Mooning the Amtrak

This is it.  Saturday July 13.

For the past 40 years, people have been mooning the passing Amtrak train as it grinds past a little dive bar in Laguna Niguel named Mugs Away Saloon.  The bar sits across the street from the railroad tracks, and if you go on the second Saturday in July, everyone elbows for a spot along the chain link fence for the honor of dropping their drawers.

Photo Credit Chuck Coker, Flicker

While the story origin varies depending on who is talking, tradition say that on July 14, 1979 a crusty regular of the dive bar offered to buy a beer for anyone who dared bare their backside to the next passing train.  Ever since then, people have been flocking to Mugs Away for the annual event. So Steeped in tradition, the Amtrak actually slows down on that day as it passes by.

For a while, the spectacle was getting quite raunchy.  What started out as a little prank grew into a full-blown, frat party-like atmosphere.  People brought their RV’s to park in some of the nearby parking lots in order to reserve a spot, tailgate, and watch the fun.

Mugs Away Saloon is a small, stifling little room with insufficient air conditioning, and on the day of the event they hire a really bad nostalgia band.  No matter. No one comes for the music.  They barely come for the beer anymore.  They just want to watch the debauchery unfold.

A few years ago, the Laguna Niguel police department “cracked down” on the mooning, as too many people were showing much more than a brief flash of butt.  The following year, things were much more subdued, but as time has passed people continue the push the envelope.  Skimpy (but legal) attire is often on display, as passengers on the train cheer and give thumbs up to the crowd.

If you want to take part, plan to arrive early, and stay late: Planning on doing a drive-by isn’t suggested. Some years people are required to demonstrate they have business along the route in order to pass. These days, most of the local shops just shut down. 

The address for Mugs Away Saloon is 27324 Camino Capistrano, Laguna Niguel, CA 92677

5 Out of 4 Ate Here

It was 1955, and Orange County looked to have a lot of tourist potential, provided all things went according to plan.  Sure, there were many who scoffed at the idea of an amusement park based on Mickey Mouse, but there were many who doubted Walt Disney before, and regretted it. 

So, just down Harbor Boulevard from where Disneyland was being constructed, Harvey and Charlotte found a piece of land where they could build a restaurant. The building was not that large, and sat about 35 people, but everyone knew about it for two reasons. First, Belisle’s was hard to miss. It was a bright pink landmark on the corner of Harbor and Chapman Avenue in Garden Grove.  Harvey chose pink because he liked the way it drew your attention, just as it did for the Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo.  

But Belisle’s Restaurant had one other famous caloric feature: the servings of everything on the menu were enormous.  No, not just big, or generous.  They were enormous. They served catfish, and hush puppies, beef ribs and meatloaf. They served stacks of pancakes and plates full of bacon. But these were not your average restaurant portions.  The Los Angeles Times once described the meatloaf “about the size of the crankcase,” and the generous portions extended to desserts too, in the unlikely event you felt like more food.  They had a banana split that looked like a mountain, and an enormous strawberry pie covered in whipped cream.

The place was open 24 hours a day and attracted people from all walks of life.  Many will say that Belisle’s was built to feed the crews who built Disneyland, but Disneyland and Belisle’s opened just months apart. Still, there were hotels that sprang up along Harbor, and construction workers were regulars.  And many notables stopped in as well, such as Ronald Reagan, Architect Phillip Johnson (Architect of the Crystal Cathedral, just east on Chapman), and even Cesar Chavez, who, as you might expect, requested that there would be no lettuce or grapes in his meal. 

Belisle’s started out small, but it grew over time.  The place was always packed, with lines waiting for the gluttonous portions of pancakes on Sunday Mornings.  For a while, a large man dressed in a chef’s hat would stand on the corner flagging cars to stop by… a novelty back then, but as the novelty wore off, Belisle’s upped the game by adding a little person also dressed as a chef.  They added wing on to the pink building, and a towering sign with a circus motif and changeable message board… though it almost always carried the same message: “5 out of 4 eat here.”

But all good things come to an end, and after 40 years, Belisle’s was closed and razed in 1995.  The city of Garden Grove was in constant search of something to lure tourist dollars to venture south and tried several times to come up with something… anything… that might work.  Their plan for the Belisle’s property was to build a world class hotel adjacent to a new “Riverwalk” shopping district, though the adjacent “river” was nothing more than a small wash.  Through eminent domain, Garden Grove seized the Belisle’s place… and then nothing happened. 

