From the Archives — Provenance

The Mojave Desert Archives is the memory of the Mojave Desert community and the MDHCA organization.

by Chris Ervin, Archivist
Mojave Desert Archives

In my last column I described how an archivist is a flavor of librarian. The archivist’s practice differs from librarians in that we specialize in the cataloging, retrieval, and preservation of unpublished, rather than published materials. For librarians, there is a prescribed manner for making books and periodicals easy to find, usually by subject, author, title, and date. But, when it comes to cataloging personal papers, manuscripts, family photographs, and official records, the process for an archivist to make sense of these materials is not so cut and dry—especially if they arrive in a jumble.

During my graduate studies I was astounded to learn that even among archival professionals, standards for organizing historical materials have only just been institutionalized in the last twenty or so years. Archivists have also been late to the party when it comes to adopting computers to help them in their work. Fortunately, that is all changing with younger archivists who are coming into the profession technically savvy and unafraid to challenge the status quo. I’m a bit of an anomaly as my age bracket (58) puts me more in the dinosaur camp, but my 32 years as an information technology professional evens the playing field when it comes to adopting and applying new technologies to archival practice.

When it comes to organizing archival materials—unpublished stuff having long term value to researchers—there are a few important guiding principles; provenance and original order. Basically, the principle of provenance requires the archivist to determine who created the materials. That sounds simple, but sometimes needs to be sorted out. Provenance also requires the archivist to document the ownership of and any changes to the materials from the time the creator created them to the time they ended up on the archivist’s doorstep.

This “chain of title” may not be so easy to determine if the materials are really old, yet can directly impact the authenticity of a record. Here’s where that’s a problem; if a document cannot be determined to be genuine, a cautious researcher may not want to risk her reputation by including potentially false data in a publication. Just ask the editors of Stern who published the fake Hitler Diaries back in 1983. Therefore it is the archivist’s job to not only organize unpublished materials in such a way that they are easy to find, but also to document the authenticity of the materials so historians can count on them to be a true representation of the past.

In my next column, I’ll continue this “how archival materials are organized” discussion by describing how the principle of original order helps archivists maintain the authenticity of the record as well as making them easy to find—not just by researchers, but also for the archivist who has to be able to quickly retrieve those materials from the back room.

The 1930s California Dude Ranch That Broke Racial Barriers

The empty lot where Murray's Ranch once stood. (Hadley Meares)

by Hadley Meares
Curbed Los Angeles

In 1937, press from all over the country descended on Victorville, CA, at the edge of the Mojave Desert, to cover the town's star-studded annual rodeo. The rapid growth of Los Angeles in the 1920s and '30s meant that millions of city slickers found themselves itching to escape to a simpler, more rustic time. A precursor to today's "experience-based tourism," the working dude ranch was enormously popular. Only 90 or so miles away from Los Angeles, these ranches—with names like the Lazy W, Yucca Loma Ranch, C Bar G Ranch, and Three Sage Hens—were centered primarily around Victorville and neighboring Apple Valley. While LIFE magazine photographers had originally been sent to these ranches in '37 to cover rodeo-going stars like Clara Bow and Tex Ritter, they quickly honed in on a more interesting story. Heavyweight boxing champion and Wild West enthusiast Joe Louis was in town, and he was spending a lot of time at a place called Murray's Dude Ranch. Besides the fact that Louis was one of the most idolized men in the world, this visit was of particular interest to the white mainstream media for two reasons: Joe Louis was black, and Murray's Ranch was billed as "the only Negro Dude Ranch in the world."

The history of African-Americans in Apple Valley begins long before Joe Louis's highly touted visit in 1937. As early as 1903, a Los Angeles civic club called The Forum encouraged working class blacks to become landowners. Since most of Los Angeles was reserved for whites only, often through racially restrictive real estate covenants, The Forum focused on an area in Apple Valley surrounding picturesque Bell Mountain. In 1914, several black families began homesteading in the unforgiving desert of Apple Valley.

