A look back at the events and people—famous and forgotten—that shaped Newport Beach. Follow on Instagram (newport_in_the_rearview_mirror) and Facebook (@NewportInTheRearviewMirror).
Founded in 1948, the nationally renowned Balboa Bay Club in Newport Beach has had many roles over the decades: a haunt for some of the biggest Hollywood stars, a stop for every Republican U.S. President since Dwight Eisenhower (Nixon even set up an office there complete with a hotline to the Kremlin), a venue for some of Newport's biggest charity events, and a refuge for families, professionals and others.
It's become as much a part of the city's fabric as the Balboa Pavilion, the Balboa Island Ferry, and the Wedge.
Here's the story about the origins of the storied Balboa Bay Club.
In the early-1960s, the Irvine Co. decided to build a relatively new type of residential community by creating an all-inclusive village that included a variety of housing types for different life stages and incomes, long ribbons of greenbelts, parks, a retail center, schools, and houses of worship.
The result was Eastbluff, one of Newport Beach's most beloved communities whose instant success inspired the Irvine Co.'s 22 villages in neighboring Irvine.
Guest: Mike Stockstill, former Irvine Co. executive and co-author of the book, "Transforming the Irvine Ranch."
“W.S. Collins: Balboa Island Visionary, Con Man or Both?” takes a deep dive into the life of the most intriguing figure in Newport history: W.S. Collins.
The farsighted land speculator is best known for buying the entire Newport Beach townsite (almost all of the peninsula) in 1902. And for his next act, he created Balboa Island out of a tiny, mosquito-ridden mudflat.
But Collins also had a darker side that’s been rarely explored, whether it was literally trying to hang a second-grader in his first job as an teacher in Kansas, marrying five times, conducting shady business deals, or going bankrupt and leaving behind a partially (and poorly) developed Balboa Island along with an island full of angry residents.
Looked at as a whole, Collins packed in an insane amount of living in his 88 years. In addition to his Newport exploits, he also was a citrus farmer, oilman, dealmaker, championship motorcyclist, early car enthusiast, speedboat champion, and serial entrepreneur, among other things.
For our money, W.S. Collins is the most interesting person in Newport Beach history.
For more than 50 years, the Collins Castle stood sentry over Newport Harbor. The concrete mansion once rivaled the stately Balboa Pavilion—five years its junior— for the attention of boaters on the bay. Located on tiny Collins Island, which is one of three islands that make up Balboa Island, the castle was built by Balboa Island's original developer, W.S. Collins, in the early 1910s and has been a part of Newport Beach lore ever since.
For decades, the beach in West Newport would occasionally disappear when storm waves stripped away the sand. In the 1930s, one storm wiped out the beach and sent several homes to Davy’s Locker. A later storm wiped out all the oceanfront houses between 50th and 55th streets.
The sand returned for a few decades, but in the early 1960s, the West Newport beach started to disappear again – and this time, Mother Nature wasn't giving the sand back. So solutions were offered – almost all of them completely bananas.
The favorite idea was to build a 1.5-mile-long breakwater from the Newport Pier to about 60th Street. Other kooky proposals included the construction of an underwater reef two miles long and making the sand radioactive so it could be easily traced. The latter plan actually happened.
With no agreed upon solution, by the late summer of 1968, West Newport was literally without a beach, and oceanfront homes stood on the precipice of a crumbling 10-foot-high sand cliff. So authorities hastily conducted a controversial experiment: place steel jetties at 40th Street and 44th Street to hold the sand in place. After promising results, six more jetties–these made of boulders–were placed from 56th and 28nd Street with the last one completed in 1973. In West Newport, the beach was back.
There’s no chunk of land in Newport Beach that’s more historic and has been more malleable than the Castaways. Its chameleon-like ability, enabled by its prime location overlooking the bay and ocean, has given the Castaways nine distinct lives–some historically critical, others largely forgotten, some lasting millions of years, others gone after less than a decade. The one thing they have in common: they are all fascinating.
In 1909, W.S. Collins wanted to massively increase the footprint of his Balboa Island development. The land extension would have cut the width of Newport Harbor's main channel by more than half.
