帕萨迪纳语音导览：老帕萨迪纳的桥梁、男爵与波西米亚人

Looking straight ahead, you’ll spot the Ambassador Auditorium - it’s the grand, modern-looking building in the center with tall glass walls, towering columns, and a serene reflecting pool out front, guarded by swaying palm trees. So, you’ve arrived at one of Pasadena’s best-kept secrets: the Ambassador Auditorium - and I hope you wore your most refined outfit, because this place was once so fancy, they actually called it the Carnegie Hall of the West. Picture yourself standing here in the 1970s, as the sun’s last golden rays bounce off the glass, and crowds in their Sunday best line up at the doors, clutching programs and clutching hopes for one magical performance. It all began when Herbert W. Armstrong had a grand idea: why not build a hall that could welcome both heavenly choirs and the world’s greatest musicians - a place to lift spirits whether someone was coming for church, college, or pure musical delight? Thus, in 1974, trumpets blared, strings soared, and the Vienna Symphony Orchestra opened the very first show. For the next twenty years, the Ambassador wasn’t just a building: it was a stage that glittered with legends. Imagine the velvet seats packed tight as Plácido Domingo, Luciano Pavarotti, Yo-Yo Ma, or Frank Sinatra himself belted out tunes that made this glass cube shake to its bones. Over 2,500 concerts took place here - so many music notes that, if you stacked them as pancakes, you’d probably reach the ceiling. This wasn’t just about music and glitz, though. In the 1990s, the story took a dramatic turn. The curtain fell, the music faded, and the grand old concert series ended as the Worldwide Church of God decided to focus their mission elsewhere. Like a bittersweet symphony, the college and auditorium were sold. The city watched as the campus was slowly carved up, with apartments springing up in place of old classrooms and library shelves. Yet, the Ambassador refused to let its stage go silent. In 2004, a new owner - Harvest Rock Church - swept in to revive the magic, flinging the doors open for public performances, orchestras, and tens of thousands more enchanted listeners. Now, as you stand here, the auditorium faces a new twist: it's up for sale once again, a cool $45 million if you fancy moving in - and who knows, maybe your footsteps are mingling with the echoes of Bing Crosby’s waltz or the last note Plácido Domingo sang. Stick around a moment, close your eyes, and you might just catch a ghostly piano chord drifting on the California breeze… Or maybe that’s just the friendly spirit of Pasadena’s musical past, tickling your ear.

To spot the Hulett C. Merritt mansion, just look ahead for a grand estate set behind a lush, colorful sunken garden bursting with flowers, hedges, and a central reflecting pool surrounded by greenery and stone steps. Now, as you stand in front of this magnificent spot, take a deep breath-the air here carries whispers of money, mystery, and a dash of good old Pasadena drama. Imagine it’s the early 1900s: Pasadena’s Millionaires’ Row is in its heyday, and you’d need an invitation-or a large bank account-to even set foot near this four-acre kingdom. This was Villa Merritt Ollivier, home to the iron ore tycoon Hulett C. Merritt himself. Now, Hulett wasn’t just rich-he was head-of-US-Steel, buried-in-cash rich. And he wanted his mansion to show it, building this 17,000 square foot palace for over a million dollars. If you listen closely, you might almost hear the clinking of champagne glasses at one of his legendary soirées. The Merritt estate became TV famous too, starring in the flashy opening scenes of “The Millionaire” back in the 1950s. A perfect fit, right? After Hulett’s death, the mansion got new life as “Ambassador Hall,” when it was enveloped by Ambassador College. They even closed off part of the street and built modernist classroom wings, which must have made the stately old home feel like the oldest kid at a college reunion. Picture strolling through the sunken gardens-lush lawns, endless flowerbeds, and the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. Decades later, the college closed, the modern wings vanished, and the mansion waited in silence, a little lonely, until it was offered to new owners in 2015. Millionaires’ Row has quieted now, but the Merritt mansion-whether an event hall or a hidden refuge-still keeps its air of secrets and sunlight, just waiting for someone to step into its story.