One of the most prominent men in the community was Arthur Cook. Like many people in Bell Mountain, he retained strong ties to Los Angeles. Two of his good friends in LA were a respected couple named Lela and Nolie Murray. Nolie was a strapping six feet, with a larger-than-life personality. He ran Murray's Pocket Billiard Emporium and Cigar Store on East Ninth Street, and was praised for his "honest and just methods of dealing with patrons," which had earned him a "large following of friends." Lela, a registered nurse, was less than five feet tall, with a sweet disposition and tireless drive to help the less fortunate. By the early 1920s, Lela's frequent colds and lung ailments were making life in Los Angeles difficult for the Murrays. Arthur Cook, always on the lookout for potential quality neighbors, offered them 40 acres of Apple Valley land for free. But Lela worried about the legality of such a gift. "I wanted the land to be a legal deal," she said, "so I insisted on paying Mr. Cook $100 in cash and having it recorded as a bona fide sale. That was in 1922, and I moved up shortly afterward."

The Murrays dreamed of making the ranch a haven for troubled and underprivileged children and began building the infrastructure to support this mission. While Lela homesteaded at the ranch, Nolie commuted back and forth to their business interests in LA. Slowly, the ranch took shape—there were bungalows for the children, a deep fresh water well, stables, chicken coops, and a windmill. Nolie moved to the ranch full-time, and the Murrays began accepting children of all races, who were sent to them by the courts. At any given time there were around a dozen children at the ranch, some who stayed for up to seven years. A story in the LA Times illustrated the guidance Lela and Nolie offered:

Clyde, a young black boy, was always picking fights with white children. One day Lela sat him down and said: "You like flowers, don't you?"
He nodded.
"You don't like just pink roses? You like white, yellow and red roses because they are all beautiful, right?"
Again, Clyde nodded.
"Why then should you like only Negro children?" Lela asked. "People are people, just as flowers are flowers, whether they are white, yellow or black."

Despite their tireless work ethic, in the mid-1930s the Murrays found themselves in financial trouble. Though they received a little money from the state for the children's care, the Depression and the cost of running the ranch had wiped out their savings. Inspired by the increasing number of dude ranches springing up all around them, they began to convert their property into a Class-A guest ranch.

The Murrays were financially on their last leg when Joe Louis appeared, bringing a string of LIFE photographers with him. Thousands of tourists swarmed the ranch, hoping to catch a glimpse of their hero. After a six-picture spread of Louis at the ranch ran in November 1937, the Murrays' theoretical guest ranch was now a fact. The county and other ranchers supported the creation of a "Negros only" dude ranch. (Explicit segregation was not the law of the land in California, and customers could theoretically patronize whatever business allowed them in. But communities often self-segregated through local ordinances, real estate covenants, and societal pressure.) The Murrays began promoting the ranch, and the county widened the road leading into the ranch. The property soon included more than 20 buildings and amenities including tennis courts, stables, a dining hall, a baseball field, and a swimming pool.

Celebrities and prominent members of LA's African-American community flocked to the ranch.
Legendary architect Paul Williams and his family stayed there frequently while he was working on designs for the nearby Arrowhead Springs Hotel. Joe Louis, always "happy as a kid" at the ranch, returned to train for upcoming matches. Other famous fighters soon followed suit. In 1938, Herb Jeffries, "the black singing cowboy," filmed two movies—The Bronze Buckaroo and Harlem Rides the Range—at the ranch. Thanks to The Bronze Buckaroo, clear images of the property's main house and windmill, and views of Bell Mountain, are preserved for posterity. Lena Horne, Hattie McDaniel, Louise Beavers, Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, and Nina Mae McKinney were also frequent guests. Here, they enjoyed a "most beautiful and restful desert oasis," where they could lounge on screened-in porches or take evening horseback rides in the moonlight, far away from Hollywood.

Everyday Americans also frequented the ranch, which boasted very reasonable rates. In 1940, a couple could stay at the ranch for only $5 a night, while a single person could stay for $3. The ranch often hosted around 100 guests a week from May to September, and became particularly popular with honeymooning couples (no doubt pleased with cottages that were "far removed from each other") and civic groups. It fulfilled a need for recreational activities for middle class African-Americans, who were barred from most vacation opportunities. Lela shared one letter she received that highlighted this problem:

I am a bachelor. I like to ride horseback very much. I have always wanted to spend a few weeks on a dude ranch. Being colored, I doubted that I would ever have the chance. I was happy to learn about your ranch. Please let me know the cost of a vacation with you.