In those days, the federal government had final approval of any plans for the harbor, so the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers sent Captain D.E. Hughes to assess the situation. In just 960 words, he delivered a masterpiece of a report (part love letter, part manifesto) that amazingly predicted the future of Newport Beach and its harbor with great precision and beautifully laid out the argument that the harbor's waterways should be reserved for the people's enjoyment and not a developer's profits.
His observations killed Collins' plans for a super-sized Balboa Island and set the precedent that the harbor should be enjoyed by all.
In 1984, the first swim test required to join Newport Beach's new junior lifeguard program drew all of three kids. Today, that number has soared to more than 1,500. In an insightful, revealing and occasionally emotional interview, Reenie Boyer–the pioneering female lifeguard and architect of Newport Beach Junior Lifeguards–talks about the origins and evolution of the most successful youth program in city history.
The rock-solid foundation for Newport Beach's prized lifeguard operation goes back more than 100 years, forged in tragedy and a Russian immigrant’s belief in 1923 that a city lifeguard department–a rarity in those days–could prevent the frequent drownings that had been occurring in Newport Beach for a half-century, ever since 1870, the year a “new port” was established.
In just a few short years, the Russian, Antar "Tony" Deraga would single-handedly remake Newport Beach lifeguards into one of the most elite units in the world–a distinction it still retains today.
J.J. Moon was more Paul Bunyon than Kelly Slater. The surf hero of the 1960s was the alter ego of Ned Eckert, a very average weekend surfer–and still a Newport Beach resident, by the way–who enthusiastically embraced a practical joke played on him in 1964 by some world’s best surfers and ran with it until he became a near mythical figure sitting atop the surf world.
It’s true that J.J. Moon may have not been the world’s greatest surfer, but he did pull off the biggest hoax in the history of the sport.
Newport Beach’s rich journalistic history dates to 1870, only a few days after a “new port” was established in Upper Newport Bay and the Los Angeles Star reported the news. Over the years, many local newspapers have come and gone, almost all making some kind of mark on the city. This episode looks at the long line of newspapers that have tried to capture the city's heart (and advertising dollars) and takes a deeper dive into the success of the Daily Pilot, Newport's G.O.A.T publication. Special guests: Former Daily Pilot Publisher Tom Johnson and former Editor Tony Dodero.
When the 1953 National Boy Scout Jamboree came to town, the event created an insta-city of 50,000 Scouts and their leaders in the rolling hills of what's now Newport Center/Fashion Island, Big Canyon and Eastbluff. Guest interview: Don Webb, former Newport Beach council member and mayor who attended the Jamboree as a 14-year-old Scout.
For more than six decades beginning in the 1880s. Lido Isle went through a series of owners (most of whom got the island basically for free) and failed developments before—in the latter part of the 20th Century—it turned into some of the most coveted real estate on the West Coast.
Ever wonder how a Newport Beach road, school, park, surf spot, canyon or even an offshore rock formation got its name? There's a sadness to the fact that the name's meaning--which was so obvious back in the day--has been lost, something only after a few decades.
Time is a thief, and it quickly robs us of the knowledge of such things as why a ravine in Corona del Mar is called Buck Gully, how Jamboree Road got its name or who was Apolena of Apolena Avenue fame, one of the only streets on Balboa Island not named after a gemstone.
Well, time may be a thief, but we've taken back what's ours. There's the story behind 40 names that can be found around Newport Beach.
How many cities in California can say they are home to eight islands? Just one: Newport Beach. We take a look at the histories of the eight residential islands in Newport Harbor: Balboa Island, Little Balboa Island, Collins Island, Bay Island, Lido Isle, Newport Island, Harbor Island and Linda Isle.
The most famous Newport Beach resident of all time? That's easy. John Wayne. When he lived in Newport in the 1960s and 70s, the Duke, as he was called, reigned as the world's most famous movie star. In this episode, the Duke's youngest son, Ethan Wayne, talks about growing up in Newport Beach with an American icon as a father.
Completed in 1906, the Balboa Pavilion on the Newport Harbor bayfront is Newport Beach’s oldest, most historic, and most beautiful building, beloved by artists, photographers, locals and visitors alike. It’s the city’s version of the Eiffel Tower.
But for being so famous, much of the 100-plus-year history of the pavilion has been long forgotten. Until now. In this episode, we reveal 12 amazing secrets of the pavilion’s long reign as the queen of Newport Beach.
