Firm as This Rock We Stand: Early Morro Bay's Growing Pains | KCET
Firm as This Rock We Stand: Early Morro Bay's Growing Pains
Morro Bay is confusing. To borrow a line from the movie Clueless, the iconic beach town is in its own way a "full-on Monet." From a distance, it is almost unbelievably picture perfect -- with its towering rock, soaring birds, large trees, and serene inlet dotted with anchored sailboats. Up close -- the picture gets a bit more complicated. Bird droppings cover many boardwalks, sidewalks and windows. At night, the Embarcadero, a long stretch of waterfront lined with fish and chip shops, kitschy gift stores and docked booze cruises, is packed with tourists ready to party. In the early morning, a walk farther down the waterfront reveals many weather-beaten, hardworking dock workers tending to old boats in the shade of a giant power plant, while tourists get breakfast at greasy spoons or charming cafes. All in all, it makes for a fascinating picture, equally gritty and idyllic, artsy and utilitarian, but ultimately, extremely beautiful.
In 1769, the Spanish expedition party of Governor Gaspar de Portola was making its way up the California Coast. In September of that year, they arrived in what is now San Luis Obispo County, and camped along the shore. Voyage diarist Father Crespi remembered:
What the expedition saw was a 24-million-year-old volcanic plug, long considered a sacred site by the numerous Chumash and Salinan communities who lived around it. With the dawn of the Spanish era, many of these people became wards of the brutal mission system, or fled farther inland. Morro Bay remained underdeveloped and isolated throughout the Mexican and early American period. In the late 1860s, settlers began trickling into the area. During this time, Morro Rock also began to be quarried. In 1864, a farmer named Franklin Riley moved his family to what is now the town center. It was a hard life. "When the wind blew, the flying sand was terrible," his daughter remembered. "It cut off at the top of the ground anything that was planted. It filled the houses and was blown into the water wells, no matter what was done."
Despite the hardships, Riley believed the natural inlet was ideal for building a port, which would enable the export of products from the surrounding dairies and rancheros. To combat the wind, he planted cypress and eucalyptus seeds along the dusty streets. He started planning a town site. 1870 is given as the official year of "Morro's" founding (the "Bay" would be added later). In 1872, a map of "Morro," signed by Riley's friend, the surveyor Carolan Mathers, was drawn up. A year later, a large wharf connected by a long chute to a new warehouse was opened in Morro. For a few years it flourished, enticing commercial schooners going up and down the coast. A man named John Schneider remembered watching the pranks his friends would pull while working at the warehouse:
Sadly, the wharf did not prosper for long. Morro failed to secure big freight companies to dock there, and a series of wrecks convinced captains it was not a safe place to enter. The warehouse was eventually converted into a dance hall. Most of the area's smattering of residents continued to farm. However, during the 1890s, a new industry developed in the small town. Hardworking farmers from Bakersfield and the Salinas and San Joaquin Valleys began coming to Morro in the summer, camping at places like the Snider Family Campground. Farmer Henry Hartwell Rhodes recounted his times at Morro years later:
As tourism increased, so did the number of new year-round residents, which included many Italian, Portuguese and Swiss families. But Morro was still a tiny place (the population did not exceed 400 until the late 1930s). During the next few decades, Morro was continually visited by developers from Los Angeles and San Francisco, who claimed they intended to build a huge resort or harbor that "would bring the Pacific Ocean within 87 miles of Bakersfield." A few projects, like the lovely Cabrillo Country Club (now the Morro Bay Golf Course) were actually completed. The beautiful isolation of the area led many well-known artists, including Charles H. Robinson, A. Harold Knott, and Charlotte and William Skinner, to move to Morro. The artistic community congregated at The Picture Shop, owned by British expat Olive Cotter.
The Morro Bay we see today was hugely shaped by World War Two. In 1941, the U.S. Navy built a base at Morro, building up the pier and docks, and deepening the harbor. A June 1944 article described the base as "the Pacific tomorrow:"
After the war ended, commercial enterprises took over the infrastructure left behind by the Navy. The docks and moorings became home to commercial fishermen and scenic tour boats. The modern Embarcadero flourished. In the early 1950s, PG&E began building a $44 million steam-generating plant where part of the base once stood. Today, the town has a population of around 10,000 residents, and a steady stream of tourists. It is a unique place, filled with signs of its bumpy and colorful beginnings and its people's steadfast resolve. In 1959, the editor of the Morro Bay Sun recalled, "Never in our darkest moments did we despair through lack of promise in our community. We knew it was a natural, that someday it would be recognized and become a prosperous city. The appealing beauty of the setting just couldn't miss."
Further reading: Morro Bay’s Yesterdays: Vignettes of Our City’s Lives and Times, by Dorothy L. Gates and Jane H. Bailey
Special thanks to the Historical Society of Morro Bay.
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