lovely tree that flowers quite heavily in the spring. As you see it now, it's quite beautiful.

NYSTROM:

Then against the Geology Building we have some magnolias.

CORNELL:

That's the swamp magnolia.

NYSTROM:

And then there's the pine family.

CORNELL:

Those are Podocarpus gracilior, fern pines as they are referred to, but they are not a true pine. And if it interests you, these cape chestnuts and the rubber trees, and some of the materials of that type, were all boxed materials. They were moved in large, maybe six-foot boxes. They saved us twenty-five years in time on their growth and scale, but the eucalyptus that you see were about a foot high. They were specified as such, and we wouldn't have permitted big eucalyptus to come in normally. Now after the span of years—and I don't remember how many it would be—the eucalyptus are bigger than the other things. They would be bigger in time anyway because they are a taller growing tree.

NYSTROM:

Are they approximately full-grown now?

CORNELL:

Oh, my, no. If nothing happens, some of those will get 150 feet high.

NYSTROM:

They scale beautifully with the building.

CORNELL:

Yes. They will be rather nice as they get bigger and go up in the air. I say we normally wouldn't plant large eucalyptus because it's uneconomic, unnecessary. But in the geophysics court we have two planter boxes, which extend down thirty-five feet to the original grade. In other words, there's no floor under them. The point at which those occur is thirty-five feet above the original grade in the court.

NYSTROM:

Would that be part of the original arroyo here?

CORNELL:

Yes. That's right. This was a side arm of the arroyo that branched up in this direction.

NYSTROM:

How deep again are those?

CORNELL:

These two boxes are thirty-five feet, and they were back filled with a good soil. Now this makes an interesting commentary, in my opinion because it was felt we would be justified in moving in some large trees under such circumstances. We had on the north campus, up towards the chancellor's house, some lemon-scented gums, which were quite nice. We decided we would move two of them here into the court.

NYSTROM:

Lemon-scented gums?

CORNELL:

Yes. Eucalyptus citriodora.

NYSTROM:

Where do they come from, what part of the world?

CORNELL:

Australia originally. These are good-sized trees, and in order to move them, we spent as I recall from four to six months.

NYSTROM:

Do you remember the approximate height of the tree when you moved' it?

CORNELL:

Oh, I would say thirty feet, maybe forty.

NYSTROM:

Now they are probably fifty or sixty feet, I think.

CORNELL:

Fifty or sixty, yes. So we sideboxed them one side at a time. We cut one side and later on cut the opposite side until we had them sideboxed on all four sixes. That means the roots were cut back to the dimension that would put them inside the box.

NYSTROM:

What size were these boxes approximately?

CORNELL:

I don't remember, but they were probably about five or six feet.

NYSTROM:

They were lifted with cranes?

CORNELL:

Well then, we let them sit that way with all the side roots cut, and we put vitamins on the roots to stimulate root action. After we felt it was safe, we cut the bottoms and then they were ready to move. We brought them in and they survived very happily without any complications. Now as you look at these, the far tree on the left and the far tree on the right were the two big ones that we boxed. Also to build up the mass, we put some twelve-inch eucalypts out of gallon cans in the planters with these two big ones we had moved in. Today they are the same height. The two big ones have a heavier caliper but not too much different. And that's interesting. So by moving them in, we saved maybe twenty years in the effect. By putting the little ones in, we insured a little more stability and a little more mass.

NYSTROM:

Is the eucalyptus a nice display tree? Is it a fairly clean tree?

CORNELL:

Well, it sheds its bark and drops its leaves and it has seed pods, so maybe you wouldn't call it clean. But there is no tree that is totally housebroken.

NYSTROM:

If there are degrees, this would be maybe a medium level then. It's not the worst, and it's not the best.

CORNELL:

It's a good average. But the interesting thing about this tree is its white bark. It sheds the bark every spring and then the new cambium, the new bark underneath, comes out clean and white and makes a very interesting effect. You asked what kind of tree is the eucalyptus? There are about 450 or 500 species, so you are covering a pretty wide territory there—many, many types and many, many kinds. Some which they call mallees are little, scrawny, sprawling things and never achieve any size at all but may have very beautiful flowers. Some are enormous timber trees, 150 feet high with heavy, massive trunks. There's a wide range. Most of them shed their bark, but not all of them. There are eucalypts that don't shed their bark, and so you can almost take your choice, being controlled by the growing environment.

NYSTROM:

Does the leaf itself have any harmful effect as it falls on the grass?

CORNELL:

There's a difference of opinion on that. The old women's tale says that you can't grow anything under a eucalypt. Well, I think that's entirely false. I think the greatest problem perhaps in growing beneath them is the vigorous root action of the eucalypts because they take the moisture. If you give them enough water so that everything gets what it wants, why, other things will grow great. Now you see these philodendrons are tropical, and they're doing nicely. And these African lilies-of-the-Nile are doing well.

NYSTROM:

What are the palm trees that grow on the perimeter of the court against the building?

CORNELL:

This is a palm, Botanically it is known as Archontophoenix cunninghamiana, and the common name is king palm. It's a tropical palm on the tender side, but it's very interesting, especially when young because it has a lovely lush top.

NYSTROM:

The flowers are beautiful. That's a seed pod that's open, isn't it?

CORNELL:

It's a fruiting stem that is opened. The flowers come out a lovely deep amethyst blue. They are followed by berries, which turn red. It makes a very lovely color combination.

NYSTROM:

Now this is my ideal—I might be mistaken—of what I would call a clean tree. You put a tree like this in a court and you just trim it once in a while. You don't get anything outside of the berries.

CORNELL:

Better than that, it sheds its leaves automatically.

NYSTROM:

You don't have to trim it?

CORNELL:

No. They drop and they come clean. These are self-cleaned trunk.

NYSTROM:

That makes it even more practical, doesn't it?

CORNELL:

Yes. But this tree in my judgment is best when it is young. In the tropics, you will see a tree maybe with a forty-, fifty-, or sixty-foot stem like a telephone pole and a little feather duster of leaves up in the top. That's where your scale has changed, you see. Up from the time they are about six or eight feet until they are maybe twenty feet high, the relation of the fronds or foliage cluster to the stem is very good. Then they begin to take on a different appearance, and I think they are not so attractive.

NYSTROM:

That's right. And the flowers are out of your view practically.

CORNELL:

They are out of your view. You see these flowers are at eye level when they start blooming. They start very young, and so the flower is really at eye level. Having taken photographs over the years, I view these things from a photographic standpoint.

NYSTROM:

That's a beautiful photograph right there, isn't it?

CORNELL:

Instinctively. Yes. That's what I was thinking: that I might get in here and "shoot" that. You've got the three stages—the deep amethyst has just opened, the paler one has passed the flower stage, going into the fruiting stage, and then one with the red berries is all ready for business. Now these will volunteer. They come up at the base of the palm. They are easily grown, but they won't stand cold. When it gets down to about 28° your palm knows it.

NYSTROM:

With that in mind, did you put them in the court here to give them shelter?

CORNELL:

Yes. We have many things on the campus that are marginal as to their endurance of cold. These are sheltered from the wind. They will be protected from cold weather by the heat reflection of the walls. We thought it would be a good place. The palm would grow also out in the open, but this seems to us especially good. Then I think there is an architectural significance to these things, the way they are grouped in the court.

NYSTROM:

Mr. Cornell, you just mentioned that there were lemon-scented eucalyptus trees in the courtyard of the Chemistry-Geology Building. Now as we go outside of the courtyard back into the central court, you mentioned that there are some more. Now is this purposeful to have a carryover, a continuity, an integration?

CORNELL:

Well, it could be. On this court, as I said, when we were discussing it to be the Court of Sciences, we tried to get visual occult balances in the masses and have a rather strong planting of eucalypts in the northwest corner. This was just a reflection out here of this eucalyptus planting in a reduced manner. The third tree of these three is a red ironbark. Now that's a eucalypt that doesn't shed its bark. It has a lovely pink flower. It's a very nice tree, and it has good foliage. It's not like this lemon-scented gum at all.

NYSTROM:

That's a specimen tree then. I don't believe I've seen very many of those.

CORNELL:

It can be. It is hardier; it will take more cold. It's an interesting sort of thing.

NYSTROM:

Now as we look towards the Life Sciences Building, it seems that our courtyard is being disrupted by a building. Now isn't that going to destroy the axis there?

CORNELL:

That changes the entire concept from which this thing started, perhaps it doesn't abandon it completely, but it certainly alters it.

