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Klan controversy surrounds Fullerton historic home designation

Klan controversy surrounds Fullerton historic home designation

Overlooking Fullerton Stadium, a pistachio-hued Craftsman bungalow first built in 1917 now finds itself at the center of a Klan controversy more than a century later.
A narrow Fullerton City Council majority voted on Tuesday to designate the former Hillcrest Drive home of Louis E. Plummer a historical landmark, but not without overriding a dispute over how to do so.
An education pioneer, Plummer served as a longtime superintendent of Fullerton High School and Fullerton College.
According to a membership list gone missing from the Library of Congress in Washington D.C., he also belonged to the Ku Klux Klan in Orange County during the 1920s.
Plummer's name has been the subject of controversy in Fullerton before.
In 2020, the Fullerton Joint Union High School District board of trustees voted to remove his name from a Fullerton High School auditorium after an online petition gathered more than 25,000 signatures in support.
The year before, President's Advisory Council of Fullerton College decided to take Plummer's portrait down from the campus library.
Jose Trinidad Castañeda, a former Buena Park City Councilmember, raised questions about the designation at Tuesday's council meeting in light of the Klan connection.
'Plummer was a notable figure in Fullerton, but also an active member of the KKK,' he said. 'I'm not sure if we're designating the Plummer house with that name… into the historic preservation code. I would want to caution [against] memorializing the name, though I do want to credit the architectural features.'
The application for the historical designation lists the property as the 'Louis E. Plummer House' while lauding its Craftsman architecture with Victorian and Revival elements. Plummer lived in the house, built by William Campbell, for a few years before moving to a bigger Fullerton home to accommodate his growing family.
Fullerton Councilwoman Shana Charles sought to designate the Hillcrest house without naming it after its controversial first resident.
'I'm glad that we're designating historic landmarks, and it's based on the architecture, but I would like to have a motion where we would approve this petition, but maybe not call that the Louis Plummer home, because that would be what was on the plaque,' she said.
Councilmember Nick Dunlap, who had earlier called for a vote to approve the historical designation of the home alongside two others, called Charles' proposal 'unnecessary.'
Ernie Kelsey, president of Fullerton Heritage, was invited to speak as council members disagreed on how to designate the house.
Kelsey noted that the nonprofit has tried to 'clear Mr. Plummer's name,' especially amid the auditorium debate years prior, though he acknowledged that Plummer associated with Rev. Leon Myers, the Exalted Cyclops of the Orange County Klan at the time, on prohibition raids.
'There's nothing that shows that he was in [the Klan],' Kelsey claimed. 'Nobody can really see this supposed list of his name. We feel that his name has been sullied over the years.'
The Fullerton Joint Union High School District disagreed five years ago. It cited a 1979 doctoral dissertation on the Orange County Klan by UCLA history student Christopher Cocoltchos in an agenda item regarding renaming the auditorium.
As noted in his research, Cocoltchos used a Klan membership list housed at the Library of Congress, which he called a 'valid and complete catalog' of Klansmen through August 1924.
Cocoltchos, who taught history at Western Oregon University, not only identified Plummer as a Klansman using the list, but called him 'a leader in the Myers-led Klan' who joined in 1923.
But the list, which fueled the recall of four Klansmen from Anaheim City Council a century ago, went missing in 1982 and hasn't been found since.
A list donated to the Anaheim Heritage Center by former Anaheim City Atty. Leo Friis is believed to be a derivative by Library of Congress historians, but is missing a page where Plummer's name would appear alphabetically.
In the application to historically designate the Hillcrest house, Fullerton Heritage claimed that 'the accuracy of the list is difficult to ascertain' and later cited an oral history interview where Albert Launer, a former Fullerton city attorney, lauded Plummer as 'one of the finest citizens Fullerton ever had.'
TimesOC reviewed the 1968 Launer interview transcript that Cocoltchos also cited in placing Plummer in the Hooded Order.
Although there were names, like Plummer's, that Launer did not 'directly associate' with the Klan, he said Plummer 'fit in' as someone preoccupied with protecting youth from vice.
Despite Kelsey's comments, some Fullerton council members remained uncomfortable with a plaque that could be construed as a Plummer memorial.
'[Plummer] didn't build the house,' Councilmember Ahmad Zahra said. 'He was the first resident, right? 'Could the plaque just state that? It will be more historically accurate.'
Zahra asked if council members could vote on the historical designation for each of three houses separately.
The first two historical homes — the William N. Rollo House on Whiting Avenue and the Suters House on North Richmond Avenue — passed unanimously.
The council split 3-2, as is often the case on contentious issues, on the Hillcrest house.
Charles and Zahra voted to designate the house without the Plummer name. Mayor Fred Jung, Councilmember Jaime Valencia and Dunlap voted to keep the name on the forthcoming plaque.

