Runyon Canyon is run down. It’s old, was abandoned by past owners and now it needs a facelift thanks to the torrid and varied tempests that scrape through California. Indians ran through it, bandits hid in its brush, celebrities built mansions, Frank Lloyd Wright planned great things and investors abandoned their projects there. Today, it’s used as a large dog park and exercise route for tourists and Angelenos alike; drawn to the canyon not just for the exercise (of which we are keenly fond of here) but for its irresistible panoramic vistas. Known first as “Nopalera” by Gabrielino/Tongva Indians, who used the hills as camping grounds, then by the English name “No Man’s Canyon” and finally branded by Carman Runyon in the 1920’s, Runyon Canyon now sits in the conservatorship of the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy and the City of Los Angeles.
In 1867, a man called “Greek George” Caralambo, aka Allen, was gifted the land by Federal Patent in appreciation for his service in the US Army Camel Corps. Quite literally, he served the US as a camel driver; hauling supplies from St. Louis to Los Angeles to build the Butterfield Overland Stage Route. When he got stalled in Los Angeles with thirty camels and no job prospects, he turned the animals loose – they wandered the area for thirty years after. When the terrorizing Mexican bandito Tiburcio Vasquez was found hiding out in the farmhouse behind Allen’s home in 1874, Vasquez was hanged and Allen became famous by association. Then in 1876 Alfredo Solano, a prominent civil engineer and one of the founders of the Los Angeles Athletic Club, bought the property. After his death, his wife Ella Brooks Solano then sold the majority of the land to Carman Runyon in 1919. Carman built a small bungalow near the Fuller entrance to the canyon and stayed there with his second wife until 1930 when he sold it to the famous Irish tenor, John McCormack. The actor and singer, who filmed ‘Song O’ My Heart’ in the canyon, fell in love with the land and bought it when the film was done. He built a mansion named ‘San Patrizio’ after Saint Patrick and lived there with his wife until 1938, abandoning the property to its former owner Carman Runyon. Though McCormack handed over the deed to Runyon, he fully expected to return, but a WWII tour intervened and death finally overtook him in 1945.
The ‘San Patrizio’ mansion still stood after Runyon sold the property to Huntington Hartford, an heir to a grocery fortune, who renamed the estate “The Pines”. Hartford then commissioned Frank Lloyd Wright and his son Lloyd Wright to develop the lower canyon as a ‘cottage hotel’ in conjunction with a ‘play resort’ country club. A pool pavilion on the crest of the hill at Inspiration Point was built, but neighborhood opposition put Hartford’s larger plans on hold. Jealous local business owners colluded to resist any of Hartford’s attempts at development, among them the City’s officials, who gave Hartford a hell of time getting permits to develop the property. When he started spending more time in New York than California, he tried to gift the property to the City, but the Mayor at the time, Sam Yorty, refused. In anger, Hartford quickly sold the land for bottom dollar. The buyer, named Jules Berman, quickly dozed all the houses to avoid paying taxes on the deteriorating buildings and in 1973, the house that Lloyd Wright built was burned to the ground in a Canyon fire. Though the Kahlua liqueur importer saw a potential to build a “Tiffany development, a beautiful subdivision of 157 luxury homes” titled “Huntington Hartford Estates” (after the former owner of course), the park activist Daniel DeJonghe led a vehement campaign against it and successfully stopped the project before it began. Berman was the bell toll for Runyon, who let the place run down.
There are some funny things left over from the Canyon’s past. Though Berman may have grounded the buildings, the property remains stubbled with debris. No one seems to know the exact origin of each crumbled pile or mysterious concrete staircase, which is irritating when I could be posthumously standing where Vasquez camped out or walking on the once beautiful grounds of Petrizio. Likewise, Curbed LA ekes out little more material when they solicited information from their readers on the Canyon’s history. In irritation, Curbed LA finally remarks, “Runyon Canyon was an estate. The paved entry road was the driveway, and the little platform thing to the left when you walk in was I believe part of the pool house. There are little remnants scattered here and there, including the ruins on the “Outpost” sign along the ridge right before you reach the bench. You’ll also notice tennis courts, and there used to be an empty swimming pool but they filled it in with dirt. You can still find it though, if you know where to look.” In addition, in 1999 two subway tunnels were mined below it to make way for the Metro Red Line. Today, whatever lies in the Canyon, never mind it’s fractured past, it is a treasured urban spot for a quick reprieve from the noisy city; it is our curated nature trail and another homage to the city’s past.
The crumbling spires still inspire:
NO SAINTS IN L.A. 