While the ranch hosted guests from all over the country, its bread and butter continued to be visitors from Los Angeles. An ad from the 1940s appealed particularly to time-strapped Angelinos:

Leave your business Saturday afternoon. Take a two hour and twenty minute ride up through Cajon Pass on Highway 66 to Victorville. Get a nice large airy room with every modern comfort of home at Murray's Ranch. Have a cup of hot coffee or fruit juice served to you, early before arising for breakfast. Or you may ride early as you wish. Get your good country breakfast, including milk, butter, and eggs produced on the ranch. Swimming, golf, tennis, and other amusements as you wish. Have your Murray's famous chicken dinner about 2:30 or after. Return home late Sunday evening rested and fresh for the next week's business.

The Murrays continued to be remarkably colorblind when it came to staffing. One friend noted, "The ranch has its own fair employment practice policy and hires cooks, pantrymen, yardmen, stable attendants and maids for their ability, not their color. There are three white employees, four colored and one Japanese." White locals often came to the ranch's popular restaurant, which featured the comfort food of popular chef Malcolm Keys. Lela organized an Easter Sunrise service on nearby Catholic Hill that attracted thousands of SoCal worshipers for many years. Local children of all races often "snuck in" to use the ranch's heavily chlorinated pool, joking with Nolie, who was forever reaching for nuts stuffed in the pockets of his overalls to nibble on while he chastised the kids.

White guests did not spend the night until 1945, when a Workers Union newspaper in Southern California profiled the ranch. Soon many white people were writing to Lela, asking if they could come and stay. "I wrote back, telling them they had made a mistake, that the ranch was owned and operated by Negroes. But then the people wrote right back, saying that was fine with them, when could they come, what were the rates and questions like that," Lela said. And so the ranch became integrated, long before most of the country followed suit.

By the time Lela died in 1949, the Murrays were beloved members of the Victorville/Apple Valley community. Lela was a member of the Chamber of Commerce, and volunteered both her time and the ranch's facilities to such organizations as the Red Cross, the USO, and various children's charities. After Lela's death, Nolie remarried and continued to run the ranch, but the decline of the popularity of dude ranches, rising cost of living, and increasing recreational opportunities for SoCal African-Americans made the early '50s difficult. No doubt he was relieved when entertainment legend and noted humanitarian Pearl Bailey revisited the ranch with her husband, the drummer Louie Bellson, in 1955, looking for a respite from the fast life. "We fell in love with the place," Pearl recounted, "and this Murray fellow says, 'You want it?" Well, we bought 35 acres for $65,000. And we're still paying!" Nolie kept five acres and built the Desert Heart Motel on the property, which he ran until his death in 1958.

Pearl renamed the ranch "The Lazy B," a name born from her legendary wit. "I told Louie people would pass by and look at this huge ranch and say to themselves, "There are actors in there, leading a glamorous life. I wonder what those 'Lazy B's are doing there." In between gigs across the country, Pearl became a dedicated Apple Valley housewife, renovating the property's rundown buildings and inviting many Hollywood friends to stay on the ranch. Much like Lela before her, Pearl relished being an active citizen, joining the Chamber of Commerce, serving as a den mother for the local cub scouts, and doing all the chores life on a large ranch entailed, including chasing snakes and pulling weeds. "So much is there," she said. "The earth where food can be planted, the lovely sunsets, the air, and all that space to wander away and get with God."

Pearl's family lived at the ranch for nine years, until work obligations and "freeloading" permanent houseguests from Hollywood slowly pulled them away. The ranch was eventually sold, and by the late 1980s, the buildings were abandoned and supposedly infested with brown widow spiders. The buildings were burned in a training exercise conducted by the Apple Valley Fire department around 1988.

I recently visited the ranch, which is now nothing more than an empty desert lot, filled with scrubby trees, low foundations, and bits of rusted barbed wire fence. Bell Mountain loomed over the barren land, where the outlines of the ranch's trails and roads were faintly visible in the dust. I passed two men in overalls and cowboy hats, one black and one white, cutting across the lot to the gas station across the street. Further into the lot, all I found was a lizard, a colony of ants, and a feeling of peaceful solitude, far away from the pollution and prejudice of the city.

A River Captain in the Mojave Desert

This 1876 photo shows one of the May Day outings Yuma residents enjoyed on the steamboat Mojave, captained by Isaac Polhamus.

by MARK MUCKENFUSS
Press-Enterprise

Had you stood on the eastern edge of San Bernardino County in the latter half of the 1800s, you might have been reminded of the Mississippi River.

