As recent events have reminded us, life can change in the blink of an eye. Toluca Lake and its surrounding areas saw everything turn topsy-turvy in the first week of March 1938, as torrential rains turned the normally placid L.A. River into a surging monster, devouring homes, land and people. This tidal wave of epic proportions caused the loss of more than 5,000 homes and businesses, left 1,500 uninhabitable, created 3,700 refugees, killed 115 Angelenos, left 127 missing and cost $78 million in property damages.
A rural oasis in the early decades of the 1900s, the San Fernando Valley had begun to change, with local communities growing as film studios flourished and construction boomed on low-lying land near rivers. Flooding served as a catalyst to speed this urbanization, as most farmers and ranchers lost their livelihood due to a lack of protective infrastructure. One lasting consequence of the 1938 maelstrom would be the concreting of the L.A. River, which prevented possible future devastation but destroyed the natural beauty of the channel, speeding the area’s transition from country to city.
Though it had received higher-than-normal rainfall in the 1930s, L.A. experienced some of its worst in 1938. Rain gauges and river washes overflowed by the end of February after steady downpours, approaching a 25-year high. The L.A. basin received more than 14 inches of rain by March 1, more than four inches above average, causing low-level flooding. At 8:45 p.m. that night, a storm of biblical proportions moved in, buffeting the coast with gale-force winds and dropping massive torrents of water that washed away dreams.
Hillsides in the San Gabriel Mountains received 33 inches of rain March 1 through March 3, more than they normally received in a year, while lowlands saw upward of 10 inches. Unable to absorb the deluge, the raging waters sped downward, destroying the Big Tujunga Wash levee and 77 of its spreading basins and other levees on their mad dash to the sea. The L.A. River reached a maximum flood stage of about 99,000 cubic feet per second. This violent surge left mud, boulders, uprooted trees, downed power lines, wrecked train tracks and home debris in its wake, burying some areas in 6 feet of sediment.
Low-lying ranches and farms adjacent to washes or riverbeds turned into huge lakes, destroying crops and flooding basements. The area from what is now Valley Village to Van Nuys disappeared under several feet of water, with fruits and vegetables floating away or rotting on the vine, and turkeys and other creatures drowning. Two police officers rescued a student drifting in a small boat near North Hollywood High School before it toppled over and they all drowned.
River bluffs crumbled and collapsed from the oceans of water. Many homes overlooking the normally calm L.A. River instead found themselves smashed by trees or pushed off their foundations by landslides, falling over banks and floating down the river or clobbered into bits. Actor Ralph Bellamy witnessed his newer home picked up by waters off Riverside Drive and thrown savagely into the rushing river. Parts of Lakeside Golf Course also crumbled into the stormy waters.
Raging gushes overwhelmed washes and tributaries, isolating neighborhoods. The land located between Lankershim Boulevard and the 101 Freeway and Vineland Avenue now called the Island gained its nickname when it actually became one for several days, thanks to the speeding waters. The Lankershim Boulevard bridge at the L.A. River collapsed and floodwaters inundated the neighborhood’s western flank around Bluffside Drive, which connected Lankershim with Vineland at the time.
Every bridge from Warner Bros. to Sherman Oaks washed away in the swirling waters, mere flotsam to the roaring currents. Even the concrete Lankershim Boulevard bridge just north of Universal proved no match for the monstrous flood. It collapsed on the night of March 2, taking the lives of five people who stood on it watching the terrible destruction to their neighborhood and nearby golf course. Universal Studios superintendent Ivan J. Fender told newspapers, “I saw 10 houses, a restaurant and the Lakeside Golf Course washed away.”
A footbridge connecting a large parking area with the Warner Bros. lot was smashed to bits, forcing the studio to employ two large trusses that normally served to support soundstage roofs as a suspension bridge, which was completed by March 7. Ironically, a large prop whale created for the film Public Wedding starring Jane Wyman escaped its mooring and floated down the river.
Rampaging floods mangled the Vineland Avenue streetcar bridge near the intersection of Aqua Vista Street, throwing half of it into the muddy river below. Part of the actual road itself also collapsed, preventing easy connection between Hollywood and the San Fernando Valley as streetcar service ground to a halt waiting for repairs. Nearby, the smaller Fair Avenue wooden bridge washed away, never to be rebuilt by the city.
The suspension bridge at the busy intersection of Ventura Boulevard and Colfax Avenue, near the eastern entrance to what was then Republic Studios, collapsed as well, taking a huge chunk of Ventura Boulevard with it. The loss of the bridge not only slowed traffic into the bustling studio, but also virtually halted road transportation between Santa Barbara and L.A. for several weeks.
For the next month, weary residents, utility workers and city employees cleaned up and removed the storm debris. Unfortunately, the state and federal governments lacked programs like today’s FEMA, with individuals receiving little money to rebuild unless they had insurance. The Pacific Electric Railway halted service for three weeks for repairs to downed bridges and crumpled track. Highway repairs took anywhere from two days to a week to make roads safe. The Academy Awards show was even postponed a week in reaction to the destruction.
The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers rushed to enlarge runoff areas and complete much-needed flood channels and storm basins and drains in and around the entire San Fernando Valley to combat future rampages of the unpredictable L.A. River. With the help of the Works Progress Administration (WPA), these “drainage doctors” — as historian Jared Orsi calls them — began a 20-year process to concrete the once winding river, straightening it and removing bluffside trees and brush while building such flood control basins as the Hansen and Van Nuys dams. Though these works served as garish eyesores for most of the year, they served to arrest potential flooding before it wiped out major infrastructure or population, proving instrumental in protecting the area from even larger deluges in 1969 and 2005. Locally, the paving of the river contributed to lowering the water table of the spring-fed Toluca Lake itself, causing it to gradually dry up until the bottom was graded and asphalted and the water refilled in the early 1950s.
Considered a 50-year flood at the time, the raging storms of 1938 decimated businesses and residential neighborhoods alike from the San Fernando Valley to downtown L.A. to Long Beach. Angelenos responded by rallying around their city and each other, comforting those who suffered losses while determinedly rebuilding infrastructure, homes and businesses — forever changed, but unsinkable in the face of disaster.
