Loron N. McGillis Visits Bill Smith at His Howell Mountain Vineyard - 2012

 

Loron N. McGillis Visits Bill Smith at His Howell Mountain Vineyard

In September 2012, I watched as two old friends greeted each other in the warm California sun. While touring the Napa Valley with my father, Duke McGillis * and Carrie McCoy, we decided to visit the W.H. Smith Winery in the hills of Howell Mountain, east of the hamlet of Angwin. As he shook hands with W.H. (Bill) Smith **, my father reminisced, “Bill, I first met you and your wife, Joan in 1978”.

In those days Bill & Joan Smith lived in a century-old farmhouse at La Jota Vineyards, a few miles down the hill from where we stood. Subdivided from the original Spanish land grant of the same name, La Jota featured an 1898 gravity-fed, fieldstone winery. Despite the remaining early infrastructure, Howell Mountain had seen little wine produced or bottled since the Great Depression. Although the history of viticulture in around Howell Mountain was rich, the place was little-known to most wine critics, consumers and historians.

On July 4, 1978, I had the pleasure of attending the first La Jota Vineyards holiday barbecue. This annual event later achieved near cult status among the Smith’s friends and neighbors. Arriving a day early, we slept overnight in sleeping bags out in a small pasture. The next morning, Bill Smith used his new Kubota tractor to dig a pit for slow-roasting crabs or lobsters over the coals.

Several years later, during another celebration at the old farmhouse, Bill’s fine new Howell Mountain Estate - La Jota Cabernet Sauvignon flowed freely. Dinner that night was to be poached salmon. My father’s wife, the late Joyce McGillis had what must have been a twenty-pound salmon poaching atop the stove. When we finally wrestled the huge fish onto a cutting board, the first slice told us that the fish was still raw. Somehow, we got that huge fish back into the boiling water. The second time we tried it, the entire fish was poached to perfection. Since fish, wine and miracles go well together, we all broke bread, toasted to our chef and enjoyed the meal.

In his early days of wine making, Bill Smith was an admitted amateur at the craft. If something was not going well in the old stone winery, he studied it, and then fixed the problem. If the problem was beyond his own expertise, he sought qualified help. Bill's strategy of continuous improvement worked well. Critics and consumers alike enjoyed each new vintage of La Jota Cabernet Sauvignon. Those on the vineyard’s mailing list enjoyed limited releases of exotic varietals such as Viognier and Nebbiolo. While Cabernet Sauvignon remained the basis of La Jota’s fame, respect for the label grew. In 2001, the prestigious Markham Vineyards purchased Bill and Joan Smith’s La Jota Vineyard Company.

Not only critics and consumers loved the flavor concentration and firm structure of a Howell Mountain Cabernet Sauvignon. Historians, as well looked at the viticultural history of Howell Mountain. On its eroded and forested plateau, Howell Mountain had more vines planted in 1900 than it does today. Based on research by wine historian Charles Sullivan, Howell Mountain became the first sub-appellation to the Napa Valley. In 1983, Howell Mountain received recognition as an American Viticultural Area (AVA). Bill and Joan Smith’s leadership in reviving Howell Mountain as a premium wine making area helped make that prestigious designation possible.

In 2003, my father and I traveled again to Howell Mountain. This time it was to see the Smith’s new home, winery and vineyards. Their new place was only a mile or so up the road from their old La Jota Vineyards. Their beautiful new house featured a permanent barbeque pit large enough for a whole roast pig. On the next July 4, there would no need to dig a hole with a tractor. With its long view to the Napa Valley below, the Smith’s new Piedra Hill Vineyard looked like a sure winner. Later, when the Smiths purchased a Pinot Noir Vineyard in Sonoma County, the Piedra Hill label gave way to the new and current, “W.H. Smith Wines” label.

During our 2003 visit, Bill Smith had just begun his most ambitious construction project. Although Napa Valley vintners could build large-scale production facilities on the flatlands, no commercial building on Howell Mountain could protrude above the ridgeline. In order to create the perfect temperatures for finishing and storage of wine, Bill opted to go underground. With help from the experts, Bill Smith drilled three parallel tunnels into a Howell Mountain hillside. Today, the artificial caves house operations, barrel storage and finished inventory for the winery.