That’s because, in wet years, the Colorado River swelled to a wide expanse in areas such as the slow wide stretch that would eventually become Lake Havasu. Even more reminiscent of the Big Muddy would be the sight of a steamboat.

Mark Twain, Robert Fulton and those other river folks were 1,500 miles east, turning the mystique of the riverboat into part of American lore. But the lower Colorado had its own river culture, brief as it was. And perhaps the best-known person in that culture was Isaac Polhamus, a steamboat captain for nearly 50 years.

Polhamus was known for his stern demeanor. His method for disciplining his Mojave Indian crew was to throw them overboard and then drag them back on deck.

And yet he was admired.

When he died in 1922, the local Indian community camped out at his house for two days, mourning his loss. There were so many Mojave in attendance that they filled Polhamus’ yard and a vacant lot across the road in Yuma, Ariz. A bonfire was lit to keep them warm while they remained through the chilly January night, sometimes chanting quietly to honor his passing.

In a 1941 story in Desert Magazine, Frank C. Lockwood, details Polhamus’ life, in part using materials that were provided to him by one of the captain’s daughters.

Polhamus grew up with the river life. His father was a riverboat captain on New York’s Hudson River. In 1846, Polhamus left the East Coast for California, sailing around the Cape of Good Hope on a voyage that took nearly a year.

Prior to California’s gold rush, he prospected on the American River, but had little luck. He was soon back on a riverboat on the Sacramento River. Not long after, he got wind of the opportunities on the Colorado.

In those days – before dams and desert golf courses -- the untamed river dumped its contents into the Gulf of California and made upriver passage easy. The Colorado was a conduit for goods moving into Arizona from western ports. Ships regularly sailed from San Francisco and San Diego around the tip of Cabo San Lucas, delivering cargo to Yuma, Ehrenberg and La Paz. Freighters then carried the merchandise to Prescott and other towns in the fledgling territory.

When Polhamus joined the Colorado Steam Navigation Company in the late 1850s, the business occupied half of the only permanent building standing in Yuma, a 100-by-25-foot adobe.

Polhamus quickly established himself as the top captain on the river, navigating the Colorado when it was fast and roiling from the spring melt, as well as when it lay slow and shallow during drier periods.

Mostly, he hauled cargo, as far north as Fort Mojave, which was just above Needles. The downriver journey from Fort Mojave to Yuma could be done in a day. Upriver was a different story.

On one 1859 trip, the river was moving so fast that it took 28 days to make the trip. Some sections of rapids required the steamboat to be pulled through using a cable threaded through ring bolts set in the canyon walls.

When the railroad was completed in 1877, river traffic dropped off. The company Polhamus worked closed up shop. But the captain kept going with his own line of steamboats. By then, there were enough people in the area that pleasure excursions were offered.

“For almost a generation,” Lockwood wrote, “Polhamus carried merry May Day picnic parties up the river on his boat as far as Picacho (about 30 miles up river).”

He also advertised for tourists and land speculators and entrepreneurs.

One promotional pamphlet promised “to show the possibilities of mining and agriculture of the country . . . with none of the hazardous hardships and privations of roughing it, in the saddle or on foot, the trip will be through the heart of the most weird and awesome scenery on earth.”

Polhamus probably would have kept steaming up and down the Colorado, but in 1904, the damming of the river began. He was forced to retire. Had it been today, he could have spent his leisure time golfing. But the water being held back wouldn’t be used for that purpose for many years.

Mitchell Caverns Reopening Efforts Update

Special Report by John Marnell
MDHCA representative for Mitchell Caverns

As Jack and Ida Mitchell gaze from the front porch of their home at the caverns into the brightness that is the east Mojave Desert, I believe that in the same way we are beginning to see the “light at the end of the tunnel” that is the reopening of Mitchell Caverns.

A good deal of the infrastructure was either damaged or destroyed by the theft and vandalism attack that occurred more than three years ago. Coupled with the same lack of maintenance that plagues most of California’s State Parks, and budget woes, the road to reopening has been a long and winding one.

