Fowl Air Clears

There are landmarks in Los Angeles we know by their freeway presence. They are historic: the Citadel building off the Santa Ana Freeway in Commerce. They are whimsical: the cat-face graffiti off the Ventura Freeway along the Los Angeles River. They are awesome: the DWP Cascades off the Golden State Freeway in Sylmar.

And one, off the San Gabriel River Freeway near Industry, stinks to high heaven.

It is known by locals as the Duck Farm, a two-mile stretch of poultry coops, flying feathers and manure-covered mounds of dirt that have long sickened commuters with the pungent smell of duck dung.

Today the last ducklings are hatching in their incubators, the coops are empty and a landmark known for its gag-me odor, not its preservation-worthy architecture, is moving to Central California.

In the annals of Los Angeles County history, as well as important factoids commuters should know, the move is noteworthy for two reasons.

First, the departure of about 15,000 ducks from what is officially named Woodland Farms means the last vestige of animal agriculture has fled Los Angeles County, said county Agricultural Commissioner Cato Fiksdal.

“There’s a few sheep in the Antelope Valley and some horse breeders here and there, but this was the last big commercial business,” he said.

Perhaps more relevant is that San Gabriel River Freeway commuters can literally breathe a sigh of relief as they approach the Valley Boulevard exit. They no longer need to roll up windows, press the air recirculate button or, for extremists, attempt to hold their breath.

The smell is gone.

According to farm operators and locals, the odor was the worst on the freeway.

“It’s like the wind from the cars sucked it up and away,” theorized Richard Woodland, who retired from the duck business after more than 20 years.

After the recent rains, the reality of the move struck the surrounding neighborhood. When evaporation set in on rain-soaked duck manure, the odor wafted oppressively through the area.

“I remember in February I was out watching the band perform and I realized there was no smell, no ducks,” said Gloria Acosta-Araw, the longtime principal at Mountain View High School, directly across the river from the farm.

She explained that the school is upwind from the farm and, except on a damp night or rainy day, the smell wasn’t a problem. Unless there was a special event on campus.

“It seemed like whenever we had a guest, open house, back to school night or a CIF final, it would smell that night,” she said.

Also up in the air is the future nickname of Mountain View High.

Although the name “VIKINGS” is plastered across the gymnasium, their rivals have always called them the ducks.

“They used to shout at us, ‘Go back to the farm, you ducks; you smell!’ said Dianna Gomez, class of ’93. “Now we won’t have a name because we won’t have the animals. It’s a part of our history, you know.”

Often, the crowd from opposing teams would break into loud bursts of quacking when the Vikings ran onto the field.

“That was unsportsmanlike conduct,” Acosta-Araw said. “Their teams were talked to about it.”

She said “it may take a few years,” but she hopes the quacking and nickname will fade from memory.

John Wilson, who has lived in the neighborhood east of the farm for nearly 40 years, said the farm didn’t bother him. “Or maybe I just got used to the smell,” he said.

“Now I’ll just have to tell people I live where the duck farm used to be,” Wilson said. “Everyone knows where the duck farm is.”

It’s only a matter of time before the low-slung coops, dirt roads and corrugated metal sheds are cleared away. The 57-acre tract is for sale.

The city of Industry is interested in buying it for some kind of redevelopment project, and Woodland said he is talking to a few other potential buyers, but nothing is settled.

The expansive piece of land--sandwiched between the San Gabriel River and the freeway--has development restrictions because much of it is beneath power lines.

He sold the family farm three years ago to Indiana-based Maple Leaf Farms, a big duck firm. He and his brother Fred have continued to work as consultants and landlords.

Woodland married into the duck business. The farm, originally known as Ward Duck Co., was started by his wife’s family in 1924. It moved around the area, including a stop in Whittier Narrows, before settling on the river site.

Changing demographics have been good to the urban duck farmer, as the burgeoning Asian population in the San Gabriel Valley boosted demand for his fresh, white-feathered Pekin (the species, not the dish) duck.

His said his business grew by 5% to 10% a year over the last decade to about $15 million in annual revenues when he sold.

At the peak, Woodland employed 35 people and functioned 24 hours a day. The ducks consumed 2,000 tons of feed a day and laid 15,000 eggs every night. There was constantly a load of feathers being washed and dried for sale.

Dick Jones of Maple Leaf said the firm decided to move to more agriculture-friendly Central California, where there is room to expand. But the ducks will still be transported to Los Angeles to die.

“Please don’t say that,” Jones said. “Let’s use the word process.”

One business that Richard Woodland decided to keep was his duck “processing plant” and cold storage operation in downtown Los Angeles, where Temple Street dead-ends at Center Street along the Los Angeles River.

Friday was Woodland’s last day on his old farm. A moving van hauled off the last of the furniture from the handsome Spanish mansion where his family had lived.

And like anyone leaving behind a successful career, the 58-year-old farmer was feeling a bit nostalgic.

“The duck business has been good to me--raised my family, put my kids through private school; me and Pat have traveled,” he reminisced. Now they will live in Paso Robles and own a vineyard.

But that smell--that sweetly foul smell that lodges in your throat like a gulp of glue--how did Woodland live with the smell?

“Well, I suppose it did smell,” he said. “But it was the smell of money to me.”