During our September 2012 visit, Joan Smith was in Kauai, conducting business for the winery. After a quick visit to their Spanish style home, we drove a short distance to the caves. After visiting with the office manager, we prepared to leave. Then, in a flash of light, Bill Smith drove up in a new black Chevrolet pickup truck. After greetings all around, Bill admitted in his own humble way, “It is a great vehicle, but I still cannot figure out how all the gadgets work”. Just as he did at La Jota Vineyards thirty-five years ago, I am sure that Bill Smith will figure out how to take full advantage of what his new vehicle has to offer.

* (Author's Note) On February 9, 2013, Dr. Loron N. (Duke) McGillis passed away peacefully, in his sleep, at his home in Berkeley, California.

** (Author's Note) William Howard (Bill) Smith passed away on June 13, 2017 at his home in St Helena, California.

Email James McGillis

 

By James McGillis at 04:26 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

Dining at the Legendary Paul Pink's Hot Dog Stand in Los Angeles, 90038 - 2012

 

Dining at the Legendary Paul Pink's Hot Dog Stand in Los Angeles, 90038

In January 2012, I toured Los Angeles, California, stopping first at the Hollywood Bowl for a water display created and produced by LACoFD Truck Company 8. After that memorable experience, I headed south on Highland Blvd. through old "Hollywood 28". After postal Zip Codes came into use, that designation changed to Hollywood 90028. Even today, the cognoscenti are aware that real Hollywood resides within that one postal designation. Nearby areas pretend to be Hollywood , yet no other Zip Code can legitimately make that claim. At Sunset Blvd., I turned west and then turned south again to 709 North La Brea Ave. There I stopped for lunch.

For readers who do not know that address, it is the location of Pink’s Hot Dogs. As the Great Depression wore on in 1939, Paul and Betty Pink bought a rickety pushcart and went into business selling hot dogs. At the time, a Hoffy brand hotdog “made special for Pink’s”, served in a long split roll and ensconced in cardboard boat lined with an under-sheet of wax paper, cost ten cents. If lunch at Pink's was then ten cents, was coffee a nickel?

The Pink family built, or possibly remodeled the current building in 1946. In a nod to the diverse neighborhood in which it stands, one half of Paul Pink’s contiguous building still houses the Things-Antiques store. In 1939, when Paul Pink purchased his pushcart, my father was fourteen years old and living in L.A.'s Fairfax District. Each weekend, he would travel between his father's home in Los Angeles and Sunland California, where his mother and stepfather lived. In researching this article, I asked if he had any memories of Paul Pink’s that he might share. Here is what he had to say.

Dr. Loron N. (Duke) McGillis: “Each Sunday, we would travel through Cahuenga Pass and then would navigate to the corner of Melrose Ave. and La Brea Blvd. On the northwest corner of the intersection, there was a station. Next door, at 709 North La Brea Ave. stood a pushcart where a man sold hotdogs. I do not remember if a hotdog cost a dime, but a Hershey bar or a Coke was only a nickel, so that sounds right. In those prewar days, there was no discernible smog in Los Angeles. With help from Google Street View, I can still see that cart, shining in the sun. It stood on the parkway or sidewalk, right where people still stand in line for a hotdog. His hotdogs were so great that Paul Pink's became our regular Sunday stop.”

On La Brea Ave., three blocks south of Pink’s is the local branch of the Bank of America (BofA). As Paul’s son told the story in a recent BofA Television ad, Paul Pink strode into the BofA branch one day and asked for a loan. The granting of that loan led to Pink's new location in 1946 and to an enduring business relationship.

In July 2011, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridgee made headlines with their visit to Los Angeles, and to legendary L.A. eatery Paul Pink's Hot Dogs. Although no one so famous as they were present in the Hollywood crowd, I noticed Spokesmodel Carrie McCoy,waiting patiently in line.