NYSTROM:

It doesn't seem to fall into the line of the axis of the court either. It's to the center and to the right but nothing to the left. What is that building?

CORNELL:

This thing that you're looking at and to which you are referring as a building is a depressed eating facility, as viewed from the upper court area.

NYSTROM:

And this will not show?

CORNELL:

The only thing that will be. in the line of vision aboveground as seen from the north will be tables and chairs for the students.

NYSTROM:

What will be below? Kitchens?

CORNELL:

Kitchens and service facilities, and there will be a tunnel that comes in from this side court underground. That's one of the opportunities that the change in elevation creates. [tape off] Of course it did disrupt our original concept completely. It altered it. I don't think it's going to ruin it, but whether it's going to help it or not, I don't know. The original plan for this Court of Sciences included what we thought was rather a lovely fountain feature in the southwest corner with some terraced paving around it and the general view sweeping down to the Life Sciences Building. When this facility came along—and that's the thing of which I have spoken I am sure and to which I have referred at least by implication—it changed the whole story, so you kind of brace yourself and start over again. We have had different studies, which would include this. At the present thinking, we break back down again into the planting and greenery. But I don't feel that that lower end is completely finished as yet. How it will wind up when it's all finished, I don't know. There's going to be a battery of buildings on the east side, running south from the Geophysics Building.

NYSTROM:

That will be part of the chemistry complex then?

CORNELL:

Yes. It will be a continuation and academically and functionally relates to the life sciences, you see. It may even connect to them eventually.

NYSTROM:

I'm beginning to see more and more the importance of your work here as you speak of the density increasing. It certainly presents a challenge for the landscape architect to try to create a feeling of open space and planting out of all of this density.

CORNELL:

Well, it's a challenge and a problem. Of course the thing that we are striving for now is the retention of all these open areas as a series of courts that are big enough and adequate. I think it can end up as a very interesting campus. It isn't the other type of campus of which we have spoken, but we hope it will be good for a time. Now to break away from the architectural design features, you might be interested in these three trees here.

NYSTROM:

Yes. These are quite interesting. These are in front of Boelter Hall, the engineering building.

CORNELL:

The tree is one of the bottle tree group and it's called the Queensland lace bark.

NYSTROM:

Are these three trees all the same?

CORNELL:

These three trees are all the same.

NYSTROM:

That tree doesn't have a leaf on it.

CORNELL:

No. But it has a lot of flowers that are just opening from the buds, and that is a characteristic. You see, with these trees, where there is a branch that has flowers the leaves have dropped, and that's typical of it. The botanic name of this is Brachychiton discolor. The Australian flame trees and the bottle trees belong to this family. Now these three trees are of an original planting that Dr. Moore made on one of the early roads that ran down to the grounds and buildings headquarters. What was the name of that building on Westwood?

NYSTROM:

There's the machine shop.

CORNELL:

Yes, down to the shops. There was a narrow road that ran from the vicinity of the library down to the machine shops on the downgrade, and Dr. Moore—I don't know whether these were special seeds or special strains—had these planted along the road.

NYSTROM:

From seed?

CORNELL:

Whether he got the plants or whether he got the seed to begin with, I don't know. He was very interested in them and fond of them and didn't want to have them destroyed. Well, as is inevitable on a thing of this sort, much that we start with and don't want to lose does have to go, but we saved these three trees and moved them into the Court of Sciences.

NYSTROM:

Are they rather rare?

CORNELL:

Not rare, but there are many things that we have had here for a hundred years and everybody knows, and yet they are not common. So these are not rare in the sense of that. They have been around for a long time, but there aren't a great many of them.

NYSTROM:

I notice in looking at the tree that the trunk on the bottom is silvery grey, but as you work up to the top of the tree, the bark becomes quite green.

CORNELL:

That's a transitional stage. The bark is green and that means probably that it has a certain function in the chlorophyll action and development. These trees, of course, do not shed their bark—few trees do—which means that over the years instead of having a clean trunk they develop a furrowed, barky trunk. We are looking at the Canary Island pines in front of the Engineering Building on the west side of the court. There are two towards the south and, I think, one towards the north. They are about the height of the four-story building against which they show, and these trees were moved down from the Angeles Forest area north of La Canada, La Crescenta, somewhere up in there. We went up and inspected them on the site and selected them. They were not very much fatter than good husky poles, with a column of foliage maybe six feet in diameter, but they were tall and slender because they had been grown in close formation. We moved them in here, and they are coming along beautifully. It indicates again, as far as height goes, that we saved thirty years on those.

NYSTROM:

When were these moved in, approximately what year?

CORNELL:

You know, time is elusive. When you are not prepared to answer such questions you do a lot of guessing, but they were moved in probably six or eight years ago. That is my guess. They are established now. They are growing. They are going to be much fatter than when they came in. They are quite effective because they go up so high. They give us height and scale in relation to the buildings. At this point, we have passed the eating facility in the center of the Court of Sciences and are facing the Life Sciences Building. You see here, we have dropped down in level to probably one story of the building. That indicates that in perspective the eating facility will be pretty well down below the eye level.

NYSTROM:

Are we standing over part of the old arroyo now?

CORNELL:

No. This is a ridge. This axis is laid out on the north-south ridge that existed. The ridge wasn't as wide as this court, but they were building on terra firma, solid earth, not on fill. That was, I presume, one of the things that inspired the original thinking because they had a sort of natural geological formation here to support a court or a mall.

NYSTROM:

We are standing here on the east side of the Court of Sciences looking towards Mira Hershey Residence Hall. The way I understand it, Mr. Cornell, we are standing on part of a ridge of the old arroyo. Hershey Hall would be on the opposite ridge of the arroyo. Is that correct?

CORNELL:

That's approximately right. Mira Hershey was on the east side of the arroyo. We are standing on the west side of what was the arroyo, but the west bank of the arroyo was east of where we are. This Court of Sciences is on a ridge. It was pretty well back, and there were one or two arms that ran up toward the ridge. But in effect the arroyo ran east of the present Geochemistry Building.

NYSTROM:

I see some very interesting trees here to our left along the walkway. Do you want to comment on these?

CORNELL:

These are little, beautiful jacaranda trees that were moved in about the same size as you see them. They are established now and are growing. Extending north from them toward the old Geochemistry Building is a row of five lovely Canary Island pines, which are directly in the way of the new building extensions, which have been planned for the east side of the court at this point and which will come south from the geochemistry group. So the big Canary Island pines will have to come out, which means either we lose them or we will save them at whatever cost is necessary. They are fine trees.

NYSTROM:

I see. No plans yet as to where they will go?

CORNELL:

No, not at this time. On our right here, which is in the south-east corner of the Court of Sciences just north of the Life Sciences Building, are three ficus trees, figs, so-called rubber trees.

NYSTROM:

Similar to those of Dickson Plaza?

CORNELL:

No. These are different from the trees in Dickson Plaza, but they are similar to two of the trees that are planted right up against the old Art Building, which is going to be the School of Architecture and Environmental Design. These trees were growing on the north side of Kerckhoff Hall, crowded in close together at the corner of the building. When the extensions went in there, the additions of the [Ackerman] Student Union and other structures, these were big enough to be interesting. We felt that they should be saved, so we moved them to where you now see them. I suppose they were not more than a quarter or a third of their present height when we moved them. They indicate that they have established happily and are coming along. This is part of the occult visual balances without geometric exactitudes, even though the court itself is a definite rectangle. We are looking at the north entrance, to the Life Sciences Building on either side of which are flanks of kentia or howea palms with philodendrons growing at their feet. Now these howeas or kentias were originally obtained for planting in the geochemistry court where we put the eucalyptus trees, about which we have already spoken. I wanted to substitute the king palms up there for the kentias. The management said, "All right, if you save the kentias and use them and won't throw them away." So the kentias came down here, and I think as they grow older they are going to be better and better. They'll get two or three stories high eventually. I think they make a nice, almost a sculptural note against the building. They will flank the entrance. So again, all of your planning depends a little on adroitness and circumstances that develop. We are standing in front of the glasshouses to the east of the Life Sciences Building, looking toward the east wall of the northwest wing of the Life Science. There is an unusual plant there, which was brought by seed from Africa by Dr. Cowles who was interested in plants. He came into the office one day and requested permission to plant this little thing outside of his window. That's a thing, which causes us to cringe because if we conceded to every request we'd have this campus a regular hodgepodge like a pincushion full of all kinds of pinheads. But we felt, well, It's one tree. It's Dr. Cowle's office, and it's his wish. I suggested it wasn't going to hurt anything, so we had better plant it. It was done, and it's developed into a very interesting specimen. Botanically, it is a Cussonia spicata.

