In May 1872, after suffering through another extremely cold, damp winter, a group of 150 middle-class neighbors from Indianapolis, Indiana, decided to leave home. The group included lawyers, doctors, journalists, and teachers, many of whom were looking for a more equable climate to alleviate ailments from asthma to tuberculosis. Led by Thomas Balch Elliott, a former Army surgeon and prominent businessman, the neighbors pooled their resources and hired Elliott’s brother-in-law Daniel Berry to go west and find land for a colony.

This is the story of that colony, and how it eventually became the small but world-famous city of Pasadena.

The Indianans’ search occurred within the post-Civil War wave of expansion. In the hopes of populating the West with white, small-scale farmers, the U.S. government, via the Homestead Act of 1862, allotted private 160-acre parcels to homesteaders in the West. By the 1870s this vision, reinforced by reports of lush landscapes and thriving new agricultural and urban economies, prompted many to move west in search of social mobility and wealth, purchasing lands that held histories they often knew nothing about.

In 1872, after considering several sites, the Indianans decided that Southern California would be the best place to build their own colony. They instructed Berry to seek a location with a good climate, fertile land near an abundant water source, and the opportunity to build small, individual homesteads.

By August 1873, Berry’s travels had taken him as far south as Cajon Ranch in San Diego and eastward to Rancho Santa Anita in the San Gabriel Valley. He was taken with the amount of tillable land and access to plentiful water, and excitedly wrote Elliott about the abundant fruit trees and expansive orange groves.

Despite his enthusiasm, Berry faced a financial obstacle. The colony had authorized him to pay no more than $5 per acre, but these beautiful and fruitful lands were priced at about four times that much. Undeterred, Berry sought to convince Elliott and the Indiana Colony to increase the budget. They refused, and Berry continued north into the San Fernando Valley, where the land was more reasonably priced but lacked a reliable water source.

In September 1873, Berry trekked east to Rancho San Pascual. The rancho land might have felt new to Berry, but it had a long, rich history. Known as Hahamog’na, this was the ancestral land of the Tongva people. By the time of the Spanish conquest of the region in 1771, the Tongva had a thriving society with its own culture, economy, labor practices, and principles of land use. Spanish rule brought with it a mission institution that imposed religious conversion and assimilation intended to eradicate indigenous culture. Franciscans at the San Gabriel Mission took possession of Tongva lands and sought to develop them according to Spanish ideals.

For over 60 years, missionaries controlled the thousands of acres that would eventually become Rancho San Pascual. Shortly after Mexican independence, the Mexican government issued the 1834 federal secularization order that emancipated mission Indians and allowed civilian settlers access to former mission lands. This ushered in California’s period of ranchos, but former San Gabriel Mission Indians were rarely allowed to access these lands. Throughout California’s Mexican period from 1821-1848, the region’s former mission lands—about 13,000 acres in all—were consolidated into Rancho San Pascual and managed by various owners who competed for control.

In 1840, California ranchero Manuel Garfias took over San Pascual but he would prove to be its last Mexican owner. After the Mexican-American War, new land laws followed in 1848. Garfias was dispossessed of his rancho, which passed into American hands. By the 1870s the new owner, Benjamin Davis Wilson, a former mayor of Los Angeles and state legislator, began selling parcels to interested parties with the help of his business partner John S. Griffin.

Daniel Berry, working for the Indianans, visited San Pascual in 1873. Mesmerized by its beauty, Berry wrote Elliott detailing the fruit orchards, richness of the soil, wonderful air quality, warm climate, and vast acreage. Over the next few months, Berry sought to convince Elliott that the colony had to increase its investment to $10 per acre. After receiving countless letters detailing everything from the region’s lifestyle to the health benefits of the climate, Elliott finally agreed to let Berry offer $15 per acre.

The colony was on its way to acquiring its new home when the financial Panic of 1873 struck, decimating members’ savings and causing many of the original would-be colonists to back out of the endeavor. Berry requested $1,000 for a deposit from the remaining members. To his disappointment, the colony only approved $500. Months passed, and the Indiana Colony collected only $200 of the promised $500.

Berry organized a group of Southern California investors, as well as some from as far away as Cincinnati and Boston, to provide the remaining capital. Together they established the San Gabriel Orange Grove Association (SGOGA) with an individual buy-in of $250. Berry’s group of investors raised a sum of $25,000 and then invited Elliott and the 15 remaining members of the Indiana Colony to join them in their venture. Elliott, not wanting to miss out on acquiring San Pascual, gathered $3,000 from the colonists to supplement the amount already collected. A series of convoluted transactions followed, and the Indiana Colony finally had its land.

During the winter of 1873-74, Elliott and the 15 colonists migrated to their new home. On January 27, 1874, the colony was formally established. Land allotments were distributed, and colonists began cultivating wheat and barley, at first without success. But the colonists pressed on, expanding into grapes and citrus trees. Supported by wealthier members, the Indiana Colony moved towards bringing a steady water supply into their community, building a three-mile pipeline by May 1874.