“I’m having a chili dog and a Coke", Carrie stated. "What will you have?”

“I’ll have the same, thank you”, I replied with a smile. We had places to go and things to see, so this was no time for a complicated order.

As we wended our way through the slow shuffle of the line, I asked Carrie why she came to Pink’s Hot Dogs on that day. “For me”, she said, “it is all about Paul Pink. He was such a beautiful man”.

“So, you knew Paul Pink personally”, I asked, somewhat surprised.

“Yes. I was born nearby, at the Queen of Angles Hospital. My early childhood, I spent here in Hollywood. Later, in the 1980s, I worked at the BofA, here on La Brea Ave. Paul Pink would come in to deposit his cash receipts at our branch. I remember that he was happy and friendly to everyone he met. Almost daily, he would travel the three blocks from his store to the bank. Sometimes, he would bring hot dogs for everyone. It was always a treat to see Paul Pink. To me, 'Paul Pink’s' is the proper name for this place".

After several minutes, our simple order of two chili dogs received top priority from the staff. Soon, Carrie McCoy and I were sitting out back in the patio area. It was late January in Los Angeles and we were out there having fun in the warm California sun. The food was so good that we finished eating in a matter of minutes. Although each of our meals cost more than ten cents, I must say that for me it really hit the spot.

Thank you to Los Angeles native, Carrie McCoy for dining with us at Paul Pink’s. Her personal story added greatly to an authentic Hollywood experience, even if we were in Hollywood 90038.

Email James McGillis

 

By James McGillis at 10:11 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

Four Corners Region Arizona Highways - Colorado Sunsets - 2008

The Magic Gate - Part 1

Four Corners Region

Arizona Highways - Colorado Sunsets

 

In ’65, I was seventeen.  That spring, after perusing an issue of Arizona Highways Magazine, my father asked if I would accompany him on a road trip to the Four Corners states of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah.  I jumped at the chance.

 

In August 1965, we departed Los Angeles in our 1964 Ford Galaxy 500 XL, 2-door, hardtop.  The only equipment lacking on our Ford was an overflow tank for the superheated coolant that spewed past the radiator at each stopping point in the desert.

 

Early on, while traveling to summer camp, I had seen parts of the Mojave Desert from a school bus window.  My other desert experience consisted of viewing Walt Disney’s 1953 film, “The Living Desert”.  After viewing Disney’s documentary, I abandoned my belief that all deserts were inhospitable places, better left to the likes of the Twenty Mule Team from Borax.

 

Needles

 

Over forty years ago, as our trip progressed, new sections of Interstate Highway rapidly replaced or bypassed The Mother Road, Old Route 66.  Whether it was on Old-66 or new I-40, my first taste of desert heat was in Needles, California.  There, an outdoor thermometer read 117 degrees.  To me, the town “Needles” and the word “needless” had a lot in common.

 

From Needles, both Route 66 and I-40 crossed the Colorado River, and then ran north towards Kingman, Arizona.  Ironically, Old-66 took the shorter, if steeper route.  In contrast, I-40 ran east for many miles before turning north.  The road from Kingman to Flagstaff, Arizona was like a 150-mile slow-motion roller coaster ride.  From Needles, our overall elevation gain was almost 7000 feet.  In the same spirit that their ancestors joined the Saints in the old Utah Territory or explored the African savannah, contemporary Europeans seek the open spaces of the Southwest.  Studies indicate that humans, regardless of their origin, choose open grasslands and wide vistas over any other idealized environment.  In my memory, Flagstaff consisted of nothing more than one grade crossing and a nearby railroad station.  Since then, Flagstaff has transformed itself into a major city, now utilizing Winslow, Arizona, sixty miles to the east as its more affordable suburb.

 

Four Corners

 

Remembering our 1965 trip engenders in me nostalgia for a bygone era.  Interestingly, people from outside the U.S. seem to share that nostalgia.  In particular, the British, Dutch, Germans and Scandinavians arrive here by the thousands each summer.  Often, they rent motor homes, bent on rediscovering

 

In 1965, the combined population of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah was about seven million.  New Mexico then topped Utah by sixty thousand.  Today, the Four Corners has a population of almost eighteen million.  Utah now outpaces New Mexico by seven hundred thousand.  Suffice to say the Four Corners supports eleven million more people today than in 1965.

