Childs House bulldozed; victimized by city’s red tape
By Carole Long
Staff Writer
The sign on the rusted wrought-iron gate at 3100 W. Adams Blvd. reads “No Trespassing, Use of Premises By Permit Only.” A discarded poster lies on the sidewalk nearby that reads, “Another Watergate in Los Angeles?”
What was once a two-story Southern colonial mansion beyond the gate is being demolished. A yellow crane with a wrecking ball sits idle on the once spacious, landscaped lawn, now overgrown with weeds. Eucalyptus and palm trees, some almost seven stories high and more than 90 years old stand like monuments to a forgotten past.
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Childs House is being torn down. The house was built in 1903 by the family of Ozro W. Childs, one of the three donors of land to the university in 1879.
The three-acre property on which the house stands has been sold to the Los Angeles Board of Education, which will erect several portable bungalows for an alternative school on the site.
The Childrens Home Society, which has occupied the mansion since 1941, put the house up for sale because it was no longer meeting its needs.
Richard O. Pancost, executive director of the society, said in the Los Angeles Times on Oct. 7, 1977 it had been talking about selling the site for 10 or 12 years because the house was not suitable as an office facility.
Geri Humphry, director of the Los Angeles chapter of the society said needed repairs included a leaky roof exposed electrical wiring and an ancient heating system.
“We didn’t know of anyone who could take this house and really spend the money to fix it up. When the school board approached us and their offer ($410,000) seemed acceptable, we said yes’,” Humphry said.
In the months that followed the acquisition of the property, the school board faced opposition from citizens’ groups, the Cultural Heritage Board and the Los Angeles City Council. The opposition reached a peak March 20 when the school board awarded a contract to Jones Excavation Company for the demolition of the house.
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DEATH OF A MONUMENT — The colonial-slyle mansion was built in 1903 by the family of Ozro W. Childs, one of the university's first land donors. It is shown above in mint condition and below in the midst of destruction by the city. DT photos by Michael Coates and Marc Corman.
Daily i Trojan
»
University of Southern California
Volume LXXIII, Number 31	Los	Angeles,	California	Monday, April 3, 1978
HEflLITV OF COMING HOME
Vietnam veterans at university readjust to peacetime life but cannot forget war experiences
By Lynn Sprenger
“I lost my closest friend over there and every once in awhile I’ll experience some joy or pleasure in my life and think, ‘What of him? He was only 19 — he didn’t have a chance to experience anything.’
“I’d say that’s the main thing that bothers me about the war — just that. It’s the main thing I still think about.”
Steve, a pseudonym, as are all the veterans’ names in this article, was 18 in 1969 when he went to Vietnam as a Navy corpsman serving with the Marines. He cleared the fields of casualties.
Steve, now a student at the university, only talks about the war if someone else brings it up. Other veterans at the university don’t speak often of it either.
Most of them left Vietnam eight to ten years ago but can’t forget the experience. Recent books, plays, movies and magazine articles have focused attention on a war many would rather not think about.
The university’s Veterans Affairs Office processes paperwork for the 800 to 900 veterans here, said Jean Edinger-Roy, associate veterans coordinator at the university. Not all are Vietnam veterans.
“We help them to get their monthly benefits but we don’t do educational or personal counseling,” he said.
Instead, the office refers veterans to the University Counseling Center or the Veteran’s Administration regional office.
Edward Martinez, assistant director of
Lynn Sprenger, Daily Trojan staff writer, is a sophomore in journalism.
the Career Development Center, was a counselor of veterans at various community colleges for four years before coming to the university last fall.
“There was a general lack of acceptance by society (for soldiers returning to the United States),” Martinez said.
“Most people thought the war was a bad war and people just want to forget about it. This draws attention away from the war and the veterans who were a part of that war.”
The most common problem Martinez encountered among the Vietnam veterans was “normlessness.” “Norms tell us how to behave,” he said. “The veterans thought they’d done a good thing representing their country but society and their peers told them they hadn’t. They felt sort of left out — they didn’t fit into society and into their own peer group. There was a lack of support.”
The homecomings were anything but hero’s welcomes, as war protesters demonstrated against American involvement in Vietnam and the rest of the country remained split on the issue.
“You go off a conquering hero and don’t get bands and parades when you come back,” Martinez said. “This is contrary to what you might have thought, contrary to your self-image, identity and beliefs. If enough people tell you you’re a bad person, you might begin to believe it.
“The war’s over with but the veterans are still here and we still see this lack of support. In TV, for example, it’s the crazed veteran running amok. The veteran is portrayed as maladjusted.” Martinez sees the reduction of GI Bill benefits as further proof of n'onsupport.
Veterans receive money under the GI Bill to pay for their education.
Carlos, a student at the university, is one example of Martinez’s “conquering hero”: “All I wanted to do was get back to the world. When I did, all they gave me was a steak dinner and a baked potato on a jailhouse tray.”
Carlos was an Army infantryman in Vietnam during the 1968 Tet offensive, the first major organized attack by the Viet Cong. He claimed magazines and newspapers had been censored so he would not be aware of opposition to the war. “I thought I was doing my duty.”
He said the veterans with whom he associates are contending with drugs and alcohol, unemployment, unskilled jobs for minimum wage or divorce. “You take two years from a person and give him nothing but fear and rejection when he gets back and he develops a neurotic personality.
“There’s just no gratification for the effort people put out — nothing. There was some romance to war, some prestige, but no one to thank you for the job you’ve done.
“I’m still working on piecing my life back together but I feel like I’m doing a better job than some of the vets I know.” Yet Carlos talked openly about his ex-
cessive use of drugs and alcohol. He sells marijuana for his livelihood and once spent eight months in the Los Angeles County Jail for selling dope because his veterans’ benefits checks came months late.
He could not honestly blame the war for his problems but said it did contribute to them. “We (soldiers) didn’t want to be there. Drugs were a way of getting
through the day, of knocking a day off the 365 days you had to be there.”
Mike, an administrator at the university who also fought in Vietnam during the Tet offensive, recalled his return to the United States.
“They brought us to San Francisco and we were there for five days. You’re in transit — they process your papers and let you go.
“The onW thing they did in terms of helping ° jck into society was show us a film on LSD. I thought it was very funny.”
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