Before the end of 1874, the colony had grown by some dozen families and added a tract of about 2,500 acres to its eastern boundary, but colonists were concerned that the place still did not have a formal name. In his letters to Elliott, Berry often referred to the settlement as the Indiana Colony or Muscat. The former referenced the colonists’ origins and the latter the Muscat grapes that grew in the region. Although he used Muscat, Berry thought the word sounded too much like muskrat and encouraged Elliott to find a name that could convey the land’s beauty.

After the consideration of various names, they chose Pasadena.

There are several stories of the name’s origin. Some contend that one of the colony’s founders, Calvin Fletcher, was said to have inquired from local historian Hiram Reid if there was a Spanish name that captured the ranch’s landscape. Reid related to Fletcher a conversation in which former rancho owner Manuel Garfias referred to the ranch as la llave del rancho, the key to the valley, because of where the rancho sat in relation to the larger acreage—at the top of the valley, at its very crown. Fletcher who was unable to pronounce the phrase, simply extrapolated its meaning and brought that to Elliott for consideration.

The second story, which is the one more accepted as part of local folklore, states that Elliott asked a friend who had formerly been a missionary among the midwestern Ojibwe (then called Chippewa), to translate the Spanish phrase la llave del rancho into an “Indian word of pleasant sound” that would mean “the key to the ranch.” With an element of imperialist nostalgia for a place they themselves had transformed, the word they settled on was Pasadena. (The town is still known as the Crown City, the “crown” of the San Gabriel Valley.)

During the 1870s, citrus groves, grape vineyards, and homesteads replaced the cattle grazing lands of the Mexican rancho period. The bustling community boasted a church, a general store, school, mail service, and a stagecoach route. By the 1880s, Pasadena was one of California’s greatest fruit-growing districts. On March 24, 1880, the community celebrated its first citrus festival to highlight its thriving agricultural production. As the settlers’ crops grew, Pasadena’s reputation grew as well. The completion of the Los Angeles and San Gabriel Valley Railroad in 1885 accelerated delivery of oranges to other parts of the region and the country. Aside from expanding trade routes, the railroad ushered in a momentous land boom that drew speculators and would-be settlers into the area, changing Pasadena forever.

An influx of visitors during the mid-1880s prompted the growth of a tourist industry catering to this affluent clientele. Soon resort-style lodgings such as Raymond Hotel, with an estimated cost of $200,000, provided a destination for the wealthy visitors who wintered in Pasadena. Many residents invested their money into tourist-oriented businesses such as restaurants, banks, and shops. The community was incorporated as the City of Pasadena in February 1887 during this period of unprecedented growth.

Eventually, the land boom collapsed. Stalled subdivisions, vacant storefronts, and dry and abandoned groves were the physical markers of the economic bust. Not to be defeated, Pasadena’s residents moved to rebuild their homesteads, often citing the Indiana Colony’s goal of creating a stable community of small-scale farmers.

The early years of the 1890s brought another land boom. Once again, the economy exploded with the capital of wealthy easterners who sought land for their winter homes. This time residents proceeded more cautiously, choosing to exploit the city’s reputation for majestic, Edenic landscapes, succulent fruits, and beautiful blooming roses in the middle of the winter.

In January 1891 Pasadena held its first Tournament of Roses Parade, complete with flower-decorated horse-drawn floats, ostrich races, and displays of oranges and other fruits. This parade would become an annual New Year’s tradition, famous across the United States, drawing participants and spectators from around the world. The event, and the moment of its inception, defined Pasadena through its climate, natural beauty, and especially its pioneer history, harkening back to the Indiana Colony that was built on Tongva land, former mission territory, and a Mexican rancho.

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Being undocumented in California wasn’t easy. My parents first left Los Angeles a few years ago because they were being threatened by a gang member because they wouldn’t pay protection money for the right to sell food on the street. Their undocumented status made it hard for them to complain to the police.

But living in Indiana—now as a college student—has given me new respect for how Los Angeles deals with its undocumented citizens.

I started my college studies in Los Angeles, and received tremendous support in learning to navigate the educational system and create study habits. I paid in-state tuition for my courses at East Los Angeles College, as a result of 2001 state legislation. Students like me also benefit from the California Dream Act of 2011, which has helped undocumented students get access to more scholarships and state financial aid. A more recent California State Assembly bill, AB 1366—if passed—would encourage universities to provide more resources to help undocumented students complete their degrees.

In essence, the state of California treated me like other Californians: It was investing in me. Which made sense. More than one-third of California’s workforce is immigrants, and undocumented people are needed for their work and productivity, and as future taxpayers. And making sure undocumented people had college degrees was good economics; RAND’s Immigration Policy Center has estimated that the average 30-year-old Mexican immigrant woman in the United States with a bachelor’s degree will pay $5,300 more in taxes annually compared to the same individual who holds a high school diploma or less.

