Noting these differences of dress in early days, I should not forget to state that there were both American and Mexican tailors here; among the former being one McCoy and his son, merry companions whose copartnership carousals were proverbial. The Mexican tailor had the advantage of knowing just what the native requirements were, although in the course of time his Gringo rival came to understand the tastes and prejudices of the paisano, and to obtain the better share of the patronage. The cloth from which the caballero's outfit was made could be found in most of the stores.
As with clothes and tailors, so it was with other articles of apparel and those who manufactured them; the natives had their own shoe- and hat-makers, and their styles were unvarying. The genuine Panamá hat was highly prized and often copied; and Francisco Velardes—who used a grindstone bought of John Temple in 1852, now in the County Museum—was one who sold and imitated Panamás of the fifties. A product of the bootmakers' skill were leathern leggings, worn to protect the trousers when riding on horseback. The Gringos were then given to copying the fashions of the natives; but as the pioneer population increased, the Mexican came more and more to adopt American styles.
Growing out of these exhibitions of horsemanship and of the natives' fondness for display, was the rather important industry of making Mexican saddles, in which quite a number of skilled paisanos were employed. Among the most expert was Francisco Moreno, who had a little shop on the south side of Aliso Street, not far from Los Angeles. One of these hand-worked saddles often cost two hundred dollars or more, in addition to which expensive bridles, bits and spurs were deemed necessary accessories. António María Lugo had a silver-mounted saddle, bridle and spurs that cost fifteen hundred dollars.
On holidays and even Sundays, Upper Main Street—formerly called the Calle de las Virgenes, or Street of the Maids, later San Fernando Street—was the scene of horse races and their attendant festivities, just as it used to be when money or gold was especially plentiful, if one may judge from the stories of those who were here in the prosperous year, 1850. People from all over the county visited Los Angeles to take part in the sport, some coming from mere curiosity, but the majority anxious to bet. Some money, and often a good deal of stock changed hands, according to the success or failure of the different favorites. It cannot be claimed, perhaps, that the Mexican, like the Gringo, made a specialty of developing horseflesh to perfection; yet Mexicans owned many of the fast horses, such as Don José Sepúlveda's Sydney Ware and Black Swan, and the Californian Sarco belonging to Don Pio Pico.
The most celebrated of all these horse races of early days was that between José Andrés Sepúlveda's Black Swan and Pio Pico's Sarco, the details of which I learned, soon after I came here, from Tom Mott. Sepúlveda had imported the Black Swan from Australia, in 1852, the year of the race, while Pico chose a California steed to defend the honors of the day. Sepúlveda himself went to San Francisco to receive the consignment in person, after which he committed the thoroughbred into the keeping of Bill Brady, the trainer, who rode him down to Los Angeles, and gave him as much care as might have been bestowed upon a favorite child. They were to race nine miles, the carrera commencing on San Pedro Street near the city limits, and running south a league and a half and return; and the reports of the preparation having spread throughout California, the event came to be looked upon as of such great importance, that, from San Francisco to San Diego, whoever had the money hurried to Los Angeles to witness the contest and bet on the result. Twenty-five thousand dollars, in addition to five hundred horses, five hundred mares, five hundred heifers, five hundred calves and five hundred sheep were among the princely stakes put up; and the wife of José Andrés was driven to the scene of the memorable contest with a veritable fortune in gold slugs wrapped in a large handkerchief. Upon arriving there, she opened her improvised purse and distributed the shining fifty-dollar pieces to all of her attendants and servants, of whom there were not a few, with the injunction that they should wager the money on the race; and her example was followed by others, so that, in addition to the cattle, land and merchandise hazarded, a considerable sum of money was bet by the contending parties and their friends. The Black Swan won easily. The peculiar character of some of the wagers recalls to me an instance of a later date when a native customer of Louis Phillips tried to borrow a wagon, in order to bet the same on a horse race. If the customer won, he was to return the wagon at once; but if he lost, he was to pay Phillips a certain price for the vehicle.
Many kinds of amusements marked these festal occasions, and bull-fights were among the diversions patronized by some Angeleños, the Christmas and New Year holidays of 1854-55 being celebrated in that manner. I dare say that in earlier days Los Angeles may have had its Plaza de Toros, as did the ancient metropolis of the great country to the South; but in the later stages of the sport here, the toreador and his colleagues conducted their contests in a gaudily-painted corral, in close proximity to the Plaza. They were usually proclaimed as professionals from Mexico or Spain, but were often engaged for a livelihood, under another name, in a less dangerous and romantic occupation near by. Admission was charged, and some pretense to a grandstand was made; but through the apertures in the fence of the corral those who did not pay might, by dint of hard squinting, still get a peep at the show. In this corral, in the fifties, I saw a fight between a bear and a bull. I can still recollect the crowd, but I cannot say which of the infuriated animals survived. Toward the end of 1858, a bull-fight took place in the Calle de Toros, and there was great excitement when a horse was instantly killed.
Cock-fights were also a very common form of popular entertainment, and sports were frequently seen going around the streets with fighting cocks under each arm. The fights generally took place in Sonora Town, though now and then they were held in San Gabriel. Mexicans carried on quite a trade in game roosters among the patrons of this pastime, of whom M. G. Santa Cruz was one of the best known. Sometimes, too, roosters contributed to still another brutal diversion known as correr el gallo: their necks having been well greased, they would be partially buried in the earth alongside a public highway, when riders on fleet horses dashed by at full speed, and tried to seize the fowls and pull them out! This reminds me of another game in which horsemen, speeding madly by a succession of suspended, small rings, would try, by the skillful handling of a long spear, to collect as many of the rings as they could—a sport illustrated in one of the features of the modern merry-go-round.
The easy-going temperament of the native gave rise to many an amusing incident. I once asked a woman, as we were discussing the coming marriage of her daughter, whom the dark-eyed señorita was to marry; whereupon she replied, "I forget;" and turning to her daughter, she asked: "¿Como se llama?" (What did you say was his name?)
George Dalton bought a tract of land on Washington, east of San Pedro Street, in 1855, and set out a vineyard and orchard which he continued to cultivate until 1887, when he moved to Walnut Avenue. Dalton was a Londoner who sailed from Liverpool on the day of Queen Victoria's coronation, to spend some years wandering through Pennsylvania and Ohio. About 1851, he followed to the Azusa district his brother, Henry Dalton, who had previously been a merchant in Peru; but, preferring the embryo city to the country, he returned to Los Angeles to live. Two sons, E. H. Dalton, City Water Overseer, in 1886-87, and Winnall Travelly Dalton, the vineyardist, were offspring of Dalton's first marriage. Elizabeth M., a daughter, married William H. Perry. Dalton Avenue is named after the Dalton family.
In another place I have spoken of the dearth of trees in the town when I came, though the editor of the Star and others had advocated tree-planting. This was not due to mere neglect; there was prejudice against such street improvement. The School Trustees had bought a dozen or more black locust-trees, "at eight bits each," and planted them on the school lot at Second and Spring streets. Drought and squirrels in 1855 attacked the trees, and while the pedagogue went after the "varmints" with a shot-gun, he watered the trees from the school barrel. The carrier, however, complained that drinking-water was being wasted; and only after several rhetorical bouts was the schoolmaster allowed to save what was already invested. The locust-trees flourished until 1884, when they were hewn down to make way for the City Hall.