Such web traffic undercuts the idea that the internet, and modern technology more generally, will be a panacea for our psychological problems; that on it, the lonely will connect and forge new, virtual communities. Indeed, what becomes clear from these postings is that the internet is not enough. Newcomers to L.A. want real, face-to-face connection with people, not mere virtual exchanges. But where to find them? That question is not new, for generations of Americans on the move faced similar quandaries as they tried to forge a sense of home in new locales. The difference is that contemporary Americans are often unprepared socially and psychologically for the problems of relocation, while their grandparents were somewhat better equipped.
In 1946, writer Carey McWilliams described life in Los Angeles in the early decades of the twentieth century. He sketched a portrait of a town beset by a mood of “aching loneliness—the really terrible loneliness—that for years has been so clearly apparent in the streets and parks, the boarding houses and hotels, the cafeterias and ‘lonely clubs’ of Los Angeles.” Many of those who suffered most from such feelings were those who had recently moved to the city from out of state. To find some sense of social connection, transplants turned to state associations, where they could find others from their home states. C. H. Parsons, a transplant from Iowa and the driving force behind them, claimed that the groups “liquidated the blues.” In 1913, he founded the Federation of State Societies, which by the 1920s had 500,000 members. Parsons was inspired to organize these groups because he “so frequently heard the expression, ‘If I could only run into some one I know,’ in the streets of Los Angeles.’”
Their success was staggering. The associations held social events and offered aid to fellow migrants. Most famous of all were their picnics, held at least annually and in some years, more often. Biggest of all were the Iowa picnics. In 1900, 2-3,000 Iowans living in southern California attended; by 1913, 20,000 were attending; and by 1935, picnickers topped 100,000. As they grew, they became iconic rituals—so important that often the Governor of Iowa himself attended. The Los Angeles Times reported of the 50,000 Iowans who gathered at the 1950 picnic that they had come “to greet former neighbors and friends. . . . To talk about old times. To talk about home.”
These picnickers found a way to offset the loneliness and pain of relocation, a loneliness that today we are sometimes loathe to admit exists because it seems to contradict who we think we are as a people. So often the history of America has been painted as one of untempered optimism, of forward looking movement, of restless individuals able to cut ties and move on, leaving their homes and pasts behind them. Americans, of course, did and do move in large numbers, and California has long been a destination for their migrations. However, like so many who came West, the thousands of Iowans who moved to southern California in the early twentieth century found the move more difficult than they could imagine. They made the discovery that mobility has a flip side of homesickness and longing. Unlike us, however, they were accustomed to joining organizations—from the Masons to the Odd Fellows to the Moose—and they flocked to state associations and state picnics with enthusiasm. They were rewarded with camaraderie and community.
One feels sorry for Americans who move around the country today. With our declining interest in civic associations, and our tendency to “bowl alone,” we shy away from the organizations that earlier generations created to offset the loneliness of life on the move. Admittedly, such groups still flourish in some quarters: Immigrants in Los Angeles from Mexico, El Salvador, Guatemala have created and sustained numerous hometown clubs and associations. Native-born Americans, however, have not. That is a loss, for these groups fill a need that transplants still have—they connect people, both with other newcomers and with homes left behind but not forgotten. They are based on the fundamental principle that an Iowa picnic in Bixby Park beats a chat room in the ether any day.