This past week, I attended a meeting with the district superintendent for California State Parks and Recreation about Mitchell Caverns and some really heartening news was provided. As you may recall from previous articles, the primary delay has been with bringing a new well on-line. While not yet complete, a good volume of top quality water at a depth of 550’ has been reached, the casing is in place, and the pump has been ordered. Money has been approved and a contract is about to be awarded for the completion of the generator system upgrade. These are the final issues to be resolved.

A couple of months ago I got to see firsthand the refinished visitor center (the former home of Jack and Ida), the newly installed LED lighting within the caverns, newly sealed roadway and parking lots, and I was impressed by the enthusiasm of Andy Fitzpatrick the State Interpretive Ranger who is stationed at the park.

The State will not announce a formal reopening until all is ready but the timeline appears to be on schedule for perhaps a July date. The plan as of now is to have a formal “Grand Reopening” celebration at the park a month or two later, to be certain all systems are in good order, tour procedures are in place and working correctly.

Please visit the Committee to Reopen Mitchell Caverns on the web, and on Facebook for up to date information.

The State Parks website for Providence Mountains may also be updated regularly.

Talking for the Bridge

Barstow resident Ira Gwin watches vehicles traveling over the First Street Bridge on Thursday. Gwin wants that the city to conduct studies exploring the feasibility of alternate routes over the railroad yard and the Moajve River and alternate use of the old bridge. (Mike Lamb, Desert Dispatch)

By Mike Lamb
Staff Writer

BARSTOW — Ira Gwin is demanding the city conduct studies on the feasibility of protecting the old First Street bridge from the wrecking ball.

And so is fellow Mojave River Valley Museum member David Mott.

“I hates to see this history stuff go to the wayside,” Mott said. “I’m here to talk for the bridge, because it can’t talk for itself.”

The two Barstow residents showed up at Monday’s City Council meeting to speak in support of not tearing down the old bridge during the public comment period. They were reacting to the city staff report and update presented by Andrew Sanford from Kleinfelder, Inc. during the April 6 City Council meeting. The company has worked on past maintenance projects for the bridge and the project to replace the bridge. Sanford gave a detailed report on the replacement of the First Avenue Bridge and reasons for the old bridge to be removed.

Gwin wants that the city to conduct studies exploring the feasibility of alternate routes over the railroad yard and the Mojave River and alternate use of the old bridge. He reminded the City Council members he sent a letter to them and he was waiting for a response.

“The board of directors of the Mojave River Valley Museum and the Democratic club both asked me to represent them at this meeting by asking for these two studies to be done before further work proceeds on this bridge,” Guinn said. “There was not one public meeting, not one public group from the city to give its input from either museums from anyone else directly involved in the establishment of that bridge. The city did none of that. Never asked for our advice, never asked for any assistance or thoughts. You are going ahead on this extremely important project with no input from the community. I think it’s wrong. I think it’s disgraceful.”

Barstow Consulting City Manager Brad Merrell said during his street report the city has completed studies on the project gong back to 1995. He also announced that a town hall meeting on the project has been scheduled for 5 p.m. on May 27 inside the City Council chambers. He said the project and studies will be presented and the public can ask questions and get answers.

Later in the meeting, Councilman Richard Harpole responded to Gwin admonishment of the city staff and City Council. Harpole referred to a photo of the bridge that was placed on one side of the City Council chambers.

“Mr. Guinn, I did get your letter. All of us did. And I read your letter not once, but four or five times,” he said. “The photograph you see on the easel over there is my photograph. I took it four or five years ago. It hangs in my house. And after reading your letter, I looked at the photo. I thought about it and kicked it around and I kept looking at the picture, and I said, ‘man it would be kind of cool if it had park benches on it and we converted that old bridge into a city park as a vista for the Harvey House and the train station.”

Harpole admitted he was sold on tearing down the old bridge during the April meeting. But he said he now has second thoughts and would like to hold a study session to discuss the possibility of converting the old bridge into a vista park.

“We can even have that as a venue for community events. I know that there is an issue we need to look at,” he said. “If that bridge came down on railroad property that would be a big problem for us.”
Mayor Hackbarth-McIntyre agreed.

“I’m not so convinced its so much a safety issue and I want to see the studies and the amount of money it would take to convert it into a park or keep it maintained and where that would lie within in our budget moving forward in the next couple years.”

From the Archives — How I Became an Archivist

Helen and Jere Baker in front of the Goffs Schoolhouse, September 1990.

