Toluca Lake and Sherman Oaks in 1948


This is a 1948 colorized video, most likely filmed by a movie studio for projection background footage “process shots” in automobile scenes.

It was shot in Toluca Lake and Sherman Oaks.

Toluca Lake was the most comely, gracious and affluent neighborhood in the San Fernando Valley, handily nearby Warner Brothers, Universal and Disney studios.

Driving along Valley Spring Lane, Navajo and Forman, near the Lakeside Golf Club, the viewer sees an endless procession of estates, tree lined streets, gardeners, people on bikes, thin women in below the knee skirts. There is some open land, still undeveloped.

The architecture was eclectic, freely borrowing from Spain, France, England into a hybrid Southern California style set along enormous lawns, with flowers, trellises, window boxes, picket or ranch fencing. Cars are few and parked in driveways, occasionally on the street.

No house is gruesome, ostentatious, unbalanced, grotesque, hostile or ugly. They fit into their surroundings. And even when a Tudor house is next to a Spanish casita both houses seem proper and well-mannered. There are no steel gates, no concrete front yards, no Home Depot vinyl windows sliced into stucco.


The Sherman Oaks section of the video begins at 4:45 at the corner of Hazeltine and Greenleaf. The footage proceeds west through Beverly Glen, Van Nuys Bl. and Cedros.

Greenleaf St. in 1948 was a street of small houses, some older Spanish or Mission, some newer ranches. They were embellished with shutters, trellises, neat lawns, shade trees, classical street lights on concrete posts.

I used Google Maps Street View to try and pick out the homes which were there in 1948. Sadly, most of the houses have been torn down or obliterated with the fads of 60s and 70s, and the gigantism and massiveness that characterize modern Los Angeles.


Here is my timeline to watch the video:

Toluca Lake:

2:27 Valley Spring Ln and Navajo St.

West on Navajo St.

Turn left on Forman

3:30 Valley Spring Ln and Forman

Turn right, head west on Valley Spring Ln.

3:54 Ledge Av at Valley Spring Ln.

4:31 10451 Valley Spring Ln. Spanish house with second floor balcony and rounded tower.

4:33 Strohm Av at Valley Spring Ln. Corner house is still there but Tudor style wood on facade is gone.

4:39 10515 Valley Spring Ln. Spanish house with arched front window and arched entrance.

Sherman Oaks: 

4:45  14100 Greenleaf St.  at Hazeltine, 4204 Hazeltine background house with shutters and window box. 

4:51    4203 Hazeltine. Back of house and wooden garage, both still existing in 2022.

4:58 14101 Greenleaf St. Newly built home. (2/24/48 building permit taken out.)

5:04. 14115 Greenleaf St.

5:12  Stansbury Av and Greenleaf St. heading west.

5:15 4205 Stansbury Av.

5:32 14223 Greenleaf St

5:39. 14244 Greenleaf St.

5:52  14273 Greenleaf St. heading west

5:55 14279 Greenleaf St.

6:16 14345 Greenleaf St at Beverly Glen

6:20 14403 Greenleaf St. at Beverly Glen old mission style house with wide overhangs and trellis.

6:48 14479 Greenleaf St. corner of Van Nuys Bl.

6:58  14507 Greenleaf St

7:02  14519 Greenleaf St

7:04  14525 Greenleaf St.

7:05  14529 Greenleaf St trellis over driveway

7:20.  14567 Greenleaf St

7:26.  14579 Greenleaf St cor Cedros Av.

A Winter’s Tale


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A man was moving out of his English cottage, and I was walking by, and he invited me in, to see it before he left for good, on a Toluca Lake street (where I’ve set my next short story), into a home, emptied of content, yet still full of emotion; an ideal cottage in the low millions, outfitted with dark wood floors, marble bathrooms, and discreetly elegant paneling; electric sconces, French doors, and striped awnings hung on black spears. And a subtly vaulted living room where cool winter light streamed through little steel windows splashing in blue light a brown, stained, scuffed floor.

He had lived here for seven years, placed in Los Angeles by a now bankrupt mortgage company who had conceivably compensated him well enough, but left him to hang out to dry when they collapsed. He became that very tragic figure: the enviable executive who lives in a beautifully decorated house where Roman shades, silent burger alarms, wi-fi, and built-in cabinetry mask financial illness.

He showed me photos from a glossy real estate brochure, of symmetrical rooms where couches and chairs mingled politely and toilet tanks stood erect in upright, polished splendor. He spoke wistfully of his 84 months here, 2,555 days of certain sunshine and uncertain liquidity.

I wondered if he had contemplated suicide, as I had many times, up awake at 3am, convinced I would never find work, angry at myself and my life choices, in fear of not paying my mortgage or getting the money for property taxes, medical bills and AT&T. Did the lush aesthetics of this house, with its fountains and sunlit corners, soothe the frightened beast inside of us all, the frail human alone as his nation commits economic genocide? Did hunger ever enter the confines of the redone kitchen? Did tears pour out of his eyes as he stood near the pivoting water spigot over the chef’s stove?

I did not ask.

A Jaguar, packed with plastic mattress covers and suitcases, sat on the driveway, and the backyard was full of rose bushes and two lounge chairs set on the green lawn. We walked through cerebral, reserved, tranquilizing rooms painted in healing greens and mournful blues from those cursed years after 9/11.

Every corner was well crafted and exquisite, from the ornate iron registers to the crown molding, to the high hat recessed lights, to the 50-year slate/asphalt roof, copper gutters, matte celadon backsplash tile, stone patio, Tuscan fountain and hi-efficiency heating.

White haired and kind voiced, with an intonation I remembered from New York, the man spoke with optimism and hope about losing the house profitably. He would soon set up his life somewhere in Sherman Oaks, holding a wet finger into the wind on Beverly Glen, hoping that this sale might release another California dream to carry him into future love and security.

Friday Night Chrome.


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The chrome, metal, motor and wheels crowd gathered at Bob’s Big Boy, as they do every Friday night, to partake of a parking lot full of old restored cars.

One old man had an old crank shaft Model T and was showing a crowd how to turn the engine on.

There was a very long purple Cadillac, and more than the usual collection of mid 1960s Chevys.

Fifty-two Fridays a year, vintage autos and their lovers gather here; even as we fall deeper into the 21st Century, our hearts are stuck in place in a country and century that no longer exists.

Toluca Lake.


9/7/2007
9/7/2007

It makes me happy to walk around this neighborhood of shade trees, fine old homes and sidewalks. I found this old mailbox on one corner.