Sonoratown: Downtown L.A.'s Forgotten Neighborhood

The porch of G. Moreno's restaurant at 664 N. Spring St. in Sonoratown, circa 1892. Courtesy of the Title Insurance and Trust / C.C. Pierce Photography Collection, USC Libraries.

Ethnic enclaves have long staked out the area immediately north of Los Angeles' historic plaza, one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city. Now known as Chinatown, the district has attracted successive waves of immigrants, many of them barred from newer neighborhoods by racial hostility and later racially restrictive covenants. A Little Italy once took root there. But among the neighborhood's first immigrant residents were new arrivals from the north of Mexico. From the 1850s until the early twentieth century, the area now known as Chinatown was home to L.A.'s first barrio: Sonoratown.

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The neighborhood acquired its name during the years of California's gold rush, when a wave of miners and other migrants from the Mexican province of Sonora settled there.

Drawn originally to Northern California's Gold Country, the Sonoran 49ers introduced several innovations, including the panning method, and quickly established themselves as some of the state's most successful prospectors. Beginning in 1848, when a ban on immigration from northern Mexico was lifted, thousands of Sonorans passed through Los Angeles every year on their way to the Gold Country. Others came to work on Southern California's vast cattle ranches, which supplied the booming northern counties with meat. In 1851 alone, approximately 8,000 Sonorans passed through Los Angeles, then a town of only 1,600.

But with the wounds of the recent Mexican War still fresh, a peaceful coexistence between the Mexican miners and their American counterparts was unlikely; by 1850, most Sonorans had been evicted from their mining claims. Many returned to Mexico, but a significant minority lingered in Southern California, where the footprint of Anglo culture was still faint. Sonoratowns quickly sprang up across the region, from Santa Barbara to San Diego. (Despite the name, Sonorans were not the only denizens of the region's Sonoratowns; Anglo-Americans then used the terms "Sonoran" and "Mexican" interchangeably, and immigrants from East Asia, South America, and Europe also called the Sonoratowns home.)

In Los Angeles, the erstwhile miners settled in the area north of the city's old plaza, where native, Spanish-speaking Angeleños still occupied aging adobes dating from the city's Spanish and Mexican periods. Many of the migrants moved into the adobes; others built one-story shacks in adobes' backyards.

Circa 1869 view of Sonoratown from the summit of Fort Moore Hill. Courtesy of the Title Insurance and Trust / C.C. Pierce Photography Collection, USC Libraries.

Three girls stand in front of the Florentina Ybarra adobe at the current intersection of Spring and Ord, circa 1890s. Courtesy of the Los Angeles Public Library Photograph Collection.

Burros carry firewood to market in Sonoratown, 1870. Courtesy of the Title Insurance and Trust / C.C. Pierce Photography Collection, USC Libraries.

Men stand outside a Sonoratown saloon at Bellevue and Upper Main (now Spring), circa 1888. In the distance, the mansion of retail magnate J.W. Robinson sits atop Fort Moore Hill. Courtesy of the Los Angeles Public Library Photograph Collection.

Sonoratown became a vibrant if destitute Mexican community. Life in the house courts and crumbling adobes may not have been comfortable, but residents there preserved remnants of the city's original Latin American culture. Among white Angeleños, meanwhile, the neighborhood developed a reputation as a rough part of town, where "every evening there was much indulgence in drinking, smoking and gambling," as Harris Newmark put it. Cockfights were common, according to Newmark, and many saloons doubled as brothels.

In the late nineteenth century, even as white Angeleños scorned Sonoratown as a slum, tourists discovered it as a place to commune with Southern California's Spanish past. The publication of Helen Hunt Jackson's 1884 pastoral novel Ramona introduced Americans to a romantic reimagining of Southern California's history. In the ensuing years, many of Jackson's readers came to Sonoratown in search that Spanish fantasy past—never mind that most Sonoratown residents arrived after the American conquest.

J. Torrey Connor was among the pilgrims. In her 1902 travelogue, Saunterings in Summerland, Connor wrote: "Among the households of Sonoratown may still be found those who remember the days when the flag of the Mexican republic floated over the pueblo. La Senora [de la Reina de Los Angeles] is bowed beneath the weight of years, but she has not forgotten how she danced in the moonlight under the golden-fruited orange trees, to the trilling of mandolins, and well she recalls how, with a glance from her bright eyes, she brought the gay caballero to her feet."

Two boys buy ice cream from vendor Nicolas Martinez, who walked the streets of Sonoratown with his wares on his head. Courtesy of the Title Insurance and Trust / C.C. Pierce Photography Collection, USC Libraries.

An aging adobe house sits across the street from the Sunset Hotel at the present-day intersection of Spring and Ord in Sonoratown. Courtesy of the Los Angeles Public Library Photograph Collection.

By the time Connor sauntered down the streets of Sonoratown in the early twentieth century, market forces were already pushing the barrio to disintegration. The Southern Pacific had built its railyard and depot on the outskirts of the neighborhood, transforming Sonoratown into valuable industrial real estate. As property values rose, the district's adobes and shacks gave way to warehouses and factories. Tourists searching for the region's mythical past could still find it on Olvera Street—invented in 1930 by socialite Christine Sterling and Los Angeles Times publisher Harry Chandler—but the city's actual Latin American quarter, Sonoratown, had largely been erased from the landscape.

Sonoratown's residents found new homes. Street railways opened up the land across the river for housing, and many moved to (the original) East Los Angeles and, later, to the new subdivisions of Belvedere and City Terrace. When the district north of the plaza was rechristened New Chinatown in June 1938, its previous role as Sonoratown had already faded from the city's collective memory.

New Chinatown opened in 1938 on the site of L.A.'s former Sonoratown. 1947 postcard courtesy of the Frasher Foto Postcard Collection, Pomona Public Library.

The Santa Cruz-Champan adobe at 639 N. Broadway, seen here in 1955, was one of the last remnants of Sonoratown. Courtesy of the Los Angeles Public Library Photograph Collection.

Many of the archives who contributed the above images are members of L.A. as Subject, an association of more than 230 libraries, museums, official archives, personal collections, and other institutions. Hosted by the USC Libraries, L.A. as Subject is dedicated to preserving and telling the sometimes-hidden stories and histories of the Los Angeles region. Our posts here will provide a view into the archives of individuals and cultural institutions whose collections inform the great narrative—in all its complex facets—of Southern California.

About the Author

A writer specializing in Los Angeles history, Nathan Masters serves as manager of academic events and programming communications for the USC Libraries, the host institution for L.A. as Subject.
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