 

Flagstaff

 

“Flag”, as the locals call it, etched a visual imprint on my mind.  I can still see what I call the Magic Gate, where South Beaver Street crossed the main line of the Santa Fe Railroad.  In my memory, Flagstaff consisted of nothing more than one grade crossing and a nearby railroad station.  Since then, Flagstaff has transformed itself into a major city, now utilizing Winslow, Arizona, sixty miles to the east as its more affordable suburb. South of there, at Snowflake, lived World Citizen, Kathy Hemenway.

 

From Flag, we headed east on Santa Fe Avenue, better known as Old-66, only to discover that the Mother Road was being replaced by I-40.  From Flagstaff, the Santa Fe rail line took the most direct route east, turning only when necessary to follow the easiest grade.  Likewise, Old-66 and I-40 share almost identical routes, closely following the tracks.  The result is that the same Petrified Forest, Native American trading posts and historic motels that we saw in 1965 still lie adjacent to the current highway.

 

Gallup

 

At Gallup, New Mexico we drove east on Old-66 towards downtown.  Featuring substantial brick buildings, it was a regional center for trade and tourism.  Traveling down that same road today reveals a scene little changed since 1965.  All along I-40, older towns have remained in place, with new construction occurred at either end of town. 

 

From Gallup, we drove north on Old U.S. Highway 666.  With the Devil’s popularity in contemporary American culture, the moniker “Highway 666” tempted many.  Not withstanding the risk of “going to hell” for stealing highway signs, travelers made illegal souvenirs of Old-666 markers.  In 2003, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah gave up the fight, changing the road’s designation to the benign but meaningless “U.S. Highway 491”.  Ironically, new highway signposts often have “Old Highway 666” signs attached just below their new Highway 491 signs.

 

Each afternoon, for the duration of our trip we experienced the gift of rainfall, either in the form of desert thunderstorms or mountain showers.  In the late 1960s, American pilots returning from Vietnam to airbases in the Southwest recognized a similarity to the pattern of rain they had seen in Southeast Asia.  “Monsoon”, a word with Dutch, Portuguese and Arabic origins thus made its way into our weather lexicon.  

 

Durango

 

Since its establishment in the 1880s, Durango, Colorado has nestled itself into the narrows of the Upper Animas River Valley.  On our 1965 visit, the town had not yet expanded beyond its original borders.  Today, a regional shopping center featuring Wal-Mart and Home Depot greets travelers arriving from Aztec, New Mexico in the south. 

 

Durango is a year-round tourist destination.  To the chagrin of prospective homeowners, cash-buyers swooped in during the early 2000s.  Durango’s high prices now send the budget-minded to nearby Bayfield or Mancos.  During a recent visit to Canyon De Chelly, Arizona, we spoke with a Native American artist, selling his works there.  Each week, he commuted two hundred and forty miles, to work on construction jobs in Durango. 

 

During the 1960s, the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad was in transition.  Construction gangs upgraded the gravel roadbed and then laid heavier rails.  Those improvements support the larger, more powerful locomotives seen on the rail line today.  As old as they appear, the current engines represent relatively modern designs, when compared to the originals.  The upgraded railroad helped carry the cities of Durango and Silverton through their transition from a mining, farming and ranching economy into today’s recreation and tourist-based economy.

 

With Durango’s gentrification came new residents who did not appreciate steam locomotives in nearby barns, puffing coal smoke into the night air.  A recent Durango Herald letter to the editor asked that the locomotives extinguish their fireboxes each night, so that nearby residents could sleep in peace and clean air.  Old wags pointed out that one could not restart a locomotive each day as if it were a diesel engine.  The general sentiment in the community was, “if you do not like coal smoke, move elsewhere”.

 

Read Part 2 of this five-part story about the Four Corner States.

Email James McGillis

By James McGillis at 03:03 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link