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A treasure trove of new books to read during Pride Month
A treasure trove of new books to read during Pride Month

Washington Post

time6 hours ago

  • Washington Post

A treasure trove of new books to read during Pride Month

The dazzling variety of current and upcoming books on LGBTQ themes is a reassuring reminder of how far we've come. This year, fans of queer romance can read books set in the worlds of Formula 1 ('Crash Test'), clandestine Victorian clubs ('To Sketch a Scandal') and Italian restaurants ('Pasta Girls'). In July, Phaidon is publishing a lavish survey of global queer art as a companion piece to Jonathan D. Katz's Chicago exhibition 'The First Homosexuals,' while the queer Korean vampire murder mystery 'The Midnight Shift,' by Cheon Seon-Ran, will draw first blood in August. Joe Westmoreland's autofiction classic 'Tramps Like Us,' a sort of gay(er) 'On the Road' first published in 2001, is being reissued. Alison Bechdel is back. There are two new studies, one by Daniel Brook and another by Brandy Schillace, of the groundbreaking LGBTQ advocate and sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld, whose books were burned by the Nazis. Phil Melanson's entertaining historical fiction debut, 'Florenzer,' imagines the early life and same-sex longings of Leonardo da Vinci against the backdrop of a conflict between the Medici family and the Vatican. The novel, which owes a debt to Hilary Mantel's 'Wolf Hall' trilogy in the detail and immediacy of its telling, feels freshly contemporary in its papal intrigue and plutocratic power battles. These books — and those I discuss at greater length below — are variously warm, comic, sad, jubilant, curious, violent and erotic. Each has insights of its own to offer, but they're united by their awareness of the continuing vulnerability of lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans and queer people. 'Gaysians,' which is 'Flamer' author Mike Curato's first graphic novel for adults, doesn't shy away from violence, racism and transphobia, outside the community or within it. The colors of the trans flag give the book its dominant palette, working especially well for its many nightclub scenes. The story, about a group of young Asian Americans living in Seattle in 2003, is most powerful when Curato unleashes his more expressionistic side to capture different characters' traumatic flashbacks and glimpses of historical tragedy. But this darkness is offset by the story's cozy, reassuring focus on friendship and found family. Some may find Curato leaning too heavily on sentimentality — his 'gaysians' give themselves the cutesy name 'The Boy Luck Club,' riffing on Amy Tan's novel 'The Joy Luck Club,' and speak mostly in catty clichés, as if auditioning for 'Drag Race.' For me, this mawkish tendency stunted the book's emotional range. One of the most curious books of the season comes from 'the emerging field of queer ecology.' In 'Forest Euphoria: The Abounding Queerness of Nature,' Patricia Ononiwu Kaishian makes a powerful case for trying to understand nature without the artificial binaries and hierarchies of human societies. Though she is, by training, a mycologist — a fungi specialist — she embraces all life forms, a disposition derived from her understanding of diversity being nature's 'very premise.' Sometimes this embrace borders on the erotic; one might well blush reading how, 'turgid with spring rains, mushrooms carefully arrange themselves into fruiting bodies, poking up through the soil to disperse their spores.' True to its nonbinary ethos, the book is really many things: an account of growing up in New York's Hudson Valley surrounded by snakes and slugs; a survivor's memoir about the path to healing following a childhood sexual assault; a story about growing to love one's own 'ambiguous,' 'amorphous,' 'amphibious' nature. It can sometimes feel a bit more like a manifesto than a work of science — 'How we treat swamps is an indicator of our societal health' is a typical assertion — but the radical-green politics are all part of the book's charm. And while Kaishian's inclination to romanticism occasionally threatens to undermine her mission as a scientist, as it does when she claims she'd prefer the mysteries of eel reproduction to remain outside human knowledge, it's nevertheless a fascinating book that celebrates difference in unexpected ways. I certainly know more about snail sexuality than I did before I opened it. One of the summer's most hotly anticipated titles is 'Deep House: The Gayest Love Story Ever Told.' Jeremy Atherton Lin's follow-up to 'Gay Bar,' for which he won a National Book Critics Circle Award, is a strong cocktail of memoir, legal history and sociology. He proceeds along parallel tracks to tell the romantic (and very horny) story of his relationship with a British man he met in 1996 and the jagged path taken by American and British legislatures and courts to eventually grant basic rights to people in same-sex relationships. 