Mesa Musings:

Remember when Costa Mesa was called “Goat Hill?”

You don’t? Trust me, it was.

My family moved to the city from Newport Beach in 1951 — two years before it was incorporated. At the time, it had 15,000 residents in an area encompassing 3.5 square miles. Today its population is nearly 10 times that amount in a 16-square-mile area.

When I moved here, the Mesa was a semi-rural farming community with numerous small farmhouses and several tract-home developments. The term, “Goat Hill,” was a barnyard slur that I suspect was coined by our prosperous neighbors to the south.

My parents, my two siblings and I — somewhat reluctantly — left urbane Newport for the wilds of the tableland. My grandparents had purchased a home on Balboa Island shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. My parents met at Santa Ana Army Air Base (my dad was a staff sergeant there, my mother and grandfather were both civilian employees), and were married in 1944.

My parents — and later my brother, sister and I — lived in a small apartment behind my grandparents’ Balboa Island residence. My mom and dad were able finally to purchase a home in Costa Mesa in 1951.

As Costa Mesans, we were most respectful of Newport Beach. That respect went unrequited, however. If they thought about us at all, Newporters were inclined to judge our burg rather harshly. They were less than enamored with our city on a hill, and probably with good reason. Frankly, we were slightly bumpkinish.

We shared the same school district with the Newport glitterati, the same ocean breezes and practically the same garden plot on God’s green earth — yet, we were light years apart.

Whenever my family traveled on vacation, our response to the question, “Where y’all from?” was: “Newport Beach, near Disneyland.” We never said Costa Mesa because, frankly, no one east of Tustin had heard of it.

I remember in 1958-59, as a freshman at Costa Mesa High School, riding the “late-bus” (for kids on the athletic teams) almost daily to my Costa Mesa neighborhood. There were only two high schools in the Newport-Mesa school district at the time, Newport Harbor and Costa Mesa. All freshmen in the district that year were required to attend Mesa.

The late-bus left the high school about 4:30 p.m., went directly to Santa Ana Heights, then snaked through Eastside Costa Mesa, and finally wound through Newport Heights and ended up on the Balboa Peninsula.

At the time, Costa Mesa’s streets were notoriously rutted and cratered with potholes. Streets were never resurfaced in one fell swoop. Potholes were patched piecemeal, at a leisurely pace.

There were almost no curbs to be found along Costa Mesa’s byways. Open trenches bounded either side of the road. And, yes, you could spy the occasional tethered goat.

The Newport kids made certain I knew where I lived. Every time the bus hit a pothole — which was an almost continuous occurrence — up went the chant: “Goat Hill! Goat Hill! Goat Hill!” I can’t imagine how many bus axles we cracked that year. We Mesa kids, for the most part, sat silently and endured the indignity.

But that was 50 years ago and, my, how things have changed! Now known as “City of the Arts,” Costa Mesa is classy, one of Orange County’s showcase communities.

In 1948, OCC located its campus here and, eight years later, opened its Robert B. Moore Theatre. The Orange County Fairgrounds opened in 1949. South Coast Repertory (founded by OCC alumni) was launched in 1964, and South Coast Plaza began in 1967. The Orange County Performing Arts Center was completed in 1985. Segerstrom Concert Hall and the Samueli Theatre held grand openings in 2006. Our self-esteem was boosted with each successive unveiling.

Drive through town today on the “late-bus” and you’ll discover that the city of Costa Mesa takes a back seat to no other! Even our neighbor to the south now grudgingly gives us its props.

Take a bow, “City of the Arts.” You’ve come a long way, baby!

JIM CARNETT lives in Costa Mesa. His column runs Wednesdays.