To the editor: Patt Morrison’s wonderful writing in her latest column highlighted the unbelievable energy of water, particularly in El Niño years (“The approaching El Niño is scary, but L.A.’s starred in this horror movie before,” Sept. 17). My mother and father didn’t want an El Niño 12 months, nonetheless, to have their very own horrible expertise with the pressure of the ocean.
In 1941, early of their marriage, they purchased a bit home at 5286 Ocean Blvd., on the foot of Pomona in Belmont Shore in Lengthy Seaside. It was dubbed “The McDannel Mansion.” They rented it out whereas my dad served in World Struggle II, anticipating to return.
Regardless of the nickname, the home was little greater than a seaside cottage, however good for a beach-lovin’ couple beginning out in life. It was a part of the California dream — swim within the morning, maybe see a dolphin after which watch the sundown out of your entrance porch. The sand was shut by, the seaside not but widened to keep away from catastrophes of the sort that befell the home.
On Jan. 23, 1943, an enormous storm hit Lengthy Seaside. The storm waves (presumably coupled with excessive tides) washed the home out to sea. Bystanders watched the entire scene. Somebody took pictures. My completely mannered Southern grandmother additionally went to say goodbye. As all of the belongings of the newlyweds went to the ocean, she stood on the seaside and waved, saying, “Bye bye, home.”
Lizbeth McDannel Bell, Santa Monica