'We were aliens in each other's countries,' he writes, 'because in our own we remained second-class citizens.' Lin beautifully captures the Bay Area at the turn of the millennium: the creeping gentrification, the tech bros, the video shops, the aging hippies. He's also not shy in his descriptions of sex of many kinds and configurations, with all the attendant sensations. (At times you can almost smell it.) The liberated familiarity of these scenes in our less-prudish age makes it a little jarring when Lin reminds us of the difference a couple of decades make. 'By the year 2000,' he writes, 'when we rented our first weird, damp apartment, eighteen states still had sodomy laws on the books.' He and his boyfriend — who overstayed his visa by years to remain with Lin in California — dreaded immigration authorities so much that they became 'convinced you couldn't go to a hospital without being deported.' The metaphysical impact on Lin's boyfriend, who is addressed throughout in the second person, was drastic: 'I think after years without legal status, you sometimes considered yourself to be insubstantial.' Reading Lori Ostlund's excellent new short-story collection, 'Are You Happy?,' I found myself reflecting indignantly on the subtitle Lin chose for 'Deep House.' Surely laying claim to being the gayest love story ever told — or the gayest anything, however flippantly — risks devaluing that which isn't quite so … overt? Promiscuous? Coastal? Male? Though Ostlund's stories dwell less on heady sex and front-line politics, other hallmarks of the LGBTQ experience are everywhere present. Her protagonists have parents who never accepted them and colleagues they never told about their significant others. They sleep with their partners in the basement on separate couches when visiting home. Ostlund's stories may be less graphic than Lin's memoir, but there's nothing less gay about them. Besides, the lesbian couple that runs a furniture store named after Jane Bowles's 'Two Serious Ladies' could hardly be gayer — that's a pretty sapphic bit of branding. Don't let 'Are You Happy?' pass you by: There's not a word out of place in these brilliant Midwestern sketches. They're lonesome, for sure: Family members greet each other from a distance, 'like two people on opposite banks of a fast-flowing river.' But they're also hilarious. 'How is it possible,' one character wonders, 'for a family to have two stories about eating glass?' Also set a little further from the madding crowd is Seán Hewitt's first novel, 'Open, Heaven,' which takes place largely in a 'foggy northern village' in England. It's all a bit reminiscent of the film 'God's Own Country' — in rural Thornmere, to be gay is to be lonely and furtive — though with more longing and less flesh. As in Lin's 'Deep House,' we're reminded of how recently the culture has shifted toward tolerance. When James, our sensitive, stammering hero, comes out in 2002, Britain is still a year away from repealing Section 28, a sliver of legislation that effectively quashed discussion of sexuality in England's schools, and he is left feeling like a stranger in the only home he's ever known. While delivering milk bottles one morning before school, he meets Luke, a boy lodging with his aunt and uncle while his dad is in prison. Before long the strong-jawed Luke is all James can think about — but does Luke feel the same way? The book's appeal may depend on its readers' willingness to take adolescent romantic longing as seriously as we do when we're young. It succeeds because Hewitt knows when to stop — he casts a spell, like first love, that he knows can't last forever. Or can it? Throughout this short book, Hewitt muses on the passage of time, the way 'the years spin like this all of a sudden,' and considers how easy it might be for time to fold in on itself and the world to revert to an earlier state, taking us with it. The consequences of such a regression for our narrator, and for us all, are potentially dire. We have plenty of regressions to worry about outside of fiction, not least from the Supreme Court, which hinted only last year that it may be willing to revisit marriage equality. Progress in immigration reform also appears vulnerable: Lin, who finished 'Deep House' before January, has observed of the crackdown under Trump that 'our paranoia has become the reality.' Yet there is some consolation to be found, amid all this, in the humor, hope and humanity in the stories still being told. Charles Arrowsmith is based in New York and writes about books, films and music.

