"If It's Flat, Develop It"

By Ed Magnuson

"The charm of this place has always been that there's nothing to do here," muses Mel Haber, a Palm Springs innkeeper. "You could sit and read a book. There was no worry about being someplace else nearby, because nothing was happening there either." Nancy and Ronald Reagan did more than read books during their New Year's holiday stay last week at Sunnylands, the secluded retreat of Multimillionaire Walter Annenberg in Rancho Mirage outside Palm Springs. But if they had peered through the dense row of tamarisk trees that shield the 200-acre estate from the gaze of outsiders, they might have discovered that Mel Haber's ideal of a sleepy Palm Springs area is fading fast. Progress is intruding upon the escapist desert haven of the wealthy.

"Palm Springs has become a rat race," contends Jeannine Levitt, a local hostess whose late husband became rich building rows of development houses a continent away in Long Island's Levit-town. "The party competition is crazy. We're becoming worse than Miami." The point of the new frenzy of socializing, complains Levitt, is "to see and be seen."

Dr. Reza Mazaheri, a plastic surgeon who keeps two operating rooms heavily booked, has seen his business increase 50% in the twelve years he has practiced in the resort city. Yet he too wonders about the changes. "Appearance and having fun have become everything," he says of the area's newer residents. "They are moving in here with money and all the comforts. What is left? Staying beautiful. They are obsessed with it."

Palm Springs was as a health spa in Agua Caliente Indians claimed the area's deep mineral springs could cure tuberculosis. Later it became a quiet refuge for Hollywood stars. Other affluent families followed the entertainers, relishing the beauty of the desert and the steep mountains that tower above the resort on three sides. Air conditioning took the sting out of the 120DEG summer heat; cool nights and tangy mornings enticed the active residents into swimming pools and onto tennis courts and golf courses. But now Palm Springs is becoming overdeveloped and even turning a bit tacky in spots. Meanwhile, construction in the Coachella Valley is rolling relentlessly across the Colorado Desert.

The southeastward sprawl along California's Highway 111 has nearly doubled the valley's population, from 88,000 to 170,000, since 1970. In recent years the number of new houses, condominiums and hotels in the strip has grown as much as 60% a year. The value of building permits in the community of Palm Desert leaped 495% in 1985. Indian Wells, which had 800 residents when it was incorporated in 1967, now has 1,900 with an average annual income of $74,000, making it one of the nation's wealthiest communities. Some 8,000 residences are now abuilding in La Quinta.

Palm Springs itself, not to be left out, is planning a water-slide entertainment park and building a six-story Pierre Cardin hotel called Maxims. Next to it is a block- long string of fashion shops featuring Saks and I. Magnin. But the action now centers in what Palm Springs old-timers disparage as "down valley," where newcomers find no reason to leave their walled compounds and new shopping malls to drive into the "old town." Their lives revolve around the booming clubs. They spend their days on the fairways and their evenings at cocktail bashes, black-tie charity balls and private dinner parties.

Many longtime residents deplore the changes. "The dirt roads and bikes, and knowing all the shopkeepers, were the reasons we came here," says Diana Powell, widow of Actor William Powell. "They've disappeared." Laments Alex Dreier, 69, a retired radio commentator: "This was virgin country. Now half of Iowa is moving in. Traffic's terrible. The desert's getting harder to find." John Stewart, a National Audubon Society botanist, regrets that "there's an Orange County mentality at work: if it's flat, develop it." Beneath the development, the area's water table, though still adequate, is dropping at the rate of 3 to 4 ft. per year; the valley's 58 golf courses each consume up to 1 million gallons a day during peak summer heat.

Still some old-timers welcome the new vitality they see in the region. "Alice and I love it," says retired Bandleader Phil Harris, who has lived in Rancho Mirage with his wife, Singer-Actress Alice Faye, since 1951. "It's become a little Beverly Hills. You can't stop progress." Maintains Leonard Firestone, 78, the retired industrialist and Republican pal of the President: "There's room to spread to hell-and-gone in the desert." As for the bumper-to-bumper tie-ups along Highway 111 during the peak January-to-May season, Firestone adds, "Traffic is the price you pay for development." Moreover, although the area's tranquillity has given way to bustle, it continues to offer the gratifications of well-heeled exclusivity. As Palm Desert Developer Elizabeth Williams puts it, the attraction for the satisfied buyers of her homes and condos is that "they can disappear behind their gates and be themselves. They want to be comfortable with people like themselves.'' --By Ed Magnuson. Reported by Richard Woodbury/Palm Springs

With reporting by Reported by Richard Woodbury/Palm Springs