Jockeying for social position, he was forced into horseplay

ROBERT GARDNER

Editor’s note: Today we begin repeats of The Verdict, the ever

popular column written for many years by retired Corona del Mar

jurist and historian Robert Gardner. The Daily Pilot has agreed to

republish the column in exchange for donations to the Surfrider

Foundation. This particular column was originally published Nov. 30,

1992.

Paul (Pappy) Palmer was one of the towering figures in the early

business world of Newport Beach. More important, Paul was a

thoroughly charming, delightful man with a marvelous sense of humor.

And, as we will see, Paul Palmer always went first class.

Paul came here in 1935 as the Lido Isle sales agent for the

Griffith Company, which had acquired a bunch of lots on that barren

stretch of sand. The next year, he started the Newport Balboa Federal

Savings and Loan Assn., which numbered among its founders such giants

of Newport Beach history as Joe Beek, Theo Robins, Sam Mayers, Ralph

Maskey and Lew Wallace.

From this rather humble beginning, Paul Palmer built a substantial

financial empire. However, life had not always been easy for Paul.

For instance:

One day, Paul invited me to lunch at the Arches to meet an old

friend of his whose name I have long since forgotten. I’ll call him

John Smith. With Paul’s smiling approval, John Smith told me the

following story of an incident in the younger days of Paul’s career.

It seems that when Paul and John started out in the real estate

business in the Los Angeles Pasadena area, they were, to put it

mildly, dirt poor. The Depression was in full swing and these two

young men lived together in a hand-to-mouth existence. Fortunately,

they had a tuxedo. Even more fortunately, they were the same size.

And so, as Mr. Smith told the story with Paul nodding agreement, they

would scrimp and save their pennies for a month, then at the end of

that month one of them would don the tuxedo and with the money they

had saved go out on the town with the commendable ambition of meeting

some affluent people who might possibly be of help to them as

aspiring young real estate salesmen.

And so it happened that one month it was Paul’s turn to go out on

the town. Attired in the community tuxedo and with their month’s

savings in his pocket, Paul ventured forth to rub elbows with and

hopefully make productive contact with wealthy potential clients.

Paul returned during the wee hours and tumbled into bed after

carefully hanging up the tuxedo.

From here on I’ll try to tell the story in the first person as

John Smith told it.

“The next morning the doorbell to the apartment rang. I went to

the door, looked around, saw no one, closed the door. Again, the door

bell rang. Again, I opened the door, looked around, saw no one and

was preparing to close the door when a voice from somewhere below me

said, ‘Is this Mr. Palmer’s apartment?’”

“I looked down. It was a very small man. At first, I thought it

was a gnome. I said, ‘Who are you?’”

“The small man said, ‘I’m Peter Jones.’” (Again, I make up the

name.)

“I said, ‘And just who are you, Peter Jones?’”

“The little man said, ‘I’m Peter Jones. I’m a jockey. Last night,

Mr. Palmer hired me to ride the horses in his stable.’ ‘’

As I say, Paul Palmer always went first class.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge.