S2. E16. Averill Park

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📍 There's a place in San Pedro where time slows down. A place tucked into the hills above the harbor, where waterfalls run beneath stone bridges, koi fish glide through shaded ponds, and generations of harbor-area families have quietly built memories for more than a century.

And somehow, most of Los Angeles has no idea it even exists.

This is Averill Park.

Today, I want to tell you the story of one of the most beautiful and historically important parks in the harbor area—how it came to exist, who built it, and why this small ten-acre park tells a much bigger story about San Pedro.

📍 Because Averill Park isn't just a park. It is a philosophy. It is a time capsule. And in many ways, it's a love letter to San Pedro itself.

I'm Joel Torres, and this is the Harbor Area Podcast.

If you've never been to Averill Park before, it can feel almost surreal the first time you walk into it, especially if you've spent most of your day surrounded by the realities of the harbor area. Then suddenly, you step into this hidden green oasis.

📍 Waterfalls, streams, stone bridges, large trees arching overhead, birds everywhere. You hear flowing water instead of traffic.

📍 You hear ducks instead of engines.

And unlike many Los Angeles parks, Averill Park doesn't feel flat or overly planned. It unfolds slowly. There are stairways, elevation changes, winding paths, and layered landscapes. It feels intimate, almost secretive.

And during springtime, especially when the jacaranda trees bloom, parts of the park explode into shades of purple.

It becomes cinematic.

You almost forget you're standing in one of the most industrialized regions in America.

And maybe that contrast is exactly what makes this park so beautiful.

📍 To really understand Averill Park, you have to go back to the early 20th century—to a very different San Pedro.

At that time, the harbor area was rapidly transforming. The Port of Los Angeles was expanding aggressively. Shipping traffic was increasing. Oil drilling operations were spreading throughout the region. Railroads connected the harbor to the rest of the country. Fort MacArthur was becoming a major military installation overlooking the Pacific.

San Pedro was booming.

This was a working-class port town filled with laborers, immigrants, fishermen, railroad workers, longshoremen, and industrial activity.

And in 1909, San Pedro officially became part of the City of Los Angeles.

That annexation changed everything because Los Angeles understood something very clearly: the harbor represented economic power. The future of Southern California depended heavily on the Port of Los Angeles.

But rapid industrial growth created another problem.

How do you keep a town livable when industry begins dominating the landscape?

That question was being asked all over America during this period. It wasn't unique to Los Angeles.

And the answer many planners arrived at was parks.

Beautiful public spaces. Places where ordinary people could escape urban stress and reconnect with nature.

Now, when we hear the phrase "public park," it sounds normal. But in the late 1800s and early 1900s, large public parks were actually considered revolutionary urban planning.

There was a growing belief that beauty itself mattered. That public space mattered. That access to nature could improve people's physical health, mental health, and even civic behavior.

The most famous example of this philosophy was Central Park in New York, designed by Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux.

Now, let me clear something up here.

There is a myth that the same person who designed Central Park also designed Averill Park.

Well, guess what, folks? That's not true.

📍 Frederick Law Olmsted did not design Averill Park.

Frederick Law Olmsted was the father of American landscape architecture, best known for Central Park in New York and Boston's Emerald Necklace park system.

His core idea was that parks were not just pretty spaces. They were public health infrastructure—the lungs of the city—giving urban residents beauty, recreation, calm, and access to nature.

The City Beautiful movement came later, especially during the 1890s and early 1900s, and pushed cities to use parks, boulevards, civic buildings, monuments, and grand public spaces to create order, beauty, and civic pride.

So no, Averill Park was not designed by Frederick Law Olmsted.

But it belongs to a broader American story that Olmsted helped shape: the belief that parks could civilize, beautify, and improve urban life.

The story of Averill Park really begins with four people from Maine: George Averill, Horace Averill, Herbert Averill, and their brother-in-law, Harry Weymouth.

Do those names sound familiar?

Together, they formed the Averill-Weymouth Company.

They weren't simply developers. They were among the people who helped shape the physical identity of modern San Pedro.

The Averills came from Maine and had business interests in New England before turning their attention to Southern California during the great land development boom of the early 20th century.

When they arrived in San Pedro around 1918, they saw something most people didn't see yet: the future.

The Port of Los Angeles was rapidly expanding. Railroads were growing. Industry was arriving. Population was increasing. The harbor was becoming one of the most strategically important economic assets on the West Coast.

One of the defining moments in their story was the purchase of the old Dodson Ranch.

The property consisted of approximately 800 acres of rolling hills overlooking San Pedro and the harbor. The land had previously been associated with the Sepulveda family and later Rudecinda Sepulveda de Dodson.

According to local historical accounts, Horace and George Averill toured the property and immediately recognized its potential.

The purchase became the foundation for what would become Vista del Oro.

The Averill-Weymouth Company marketed a vision.

Vista del Oro was planned as an attractive residential district with wide streets, harbor views, landscaped surroundings, public open space, and higher-quality residential construction.

The name itself means "View of Gold."

That wasn't accidental.

The neighborhood sat on elevated terrain with spectacular views of San Pedro Bay, the Pacific Ocean, the harbor, and Catalina Island.

They were selling beauty as much as they were selling real estate.

The smartest thing they ever did may have been creating Averill Park.

Today, we'd call it placemaking.

And in the 1920s, before the term existed, they understood something modern urban planners still talk about:

People don't just buy homes.

They buy neighborhoods.

They buy experiences.

They buy an identity.

Averill Park became the centerpiece of Vista del Oro.

Instead of maximizing every acre for development, they reserved a portion for a landscaped public park and eventually donated it to the City of Los Angeles.

That decision increased the desirability of the surrounding neighborhood while creating a lasting public asset.

And a century later, people still visit the park.

That's extraordinary in itself.

Of all the family members, Herbert Averill is probably the most interesting.

Historical accounts generally credit him as the driving force behind the design and layout of Averill Park.

He reportedly incorporated natural springs into the park's water system, designed the pond network, planned pathways, and oversaw landscaping concepts.

In modern terms, Herbert was acting as the developer, planner, and landscape designer all at once.

That's the reason the park feels so cohesive today.

Their developments helped establish Vista del Oro as one of San Pedro's most desirable residential neighborhoods.

What makes the Averill-Weymouth story compelling isn't that they built houses. Lots of people build houses.

What's unusual is that they seem to have genuinely believed that beautiful public spaces increase quality of life.

They were trying to build a community.

And unlike many early developers who disappeared into history, their work is still visible.

Every time someone walks across a bridge in Averill Park, feeds a duck in the pond, takes a wedding photo, or simply listens to the water, they're interacting with a vision created more than a hundred years ago by the Averill-Weymouth Company.

Were the Averills simply savvy developers creating a value-added amenity for their neighborhood?

Or were they civic visionaries who believed public beauty could actually improve people's lives?

The answer is probably both.

And that's what makes their story worth telling.

One of the most fascinating details about the park is the water system.

It reportedly followed the path of a natural spring already flowing through the property.

Instead of flattening the landscape or forcing the land into a rigid grid, Herbert Averill appears to have worked with the natural terrain.

And I think that's one of the reasons the park still feels so organic today.

It feels alive.

It feels discovered rather than manufactured.

The streams wind naturally through the space. The hills create movement and depth. The bridges connect small sections, almost like scenes in a movie.

The official dedication of Averill Park took place on March 4, 1921.

Think about that for a second.

More than a hundred years ago, someone intentionally preserved this land for public enjoyment.

What fascinates me most about Averill Park is where it exists.

Because this park sits inside a region that has historically carried enormous industrial burdens.

And yet, hidden within all of that is this peaceful landscape designed entirely around beauty.

That contrast says something important about public space, especially in working-class communities.

Parks like Averill Park remind me that communities connected to industry still deserve beauty, tranquility, and places to gather.

But the real history of Averill Park isn't just found in archives or development records.

It's found in memory.

If you grew up in San Pedro, chances are this park became part of your life somehow.

Feeding ducks as a kid. Walking the bridges. School field trips. Family picnics. Graduation photos. Engagement shoots. Weddings. Quinceañeras. Scout memories. First dates.

People form emotional relationships with this place.

And over time, those individual memories become collective community history.

Today, Averill Park remains one of those hidden gems in Los Angeles.

It is still maintained by the City of Los Angeles Department of Recreation and Parks.

It is still quietly sitting above the harbor area, filled with ducks and koi fish.

And somehow, nobody can fully explain how the koi fish got there.

But maybe that's fitting.

Because Averill Park still feels a little mysterious. A little hidden. A little disconnected from the pace of modern life.

And maybe that's exactly why people continue returning to it generation after generation.

I think what moves me most about Averill Park is that somebody built this place believing the future mattered.

Believing that public beauty mattered.

Believing that communities needed spaces where people could breathe, slow down, connect with nature, and connect with each other.

And one hundred years later, that decision is still shaping people's lives.

That's powerful.

Especially today.

Because in a town focused on development, expansion, and speed, Averill Park reminds us that preservation matters too.

That thoughtful public space can outlive all of us.

And maybe that's the real legacy of Averill Park.

Not just the waterfalls, the bridges, or even the history.

But the idea that places can shape communities for generations.

If you've never been to Averill Park, go.

Walk slowly.

Listen to the water.

Cross the bridges.

Look at the trees.

And remember that this little oasis in San Pedro exists because somebody, more than a century ago, believed this community deserved something very beautiful within it.

📍 This has been the Harbor Area Podcast.

I'm Joel Torres.

Thank you for listening.