GROWING UP REPUBLICAN
By
Alijandra Mogilner
I was raised in small town California. Psychologically one place comprised of Claremont, Upland, and SOME parts of Ontario. Elections were taken for granted. There were discussions about who was to run the town in church, the Art Association, and the Women’s Club. The Daily Report published what had been decided in the how-to-vote column. Everyone actually went out to vote, but it was a social occasion. There was no excitement to see who had won; we knew. We knew that bond issues had passed -- don’t be silly, of course they did or they wouldn't have been on the ballot.
Everyone was a Republican. Actually, that isn't quite true. Dorothy Ring, who lived two blocks up the street from us, was both divorced and a Democrat. I wasn't allowed to trick or treat at her house. However, other than Ms Ring, there weren't any Democrats. She was so unusual that when she went in to vote someone would call out "the Democrat is here," and they'd get out her ballot while everyone peeked out to see what a Democrat looked like. Until I was in junior high I thought a Democrat was something that happened to you like an automobile accident.
Then things began to change in our area. Outsiders had discovered us. The bond issue for the new civic center complex in Upland was turned down! When the election results were announced Miss Dorothy took a drink in public. The mayor declared that the wrong people had voted and the election didn't count. It was called a library complex and built it anyway.
The proposal to allow stores to be open on Sunday did not fair so well. There was a campaign claiming that Sunday openings (except for restaurants of course) were unfair to true Christians who took the Lord's day off. There were claims that Sunday openings meant that the likes of the May Company would come into the area and force the small businessman out and give Jews an unfair advantage. I think that ad holding out the promise of a store more sophisticated than JJ Newberry was probably what helped the proposal to pass.
By 1970 or so Real Estate CC & Rs were declared illegal by the Supreme Court. One could no longer bar selling a house to the wrong ethnicity, religion, or occupation. It wasn't a question of African Americans moving next door; there weren't any until 1958. Here it meant someone with the wrong kind of name and who wasn't even a college professor, could buy a house north of the tracks in Claremont. Padua Hills could no longer be kept exclusively for working artists. Pilgrim Place, a few acres reserved for retired missionaries, was suddenly open to anyone if a house came up for sale. Editorials in the Daily Report newspaper said ACTORS could buy a house in Pilgrim Place. I wondered why an actor would WANT to live next to a missionary, but the point was, they could.
It meant there would be DEMOCRATS in town. It was a real palpable fear. My family acted like it was a disease that might be caught. About that time I was told that my mother's brother, Ed, had been killed and was asked to break the news to her gently. When mom came in I sat her down and gave her tea telling her to steel herself because I had some bad news. When I told her what had happened she looked immensely relieved. "Oh," she said and let out a sigh of relief. "I thought you were going to tell me you had registered Democratic."
