Charles Fletcher Lummis was the bundle of energy who helped save the California missions, ran the Los Angeles Public Library and founded the Southwest Museum — all this after tramping across the country from Ohio on foot.
I wrote in February about a single day of his walk — Jan. 31, 1885 — that took him down the Cajon Pass through Cucamonga, where he first saw orange trees, and into Pomona.
Recently, tramping in Lummis’ footsteps, I visited his house.
The Lummis House is on the edge of the Arroyo Seco in Highland Park. Owned by the city of L.A., it’s a city monument, overseen by the Parks and Recreation Department and open on Fridays and Saturdays from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m., seeing 25 to 50 visitors a day. It’s free.
A few of you had encouraged me to visit. The nudge was appreciated. Then Esotouric, which offers offbeat history tours around the city, scheduled one for Highland Park that included Lummis House.
With the stars thus aligned, a Saturday morning in mid-May found me parking on East Avenue 43.
Lummis chose the site, 3 acres in a sycamore and alder grove, in 1895. He built his two-story rustic home by hand from river rock and other materials over 13 years. Not that he ever truly finished — more on that later. He dubbed his home El Alisal (The Sycamore).
Its most distinctive feature is a castle-like turret, clad in rock.
The house is just off the 110 Freeway. The freeway came along a dozen years after Lummis’ 1928 death. He was lucky to get out when he did.
Christian Rodriguez has managed the house since 2012. He gave our tour group an overview.
“Lummis is a name that looms large in Los Angeles history,” Rodriguez told us.
East Coast intellectuals didn’t understand the West, couldn’t assimilate it into their view of America and dismissed it, he explained.
By contrast, Lummis, a New Englander who had attended Harvard but was largely self-educated, became fascinated by the Southwest and tirelessly promoted it.
“He wanted California included in the history of the United States,” Rodriguez said.
As president of the Landmarks Club, Lummis advocated for preservation of the missions, which were abandoned and falling into ruin. An activist for Native American rights, Lummis visited pueblos, collected pottery and documented songs, establishing the nearby Southwest Museum in 1907 to house his archives.
He was city librarian from 1905-11 and edited a regional magazine named Land of Sunshine to further tout California.
The Esotouric couple chimed in too.
Richard Schave said Lummis saw past the literary canon and promoted Western writers. Kim Cooper said the house’s continued existence as a state and city landmark tells its own story.
“The fact that this is still standing and hasn’t been torn down for apartments or a freeway is a testament to how important he is,” Cooper said.
The Esotouric tour continued. We saw, among other places, two homes owned by Paul Greenstein, whose life and interests are almost as eclectic as Lummis’. In an Inland Empire touch, his partner, Dydia DeLyser, is an expert on Helen Hunt Jackson and “Ramona.”
And we toured Heritage Square, the open-air museum of early L.A. history where five homes, a church, a train depot and a carriage barn were moved to spare them from demolition. Have you gone? More people should.
The tour ended back at Lummis House.
It’s 4,000 square feet and 13 rooms, but it’s nothing fancy. Lummis hauled up rocks and timber for its construction and kept things rustic and simple.
He loved hosting parties, which he called “noises,” for his eclectic array of friends. His guestbook numbered 500 pages with 7,000 signatures from archaeologists, writers, artists, explorers, politicians and military heroes.
In a way, Lummis remains on the premises. Outside the kitchen, his cremains are housed in a stone column attached to the house, behind a marker that serves as a gravestone.
As a newspaper columnist, I wouldn’t mind spending eternity in a column. It might be worth it just for the pun.
Niko Rodriguez, the museum guide, showed me around the grounds. Inset among the stonework on the exterior is an acorn grinding stone and a mission bell, provenance unknown. Did Lummis pilfer a bell from one of the crumbling missions?
Rodriguez pointed to the second story, where among the windows are a couple of doors, with nothing underneath them. These “doors to nowhere,” Rodriguez explained, show that Lummis meant to keep adding on to his house.
She took me into the basement, which Lummis dug by hand and which he used as a photographic darkroom. He turned a few of his glass-plate images into window panes on the main level.
Upstairs, we admired the thick wooden doors. “I love the weight of the doors,” Rodriguez said. “Lummis did all the woodwork himself.” His daughter’s room has a doorknob made from a meteorite.
We saw Lummis’ upstairs office. Whimsically, he called it “The Lion’s Den.” His rolltop desk is there, ready for his next letter, his next dispatch.
In the low-ceilinged attic, we stooped over to traverse its length. That allowed us to enter the turret, housing a single, small, round room. It was an upper-level retreat. Small windows overlook the grounds.
Once outside again, I gazed up at the turret windows, the ones from which I’d gazed down minutes earlier. Then I headed out through the garden to the street, grateful for this glimpse into Southern California history.
I drove south on Figueroa Street, choosing La Abeja restaurant for a late lunch because the exterior murals caught my eye.
The interior is equally homey and the food very good. La Abeja (The Bee) been there since 1969. The second-generation owner told news outlets in 2019 that he would sell and retire, but I’m pretty sure he’s the gentleman who rang up my bill.
Between Lummis House and La Abeja, the day’s outing imparted a feeling of serenity. Not even the terror of merging onto the 110 Freeway, which has no acceleration lanes, could dispel it.
David Allen goes from zero to 60 on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, and follow davidallencolumnist on Facebook or Instagram, @davidallen909 on X or @davidallen909.bsky.social on Bluesky.