A Trump Tariff Case Study: Can the U.S. Again Be the Power Tool King?
A Trump Tariff Case Study: Can the U.S. Again Be the Power Tool King?

Yahoo

time8 hours ago

  • Yahoo

A Trump Tariff Case Study: Can the U.S. Again Be the Power Tool King?

My DeWalt 20-volt cordless drill/driver combo set is a beaut—powerful, smooth, comfortable in the hand, and not too expensive; I got it on sale for about a hundred bucks. It's also a tribute to the wonders of the transnational supply chain, its components traversing the earth before they came together and found their way to my door. The drill and driver were made in Mexico, but their batteries were made in China, as were the battery charger and the handy tote bag that came with it. DeWalt, a brand familiar to every woodworker and DIY enthusiast, is a division of Stanley Black & Decker, a global conglomerate headquartered in Connecticut that owns brands including Craftsman, Porter-Cable, Bostitch, and many others. In 2024, it sold $15.4 billion worth of tools. While the company does some domestic manufacturing, its power tools—drills, saws, routers, and the like—are all made abroad. The same is true of most of the power tool brands you'll find at your local Home Depot or Lowe's; many started as American companies but are now part of multinational corporations that do little manufacturing in the United States. Your Milwaukee reciprocating saw and Ryobi sander may sound like they come from the U.S. and Japan, but both companies are owned by Techtronic Industries, which is headquartered in Hong Kong. Your dad called his circular saw a 'skilsaw,' but Skil is now owned by Chervon, a Chinese company. This is just the kind of industrial production President Trump would love to bring back to the U.S., and that, he assures us, tariffs will produce. It's part of a vision for what the American economy should be, where we make stuff again, a world-leading industrial machine humming with capability and power. That goal is shared across the political spectrum; you'd be hard-pressed to find a politician of either party who would say we shouldn't make more things in America. Unfortunately, there are serious impediments to achieving reindustrialization on a large scale, and Trump's policies are just about the worst way to go about it. The woodworking tool industry—what it is today and how it has changed in recent decades—offers a revealing window into the obstacles this effort will face. As a hobbyist woodworker for the last 20 years, I've accumulated a lot of tools. If you asked how many I have, I'd echo the quip gun owners often say: more than I need, but not as many as I want. A tour through my shop goes around the world—a couple of Japanese handsaws, a chisel set from the Czech Republic, a sander made by a German company but built in Malaysia, a table saw blade from Italy. The big machines—the table saw, jointer, and planer (the latter two are used for flattening and truing boards)—have American brand names but were built in Taiwan, which for years has been the place toolmakers go to find the skilled but relatively inexpensive labor that allows them to produce tools at lower cost than they can domestically. And lots of knickknacks from China. When I started woodworking 25 years ago, Chinese tools were mostly junk. That's no longer true; as in so many industries, the quality of Chinese manufacturing has rapidly improved, to the point where some of what is produced there is on par in quality with what is made in Europe or the U.S.—if those products are made in the U.S. at all. So what woodworking tools are still made here? The big companies may make some accessories here, but for the most part, the industry is confined to small manufacturers of relatively high-priced, niche products that don't even try to compete on price. For instance, I own a nice hand plane made by WoodRiver, the house brand of the retail chain Woodcraft; right now it sells for around $175. It was made in China, but it's solid quality, unlike some Chinese planes you can get on Amazon for 50 bucks. If you want to buy a similar American plane, you can get one from Lie-Nielsen, which does its manufacturing in Maine. It will cost you $385. I like my plane, but I'm told that using a Lie-Nielsen plane is almost a religious experience. When I told Deneb Puchalski of Lie-Nielsen about my plane, he scoffed. 'You know what that WoodRiver is? That is a direct copy of a Lie-Nielsen plane,' but made in China with cheaper labor and less exacting standards. There are other manufacturers that have carved out a similar space in the market. Woodpeckers, which manufactures in Ohio, makes measuring and marking tools, along with a variety of jigs and fixtures. It is considered the gold standard of quality; if you need a combination square that's accurate to 0.001 inches and has a host of innovative features, that's the brand you'd choose. It will also cost you $179.99. The last combination square I bought was made by Irwin Tools, which has been bought and sold many times since it was founded in 1885. Today, Irwin is another subsidiary of Stanley Black & Decker. My basic Irwin square, which was made in China, cost me $15. It may not spark joy, but it works the major spending bills Joe Biden signed—the Inflation Reduction Act, the CHIPS and Science Act, the bipartisan infrastructure law—his administration fashioned an industrial policy built on manufacturing, centered on both critical technologies such as semiconductors and 'place-based' interventions targeting struggling