Maybe developers got cold feet.  Maybe the land was not fit for a large complex.  But for whatever the reason, Orange County mourned the loss of their beloved Belisle’s. Little did Garden Grove realize they just destroyed one of the best attractions they ever could hope for. Today there is a Red Robin on the corner where Fresh Pies were “daked baily,” and even though you can order bottomless steak fries, they pale in comparison to the load of potatoes you could get at the mighty little pink diner that once sat at the corner of Harbor and Chapman.

The Land You Couldn’t Give Away

Nellie stepped off the train at the El Toro station and looked at her surroundings.  It was hot and dry that day in 1903, and she knew already she was going to miss Washington.  Nellie gathered her things to load into the wagon. Again she looked at the brown hills, and kicked at the dry grass at her feet.  This was definitely not coastal Washington, where she had spent years as a teacher surrounded by green. “You couldn’t even give me this land!” she muttered, and got into the wagon.

John Gail, Nellie’s father, had served in the Civil War and had come west.  He was a respected shopkeeper and sold supplies to many of the local ranch owners.  He was amused by his daughter’s disgust.  John knew Nellie was accustomed to less-than-tropical areas.  Nellie had been born in Irving, Kansas, and spent her youth in Nebraska.  It wasn’t until she landed a job in Washington that Nellie found herself in more verdant surroundings. Besides. Nellie had visited him several times before.  This was no new visit to a remote desert. The grand Pacific Ocean was just a few miles southwest.

But on this trip, the striking Miss Gail drew the attention of one bachelor, some 24 years older than she.  Lewis Moulton was from a family of doctors and lawyers in Chicago, but Lewis was more attracted to “outside pursuits” rather than spending his daylight hours in hospitals and courtrooms.  He hit the road, to catch a ship from Boston to Panama.

He crossed the isthmus by train (the canal was not yet finished) and boarded another ship to San Francisco. He then embarked on yet a third ship heading south, and landed near Los Angeles.  From there he took a stage to Santa Ana, and it was in Orange County that Lewis Moulton decided to plant some roots. 

Lewis landed a job tending sheep for Charles French, and it wasn’t too long until he was able to buy French’s business for himself. By the time Nellie came to town, Lewis had built a substantial livestock business, gone through one marriage, and had earned quite a reputation for recounting stories about his travels, how his family had been important players in the revolutionary war, and of his father’s friendship with Abraham Lincoln.

So it happened one day that Lewis was in need of supplies, visited John Gail’s shop, and met Miss Nellie Gail, who’s charm the area’s most eligible bachelor could not resist.  They courted for five years and were married in 1908. They settled down at Lewis’s Rancho Niguel home, known by the indigenous folks as Rancho “nee-well.”  It wasn’t long that “Niguel” became “Nellie Gail.”

The land Lewis used was rented, but with financing from his family, he and his partner, Jean Pierre Daguerre bought land that spread all the way to Big Bear.  Daguerre died in a carriage accident in 1911, and the business changed several times as Orange County became attractive to settlers. They switched from sheep to cattle, and the business lingered until Lewis died in 1938.  Nellie, who was more of an artist than a rancher, left the business of running to ranch to her daughters and the daughters of Daguerre.

Much of the Moulton/Daguerre story is sad. Both sides went through losses, and eventually the future of Orange County was to be found in houses and tech businesses, not cattle and farms.  They dissolved the business and divided the property between the two families in the 50’s.  Gradually tracts of land were sold to developers, but Nellie held on to a relatively small piece of about 350 acres.  Postwar homes and shopping centers sprang up on the old land of Rancho Niguel, now called Laguna Niguel, Aliso Viejo, Lake Forest, and Mission Viejo.

In her retirement, Nellie Gail Moulton was an avid supporter of the arts. She was a founding member of Laguna's College of Art and Design.  She served as president of the Laguna Art gallery.  She gave generously as well to the Laguna Playhouse, now called the Laguna Moulton Playhouse. When she passed away in 1972, she left her remaining land to Chapman College. 

Chapman College did well with the land.  They sold it for $18,350,000 to developers, and the area is still referred to as Nellie Gail. Nellie Gail is today one of Orange County’s highest sought and continually valuable real estate locations.

The land she didn’t want turned out to be quite good for the strong young teacher and artist who came from Washington, met her husband, and married him. The Moulton’s shaped that land into the face of Orange County, and they will long be honored.