LOS ANGELES — It's Sunday, early evening. I'm at Point Fermin Park in San Pedro, on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Just me and one other guy on the path ahead. He has green canvas under one arm, a shiny stick under the other.
He pauses at the cliff's edge. The green canvas unfolds into a chair. The shiny stick turns out to be a flute. He sits and plays. No discernable tune, just notes to accompany the waves below.
"Mind if I listen?" I ask.
"Not at all," he says.
We get to talking. He says his name is Cyrus. He comes to this spot once a week or so. It's his favorite place: uncomplicated, uncrowded, unpretentious. Full of peace, he says. And at this moment, looking into a horizon of blue sky and sea, I have to agree.
I've interrupted his solo long enough. I thank him for the concert, explain that a cold pale ale awaits at a pub across town, and walk away. The flute resumes behind me, growing more faint until only the Pacific can hear it.
At the San Pedro Brewing Co., I sit down for dinner: Caesar salad, a good chicken sandwich, that cold pale ale. And, starting at the end, the weekend begins to rewind in my head....
Sunday, 3:35 p.m.: I'm in the basement of the Gen. Phineas Banning Residence Museum in neighboring Wilmington. Because I'm the only person in the last tour of the day, volunteer docent Nita Shidler makes small talk, asking why I'm visiting these parts instead of other, more obvious spots on the L.A. sites-to-see map.
My brain flashes a bunch of explanations: Short drive from my West Hollywood home. Smaller crowds. In a rare occurrence, though, my manners kick in before my mouth does.
"I like history," I say. "This place sounds interesting." Not the full truth but certainly no lie, as Nita is about to prove.
Nita dives into the historical photos on the walls, quickly recounting the life of Banning: Born 1830 in Wilmington, Del. (thus the name for this neighborhood). Made his fortune running a stagecoach and freight business. Died 1885. State senator, early champion of developing the Port of Los Angeles, and patriarch of one of L.A.'s founding families.
Not until we move up to the mansion's ground floor do I fully understand why this place is a National Historic Landmark. In the French Rococo Revival parlor, intricately crafted Henry Belter-style rosewood settees and a hand-carved marble-top music stand. In the dining room, Chippendale Centennial chairs, 1876 reproductions of a 1776 design.
