By Félix Gutiérrez, Guest Author
On this summer’s 100th anniversary of Monrovia Municipal Plunge, now home of the Monrovia Historical Museum, it was posted online that plunge doors opened in 1925 “for swimmers of all ages”. All ages: Yes. All colors: No.
From 1925 until 1949, the Monrovia Municipal Plunge enforced segregated swimming days limiting when people of color could use the pool.
From 1925 until 1949, the Monrovia Municipal Plunge enforced segregated swimming days limiting when people of color could use the pool.
How Monrovians of Mexican descent and others fought for equal rights in the plunge and elsewhere is colorfully displayed on a four-sided Monrovia Public Art Neighborhood Treasure on the sidewalk in front of the history museum, once the pool’s entrance.
The artistic monument created by international artist José Antonio Aguirre honors Monrovia Latinos and my family’s Monrovia history, both worth noting during Hispanic Heritage Month mid-September to mid-October.
Featured are my grandfather Francisco J. Gutiérrez and father Félix J. Gutiérrez, role models and advocates for integration in decades of segregation. Tiles with artworks, news articles, photographs, quotes and ephemera show Monrovia’s lives and times from the 1900s to the 1950s.
My grandfather Francisco was an early 20th century Monrovia cement contractor whose works included sidewalks, driveways, curbs and irrigation canals across the San Gabriel Valley. His 1920s “F.J. Gutierrez Contractor” imprint is displayed on Monrovia sidewalks.
One day while driving he nudged son Félix to look out the window toward the Recreation Park space. “They’re going to build a swimming pool there,” he said. “I have the contract for the cement work.”
My six year-old future father Félix excitedly looked forward to splashing in the plunge his father would help build. But shortly before its opening, Francisco learned the city pool he worked on every day would be open only one day a week to Mexican Americans and other people of color.
By extending segregation to the new city plunge pool Monrovia broke U.S. government promises of equal rights to California Mexicans.
My grandfather Francisco was born in 1871 in the San Gabriel Valley, where our family has lived since it was part of México. The U.S. declared war to take Alta California’s land and people from México. In 1847 both governments signed a treaty peacefully ending the bloody warfare with a promise that “equal rights and privileges are vouchsafe to every citizen of California as are enjoyed by the citizens of the United States of America.”
But the treaty’s “equal rights” promise was not kept. The Gutiérrez family and other Californios soon faced new “Greaser Laws” and other discrimination. Treated as “strangers in their own land,” we challenged the unequal treatment and looked to prove our equal worth by working with Whites and on our own.
Grandfather Francisco did both, working for White Monrovia general contractors and then going into business as a cement contractor before 1920. He was Monrovia’s only Latino business owner, paid by the city for public works projects.
Like some Mexicans moving with White society, Francisco Anglicized his name to “Frank” on business cards. He role-modeled integration in Monrovia by hiring multiracial work crews, joining the Knights of Columbus and Chamber of Commerce and was the only Spanish-surnamed member of Native Sons of the Golden West.
My grandfather worked to build an integrated life in a segregated society, making ties with Whites while proudly honoring the Gutiérrez family Californio heritage and enjoying Méxican culture, food, and family. Personally, Francisco was accepted and professionally his work was respected within the segregation limits of the times.
Classified as White for potential World War I military service, Grandfather Francisco was legally White, but treated as less than White. Although he never lived in México, he was considered Mexican.
The home he built for his family was on Huntington Drive “south of the tracks”, Monrovia’s segregation line. His work was good enough for him to lay cement every day for a city plunge, but his sons would be able to swim only one day a week.
When Francisco told son Félix the sad plunge of segregation news he also showed him a way to counter discrimination. My grandfather told my dad to round up his friends at Recreation Park the evening before the plunge’s opening. Once they gathered, he took out his contractor’s key and unlocked the gate for the kids to jump into the plunge for a joyful splash and swim.
The children of color Francisco unlocked the gate for that night were the Monrovia Municipal Plunge’s first public users, not the White patrons who began 24 years of segregated city plunge swimming the next day,
The artistic monument created by international artist José Antonio Aguirre honors Monrovia Latinos and my family’s Monrovia history, both worth noting during Hispanic Heritage Month mid-September to mid-October.
Featured are my grandfather Francisco J. Gutiérrez and father Félix J. Gutiérrez, role models and advocates for integration in decades of segregation. Tiles with artworks, news articles, photographs, quotes and ephemera show Monrovia’s lives and times from the 1900s to the 1950s.
My grandfather Francisco was an early 20th century Monrovia cement contractor whose works included sidewalks, driveways, curbs and irrigation canals across the San Gabriel Valley. His 1920s “F.J. Gutierrez Contractor” imprint is displayed on Monrovia sidewalks.
One day while driving he nudged son Félix to look out the window toward the Recreation Park space. “They’re going to build a swimming pool there,” he said. “I have the contract for the cement work.”
My six year-old future father Félix excitedly looked forward to splashing in the plunge his father would help build. But shortly before its opening, Francisco learned the city pool he worked on every day would be open only one day a week to Mexican Americans and other people of color.
By extending segregation to the new city plunge pool Monrovia broke U.S. government promises of equal rights to California Mexicans.
My grandfather Francisco was born in 1871 in the San Gabriel Valley, where our family has lived since it was part of México. The U.S. declared war to take Alta California’s land and people from México. In 1847 both governments signed a treaty peacefully ending the bloody warfare with a promise that “equal rights and privileges are vouchsafe to every citizen of California as are enjoyed by the citizens of the United States of America.”
But the treaty’s “equal rights” promise was not kept. The Gutiérrez family and other Californios soon faced new “Greaser Laws” and other discrimination. Treated as “strangers in their own land,” we challenged the unequal treatment and looked to prove our equal worth by working with Whites and on our own.
Grandfather Francisco did both, working for White Monrovia general contractors and then going into business as a cement contractor before 1920. He was Monrovia’s only Latino business owner, paid by the city for public works projects.
Like some Mexicans moving with White society, Francisco Anglicized his name to “Frank” on business cards. He role-modeled integration in Monrovia by hiring multiracial work crews, joining the Knights of Columbus and Chamber of Commerce and was the only Spanish-surnamed member of Native Sons of the Golden West.
My grandfather worked to build an integrated life in a segregated society, making ties with Whites while proudly honoring the Gutiérrez family Californio heritage and enjoying Méxican culture, food, and family. Personally, Francisco was accepted and professionally his work was respected within the segregation limits of the times.
Classified as White for potential World War I military service, Grandfather Francisco was legally White, but treated as less than White. Although he never lived in México, he was considered Mexican.
The home he built for his family was on Huntington Drive “south of the tracks”, Monrovia’s segregation line. His work was good enough for him to lay cement every day for a city plunge, but his sons would be able to swim only one day a week.
When Francisco told son Félix the sad plunge of segregation news he also showed him a way to counter discrimination. My grandfather told my dad to round up his friends at Recreation Park the evening before the plunge’s opening. Once they gathered, he took out his contractor’s key and unlocked the gate for the kids to jump into the plunge for a joyful splash and swim.
The children of color Francisco unlocked the gate for that night were the Monrovia Municipal Plunge’s first public users, not the White patrons who began 24 years of segregated city plunge swimming the next day,
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