There is almost nothing to suggest the wild, frontier past of Onizuka Street in Little Tokyo.
Nothing to suggest that it once was traversed by racing stagecoaches in the 1850s, "with passengers and drivers yelling, and wheels often locked hub to hub to bring up a cloud of dust," as recounted in the history book "Nuestro Pueblo."
Onizuka, formerly named Weller Street, is now a sedate one-block stretch of road, renamed for Ellison Onizuka, the astronaut who was killed in the 1986 Challenger explosion.
About the only clue to Onizuka Street's colorful role in L.A.'s early history is its unusual configuration -- it runs diagonally from the corner of 2nd and San Pedro streets to 1st Street.
That's because Onizuka Street, as "Nuestro Pueblo" put it, was "the homestretch" of the 21-mile stagecoach route from San Pedro to downtown L.A., a shortcut carved out by rival drivers whose passengers frequently wagered on who would arrive first.
The approach to L.A. was by San Pedro Street, "which was a narrow lane, possibly not more than ten feet wide, with growing vineyards bordered by willow trees on each side of the road," wrote Harris Newmark in his memoir, "Sixty Years in California."
Hence the necessity of veering off onto what became Weller Street, on the way to 1st Street.
The destination of the mule-drawn prairie schooners was the Bella Union Hotel (later the St. Charles) on Main Street, just above Temple Street. The stagecoach fare was about $5.
One of the lines was owned by Phineas Banning, one of the founders of Wilmington who would sometimes take the reins himself in that no-nonsense era.
Winning the stagecoach race was "the best of advertising" for a company and assured "the largest patronage," Newmark noted.
"So . . . from the moment of leaving San Pedro until the final arrival in Los Angeles, two and a half hours later, we tore along at breakneck speed."
The roads "never having been cared for, and still less inspected, were abominably bad, and I have often wondered that there were not more accidents."
Before departure from San Pedro, it was a good time to take something to calm the nerves.
Before leaving on his first trip, author Horace Bell recalled in "Reminiscences of a Ranger," a stagecoach hand brandished "an ominous looking black bottle, remarking, 'Gentlemen, there is no water between here and Los Angeles.' "
The way he said "water" left no doubt that it held something stronger.