A sea captain's decision in 1870 that resulted in countless deaths at the entrance to Newport Bay over the next half-century. A decades-long attempt to turn Newport Harbor into a commercial port. A short-sighted agreement in 1928 to place the Orange County Airport on the banks of Upper Newport Bay.
Newport Beach, in one form or another, has been around for more than 150 years, and over that time, there's been some terrible ideas floated, and some even implemented. In the final installment of this three-part episode, we countdown the 6th to the 1st worst ideas in Newport Beach history.
Trying to develop Corona del Mar in the early 20th Century. Planning for Fashion Island to be an indoor shopping center. Proposing to jam 80,000 residents (for context, Newport's population today is about 87,000) into the Newport Coast. Newport Beach, in one form or another, has been around for more than 150 years, and over that time, there's been some terrible ideas floated, and some even implemented. In the second installment of this three-part episode, we count down the 12th to the 7th worst ideas in Newport Beach history.
A race-car track on Balboa Island. Surfboard licenses. Tearing down the China House. Newport Beach, in one form or another, has been around for more than 150 years, and over that time, there's been some terrible ideas floated, and some even implemented. In the first installment of this three-part episode, we countdown the 20th to the 13th worst ideas in Newport Beach history.
On a sunny day in the spring of 1971, a ragtag group of adventures gathered on a Newport Beach hilltop to participate in the first hang-gliding meet in modern history. A front-page story in the Los Angeles Times and an eight-page spread in National Geographic magazine about the rickety flying machines and their pilots captured the imagination of readers around the world and launched the sport of hang gliding.
The mostly forgotten, rich history of the many bridges of Newport Beach, beginning in 1889.
Legendary architect and Corona del Mar resident Ron Yeo counts down the seven best examples of architecture in Newport Beach.
At the end of the Balboa Peninsula, the Wedge is internationally recognized as the world's best (and most dangerous) bodysurfing spot. In this episode, learn:
Guest: Tim Burnham, Wedge Crew member and producer and director of the award-winning surf documentary, "The Dirty Old Wedge."
In this pop quiz on Newport Beach's origins, you’ll be tested on:
This multiple-choice test covers the earliest days of Newport Beach history. The six questions are:
Each answer comes with plenty of context. Enjoy!
Episode 14, "The Coastal Freeway: A Concrete Monster that Almost Destroyed Newport," has generated some amazing responses on social media.
Some expressed disbelief at how close Newport was to having a freeway (12 lanes at its widest) run through the center of town. Others simply wanted to thank the Freeway Fighters and others who thwarted this plan more than a half-century ago. And finally, we heard from some Freeway Fighters and their family members who provided first-hand recollections of the greatest "what if" moment in Newport Beach history.
We've put together the best of these comments for a postscript episode on the Coastal Freeway. It seemed like the perfect way to wrap up this story.
In 1970, the Newport Beach City Council and California Department of Highways signed an agreement to build a coastal freeway—12 lanes wide in places—that would run through the heart of Newport and include a five-level interchange at MacArthur Boulevard and East Coast Highway. The route had been decided upon, funding was in place, and the Coastal Freeway appeared to be a fait accompli. But then, the Freeway Fighters of the Harbor Area came to the rescue.
In 1954, Dora Hill, housewife and grandmother, reluctantly entered the Newport Beach City Council race just 10 minutes before the filing deadline and unexpectedly won in a landslide. Garnering the most votes in city history, the victory surprised even her husband, who only agreed to her run for office because he was convinced she would lose.
At her first council meeting, she was appointed the city's first female mayor. For the next four years, Mayor Hill would led a reformation of Newport Beach from a town run by a powerful good, old boys' network that traded heavily in cronyism to a transparent and professional city government that continues to this day.
Mayor Hill's second greatest achievement was figuring how to stop 35,000 kids from their annual spring-break invasion (called Bal Week) of Newport Beach, a town at the time of just 17,000 residents.
She did all this while battling the relentless chauvinism that came with being the city's first woman mayor.
Special feature: This episode incorporates a rare recording of Mayor Hill that allows her to tell much of her story in her own words.