To spot the Richard H. Chambers United States Court of Appeals, look for a grand, light-colored Spanish-style building with a striking six-story tower and a red-tiled roof, nestled behind swaying palm trees and a vine-covered pergola at the crest of a gentle hill. Welcome to a place where more than a century of glamour, intrigue, and a dash of court drama mingle in the Southern California sun! Here in front of you stands the Richard H. Chambers U.S. Court of Appeals-though believe it or not, this stately landmark started off in quite a different role, and oh, the stories it could tell. Picture yourself transported back to the late 1800s. The year is 1882, and the air is thick with the scent of blooming gardens. A certain Emma C. Bangs has just opened the La Vista del Arroyo Hotel, built of wood and nestled among cozy cottages right where you’re standing. Pasadena’s hills, alive with the whirr of carriages and the laughter of vacationers, made this a spot to be seen-even before Instagram, if you can imagine such a time! Fast forward a few decades to 1919, and enter Daniel M. Linnard, a hotel mogul with big dreams and an even bigger mustache. Linnard hired top-notch architects to transform Emma’s humble inn into a dazzling Spanish Colonial Revival resort. White stucco walls and red terracotta tiles sprang up, turning the place into the talk of the town-a favorite of Hollywood starlets, oil barons, and anyone who wanted to lounge in luxury and gossip by the brand-new swimming pool. Guests, eager to stake their claim, even built their own private bungalows across the lush property. But the real magic happened just as the Roaring Twenties were winding down. Myron Hunt and George H. Wiemeyer, Pasadena’s architectural wizards, joined the party and planned a spectacular expansion. In 1930, the new Vista del Arroyo Hotel opened with a stunning six-story bell tower-yes, that’s the one you see rising above you!-flanked by grand wings that seem to hug the hillside. Guests strolled in through a rose-draped pergola (which you can still see today), past fountains and fountains, tennis courts, and greenery so perfectly manicured you’d think the grass might start singing show tunes. Now, here’s where our story takes a turn. In 1943, the laughter faded as World War II swept across the globe. The lively hotel was transformed almost overnight by the U.S. War Department into the McCornack General Hospital, named for a Brigadier General who knew his way around a stethoscope. Picture a flurry of nurses, the rumble of Army jeeps, and the determined footsteps of soldiers on recovery. The hospital buzzed with activity, but after the war, the bustle eased and the building quietly became home to various government agencies-a far cry from its heyday as a party palace. The building’s next act began in 1981, when the General Services Administration set about restoring the faded grandeur of the old hotel, transforming it into the elegant home for justice you see now. Artisans recreated the original Spanish Room with its dazzling ceilings, restored the elevator lobby’s painted tiles, and breathed life into gardens that had seen decades of secrets and celebrations. Thanks to a careful touch, spaces once filled with dinner guests and socialites now host judges, lawyers, and the occasional nail-biting verdict-but the sense of drama, I assure you, is just as real. And so, under this California sun, you’re standing where horse-drawn carriages once rolled, where jazz spilled out of the Morning Room windows, and where men and women in uniform rushed to serve. From private bungalows and the grand Maxwell House, to the famed courtroom now sitting beneath those vintage cast-iron grilles, every corner whispers, “If these walls could talk!” In 1995, the building earned another new name in honor of Judge Richard Harvey Chambers, whose vision brought the courts to this very hilltop. So, whether you hear echoes of laughter, the clatter of hospital gurneys, or the gavel’s smack echoing through these halls, remember: you’re visiting a landmark that has held joy, sorrow, and a few secrets. Before we move on, take a deep breath, and soak in the soft rustle of the nearby pergola and gardens-once applauded by the American Institute of Architects, and still worthy of a standing ovation today. Wondering about the architecture, significant events or the building facts? Feel free to discuss it further in the chat section below.

