I didn’t go to UCLA. But on a recent Sunday, I went there. By car, that is.
A self-guided tour of a portion of the campus is in the book “Walking L.A.,” which I’ve been using for picturesque sightseeing around the city.
“UCLA is one of the most well-known campuses in the state’s famed University of California system,” writes author Erin Mahoney Harris. Her route, she says, takes in “innovative artwork, classically beautiful architecture and a lovely botanical garden that has evolved over several decades.”
What’s not to like — unless you’re a USC alumnus? (USC, incidentally, is a separate tour.) As a Midwesterner by birth, I attended the University of Illinois, so in this local rivalry I am a dispassionate observer.
Setting off from my house in Claremont for this trip, I had gone only one block when I pulled over with an alarming thought. What if the campus is closed? A quick Google search showed that it is.
Still, the walking route does not take in the entirety of the campus. One stop, the Franklin Murphy Sculpture Garden, was recently toured by an arts writer and praised. And this was a Sunday, a day that might draw the least number of people and scrutiny. I decided to trust to fate and forge ahead.
Los Angeles — news flash — is a big place, and even as a frequent visitor, there are large swaths I haven’t seen. UCLA was among them. I parked in a residential neighborhood a block from the starting point, the northeast end of the campus, and started walking.
The sculpture garden was the first point of interest. It’s a broad lawn with buildings on three sides, sculptures dotting the scene. They’re set in the grass, around the edges of the garden and along the walkways, some 70 altogether, said to be the largest outdoor sculpture garden on the West Coast.
I had a sense of anticipation, because I like art, and my last visit to an art museum was in January. This open-air permanent exhibit was going to be a treat. Once I rounded the bend past a burbling fountain, a sense of relief hit me.
That’s because the garden was populated by 20 or 30 people — none of them security.
Feeling relaxed, I made my way around the perimeter, starting with two columns topped by small female dancers — tiny dancers? — by Robert Graham and a series of wooden branches in the outline of a grazing horse by Deborah Butterfield. A reclining voluptuous nude with the head of a squid was by Henri Laurens, although suggestive of H.P. Lovecraft.
Alexander Calder, best known for his whimsical mobiles, was represented by “Button Flower,” a stationary piece.
A sculpture that did move was not by Calder but by George Rickey. A slender, Y-shaped metal pole stood alone, each arm of the Y holding a second metal pole on a hinge. The breeze, and their own momentum, sent the free arms swinging in high, wide arcs. It was marvelous: art in motion.
In the center of the lawn were 10 middle-aged people in camp chairs, seated in a socially distanced circle. They were a few yards beyond a sign reading “Campus is Closed.”
Back near my starting point, I belatedly looked up a map of the sculpture garden online. A wall panel at almost the farthest point from where I was standing had three reliefs by Matisse, which I had missed. Having a lot of walking ahead of me, I turned my back and pressed on.
I did, however, stop to seek out a piece by Aldo Casanova, in life a fellow resident of Claremont. I spent a moment in front of it in homage.
Continuing south took me past Bunche Hall, Luvalle Commons, Dodd Hall and the sycamore and fig trees of Dickson Court. A friend is attending the School of Law, but virtually. I took a photo of the exterior. I may have been closer to it than she’s been.
Farther along was the Historic Quad, with Powell Library on one side and Royce Hall on the other. These are two of the four adjacent grand, Italianate buildings that give the campus a traditional university feel.
I’ve seen a photo of the nascent UCLA campus in the late 1920s when Westwood consisted of little more than these four buildings rising from an empty plain, no other structures for a mile. It struck me as a hopeful scene, but also a bit comical, like a skyscraper in a cornfield. But look at Westwood today.
Just beyond were the Janss Steps, a very wide staircase leading down to the western part of the campus. Only a few people were around.
Two young joggers raced up the stairs. At the top, one exclaimed to the other, “You want to do this 10 times?!” As they caught their breaths, I walked down the stairs, then walked up them — 87 steps — for the exercise before going down again.
I made my way to the statue of the university mascot, a 10-foot-long bear with fangs bared — Joe Bruin! — then followed the route south toward the botanic garden, the last highlight.
Naturally, the 7-acre garden was closed, the gates locked. At some point my luck had to run out. The garden looked serene through the chain-link fence. Ah, well.
By the time I got back to my car, I’d done about two miles of walking. Famished, I pondered lunch.
I drove to Westwood Boulevard. A stretch of Iranian cafes, ice cream shops and other businesses catering to the largest Iranian population outside of Iran is nicknamed Tehrangeles. It was another place I’d heard of but never seen.
Taste of Tehran had made the “LA 101” list last year of the best restaurants. I ordered a salad of lentils, quinoa, raisins and dates, took a seat at a table on the sidewalk and waited in the breezy, chill afternoon. It was a sunny day but my table, alas, was in the shade.
The salad was, thankfully, warm. It was also delicious. I’d never tried Iranian food, but this hit the spot, a spot I didn’t know I had.
It was too cold to linger, so after this culinary exploration, which followed a campus exploration, I headed for home. This had been a successful outing.
Thanks for the education, UCLA.
David Allen writes Sunday, Wednesday and Friday, three days to drop out. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, visit insidesocal.com/davidallen, like davidallencolumnist on Facebook and follow @davidallen909 on Twitter.
