FIFTY YEARS LATER, A BIRTH—AND A LEGACY—AT 14TH & CHESTNUT

The christening of Seaside Park on Saturday celebrated what may be the first birth in more than 50 years at the intersection of 14^th Street and Chestnut Avenue—since Seaside Hospital moved out in 1960—and among the large crowd that welcomed the new arrival were a handful of people who drew their first breaths inside that long-ago landmark.

They came back partly to reflect on Seaside Hospital’s place in history—Long Beach’s and their own. Seaside was an institution so architecturally stately and so medically state-of-the-art that it served as a symbol of the city’s coming-of-age during the first half of the 20^th century. Several people at Saturday’s event were so proud to be its progeny that they brought their birth certificates.

But these people also returned as witnesses and well-wishers to the repurposing of their sorta-sacred spot, from Seaside Hospital to Seaside Park, from a former landmark to the newest mark on this land. They were reminded that, bottom line, history doesn’t have a place. It’s always moving, forever transforming, always and forever.

Yeah, that can be disorienting.

 “I don’t recognize this at all,” acknowledged Beverly O’Neill as she stood under a late-morning sun that was making like summer, surrounded by kaleidoscopic stands of balloons, a bank of public-service booths, a gigantic barbecue grill and vivid plastic playground toys while squealing kids ricocheted like the countless balls that kept bouncing away and a sound system allowed Al Green to croon his case for staying together. “I thought Seaside was located down the street, in the middle of the block.”

O’Neill and her husband, Bill, were both born at Seaside Hospital and both grew up in Long Beach. As a kid, Bill delivered newspapers all over the west side of town. Beverly’s long and successful career wrapped up with three terms as mayor. Can we stipulate that these two know this city? Yet they’d apparently had some trouble finding 14^th and Chestnut.

“It’s not as though Bill and I remember being born here,” O’Neill quipped good naturedly.

And it’s not as though they were the only ones in Saturday’s crowd who found themselves a little directionally challenged before they found 14^th and Chestnut.

It’s been 51 years since Seaside Hospital moved its operations to Atlantic Avenue and changed its name to Memorial Medical Center—longer than the 47 years that its 250 beds attracted traffic, money and prestige . The old hospital’s record of daily service—not to mention two world wars and one hell of an earthquake—are just stories now. The building was demolished years ago. Who even remembers when?

As the years passed, as fewer and fewer people with resources had reason to live in, pass through or care about the neighborhoods near 14^th and Chestnut, the quality of life there steadily disintegrated—picked apart by drugs, prostitution and their attendant crimes. Poverty made it harder to fight back. So did the lack of a decent place for kids to play.

The movement to transform the site of Seaside Hospital into Seaside Park began when O’Neill was mayor and Jenny Oropeza—the late state senator—was the First District representative on the Long Beach City Council. That’s a long time ago. O’Neill has been out of office for almost five years and Oropeza has been succeeded by Bonnie Lowenthal and Robert Garcia.

“We knew this would be a wonderful use of the land,” O’Neill said. “But wonderful change takes time. Maybe we didn’t know it would take this much time, but fortunately everyone remained true to the goal.”

Among the big steps along the way were Supervisor Don Knabe’s efforts to transfer ownership of some land from Los Angeles County to the City of Long Beach and the investment of $4.6 million by the Long Beach Redevelopment Agency to purchase and tear down a problematic apartment complex.

“With all the changes, well, I couldn’t find it today,” O’Neill said. “We were driving by and saying, ‘Are you sure?’”

But it’s not as though a couple of wrong turns had tied her in any knots—or could, after all her experience at events like this.

As always, O’Neill was the picture of composure, her short auburn hair perfectly coifed, her earth-toned suit-and-scarf ensemble as sharp as a tack. Already her eyes were calmly scanning the jam-packed park until they locked in on a far corner where final preparations for the dedication ceremony were being assembled. Garcia, Lowenthal, Knabe and Mayor Bob Foster.were already mustering. Work crews were positioning park benches with plaques honoring O’Neill, Lowenthal and Knabe. A tree stood ready to be planted in a living tribute to O’Neill’s birthplace.  

She checked the time. “Fifteen minutes,” she said softly, mostly to herself, staying put for a moment so as to soak it all in. But that was all the time it took for some former constituent to come up and say hello.