Ahead of you is the Colorado Street Bridge, a sweeping structure of pale concrete with grand Beaux Arts arches soaring high over the trees-just look up and you'll see its elegant curves and tall streetlights stretching across the blue California sky. Alright, let’s step into a scene straight from a movie-no, really, this bridge has been in movies! The Colorado Street Bridge stands proudly across the Arroyo Seco, a valley lush with wild greenery below and, today, the hum of passing cars above. But back when it opened in 1913, after a year of intensive construction and a price tag that would make even a Hollywood producer wince-over $191,000 back then, nearly $6 million in today’s dollars-this bridge was Pasadena’s dazzling new gateway to adventure. It was grand, a marvel of engineering from the mind of the Kansas City firm Waddell & Harrington. Instead of a straight shot, they gave the bridge a graceful curve, hugging solid ground and floating across the Arroyo Seco with its iconic arches. At nearly 1,500 feet long and soaring 150 feet above the tree canopy, drivers who first crossed it must have felt like kings of the West. Colorado Boulevard, then Colorado Street, bustled with the sounds of trolleys, jingling harnesses, and the laughter of travelers crossing to Eagle Rock, Glendale, or on toward Monrovia. But there’s an edge of mystery too, wrapped around these handsome balustrades. The bridge picked up a dark nickname-Suicide Bridge-due to the tragic number of people who leapt from its heights in the early 20th century. Before engineers ever finished the job, a dreadful construction accident supposedly claimed the life of a worker, who legend says was swallowed by wet concrete, becoming part of the bridge’s bones forever. Spooky, right? And if the hair on your arms just stood up, wait till you hear this: by 1937, eighty-seven people had met their end here. There’s even a story of a desperate mother who jumped, tossing her baby first. It’s said the child bounced off a tree below and survived-maybe someone up there was watching out for little ones that day. To fight the bridge’s deadly reputation, the city raised the barriers-first to eight feet, later even higher. Over time, even a ten-foot chain-link fence went up, and sections once meant for sitting quietly and gazing at the city now block easy access, all in the name of safety. Despite those tragic tales, this bridge has lived many lives! For four wild years, it was part of America’s backbone as a segment of the Mother Road-U.S. Route 66. During those days, I like to imagine dust-caked Model Ts and bright-eyed families zooming west, windows down, radio blaring cowboy tunes over the Arroyo. In 1989, the Loma Prieta earthquake sent shivers down Pasadena’s spine, and the bridge was closed for a serious check-up, only to reopen stronger than ever in 1993 after a careful retrofit. The celebrations that followed-now, those are something to see! Every summer, Pasadena throws a festival here, filling the bridge with music, laughter, and food, as neighbors honor the city’s most beautiful landmark. And if you have a sharp eye for the silver screen, you’ve glimpsed this bridge everywhere: from Charlie Chaplin’s silent films to wild Hollywood bungee jumps and even in that dreamy, twilit stroll from La La Land. Contestants rappelled off it for The Amazing Race, and the punkest album covers in Los Angeles bear its arches. Its silhouette, standing fearless against California sunsets, lets it play every part-melancholy, magic, hope, even a dash of danger. Today, the bridge is protected as a National Historic Place and a treasure of civil engineering. As you stand here, listen for the echo of a bygone engine, imagine neon-lit convertibles zipping across, or picture dancers twirling under festival lights. Beneath the weight of its ghosts, the Colorado Street Bridge has become a survivor-a place where Pasadena’s wildest stories, both sad and spectacular, keep traveling through time overhead. And if you hear something creaking in the concrete, don’t worry-that’s just the bridge stretching its legs. Even a grand old landmark like this needs a yawn now and then! Onward to the next stop, my bold explorer.

To spot the Lower Arroyo Seco Historic District, look ahead for a peaceful, tree-lined neighborhood with cozy Craftsman-style homes tucked behind leafy lawns and shaded sidewalks. Now, let’s take a stroll back in time-imagine you’re here in the early 1900s. The air is scented with fresh-cut grass, and maybe, just maybe, the distant sound of a hammer signals another Craftsman house going up. Pasadena was the Hollywood of handcrafted homes-artists, carpenters, and architects gathered like detectives at a mystery dinner, all competing to create the coziest, quirkiest houses on the block. As you walk, picture famous names like Charles K. Sumner and Henry Mather Greene sketching blueprints by lamplight, crafting details so perfect they could make a carpenter swoon. If you listen close, you might hear whispers of friendly rivalries with Chicago and Berkeley-who’s got the better porch, the prettiest window? The answer: Pasadena, of course (but don't tell the folks from Berkeley I said that). Imagine the new neighbors, wide-eyed and excited to call this place home, as the neighborhood filled with laughter and the glow of porch lights on warm California evenings. With 78 historic homes, each one is like a little treasure chest, filled with secret histories and the sound of past footsteps. In 2005, the world finally agreed this spot was special, granting it a place on the National Register of Historic Places. So take a deep breath-can you smell that history? Maybe it’s just someone baking cookies, but I like to think it’s a little magic in the air.

To spot the Batchelder House, just look ahead for a cozy, bungalow-style home with big white-trim windows, dark wooden siding, and a charming chimney made from tan stone and bricks. Now, take in that inviting porch and the leafy shadows all around you-because you’re standing at Pasadena’s very own storybook cottage! Back in 1910, this wasn’t just a place to sleep or sip tea. Ernest A. Batchelder, a wizard with clay and a leader in the Arts and Crafts Movement, built this house with his own hands-and loads of imagination! Imagine the air alive with the scent of fresh pine and the gentle clink of tiles being crafted in his first workshop, right inside these walls. He made decorative tiles so lovely that famous architects like Greene and Greene and the Heineman Brothers rushed to get their hands on them. And while Ernest was busy with swirling glazes and secret kiln recipes, his wife Alice Coleman filled the backyard with music, her chamber concerts echoing through the night. I always picture guests tiptoeing down the stone path, not wanting to interrupt a particularly thrilling crescendo-or maybe just trying not to trip over the garden plants! This home was the heartbeat of Pasadena’s culture, buzzing with creativity and a touch of mystery. Today, Batchelder House is on the National Register of Historic Places, and its artsy spirit is still hiding behind every woodsy corner. So keep your eyes open-Pasadena’s best stories might be waiting right where you’re standing!