NYSTROM:

Native habitat is Africa?

CORNELL:

That's my understanding. He brought the seed or got it as a result of a visit to Africa. It's the only one on the campus of which I am aware. It's interesting. It's worthwhile. It's just another one of those things that adds piquancy to what might possibly become monotony. We always try to achieve harmony, but stir it up to get enough froth to keep it exciting and interesting.

NYSTROM:

I notice to the left of this we have some giant bird-of-paradise, is that correct?

CORNELL:

That is right, and of course we have two common types of bird-of-paradise on the campus. This large one Strelitzia nicolai. The low one is the official flower of Los Angeles and is called the bird-of-paradise, more commonly, Strelitzia reginae. They both belong to the banana family. The flowers and the seeds are different than those of the banana, but the foliage has a mild similarity. It has a texture and a tropical effect that's quite nice, and as we look at it here, it shows against the red brick wall of the building. I think as it gets bigger, it will get better. [tape off] We are now standing in the Plant Physiology Building, and we are looking into one of the enclosed glasshouse wings where they have many things with which they are working. I was just saying to Professor Nystrom that there are certain controls about which we don't always know too much, that affect plant habits, attitudes, and development growth. The length of the light day relevant to darkness is a very definite control. Moisture and humidity or aridity of air are definite controls. And the soil textures and the nutrients all affect plants. Plants become adapted to certain conditions. They grow under those conditions, and they don't like too much change in their ecology. Now you take the poinsettia, for example. This is a tropical plant, and it will not flower until it has so many hours of darkness at night for so many weeks. I wouldn't want to quote this as a factual statement, but relatively as I remember, if it doesn't have between eleven and thirteen hours of darkness a day for about six or seven weeks it will not flower. It's the short length of the daylight that affects the flowering.

NYSTROM:

That's why it blooms in the winter?

CORNELL:

That's why it blooms in the winter. If you put artificial lights in there, theoretically it wouldn't bloom. The same way with chrysanthemums. They don't bloom until the days become a certain reduced length in their light provision, and that's another reason why they are autumn flowering. They can force those to flower out of season in greenhouse conditions by pulling the shades, so to speak. Now I was interested once in having a rose grower tell me that he had heat in his rose house in the summertime here in Los Angeles. And I said, "For heaven's sake, what for?" He said, "Well, we only put it on at night, but that is to equalize the temperature because if the temperature drops below a certain point it retards the growth and it takes them longer to develop." So plant physiology concerns itself with plant behavior from every possible viewpoint. And they are learning new things all the time. They treat the seeds to get them to germinate more easily. They control temperature and light exposure, types of soil, humidity, water, everything that affects plant growth, and most of your pests and pest controls and things of that sort. So it's a very important function, particularly in a horticultural state. And California still ranks very highly in agricultural production. [tape off] We are standing at the northwest corner of the Botany Building, which in a sense becomes a retaining wall, which terminates the fill of the original arroyo. Actually, of course, the dirt doesn't pile up much against the building, but it terminates the filled area. Below the Botany Building is the original arroyo with its natural contours, which has been developed into what we refer to as the Botanical Garden. We will go down in there in a little bit if you wish. We are now looking south toward the new dental wing of the medical buildings, and this wing extends out over the driveway, the road, which will run from the inner campus to Le Conte. This encroaches mildly upon the Botanical Garden area. But we are told positively without reservations that this is the extent and the limit of encroachment, which they will make upon this Botanical Garden area. However, experience tells us that as years go by the programs change and that one is never quite sure what may happen, but we are hoping that this is it. Let's go over here [tape off]. Well, we now are in the bottom of the old arroyo in the center of the Botanical Garden, which we hope is a permanent preserve of this sort. Just within the last few months we have developed a naturalistic stream, which flows from the base of the old fill that's closed the arroyo down to its lower extremity. The water is re-circulated by pump. The effects are those of a natural running stream. We have something of a spring-like outlet among the rocks where the water emerges, goes down to the bottom of the canyon, and then is pumped back. We had to control this because if it isn't controlled, storms and flood waters will wash everything out. Also the original stream, which ran through here was the result of drainage from above, and it often carried pollution from the chemical labs and campus areas, which is not good for vegetation and which disfigured appearances. But as this grows and develops from now on, it's going to become quite naturalistic and, we hope, very lovely.

NYSTROM:

Then you must have a pipe at the low end of the stream that brings the water back up again. Is that right?

CORNELL:

We have a pump at the lower end that pumps it back up, and then it discharges behind these rocks and emerges from the rocks as though it were a natural source. The only way you can have the sylvan stream and planting along the stream is to control it. You take Pern Dell in Los Angeles Griffith Park—they have had big floods that wash out the stream. I've seen goldfish clear down on Hollywood Boulevard that came out of Pern Dell. So you have to control and reduce such hazards.[tape off]

NYSTROM:

These check dams, are they also new or have they been in here quite a while?

CORNELL:

These have been in longer because the old water flow, which is strictly drainage and uncontrolled and often polluted, came through here. We've had ducks in here and fish, but when we get some chemicals coming down that are not conducive to good health it's hard on your water life. We will have all kinds of water plants, and this will be developed in an attempt to make it naturalistic. This also is one of Dr. Murphy's edicts. Without his backing and support and vision a lot of these things would never get done. But when he says it will be done, why, there seem to be ways of accomplishing it. His support on this has been very substantial help. This is a ginger here, one of the flowering gingers, the one that's called the shell ginger.

NYSTROM:

This is along the stream in the Botanical Garden.

CORNELL:

There are many flowering gingers in Hawaii, but most of them come from tropical America. And everything that gets to Hawaii is adopted immediately by the Hawaiians, and they call it theirs.

NYSTROM:

Is this the tree that the spice comes from?

CORNELL:

No. This isn't the commercial ginger. It's even a different genus, but it's of the ginger family.

NYSTROM:

Here's an interesting tree directly ahead of us.

CORNELL:

This is an acacia. Yes, probably mollisima. There are two or three: mollisima, dealbata and decurrens. Well, it is the decurrens. So you see, I guessed wrong. But decurrens, dealbata, and mollisima are similar in appearance. Botanically they are not the same. This is a pretty wild tangle. This was never really designed. It wasn't laid out to a precise pattern. It was a catchall for materials and in the end is going to be a very attractive place. We have bamboo and palms, deciduous trees and evergreen trees, tropical plants and subtropical plants, everything that we can get to grow. Here is an interesting flowered shrub. It's called the princess flower, Tibouchina semidecandra, and you can see it's a mass of royal purple flowers. It likes warm weather, but it's really quite a sight. It's not uncommon, but again we don't see it too frequently.

NYSTROM:

Are there frogs in this water?

CORNELL:

There have been frogs and other things that the boys like to catch; I think even salamanders at one time. And if it stays long enough there will be little crayfish, I presume. You can see this looks as though nature had done it without too much help.

NYSTROM:

Yes, very, very nice.

CORNELL:

We are coming into a little palm group here. The origin of this goes back to the days of Dr. [Flora Murray] Scott who was head of the Botany Department at one time. One of the early custodians here was a Hollander by the name of Groenewegen who sort of directed the early work. The garden was used as a dumping ground for a lot of things that were given to us and which some of the local gardeners hereabouts contributed. They were planted without much thought of ultimate design. But I remember when I first saw the site, it seemed impossible that this would ever amount to anything. They called it the Botanical Garden. But it was a dry, hard, barren, bleached, sunbaked, irregular gully with not much of anything growing on it. The soil was as hard as concrete. It didn't look as though you'd ever get anything to live on it. But this shows what water will do. Directly ahead of us is a Phoenix canariensis palm with a sword fern growing on its trunk.

NYSTROM:

A sort of a parasite?

CORNELL:

No. The fern is not a parasite. It roots in the old dead palm fibers, but the fibers themselves and the moisture that accumulates (and I suppose a little dust) are sufficient to sustain life. But a parasite is a plant that lives on another living organism at the expense of the host. This does not take anything from the host plant. There are epiphytes and saprophytes and parasites, all different forms of plant life that grow under different conditions. [tape off]

NYSTROM:

I notice, Mr. Cornell, that (we are standing in this enclosed courtyard of the new dental wing) we have an old tree log in front of us here.