None of this made getting an education easy in Los Angeles, a very expensive place. I was living on my own with a well-paid job as a salesperson at a Chevrolet dealership, but to make a good living I had to work more than 40 hours and sell eight cars a month. I soon noticed my grades falling. So I took fewer classes, in order to sell more cars. Eventually, I decided to move to Indiana with my parents in order to finish my education.

The differences here in Hoosier State are startling. Indiana has a history of seeking to exclude undocumented immigrants such as myself from higher education. In 2011, Indiana passed House Bill 1402, which prohibits in-state tuition for students who are unlawfully present in the United States. To be undocumented in Indiana means to be a worker—not a student. But many students in Indiana have defied the state’s limits by going to college.

I learned from Radi, an undocumented student from Ivy Tech Community College in Elkhart, where she is president of the Latino Student Alliance (LSA) club, that at first she had decided not to go to college because of House Bill 1402. She has been living in the United States with her family since 1997, and has been an Indiana resident since she was a girl. But she couldn’t afford higher education as an 18-year-old, so she took a couple years off to save up for community college.

Then the good news: The establishment of the DACA program opened the door for her and other students, making it easier for them to stay in the country and work so they can go to school. But they still do not receive in-state tuition from the state where they grew up. This puts incredible stress on undocumented students who are pursuing a higher education to find good-paying jobs, to apply for many scholarships, and to keep up their grades so they can hold onto the scholarships they win.

And if they do graduate, undocumented bachelor’s graduates may not be able to pursue work in their chosen profession in Indiana particularly if they involve any sort of state licensing. I know a registered nurse here in Indiana not able to start her career as a nurse in the state because of her undocumented status. She meets all the state’s requirements for testing. She has the state approval in Illinois and passed her licensing in Michigan. But two years after graduating with a nursing degree in Indiana, the state denies her the right to take the National Council Licensure Examination (NCLEX).

This reality is pretty jarring for an undocumented Californian.

DACA was established by President Barack Obama’s 2012 executive order—it protects undocumented immigrants by giving them a work permit if they pay $495, pass a background check, and provide their biometric data. But President Trump has the power to end the DACA program. If he does so, as he promised during his campaign, young people who pay taxes, attend college, and own homes could be deported to countries they don’t really know. And America will be poorer; the Center for American Progress estimated that ending the program would reduce the U.S. Gross domestic product by $433 billion over the next decade.

The state legislature in Indiana is following Trump’s lead by putting more pressure on undocumented students. In 2017, two state bills were introduced in Indiana’s House and Senate that would prohibit state universities and colleges from adopting sanctuary policies to protect immigrant students. Another bill would prohibit educational institutions and agencies from acting to restrict federal immigration law in anyway. Failure to comply would make institutions ineligible to receive state funds.

As a student in Indiana, it’s hard to understand this failure to invest in undocumented students who want to get college degrees, and eventually master’s degrees.

I’m one such student, and I think I’ve had an impact. At Ivy Tech Valparaiso, I served as the Student Government Association (SGA) vice president. My responsibilities were to make our school campus inclusive for all students, engage students in campus life, and create a culture of civic engagement and cultural acceptance. To meet those goals, my cabinet and I created voter registration drives, took a field trip to the Art Institute of Chicago, connected students with the Campus President and Chancellor, and provided support to the Straight and Gay Alliance club. I filled this student government role while working 40 hours a week to pay for school, which was about $2,000 per semester, and keeping my GPA above 3.5.

In my last semester at Ivy Tech I was accepted to Valparaiso University, a private Lutheran school listed in the Forbes Top College list, with a $27,000 scholarship per year. This fall I will start my junior year, studying political science.

At my graduation in May from Ivy Tech Community College Valparaiso, Ivy Tech’s President Sue Ellspermann, who was Indiana’s lieutenant governor under Governor and now U.S. Vice President Mike Pence, said that the new economy will require workers with degrees. She added that today’s graduates still represent a minority of Hoosiers who have earned a degree, and that the states need more degree holders. As I walked the stage, I shook hands with Ellspermann, and made a point of telling her that to fulfill her mission of increasing the number of graduates and preparing Hoosiers for the future economy, the state needs to invest in undocumented students too.

Earning my Associate’s Degree is one of my proudest achievements.

The tale of my two states speaks volumes about values. California seeks to include everyone, and Indiana does not. In my short time here, I have heard a lot of conversations about Hoosier values, which are hard work, personal responsibility, and faith. So why doesn’t Indiana value undocumented Hoosiers who work hard, take responsibility for themselves, and pursue their dream with the faith that they will be respected and treated equally, someday, in the state where they have made their home?

Indiana doesn’t have to look overseas to know how to do this. They could go to California to see what sorts of policies are needed. Or they could ask me, and I would be sure to find some time between my full-time class and work schedules to explain how it’s done.

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