Orange County Landmarks

"We're just a wrecking crew, bored boys with nothing to do," goes the refrain of a vintage Adolescents song, one of many early-'80s O.C. punk-rock classics that rang out from the stage of the Cuckoo's Nest, an important cradle of the local punk movement. Now the building in Costa Mesa that housed the fondly remembered punk dive is awaiting a date with another kind of wrecking crew. A prospective new owner said demolition will probably come in late September or October.

Nestled along Interstate 5, near the spot where Laguna Niguel, San Juan Capistrano and Mission Viejo meet, is a little greasy spoon filled with the smell of bacon and fried eggs and the chatter of truckers, locals and early-morning regulars. At Buffy's, real buttermilk pancakes and country-fried steaks still reign. But the grill at this '60s-style diner and beloved landmark is about to go cold. In a few months, Buffy's will be torn down to make room for a Carl's Jr.

Along bustling thoroughfares such as Beach Boulevard and Katella Avenue, a piece of Orange County's architectural heritage is quietly dying. Motels, bowling alleys, coffee shops and other structures designed during the 1950s and 1960s in an outlandish style known as "Googie" are slowly disappearing, victims of changing tastes and stricter city design standards. The style celebrated the dawning of the Space Age and Southern California's car culture with bold uses of glass, steel and neon.

Nestled along Interstate 5, near the spot where Laguna Niguel, San Juan Capistrano and Mission Viejo meet, is a little greasy spoon filled with the smell of bacon and fried eggs and the chatter of truckers, locals and early-morning regulars. At Buffy's, real buttermilk pancakes and country-fried steaks still reign. But the grill at this 1960s-style diner and beloved landmark is about to go cold. In a few months, Buffy's will be torn down to make room for a new Carl's Jr.

Twenty years ago, the two best surfing spots in southern Orange County were closed to surfers. Trestles, on the northwest tip of Camp Pendleton, was patrolled by Marines. And Salt Creek, in South Laguna, was nearly inaccessible because of a residential development. Today, both beaches are open, but riding their waves is clearly no less of a battle. The two spots offer at least seven consistent breaks, and when the waves are good, all the takeoff spots resemble a surfing equivalent of gridlock.

In what some members of this sleepy canyon community called the largest show of civic unity in years, Modjeska Canyon residents on Thursday challenged county plans to renovate the historic house once owned by renowned Shakespearean actress Helena Modjeska. Fearful that a county proposal to build a 14-acre historic park around the century-old home would shatter the pastoral calm of Modjeska Canyon, more than 100 residents of the 180-home tract filled a community center to object to the plan.

The reopening of the historic Balboa Theater for live stage productions and art house films has been postponed for at least a year because the project is short millions of dollars. Fund-raising to restore the 73-year-old theater on the Newport peninsula has fallen behind, said board members of the Balboa Theater Performing Arts Center Foundation.

In the Orange County that existed before there were malls and freeways, the place to be on Saturday evenings was downtown Santa Ana, where people from even the most far-flung farming communities would converge to shop, eat, catch movies and--most important--schmooze. Among the county seat's lures were the grand department stores that dotted Main and 4th streets.

For nearly half a century, the Bolero Lookout withstood the elements atop a lonely peak in Orange County's Santa Ana Mountains. But it took a bulldozer only 20 minutes to bring the two-story wooden structure crashing to earth Wednesday as the Orange County Fire Department demolished the county's last remaining fire lookout--and along with it, yet another remnant of the county's rustic past. "God, they're finally gonna do her in; the last of our landmarks," Capt.

A tiny historical monument tucked in a corner of Heritage Park offers more than its simple exterior might suggest. The McCoy-Hare House, an Orange County Historical Landmark and the first drugstore in Westminster, is one of only two fully restored turn-of-the-century drugstores in California. It is also the oldest building in the city and was office to Mattie McCoy, one of Westminster's early settlers, as well as the home of Marie Hare, a turn-of-the century educator.

Abilene Rose, a Fountain Valley Texas-style barbecue restaurant that had become an Orange County bastion of roots-rock and alternative country music, has closed, not because the concerts were unprofitable but because of sagging restaurant business. "It isn't like they hated us in Fountain Valley, they just weren't all that stirred up about barbecue," owner John Apgar said Tuesday.

The reopening of the historic Balboa Theater for live stage productions and art house films has been postponed for at least a year because the project is short millions of dollars. Fund-raising to restore the 73-year-old theater on the Newport peninsula has fallen behind, said board members of the Balboa Theater Performing Arts Center Foundation.

Jolted out of bed a month ago by the 7.1-magnitude earthquake, Gerald Miller's first concern was for the crumbling Mission San Juan Capistrano ruins he has labored for most of the decade to preserve. "I thought, 'Oh no! I should get down there to see what happened,' " said Miller, the director of the historic mission. "Then I thought: 'Once I get there what will I do?'

Hulking Christmas trees handpicked from the slopes of Mt. Shasta are slated for distribution to local retail and religious centers this week. The battle of the bark has begun. Orange County boasts four of the tallest Christmas trees erected in the country--at Disneyland, Crystal Cathedral, Fashion Island and South Coast Plaza--according to the National Christmas Tree Assn.

"We're just a wrecking crew, bored boys with nothing to do," goes the refrain of a vintage Adolescents song, one of many early-'80s O.C. punk-rock classics that rang out from the stage of the Cuckoo's Nest, an important cradle of the local punk movement. Now the building in Costa Mesa that housed the fondly remembered punk dive is awaiting a date with another kind of wrecking crew. A prospective new owner said demolition will probably come in late September or October.

The original painted decorations inside the dome of the Great Stone Church at Mission San Juan Capistrano, seen by few people since an 1812 earthquake heavily damaged the church, are finally being studied and preserved. Mission officials have taken samples of the paint from the 13 depictions of fruit, vegetables and other designs to the University of Pennsylvania for analysis. They plan to treat the artworks with chemicals to bring out their colors and preserve them.

It's difficult to imagine today, with the towers of Newport Center looming up over the roofs of Balboa, but there was a day when the Balboa Pavilion was considered the neighborhood's monolith. During the first decade of this century, it dwarfed everything else in sight. It was a Victorian behemoth set against the flimsy cottages that were used by day vacationers who trundled down from Los Angeles on the old Pacific Electric Red Cars.

Jolted out of bed a month ago by the 7.1-magnitude earthquake, Gerald Miller's first concern was for the crumbling Mission San Juan Capistrano ruins he has labored for most of the decade to preserve. "I thought, 'Oh no! I should get down there to see what happened,' " said Miller, the director of the historic mission. "Then I thought: 'Once I get there what will I do?'

Hollywood could not have built a better set. The musty air and cigarette smoke inside the pool hall waft up the stairs, as the crash of a cue ball splitting a rack echoes off the walls, signaling a good break. For pool hustlers of the 1940s like Willie Mosconi, Harold Worst and Jimmy Caras, Broadway Billiards would have been a perfect place to score some easy money.

It creaks, it groans, it moans. And that's just the way residents of this town like their wooden pier, the county's longest. At 1,865 feet, the pier's unique chorus comes from the rubbing of the wood as ocean swells toss the structure, Dan Dorsey, assistant to the city manager, said. "It's not high-tech. It's low-tech, and they like that," he said. While a concrete pier may have more utilitarian value, Dorsey said the city has sided with the character a wooden pier offers.