CORNELL:

That was brought in. It wasn't here when we started. It is covered with what we call epiphytes, which are not parasitic, but they mostly belong to the Bromeliad family. They are of the aeroid type of plant materials. And if you look at them, you will notice that they have no roots to mention. They are attached to a little bundle of sphagnum moss, wired to the host plant.

NYSTROM:

They feed off the moisture in the air?

CORNELL:

Well, their sole source of nutrients are from dust and dirt and rainwater (naturally, irrigation water here). These plants have a characteristic of formation, which provides cups at the bases of the leaves, cups that hold water; as long as those cups have moisture in them the plant is all right. Also they are adapted to long periods of drought. They look dry and dead and then when the rainy season comes they will start to grow. They have tremendously interesting flowers, interesting because of the colored bracts that accompany the flowers. The bracts are not the flower itself, but they give color and variety to it. Many of these are tillandsias. Now the Spanish moss of the South and the grey moss that occurs in some of our trees in this state are varieties of Tillandsia. So this was just a little whimsical touch. The court is planted as a tropical court.

NYSTROM:

It's possibly the only one on campus that's like this, isn't it?

CORNELL:

That is the only thing on the campus that compares to it. The engineering building group has a rather large court that is subtropical and has interesting plants in it, but not in the same sense as this. It is very interesting to me to see these epiphytes. An epiphyte is a plant which draws no nutrient from the host but attaches itself to a host and lives really from atmospheric moisture and dust. In the tropics, you will see telephone wires covered with epiphytes. They attach themselves to the wire, so you know there is nothing they can get out of that wire.

NYSTROM:

These are Australian ferns, aren't they, that we now see?

CORNELL:

Australian and Hawaiian and other types. There are three types of fern right here before us, including two tree forms. One is full size as you see it.

1.12. TAPE NUMBER: SEVEN, SIDE TWO AUGUST 9, 1967

NYSTROM:

Now we're passing from the Dental School addition into the older Medical School courts, the original courtyards.

CORNELL:

Yes. These old courts are interesting. They presented real problems. Of course, at the moment, they are all torn up by the new construction that's going on. But the medical complex, I believe, at one point is thirteen stories high, at least eleven at its highest point; so this entrance level is several floors above the lowest level, and we come in on what would become a deck. These courts are just decks and below them are two or three, or maybe four floors of regular occupied building space.

NYSTROM:

The depth of these planting beds then is not very great, is it?

CORNELL:

The architect did this to us with the statement that the bearing capacity of the floor was ninety pounds per square foot. Now that's less than the weight of a cubic foot of soil. So that would mean, if we had soil twelve inches deep for our plants, we would be overloaded. Of course, they engineer with marginal elements of safety, but those were our instructions, so it was really rough. These planter boxes that you see have from ten to twelve inches of soil in them and the original planting mixture had shavings and sawdust and lightweight materials, which reduced the load, to which were added the nutrients and the additives, which we needed for plant growth. Now then, there's one exception to this preloading factor. If we sit right on top of a supporting column, we can overload it almost indefinitely. So each box sits on top of a column. But even there we only have three or four feet of soil within a six-foot square box, so it's really quite a problem. This is quite lovely here at certain times of the year, but now it's covered with dust. They've been adding six floors on the top of the surrounding wings, and everything is grey and dingy and dusty and unsightly. But this has been a very pleasant court. You notice on the left here, you have two rubber trees, which really are large and rather tend to belie the statement I said about load limits. They again sit atop a column, each one of them, and the roots have gone down out and beneath the bottom of the box and have spread out over this thin coating—you might call it—of soil. We were in here just a week or so ago debating how to handle it.

NYSTROM:

What was your solution to this problem?

CORNELL:

Well, the way to reduce the tree foliage as much as we can without hurting the appearance unduly was to simplify the planting that's underneath them in these shallow boxes and probably have a gravel or a fir-bark ground cover in there because we feel that the size of these trees is really the making of this little corner of the court. It would be too bad to lose them, so we will try to keep them.

NYSTROM:

The depth of the bed then is just from the height of the brick wall.

CORNELL:

The depth of the bed is from the top of the soil down to the floor level here.

NYSTROM:

About one foot.

CORNELL:

Yes. That's right. According to original directives, it's already overloaded. But usually, as you know, being in the architectural business, they allow about 100 percent safety factor, but even then you're not given a very encouraging directive. That's one of the controls. Things all look a little sad and sick this summer. We hope to bring them back after the disturbance is over. But we have the blue clock vine and the bougainvillaeas in here for color, Bougainville's in two or three different shades. I think if we had to take out this big rubber tree on the right here you would agree that that would be quite a loss.

NYSTROM:

Oh, that would be a tremendous loss. What is this?

CORNELL:

This is a cup-of-gold vine. That's a tropical thing. We put in these lightweight pergolas. We felt the need of a three-dimensional design in here because it's big. I don't remember, but I think it's 200 feet square. If it is, it's almost an acre of space. We needed three-dimensional material for design. These pergolas are made of light steel and aluminum. They are very light, and they sit right on top of the floor. We had a problem there of fastening these to the floor without puncturing the waterproofing membrane because these floors are all waterproof. There is occupied space right beneath it. So once again, it's one of those things where you meet the challenge. There's nothing here that you would accept through choice, but having had it given to you, then you see what you can do with it. As I say, sometimes that's the way you get the best results.

NYSTROM:

It certainly gives the patients something to look at out their windows other than just bare concrete.

CORNELL:

These courts are used. It's not just from the windows. And that's the feeling that I have about a campus of such density as this: the use factor dominates. Now when you get the sprawling campus, with the woodsy, naturalistic effects, you can retain those only by low saturation or lack of saturation, by low occupancy, but when you reach the saturation point of occupancy, then these use factors become much more important. We design more and more with intensive use in mind. This court was laid out originally to accommodate succulent plants, and properly controlled I think that would make a very lovely pattern. They do need extra care though, and they don't really get it.

NYSTROM:

Succulents need extra care?

CORNELL:

Yes. This court has suffered through lack of perfect maintenance. Succulents must be really lifted once a year and divided and reset, things of that sort, which provide a maintenance problem. [tape off]

NYSTROM:

Mr. Cornell, I would like to have you comment, if you would, about the landscaping of the west campus, which is comprised of the dormitories. These dormitories, as you know, were designed by Welton [David] Becket. Would you care to comment on these four structures?

CORNELL:

The west campus, which is the residence area of the campus, originally was a. natural terrain of alternate ridges and gullies, very uneven, very irregular, covered with chaparral and brush when we first came out here. We even had occasional deer, and there were jackrabbits and things of that sort. Coyotes came in there to visit once in a while. The dormitory program, when it emerged from mothballs, was to provide a tremendous housing facility for students. The unit fixed upon was an 800-room, hotel-type dormitory of which there might be as many as half a dozen ultimately. The mere fact of the size—I think it is eleven stories high, but even so they are rather enormous on the ground floor plan—calls for flat pads on which these buildings sit and on very uneven topography, which has a considerable elevation differential between the bottom of the area and the highest points. I don't know in natural footage, but that can be checked. So we had to get the buildings located on pads. We had to get access to each building from at least one or preferably two levels. We had to provide parking as possible. It became quite a problem. The site studies were really a result of the UCLA Landscape Department working in conjunction with the architects and others. I think that the final plans were basically those of the landscape architect. Jere Hazlett spent many weeks working on this, making models to show the problems. The program consists of one roadway which curves up the hill in a winding manner at grades not too steep and provides access to each of the buildings. That is about the story. Then when he developed these pads, the landscape problem was to design and devise the pattern of areas getting a maximum of parking space and also getting planting and making it all attractive. To boil it down to a precise statement, probably the end result should be that we have these buildings—of which four have been built—located on wooded hillsides. The slopes have been planted with trees and shrubs; trees that will get large. I think the day will come when you feel that these enormous buildings nestle into a tree-planted hillside in a rather attractive and natural manner. Now I think there are indications of one or two more units of the same or comparable size. I don't know whether those have been abandoned or not, but they have been considered. When the time comes, I don't know exactly what it will be. Ultimately the residence area probably will extend clear over to the boundary road on the west, taking space, which is not occupied by floriculture and which is down at street level and is relatively flat. So the type of development that occurs on the west portion of this may he quite different from that on top. Now it seems to me that that's all that needs to be said about it, unless you have some questions.

NYSTROM:

In looking at the terrain and seeing that it is hillside, it seems to me again we have a challenge, and the very fact that It wasn't level has added to the interest.