areas to create high-tech centers that could spur an area-wide revival. It may be some time before we know just how successful that strategy was (and it may depend on how much of it Trump decides to dismantle). But it was focused and limited. If we decided that we wanted to reshore production of a wider variety of goods—including something like power tools—could we do it? The answer is a qualified yes: We could, but it would have to be done methodically, and it would take a long time—years or even decades. The Chinese manufacturing system that today seems so powerful developed over an extended period, through a combination of determination, substantial government support, and an almost limitless supply of inexpensive labor. A retired manufacturing engineer told me that when his company began moving production to China two decades ago, they encountered a mirror image of their domestic challenges: When they needed to make an alteration to their domestic U.S. production, the key question was whether more labor would be involved; material costs were trivial in comparison. Their Chinese partners were only concerned about material costs and dismissed any concerns about labor; they could always hire plenty of workers for very little. Over time, China developed integrated manufacturing hubs that enable quick production of things like power tools: a company that makes motors, another company that makes injection molds, another that makes springs and screws, all working together and ready to contract with large corporations to produce their products. We still have that kind of integrated system in some sectors like autos, but much of it has departed. As for woodworking equipment, 'very little of it is made in the United States anymore, because the companies that made that stuff took their manufacturing overseas so they didn't have to pay American wages,' says Puchalski. We could rebuild those manufacturing ecosystems in the U.S., but we can't just wish it into existence. 'It took time to send all this stuff over to China, and it's going to take time to retrieve it all,' says economist Susan Helper of Case Western University, who served in senior roles in the Obama and Biden administrations, including managing industrial strategy. Tariffs can play a role in that process, but they would have to be carefully designed and predictable enough to allow businesses to do long-term planning. They would have to remain in place to give the domestic industry time to develop, and account for the fact that even American manufacturers often need to import materials from overseas. Lie-Nielsen, for instance, gets iron ore from Canada. 'Sourcing material is always an issue, particularly with the political environment today. That could become crippling' if tariffs go too high, Puchalski says. 'Companies like ours that are relatively small are going to be hit the hardest.' Since foreign labor will be cheaper than American labor for the foreseeable future, any domestic manufacturer that wants to be competitive on price will have to get more out of each worker, which means automation. And that means creating fewer jobs than we might like. The Trump administration has circled around that problem. 'President Trump is interested in the jobs of the future, not the jobs of the past,' said Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent recently. 'We don't need to necessarily have a booming textile industry like where I grew up again, but we do want to have precision manufacturing and bring that back.' Precision manufacturing can offer good jobs, but not as many. In fact, this entire debate seems animated by a vision of a bygone time. 'Manufacturing jobs in the past have been good jobs,' says Susan Helper. 'I think that's less to do with something inherent in the nature of manufacturing and more to do with the time period in which the U.S. became a manufacturing power, which was also one in which unions were able to organize.' That ensured good wages and benefits. But the 'manufacturing wage premium'—the degree to which factory workers make higher wages than similar workers in other kinds of jobs—'has eroded quite significantly.' Not only that, she adds, 'it was never true that all manufacturing jobs were good jobs. Some of them were pretty terrible.' Just ask the women of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. Without unions, working in a factory isn't necessarily better than working in a Walmart or a Starbucks. And if we aren't talking about vital national security interests (relevant in the case of, say, semiconductors), there may be a limit to how much we want to invest in bringing production of goods like power tools back to the U.S., especially if it means drastically higher prices in the short run. Businesses will respond rationally to the incentives they have. Executives at Stanley Black & Decker said on their latest earnings call that they are migrating some of their manufacturing—the products destined for the U.S.—away from China to mitigate the risks associated with ongoing trade tensions. They didn't say where they were migrating it to, but Mexico—where my drills were made—is a good bet. At the end of our conversation, I told Puchalski that I've always wanted a Lie-Nielsen plane, but the purchase has been stuck in the 'someday' category. 'Someday could be tomorrow,' he said, assuring me that once I got one of their gorgeous American-made tools, I'd never go back. I'm sure he's right, but I haven't been able to bring myself to spend the money just yet.

