You’ve probably driven past it. If you’re heading up toward Mt. Baldy, winding through those dusty, chaparral-covered hills above the Claremont Colleges, you might catch a glimpse of an old Spanish Colonial Revival building tucked away among the olive trees. That’s the Padua Hills Theater in Claremont. It isn't just a wedding venue or a pretty spot for a photo op. It’s a survivor.
Honestly, it's one of the weirdest and most beautiful stories in Southern California’s cultural history. In an era when most of the country was putting up walls—figuratively and literally—this theater was trying to tear them down. But it wasn't some corporate diversity initiative. It was a community experiment that started in the middle of the Great Depression.
The Visionary Gamble of Bess and Herman Garner
The theater didn’t start as a theater. Not really. Herman Garner was a local businessman who made his money in the water pump industry. In the late 1920s, he and his wife Bess had this idea to create an artist colony. They bought a chunk of land on the Padua Hills, envisioning a place where painters, potters, and musicians could live and work.
The building itself was finished in 1930. Just as the economy was cratering.
Suddenly, a quiet retreat for artists didn't seem like a great business model. People were hungry, and they certainly weren't buying high-end pottery. The Garners had this massive, beautiful building—designed by architect Edward Clyde Mesick—and almost no way to pay the taxes on it. Most people would have folded. Sold the land. Walked away. Instead, they leaned into the local culture.
The Mexican Players: More Than Just a Show
If you talk to theater historians or people who grew up in the Inland Empire in the 40s or 50s, they’ll tell you about the Mexican Players. This is where the Padua Hills Theater in Claremont truly found its soul.
At the time, the local labor force was largely Mexican and Mexican-American, many of whom worked in the citrus groves that used to blanket the valley. Bess Garner noticed that the young people working in her dining room were incredibly talented. They sang. They danced. They had stories that nobody in "Mainstream America" was telling.
She decided to put them on stage.
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It started small. Maybe a little too "folkloric" for modern tastes, sure. Critics sometimes look back and call it paternalistic. But you have to look at the context. In the 1930s, Mexican-Americans were often treated as invisible labor. At Padua Hills, they were the stars. They were the ones teaching the white audiences about the history of the Southwest, about Las Posadas, and about the richness of Mexican heritage.
The performances were unique because they were bilingual. They used enough English so the "gringo" audience could follow along, but kept the songs and the heart of the dialogue in Spanish. It became the longest-running theater of its kind in the United States. Think about that. In a small town in California, a Mexican-American theater troupe ran for 44 years.
The Architecture is a Time Capsule
Walking onto the grounds today feels different than visiting a modern theater. There’s no neon. No glass-and-steel lobby.
The structure is classic Spanish Colonial Revival. We’re talking thick white walls, heavy dark wood beams, and those iconic red-tiled roofs. It was built to feel like an old California rancho. The courtyard is the centerpiece. There’s an ancient olive grove surrounding the property that smells like sun-baked earth and history.
Inside the theater, the acoustics are surprisingly intimate. It wasn't built for microphones. It was built for unamplified voices and the stomp of flamenco boots on wood. When you stand on that stage, you can almost hear the echoes of the corridos.
Why It Almost Disappeared
By the mid-1970s, the world had changed. The original audience was aging out. The Chicano Movement of the 60s and 70s brought a different kind of political theater to the forefront—one that was more radical and less focused on the "folkloric" charm that Padua Hills offered.
The Mexican Players gave their final performance in 1974.
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The building sat quiet for a while. For a long time, there was a real fear that it would be demolished or turned into some generic residential development. It’t a miracle it survived. The City of Claremont eventually stepped in, realizing that you can’t replace a landmark like this once it's gone.
Today, it’s managed by the city and serves primarily as an event space. If you’ve been to a wedding in Claremont, there’s a 50% chance it was there. But the city has been careful to preserve the historical integrity. They know that the Padua Hills Theater in Claremont is a link to a version of California that is rapidly being paved over.
The Cultural Legacy No One Talks About
People often forget how influential this place was for the arts in California. It wasn't just about the plays.
The Padua Hills Art Fiesta was a huge deal. It brought together artists from all over the region. It fostered a specific "Claremont Style" of art that you can still see in the Claremont Museum of Art today. The theater was a hub. It was a place where the lines between the "gown" (the colleges) and the "town" (the working class) actually blurred for a bit.
Is it perfect? No. Some historians point out that the Garners, while well-intentioned, were still wealthy white landowners presenting a "sanitized" version of Mexican culture. That’s a fair critique. But it’s also true that for many of the performers, Padua Hills was a source of immense pride and a rare professional opportunity in a segregated society. It’s a complicated, nuanced piece of our history.
Visiting the Grounds Today
If you want to experience it, don't just look for a show schedule. Since it's mostly a private event venue now, you can’t always just wander into the auditorium.
However, the grounds are often accessible. The best time to go is late afternoon. The light hits the San Gabriel Mountains behind the theater and turns everything a soft, glowing orange. It’s quiet. You can walk through the olive trees and look down at the sprawl of the Inland Empire below.
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- Location: 4415 Padua Ave, Claremont, CA.
- The Hike: There’s a popular trail nearby (the Claremont Hills Loop). Many people park near the theater to start their hike.
- The Vibe: High-end rustic. It feels expensive but grounded.
What Most People Get Wrong
A lot of folks think the theater was just a hobby for the rich folks in Claremont. That's a mistake.
It was a serious business that survived the Depression and World War II. It provided jobs for dozens of families during some of the hardest times in American history. It was also one of the first places in the region to actively promote a positive, sophisticated view of Mexican culture to a broad audience.
Making the Most of a Visit to Padua Hills
If you’re planning to check out the Padua Hills Theater in Claremont, don't make it your only stop. Claremont is a "college town" in the truest sense, and the theater is the northern anchor of that culture.
Start your day in the Claremont Village. Grab a coffee at one of the local spots—honestly, Some Crust Bakery is a staple for a reason. Then, head north.
As you drive up Indian Hill Boulevard, watch how the landscape changes. You go from the manicured lawns of the colleges to the rugged, dry beauty of the foothills. That transition is exactly why the Garners chose this spot. They wanted that tension between civilization and the wild.
Actionable Insights for History Buffs
- Check the Claremont Museum of Art: They frequently have exhibits featuring the artists who were part of the Padua Hills circle. You’ll see the ceramics and paintings that were actually sold in the theater’s shop decades ago.
- Look for "The Players" archives: If you’re really into the history, the Pomona Public Library and the Claremont Colleges Digital Library have incredible photo collections of the Mexican Players. Seeing the costumes and the stage sets puts the whole place in perspective.
- Respect the Events: Since it is a major wedding venue, if you see a "Private Event" sign, stay clear. The best time for a quiet walk-through is usually a Tuesday or Wednesday morning.
The Padua Hills Theater in Claremont isn't just a building. It's a reminder that even in divided times, people usually find a way to sit in a dark room together and share a story. It’s about the grit of the performers and the stubbornness of a couple who refused to let their dream die when the bank accounts hit zero.
Next time you're in the area, take the detour. Drive up the hill. Stand under those old olive trees. You’ll feel it. The air is just a little different up there. It feels like a part of California that refuses to grow up or go away, and honestly, we need more places like that.