In our fourth, multi-choice pop quiz on Newport Beach history, find out:
Newport Beach history is littered with fun, weird, amazing and/or mindboggling stories that are too thin to make into an entire episode, but too good to pass up. In "Newport Nuggets: Three Short Stories Lost to History," we explores a trio of tales from the early part of the 20th Century:
Joe Beek is known as the Father of Balboa Island and operator of the Balboa Island ferry for a half century (his family still runs it after more than 100 years). But he was so much more than that. Here's just some of his feats:
The story of his life is truly legendary.
The Corona del Mar jetty is in the process of getting a much-needed makeover. The tattered, 12-foot-wide boardwalk running 750 feet from Pirate's Cove to the rock section of the jetty is getting a new coat of cement, and more boulders are being added on the harbor side so they'll be at the same level as the boardwalk.
The work now being done by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers caused me to look at the Corona del Mar jetty with fresh eyes. And I couldn't believe what I saw (and wondered why I didn't see it sooner!). The jetty looked like the work of Dr. Frankenstein. It starts off with about 750 feet of concrete that more or less parallels the West Jetty (at the Wedge), and then, just beyond the waterline, the jetty becomes large rocks and juts off several degrees west for the next 1,000 feet. This looks like a jetty that's been put together by committee. There has to be a story behind that, right?
It turns out that there's a great story behind the Corona del Mar jetty's unique look, including lost lives, ignored recommendations, a self-dealing (and incompetent) city engineer, an accidental wave-generating machine, a citizens' revolt and more. The straightening out the story of Corona del Mar jetty is included in this pop quiz. The five questions are:
Good luck, Newport scholars!
Frank and Fran Robinson, an unassuming couple who moved to Newport Beach in 1962, learned about the already-approved plans to turn the Upper Newport Bay—also known as the Back Back—into a massive development of extended shorelines, homes, a marina, businesses, and a waterskiing and rowing venue. Even though the dredging had already begun, the Robinsons decided to take on the Irvine Company, one of the largest land developers in the country, to preserve for the public one of California largest estuaries. After a decade-long battle, David slayed Goliath and saved the Back Bay. Guest: Cassandra Radcliff, author of "Saving Upper Newport Bay: How Frank and Frances Robinson Fought to Preserve One of California's Last Estuaries."
On the morning of May 23, 1896, a 38-year-old man known as Fisherman Pete was found dead on the floor of his 10x12 shanty, about a 100 yards south of McFadden Wharf (now the Newport Pier). The right side of his head had been crushed, 40 gashes and cuts marked his body, and a number of his fingers had been chopped off.
It was Newport Beach’s first murder. It also was the grisliest homicide ever in Newport Beach and maybe all of Orange County. But remarkably, historic crime had been lost to time. Until now.
A five-question, multiple-choice pop quiz on Newport Beach history. Here are the questions (no Googling before listening):
In a traitorous act to bodysurfers, Newport Beach Lifeguard Chief Bob Reed asked the City Council in 1962 to permanently close the Wedge because the world's most dangerous bodysurfing spot was, well, too dangerous. The council voted 6-1 to approve the new ordinance to ban bodysurfing at the Wedge. But at the next City Council meeting, where the ordinance would get a required second reading (usually a formality), bodysurfers turned out en masse to prevent the proposed ban from becoming law. Here's the story.
We take a visit to Newport Beach's quirky, beloved, doomed-from-the-start and (by today's standards) wildly politically incorrect Newport Harbor Buffalo Ranch. Guest: Author and local historian Duncan Forgey who fondly recounts attending a birthday party at the Buffalo Ranch as a 9-year-old.
A five-question, multiple-choice pop quiz on Newport Beach history. Here are the questions (no Googling before listening):
If Newport Beach had a Mount Rushmore, Judge Robert Gardner would be on it. Among his legacies: Pioneering bodysurfer, groundbreaking judge and master storyteller whose tales of early Balboa provide the best (and most entertaining) account of the city's early days. Guest: Nancy Gardner, the judge's daughter.
In 1961, a wayward killer whale named Wanda was trapped in Newport Harbor by Marineland dolphin hunters, earning her the dubious distinction of being the first orca in the world to be taken into captivity.
The sensational story, which has had a tragic international legacy of more than 50 years, is a largely forgotten chapter in Newport Beach history.