CORNELL:

Well, that's true. We did have a challenge, and we did occupy a great deal of time and thought, and I think the placement of buildings and the fixing of their elevations are quite different now than they were in the beginning of the concept.

NYSTROM:

Were there drainage problems?

CORNELL:

Definitely, there were drainage problems because everything that we do has drainage problems. On a hillside with all of these roof areas and road areas discharging water as it would, without any of it going into the soil, it created quite a runoff problem. But that is a basic item that we have to consider on all campus development. We have to get storm drains that will carry the load. We have to get laterals that will run into the main drain, and we have to pick our water up at sufficient frequencies so that it doesn't accumulate and create rivulets or streams coursing down the streets, making them impassable. So it's a problem.

NYSTROM:

Because of the terrain you have abandoned the parterre type of landscaping. Would you say that what you have done over there is closer to what has been done on the north campus, a more informal, free-form type of landscaping?

CORNELL:

Well, to me there's not much similarity between this and the north campus. But it is rather free. We get into very little geometric shape or form or pattern. We have terraces adjacent to the buildings, some of which are very interesting, very useful, and very attractive. But the minute we get away from buildings we run into odds and ends, free form, this and that. There's a lot of recreation over there on the west campus. The campus Recreation Center takes a lot of space. The whole thing blends in. It's rather interesting to walk around and see these different units unfold. They are very functional. They are much used. They are molded into the ground. It's a sculptured design perhaps more than many designs become. But the basic thought in back of all of this is use because with our high concentration of students and faculty members we need to use every inch of the ground. And I think that is one of the things that adds charm and interest to the campus.

1.13. TAPE NUMBER: EIGHT, SIDE ONE AUGUST 16, 1967

MINK:

You were going to talk about Stephen Vavra.

CORNELL:

Yes. The Vavra Estate in Bel Air, and it is on Bel Air Road. I believe it's on a south slope in the Bel Air district facing the sun and the University campus. The gentleman by the name of Vavra bought it and developed it after his period of retirement. It was, seemingly at least, his chief interest and source of occupation. He became very interested in introducing new and rare plants with the result that he accumulated in his private garden an astounding variety of plant materials, many of which were unusual or rare or even perhaps unknown to local horticulture, meaning that many of those things were on the tropical, tender side and were not hardy to the general California conditions. He had a very favorable climatic zone there. He acquired all of these things, and that naturally attracted the botanists and the horticulturists, like a flower will attract the bees. It became quite a Mecca and quite a source of interest and a place to visit to view these things, which he had assembled. Many of them, of course, were not unknown or uncommon in one sense but were seldom seen in California gardens. The chief trouble with his garden, and the thing that I feel has been the trouble with many collections and botanical gardens in the past, including the old Kew gardens, was the fact that he crowded these things in so closely that they didn't have an opportunity to develop in a normal symmetrical way. And one reason, I presume, was that when you plant a little thing that's a few inches tall, you don't know how big it's going to become if it's an introduction. So the things were pretty well jammed in. It was hard to find a perfect specimen of a tree or a shrub, something that was not overcrowded and misshapen, and It was hard to take specimen photographs because you couldn't segregate materials. One couldn't get the tree he wanted to photograph out from its surroundings. And that is necessary unless it is possible to get a silhouette, a clear background behind the plant to be photographed, you could take individual photographs of flowers in detail, which of course don't depend upon the general appearance of the parent tree. Well, Vavra had a very interesting collection, a very crowded and a very large selection of plants, and as he began to see the writing on the wall of life, he wanted to perpetuate this as all hobbyists do. People spend their life, their energy, their money, and their time on a hobby and then they don't want to see it dissipate into nothing. So he was wanting to put it in some form that would be perpetuated. Ultimately it was given to the University. The Regents had, I think, some qualms and questions about it by virtue of what it was. But it was finally accepted by the University, donated by [Stephen] Vavra with the understanding that his wife be permitted to live in the house for her lifetime. After that, I think It would go to the University and be simple. After the University acquired it, then the Botany Department, Dr. Mathias and her cohorts, made this something of a feature because it provided materials and samples, demonstrations of things, which were hard to obtain and which were relatively close and accessible to the University. This Vavra Garden was not very far from the present Japanese Garden, but oh another road. So it was quite a popular place, but it cost a goodly sum to maintain it. It had no value to the University seemingly in returns commensurate with the cost of maintenance. So it ended up by the University selling the property to an individual who I think subdivided it. At the time of the sale some of the more unusual and available plant materials in the Vavra Garden were removed and taken down onto the campus. I think that was the end of the Vavra Estate as far as its botanical significance and relationship to the University was concerned.

MINK:

Was the Vavra Garden in any way the basis for the Botanical Garden?

CORNELL:

No. The Vavra Garden was not in any sense contributory to the Botanical Garden, which had started years before that. They worked together of course. The Botanical Garden was glad to have this source of reference material, though I would think that the contributions directly to our Botanical Garden was rather light. Dr. Mathias might feel differently. She could give you that answer.

MINK:

Then the plants from the Vavra Garden, which were removed at the time of the sale were scattered on the campus. They weren't all put into the Botanical Garden?

CORNELL:

No. They weren't held together. Asking about contributing to the Botanical Garden, probably the important ones went into the Botanical Garden, rather than over the campus generally. But how much of an actual contribution that was would not be for me to judge.

MINK:

At no time during this ownership of the garden by the University were things moved out of it on to the campus?

CORNELL:

Well, not in any degree. I've taken many pictures over there and made many visits looking for plants. Others did the same. You would find something there that maybe you knew fifty or sixty years ago and had seen very seldom since then, and here it was reappearing. Sometimes those things might be hardy plants too. So it's just the way the cards turn in the horticultural world.

MINK:

Mr. Vavra was a wealthy man, and this was his entire love. He had his own business?

CORNELL:

My understanding was that at this stage he had retired. What he may have had in the way of investments or business, I don't know, but seemingly this was his chief interest, and apparently he had the means to indulge it. It was expensive property for its day, though I believe when it was sold the house was torn down, which is the way we do things in this country. But I would be of the opinion that that was his hobby and his love. He had sufficient means to endow it and maintain it.

MINK:

You never had the opportunity to discuss the garden with Mr. Vavra?

CORNELL:

I never discussed the garden to any degree. I met him and knew him toward the end, but I had no conversations with him relative to his interest. He did collect seeds all over the world, himself, and he propagated them. He had a glasshouse. I don't remember the area involved, but I would say it was a couple of acres. He had things scattered all over and tucked in everywhere.

MINK:

Did he do most of the work himself or did he hire a corps of gardeners?

CORNELL:

No. I think he hired help, not a corps probably, two or three at the most.

MINK:

Well, you were going to speak also about the grounds of the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library.

CORNELL:

That is on West Adams Boulevard, and of course you know what the Clark Library is. As I understand it, and as I first knew it, the Clark improvements were on the south half of the block and that included an old house. Whether they built the house or purchased it, I don't know, but it was a redwood and brick structure of the old vintage. It might have been there. I have no opinion. But the library was built on the west side of the property, directly east of the old house and perhaps midway of the block. It was laid out, I presume, on an axial scheme, the library in the middle and a formal garden on either side, all of which extended from the old house east to the eastern boundaries of the property. One of my former partners in the Cook, Hall and Cornell era of my experience did some planting work for Clark. He was in at the beginning.

MINK:

And that was who?

CORNELL:

Wilbur David Cook. He was out here early in the century and at one time was about the only landscape architect in Los Angeles. He did some of the planting. I think he planted the westerly garden.

MINK:

Did he design the garden also for Mr. Clark?