Contrasting fortunes of two listed Victorian buildings on same street
Contrasting fortunes of two listed Victorian buildings on same street

Yahoo

time14 hours ago

  • Yahoo

Contrasting fortunes of two listed Victorian buildings on same street

On a street in north Belfast, two Victorian buildings with colourful histories sit facing each other. The Crumlin Road Courthouse and the Crumlin Road Gaol have had very contrasting fortunes since they both closed in the 1990s. The jail, which is owned by the Department for Infrastructure, has been transformed into a popular tourist attraction, a conference and wedding venue and is also now home to a whiskey distillery. Meanwhile on the other side of the road the courthouse lies empty and derelict. It has suffered numerous arson attacks and is a shell of its former self, with weeds and trees growing where its roof once was. However, new plans have now been submitted for a mixed-use development which could turn it into a hospitality, tourism, educational and commercial space. Both buildings were constructed in the mid-19th Century and designed by the architect Sir Charles Lanyon. The courthouse has changed hands a number of times since it closed in 1998 but various development plans have failed to get off the ground. Its new owners are hoping their proposals will prove more successful. Their plans include the restoration of the Victorian front of the building and the recreation of one of its courtrooms. A tunnel beneath the road, which connected the courthouse to the jail, would be reinstated and there would be a partial demolition and new build to the rear. Johann Muldoon, from Manor Architects, is involved in the new scheme. "For most of our heritage in Northern Ireland, we see all these proposals, but they really struggle to find a sustainable use that is economically viable," she said. "That is why I think a lot of our heritage seems to degrade." She hopes the mixed use plan for the site might improve its chances. "Why we have those proposed uses is to balance what we've got in terms of heritage offering, in terms of a tourism, against the commercial viability and the sustainability of it all." The sorry state of the courthouse stands in contrast to Crumlin Road Gaol on the other side of the road. Its former inmates included the likes of former Irish taoiseach (prime minister) Eamon De Valera, former Northern Ireland first minister Ian Paisley and IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands. It closed as a working prison in 1996 and is now a popular tourist attraction where the public can visit the cells and learn about its history. Local historian Tom Liggett, who used to give tours of the jail, thinks it is essential that its past is never forgotten. "While there are people who take a stance that all this should be destroyed and you should forget about it, I wouldn't agree with that," he said. "I think local history is told from our perspective - a working-class perspective - and it's hidden and it shouldn't be hidden." Last year a whiskey distillery opened in one of the wings. John Kelly, chief executive of McConnell's Irish Whisky Distillery, was among those behind the development. "A wing lay derelict for many, many years, and we saw the opportunity of bringing the McConnell's story, dating back to 1776, into a wonderful heritage listed building," he said. "For us, it's three parts of the business: it's the brand, it's the distillery and it's a wonderful tourist attraction." So can the courthouse learn anything from its opposite neighbour and should we as a society do more to protect our built heritage? Rita Harkin, the Architectural Heritage Fund's development manager for Northern Ireland, said: "We have to be able to use these buildings to tell our stories. "And that's a reflection of a city and a place that it's grown in confidence, to be able to look honestly at our past to use that to move forward." You can hear more on this story by listening to the latest episode of Red Lines. Belfast's Crumlin Road courthouse fire 'deliberate' The Crum: From conflict to concerts

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