CORNELL:

I couldn't say whether Cook designed the ground pattern or not, but Robert [David] Farquhar was the architect for the building. And being what he was, I would be of the opinion that whether or not Mr. Cook made the plan drawings, Farquhar probably decided the nature of the thing. The plan was very formal. Of course, the library building is costly. I think it was about one million dollars when it was built. And money was no item. It was done in what I think is French design architecture. Farquhar was a meticulous, temperamental, sensitive individual and was as fussy about his work as a hen would be about her chickens. He was very jealous of intrusion or interference of any kind from outside. He and Cook may well have worked together on the layout, but I think probably under Farquhar's direction. The planting was probably done under Mr. Cook. The westerly garden between the old house and the library was pretty well completed, but the garden on the east was unfinished. They had established the axis. They had extended east-west walks toward the east. They had planted formal rows of Eugenia myrtifolia, trees, which were clipped, sheared very stiff, tight, and formal. But they had never built the closure to this axis, which they had started, and when I came along in the early stage of my career with the University—I came in about 1937, and it was reasonably soon after that—the University wanted to complete that garden. Mr. Clark had stored here and there in the basement and one place and another some very lovely objets d'art, as the French say, statues, fountains, and figures. So we resurrected a bronze figure from the basement. We put in a pool at the east terminal, backed it by a wall to give it closure and tightness, and extended the planting around that east end. That was work that I did personally. When Mr. Farquhar heard that I was in there he was really nervous. I think he made one special trip down from San Francisco to see what was happening. He was no longer commissioned. He was getting elderly. The University had their way of doing things, and he hadn't been included. But I think he was quite reconciled to what happened because we certainly didn't break any of the conventions. We carried out what had been started. As I remember It, when I first came out here, the northerly half of the block was still in private occupancy, probably private ownership, excepting at the northwest corner where the stables and garage had been built. The balance of the north half of that block still had, as I remember, two or three houses on it and was unoccupied. I don't know at what time, but when the Regents came into control and had received their deed, one of the stipulations was that the north half of the block should be finished off in landscape design. Also I believe that in the deed restrictions there were to be no buildings in that northern half. So I got one of those orders, which sometimes occur without too much anticipation or warning to make landscape plans for the north half of that block. I said, "What's the program?" They didn't have a program. They just wanted it landscaped. Well, you can't design something without designing it for a purpose. There has to be a reason. The deed said that we had to do this. They could have cared less. They said, "You give us a landscape plan for it. We'll plant it, and we'll maintain it, and then we will have met the deed requirements." So with that to start with, you just have to pull things out of thin air because there is nothing that you are sure about in the way of use, value, or need. So we designed a pattern in three segments. That is, they were articulated and integrated, but the central portion was more or less an open panel with a lawn. There was one large rubber tree, Ficus macrophylla, which had been in the yard of one of the homes, which had been saved. We were able to use that. It is there today. It's a beautiful tree in the corner of this central, open-turf area on which we also planted some oriental flowering magnolias. It's a very simple open affair. At the easterly end of that space, we put in a little outdoor theater in contours only. That is, it was all done in earthwork and planting with a gently sloping area where people might have sat and with what might have become an orchestra depression, then a stage raised up two or three feet and wings of yew trees planted in such a manner that they closed the back of the stage. People could enter the area from those wings. We enclosed the whole theater with a low hedge, and this big rubber tree of which I speak was in back of it to one corner. It really was quite a possible little outdoor area, but to my knowledge it has never been used because it had no purpose. But yet, as a garden feature, it has some modicum of interest. At the west end we had another problem. We had to close that because the west end ran into the garage and the parking lot. That ended up as a bosket of trees, if you know what that is. It's a little grove. In the center of this east-west axis we put in a fountain and used some very lovely sculptured gulls, which Mr. Clark had either collected or had designed and had on the original property. We set that up, but the University didn't have any money to finish the fountain basin. It should have been done in travertine marble to match the other things. It stood there for years, and finally we plastered and secured the base in some concrete, which was far short of the elegance, which the sculpture called for and of the character of the garden at large. But the interest there was not factual. I presume you might refer to it as legal. I haven't been over there now for several years, but that's about the way it stands. The intention has been to raze the old house, and we have made plans indicating what could happen if that were done. One of the plans turned that into something of a formal entrance court, in the French manner of speaking, for carriage trade, if we had it, and where you could stand guest cars if you chose. But you round out and finish off the theme, which was established by Farquhar on the original building. The original building was done in imported travertine marble and brick, very meticulous, true to character, and in good design for its style. It is a very elegant building inside; very lovely.

MINK:

Mr. Clark's gift to the University, which came early included also the tenure of his librarian, Cora E. Sanders.

CORNELL:

Yes. I remember her. She was there for some years.

MINK:

Following that Lawrence Clark Powell was appointed as librarian. Now did Larry have any influence on the grounds? Did you have discussions with him about the design?

CORNELL:

Miss Sanders was very jealous of the things that Clark had wanted and which had impressed her deeply. So she was very guarding. She was protective and didn't want anything violated that he had done or which had been expressed as his intent. She was there when we made these garden changes, however. Then Powell came along, he was a friendly outgoing, affable sort of a chap, but his interest was books, naturally. He would call me over. We would have conferences regarding this and that about the grounds and planting or about little details. But he didn't like to spend book money for gardens. He was protecting the library theme also. Larry is a fine fellow. We enjoyed him and worked with him, and we discussed things. We got quite a little done in the way of planting on this northern section and other portions during his period of reign there.

MINK:

When you say Miss Sanders "was guarding," do you mean she was anxious that money should be spent to improve the grounds ?

CORNELL:

Well, I don't recall that she was. She was anxious that whatever Clark had intended be accomplished. I wouldn't remember now whether she was influential in getting these grounds more or less finished up to a point or whether that came from another source. It might well have been she.

MINK:

At one time there was, was there not, a structure that housed a little observatory?

CORNELL:

They had an observatory, and that was I think off the original lot, just to the north of it. There was an amateur astronomer whose name probably will come to me who used to give lectures over in the Clark. He had a telescope. I don't think that ever had any real significance.

MINK:

In the theme of the landscape?

CORNELL:

No, in any phase. I think it was an amateur's attempt. When Clark did it, it might have been quite an accomplishment, but progress has changed things. All that went with it became a very amateur, insignificant sort of thing, and it didn't fit into the landscape. It was north of the old lot, and it was right in line with the walk, which has gone in since. It stood there for quite a while, and it was finally razed and removed and I think without any particular regret or any particular loss because it wasn't an adjunct visually, aesthetically, or functionally.

MINK:

The telescope came to the University and is now on the top of the Mathematical Sciences Building.

CORNELL:

Yes, that little dome up there. Relatively I think it is rather small.

MINK:

Would you care to give some further impressions of Mr. Farquhar and his work?

CORNELL:

I don't know too much about him. He was a cultured gentleman. He was a scholarly type and very sensitive. His friends were that sort of people. I think Farquhar did the California Club. I think that is one of his buildings. One time I was associated in different ways with John Treanor, who was head of the Riverside-Portland Cement Company, who was a trustee of Pomona College, and who was a devotee of culture and art. He had quite a remarkable library. You may know of him. And John Treanor had a house over in the Muirfield district north of Beverly, backed up against the golf course there. I think Farquhar did his house. Farquhar and John Treanor were very close friends. Incidentally, John Treanor was one of the types of men whom everybody liked. I think that more people who knew Treanor have told me that they felt he was a special friend than any other person I know. And I felt the same way about him. In other words, he was interested in people, in culture, and in being helpful. I worked with Treanor on his own place. I worked with him up on Pomona College and down at Warner Ranch. They owned Warner Ranch. He had a home on an Indian reservation (not a tepee) south of the ranch, and I knew him down there. It was when. he was down on that place that he was up on the top of a roof doing some pruning and fell. The injury from the fall caused his death.

MINK:

You were speaking earlier about the Doheny Estate. You had mentioned that you knew a man who was the designer of the landscape. We won't say "landscape architect."

CORNELL:

Well, he ended up calling himself a landscape architect.

MINK:

Could you give me his name?

CORNELL:

The man who designed it and was responsible for the grounds was Paul G. Thiene. That's a German name, and he was German horn. He had the Germanic precision and thoroughness and ability to organize, I don't know too much about his background, but he first came into general attention during the building of the San Diego Exposition in Balboa Park for the fair that opened in 1915. As far as I have been told, he was some sort of a construction foreman on that work under Olmsted Brothers of Brookline, Massachusetts. The Olmsted Brothers were responsible for the ground layout and the design; Bertram Grosvenor Goodhue of New York was chief architect, and I think he did that tower down there. Thiene was working in San Diego the first time I heard of him. Being ambitious and energetic and of considerable ability, he moved along up the scale and became what was called a landscape architect. As I recall, he was ultimately admitted to membership to the American Society of Landscape Architects. Paul had headquartered in Pasadena for years and did the Doheny Estate in Beverly Hills. He had considerable help. I think that Paul was not perhaps too careful about the professional codes, particularly in the beginning because that's the way he started. He operated somewhat commercially, not just on a fee basis. But the money spent on the Doheny Estate was reported to be rather alarming, and soon after that Paul retired. Now whether he retired on that job or on the cumulative result of his work, I wouldn't know. But after the Doheny job was finished, he didn't do very much active work. He also had artistic inclinations. I think he used to paint, especially after he retired. On the Doheny Estate, he had a lot of the young people of the era at that time, who worked for him. McCowan and Kuehl, I think, were two of them and Barlow maybe and possibly Katherine Bashford. He would send them out, and they would take over on the grounds. I was told by one of them, right or wrong, that truckloads of plants would come without any plan or without any note, and they would be directed to put them somewhere. If that is correct, why, that would be the way some of the planting was done. That is probably not the precise planting that related to basic design but perhaps the planting over the hillsides where it was rough.

MINK:

Well, certainly the Greystone Estate was a massive job as far as landscape.

CORNELL:

It was a big job. In fact, I think it was the biggest job at that time and where apparently the cost was not pared too closely. Of course when Palos Verdes was laid out, that was something enormous for this coast. That was over half a century ago, and that was done by an Eastern architect, Olmsted Brothers of Brookline. That would have been about the time of, or maybe a little after, the San Diego Exposition. So Thiene seemingly became more or less known about that time.

MINK:

Esther McCoy, who, as you know, is an historian of Southern California architecture, asked me to ask you whether you would care to comment on the work that was done by the Olmsted firm here in California and the Palos Verdes Estates.

CORNELL:

The firm of Olmsted Brothers started with F[rederick] L[aw], Senior, who did Central Park in New York City. Then F[rederick] L[aw] Junior, his son, came along and there was another son John. After F.L. Senior, passed along, F.L. Junior, and John conducted business from Brookline, Massachusetts. They picked up from where their father had left off. I think they advanced from their father's field and capacity, which is logical and proper. They were the leading firm in the country at that time. Palos Verdes is one of their jobs here. They did work up in Berkeley, not only for the University, but they did plans for Phoebe Apperson Hearst for the campus. They were classic. Their work was sound; it was thorough; it was of the old school; it was basically formal and reminiscent of the Italian Renaissance. I have been in St. Louis, Tulsa, Oklahoma and have been taken out to see gardens that were done by Olmsted. You almost could have known it because of the style. It was the air of it. The period was the thing, and basically it was the axial, geometric pattern. Of course, the prototype of the Italian Renaissance gardens was a garden laid out on the hillside in three phases. The central terrance would be the place where the living quarters were built. Then going up the hill from that to the source of water supply usually would be a cascade, a tree-lined mall of water, and then the third or the lower elevation of the three-stage garden plan, with parterres or formal beds of clipped hedges and often water features. So there's a structure there, which you can vary tremendously and yet not lose its identity. A great many of these formal garden designs, which I have seen and which maybe Olmsted may have done were reflective of that basic pattern. F.L. Olmsted Jr. lived until rather recently. His office in Brookline still functions under the old name, but I think with the passing of the Olmsteds themselves, as so often happens, the spark of that particular organization went out.

MINK:

And, of course, the change in times.

CORNELL:

You can be very good and very great in one era and just as good in later years in that particular field, but not adaptive perhaps to the new way of doing things.

MINK:

I think it struck Mrs. McCoy—it certainly struck me—that the developers of the Palos Verdes Estates should have gone outside of Southern California to find someone to design the landscape. They might have tried to find someone in Southern California who was a resident and sympathetic to a blending, shall we say, of the area.

CORNELL:

Did she feel that maybe Palos Verdes was not adapted too closely to the California conditions?

MINK:

She didn't say, but I believe the question is: why were some of these earlier schemes undertaken by somebody outside?

CORNELL:

I think it was because of the youthfulness of the profession. There were not organized and captained landscape architects here who could handle that size of job. It's a pretty big thing. You start with several thousand acres of rolling terrain and uneven ground, and you start to build. In a big way it's like that Clark directive was. Do a garden. But what are you going to do? That's really what they were doing, regional planning, and they were way out ahead of the demand because Palos Verdes today is not filled up. They had to lay out a complete road pattern, a complete system of centers, foci of activity, a little business center here and there. It was a pretty big job. You start with topography, and you lay out your road contours and profiles. You design according to site. In those days they were not altering the sites as they are today. They were adapting to them much more. Today they go in and just flatten whole mountains and come up with something that is strictly artificial. So probably Olmsted was at that time the best qualified person to do the job. Now your historian friend might have preferred architecture in California style, and that might have been nicer. But I suppose that was a little beyond their concept at that time. They sought the Old World again for influence in their architectural structures. I think, however, that they felt they were bringing in the Spanish type. I think they were trying to meet the California situation. Whether they did it successfully or not might be a matter of opinion. But the old hacienda architecture and the old structures that are so delightful—well, skipping from then to now, it's very difficult with the automobile, the volume of traffic, the masses, and the supersaturation of areas to retain those values and qualities, which we all love and which are so dear to us. The minute you get them they are overloaded with people, and you kill the thing you love by overuse. [tape off]

MINK:

I think you said that you would now comment on the Busch Gardens in Pasadena.

CORNELL:

The old Anheuser-Busch Gardens in Pasadena today would not perhaps create too much excitement, but when we first came to California in 1905 the Busch Gardens were one of the places to see. Specifically, they were on the edge of the arroyo in rolling terrain. They had trees and flower beds, and then they had little figures of gnomes here and there, you know, in the German way of thinking. It was a sightseeing point, and I think we had to pay admission as I recall. It was very informal, and as I think of it now, not particularly organized or designed. It was the old idea of practical work—just go out and do it, you know. You may get good plants. You may get good details here and there, but the whole thing, as I remember it, didn't impress you with its organization or its design. That's about all I could say about it. The last planting that I remember their doing was a row of pepper trees, a double row planted on either side of an entrance going into the property, which I thought was very fine. We don't plant peppers anymore because people say, "Oh, they are too dirty. They drop leaves; they drop berries." They do, but after all, if you get things that are highly sterilized, it's just pretty uninteresting oftentimes. So some of these old things like the California haciendas, where you mingle the animals with the earthy qualities along the ways of life, lose something when they are purified too much.

MINK:

Do you know any people that did the pruning of the shrubs into the shape of animals at the Busch Gardens?

CORNELL:

The shrubs were sheared, which of course is unimaginative and gives them unnatural form and texture. It tends toward a very harsh effect unless you are doing something in which that is the objective. Now topiary work is like a museum. You assemble pieces of topiary work just because of the surprise that they create, not because they are beautiful. The public likes something that is bizarre, freakish, unusual, and different. They will go to see the wax museum and the topiary things and marvel at the accomplishment in achieving it, but the things themselves might not be particularly attractive.

MINK:

I think Busch Gardens is the only place in Southern California I have seen with examples of topiary work. Is this something that has gone out of style?

CORNELL:

Oh, no. There is a little Japanese gardener, a little old man, who has had a display in a sales yard—I don't know whether it's still there—on Beverly Boulevard in Los Angeles, where he grew things on wire frames and made all kinds of animals. Then Madame Ganna Walska in Montecito, who has more money than she needs and doesn't quite know what to do, has been developing what may become a public park when she leaves it. She bought a lot of these animal forms from this little Japanese man. You "oh," and you "ah," when you look at them. It's remarkable to see an alligator or a crocodile done in foliage, particularly if it's pretty well done, but after you have blunted your amazement and satiated your curiosity, there's nothing much left. So she bought a lot of those, and this little fellow has had some market. But I don't think it's anything that will ever become common or that will ever amount to much. There was a famous garden in Wellesly, Massachusetts. Was it the Hemingway Estate? I'd have to check that out. In my days at Harvard there was this topiary garden. And it's all right if you want to do that. It's like bonsai, excepting that the bonsai enthusiasts wouldn't agree to such comments. Bonsai involves more artistry and more skill. It's a hobby, but I don't think it will ever develop extensively. There are some in Santa Barbara. Occasionally you' see a few topiary pieces in Montecito. And if it's not overdone, it may be interesting once in a while. [tape off]

MINK:

You were telling me that one of your first jobs was with Fremont Place.

CORNELL:

Well, Fremont Place is on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles, and that was my first job in Los Angeles. I was still in college and was between my sophomore and junior years. I lived at Long Beach. I took the Pacific Electric from there to Sixth and Main in Los Angeles; then the yellow car to La Brea at the end of Third Street and walked to Fremont Place. I would go to work at eight o'clock and then would return home that night the same way. Of course, that was a subdivision designed to catch the men with wealth who wanted seclusion, protection, and a guarantee against encroach ment in the future. I guess it was probably satisfactory at the time, but the lots never did really fill up. There was a long time I think where you could have bought a lot in Fremont Place. But it is fenced and you go in through controlled gates. My job was the planting of trees. I hadn't had much experience. I was pretty young. This was built on existing streets; there was no design involved in the layout. They just fenced off a certain number of blocks, closed the streets, except at the entrances on Wilshire Boulevard and sold lots. So it was uninspired. It was done by a David Barry, Charles Ingraham and (I think) George Burns. They were fine people to work with. David Barry has a son who is a horticulturist here today. From Fremont Place to Beverly Hills there was just a single-track dirt road, which had been oiled. And in Beverly Hills, the Rodeo Land and Water Company had built a nursery to supply trees for Beverly Hills. As I said, Beverly Hills was designed by Wilbur David Cook who was a onetime partner of mine. This was about 1912 when I was at Fremont Place, so that was right after Beverly Hills was started. We would get our plants from Beverly. I would go downtown to skid row in Los Angeles and pick up labor and arrange for men to come out. I would supervise them. I made the plant selections, determined their locations, and this and that. But it was so primitive and amateurish by modern standards that it is almost pathetic. So many times our efforts are misguided. These people wanted me to plant trees around the vacant lots to enhance their value, so that they would sell for more money. "Well," I said, "you can't plant a tree on a lot without knowing where the building is going to be. The chances are that you'll put it in the wrong place, and it will have to come out. It will be lost." But they were imbued with the idea that that would increase sales values. So we stuck trees all over the lots in Fremont Place, and we put trees along the streets. I guess a good many of those street trees are still there, but all the others probably disappeared when the lots were improved.

MINK:

What kind of trees did you plant on the lots?

CORNELL:

I don't remember the specific trees we planted on the lots, but they would have been tall-growing shade trees. We planted some carobs on the streets. We planted some palms. Fremont Place today is still quite a retreat and a shelter from the world, but probably wouldn't be followed as anything that should go down on the records as a grand success, certainly not from the aesthetic standpoint.

MINK:

How did you happen to get this job?

CORNELL:

I don't remember, but again, this could go back to my "boy," Professor Baker. I'm reconstructing now what might have happened, not the clear image of what did happen. But these realtors may have gotten in touch with Baker and asked who could do the work. Baker may have said it was I. Anyway, you see, I stayed out of school between my sophomore and junior years at college to earn a little money, and it was during that year that I did this work. That could have been how it happened, but I don't remember. I got five dollars a day.

MINK:

For supervising this thing?

CORNELL:

For doing everything. As I remember, we paid the labor fifty cents an hour.

MINK:

Did you have to pay the laborers out of your five dollars?

CORNELL:

No. I got five dollars for my personal time. And, as I say, I commuted from way down in Long Beach, making two transfers and then walking a couple of miles up to Fremont Place. When Saturday night would come I would go home and sleep until Monday morning, then start all over again.

MINK:

Was this the only job that you took on in that year that you were off?

CORNELL:

No. It wasn't the only job, but this was my first job in Los Angeles. I did some work up around Sunland and little odds and ends.

MINK:

What did you do up in Sunland?

CORNELL:

It was mostly planting plans and planting work. Sunland was so far away that I would frequently have to stay overnight. I couldn't go up and back the same day. I took the Pacific Electric to Pasadena and then hired a livery rig to drive to Sunland. Things of that sort sound comical now, but distances were very different. We worked as hard as we do now, but our tempo was different. I wasn't qualified to do anything very important, you know. I did some planting plans. I remember one fellow up in the La Canada area who called me. He called me up and said he had this land and had just removed all the chaparral. He'd like to have me come up and tell him what to plant to check the erosion and keep the lot where it was. And I said, "Well, for heaven's sake, you should have left it alone. You would have been all right." I don't think that job ever got beyond that first visit because I said, "You put your native stuff back, and it will check the erosion. " But that shows again how little people understand, or often think about what they are doing. They just work impulsively without comprehension.

MINK:

You were going to mention also the work you did at Singleton Court.

CORNELL:

Well, I didn't do any work at Singleton Court, but that was down in the West Adams area in the days when West Adams was ne plus ultra. It was the top of the totem pole for the elite of Los Angeles. This fellow Singleton, who was something of a scalawag, made a lot of money in gold and had built this place and enclosed it with a wrought-iron fence. He built himself a mansion, which was not too permanent. It was a wooden structure, but for his horses he built a very substantial brick building with matched mahogany woodwork in the horse stalls and things of that sort. At the turn of the century when I was new out here, there was a chap named Ernest Braunton, who was a horticulturist and something of a writer. He wrote every week for the Time's magazine. He would always have a page or two. Ernest was loquacious and friendly, and he used to tell me a little about it. He had something to do with the planting of Singleton Court. I don't know whether he did all of it or whether he came in after it was established, but he had something to do with it. But he used to talk a great deal about Singleton Court. They have over on West Adams and on other places in back of the present Automobile Club, some old buildings, which had some plants, which were unusually mature for that time in California. They had been there long enough.

MINK:

What kinds of plants were those?

CORNELL:

Singleton Court for one thing had a macadamia nut. Now macadamia nuts in 1910 or 1915 were not well known in California. They had other things that I don't recall. They had an enormous Strelitzia nicolai, and in back of the Automobile Club there is an old ginkgo. There was a Chilean wine palm. There is a chorisia, which is more recent, Chorisia speciosa, which is one of our more recent introductions. And there is an enormous stone pine, which bespeaks considerable age and things of that sort. To find a lovely old mature specimen of a tree of almost any kind is always a joy to the heart of a horticulturist. And when the things are just a little out of the ordinary, it adds to the value. So Singleton Court made its small contributions. Dr. Charles Loman who founded the Orthopedic Hospital was given the old barn at Singleton Court with which to start his school. This just came out recently in the paper. He was offered Singleton Court if he could raise $200,000 to put up a structure. He managed it. He has been going strong ever since. He is now about eighty-five years old, and he's still active. If you wanted to get any information on Singleton Court he could probably give you the story.

MINK:

I was going to ask you how this bevy of unusually mature and different varieties of plants happened to be.

CORNELL:

Those were the result of such men as Braunton and people of that ilk. There was an old-timer, P[eter] D. Barnhardt. Those boys were interested; they were always looking for novelty. They'd get a seed from Mexico or the Philippines or anywhere else. They'd plant it. There wouldn't be a supply of them, but they always managed to get a few things of that sort. And out here at the hotel in Bel Air, they have this enormous floss silk tree with pink flowers as big as hibiscus. It blooms every October and November. I would expect that one of these old men, maybe Barnhardt, might have brought that in. Just one tree, there were no others for years and years. Now it's been reintroduced, and it's becoming quite available. So those things are the result of the individual. The individual effort doesn't seem important maybe at the time, but it's like your heritage material, if you get enough of it, and pretty soon instead of a patchwork you have a design of background for things of that sort. There is an old botanical garden up in Elysian Park, which goes back to about that same date. Up there they have half a dozen things, which for some time were quite uncommon, and they are still not common. There is a macadamia tree there that I have known for over fifty years, and, as I say, when the macadamia was very, very scarce. There are tipuana trees. There is a flame tree there. There is a. cape chestnut. There's a little cluster of mature trees that were planted by some devotee years and years ago, and we fight to this day to retain them. Developers always want to take them out to put in a road or do this or that and they have no respect for a tree. Age and antiquity or scarcity have no meaning to them. It's nothing but the dollar. So those old things are just little islands in the background of the community, little islands of sunshine to the horticulturists. And if they survive long enough, they become very valuable. [tape off]

MINK:

I asked about the Dan Murphy Estate on Adams.

CORNELL:

The Dan Murphy place at the turn of the century was one of the sparkling gems of the community. It was laid out in the Italian style. I don't recall who the architect was, and it's even possible that Olmsted Brothers may have made the first pattern design, but Wilbur David Cook worked on it at one time. I think Florence Yoch and Lucile Council worked on it later, and a good deal was spent upon it. It was being developed about the time that I was in Harvard, and it was one of those things that is beautifully done but unimaginative because it's trying to copy some other idea. You can't have everything new, different, and original. You see, the skill lies in reproducing them. But it was the typical thing with axes, vistas, and Italian cypress. It was a lovely garden for its day. It may be entirely gone now. I don't know. The structure perhaps is still there, but it's in the West Adams section easterly from the Clark Library in an area, which is quite decadent now and run down. It goes to show how fleeting these bits of artificial manmade glory can be. They are the sparkle and kaleidoscope of life and development.