The Mojave Desert Archives is the memory of the Mojave Desert community and the MDHCA organization.

by Chris Ervin, Archivist
Mojave Desert Archives

Author-historian Jere Baker visited the Mojave Desert Archives a couple of weeks ago. He was in the area doing some research and stopped in to bring me up to date on his latest project related to the history of mining in El Dorado Canyon. It also gave me a chance to show Jere the work I’m doing to get my arms around the many wonderful collections here at Goffs.

At one point, Jere asked me how I went about specializing as an archivist in my studies. It’s a good question because not everyone understands archives work and just what it is that archivists do. Even the word “archivist” is not common in the vernacular. I can assure you I am not involved in archaeology, architecture, activism, or anarchy.

I usually sum up my vocation by explaining that an archivist is a flavor of librarian. Everyone knows what a librarian is, although the word usually conjures up images of cardigans, hair in tight buns, horn-rimmed glasses, and shushing. Stereotypes aside, archival practice has much in common with librarianship from the standpoint of asset organization, subject knowledge, and preservation techniques. Whereas many librarians specialize in the cataloging and retrieval of publications (books, periodicals, music, etc.), archivists specialize in the cataloging, retrieval, and preservation of unpublished materials, such as the records of an organization, personal papers, manuscripts, photographs, etc., especially those having enduring historical value.

Since the introduction of computers in our daily lives in the 1980s and 90s, modern librarians have begun to refer to themselves as information professionals. Information has always been something librarians were known to possess, retrieve, and dispense, but now they more clearly identify their profession with "information" and the information systems that have replaced card catalogs in public libraries and archives. In fact, the school I attended at San Jose State for my master’s degree is called the School of Library and Information Science (SLIS).

To get back to answering Jere’s question, there are several tracks at a library school a student can pursue; public, academic, government, and research to name a few. The source materials of the Mojave Desert Archives have their origin in the history research author Dennis Casebier has conducted for over fifty years on the Desert West. Therefore, it is in the research and archival aspects of librarianship that I concentrated my studies and internship.

Oatman History: A trip into the past

Author Jackie Rowland-Murray, president of the Oatman Historical Society and vice president of the Arizona Historical Route 66 Association, gave a talk highlighting some of Oatman’s most colorful historic moments on Saturday at the Laughlin Library. “I’ve spent so much time researching the area’s history, I’d feel bad if I didn’t use what I’ve learned,” Rowland-Murray said. “I enjoy all of it.” (DK McDONALD/The Daily News)

By DK McDONALD
Mohave Valley Daily News

LAUGHLIN — For some, history is the chronicle of a society’s evolution. For others, history is blueprint for the future.

“I get upset when schools don’t teach history,” said historian and author Jackie Rowland-Murray. “If you don’t know what the history is, it is going to repeat big-time and not in a good way.”

President of the Oatman Historical Society and vice president of the Arizona Historical Route 66 Association,
Rowland-Murray spoke on some of Oatman’s most colorful historic moments Saturday at the Laughlin Library.

Rowland-Murray’s 90-minute presentation traced Oatman’s history from the first known contact with Native people by Spanish Franciscan friar Francisco Garces, to its birth in the early 1800s to the present day. With emphasis on events such as the Oatman Massacre and the kidnapping of Olive Oatman, Rowland-Murray also related stories of the Rose-Bailey Massacre, Beale’s road expedition on the 35th Parallel and the region’s gold mines that produced $40 million in gold.

“I’ve heard her speak before,” said Elsie Needles, president of the Colorado River Historical Society and Museum. “She wrote a great book on the history of Oatman. She is so knowledgeable and a really good speaker.”

The public history lesson was presented in partnership with the Colorado River Historical Society and Museum. Rowland-Murray, the author of “Oatman: History, Recipes & Ghost Stories,” said she enjoys sharing history for its own sake.

“I’ve spent so much time researching the area’s history, I’d feel bad if I didn’t use what I’ve learned,” she said. “It’s information that just begs to be shared.”

Rowland-Murray‘s research has resulted in a variety of subjects to present, she said. Including the Oatman history lecture, she offers presentations on how women lived in the 1800s, on Olive Oatman’s life, and two presentations on the “Strong women of the Colorado River,” split between women from Yuma to this area of Mohave County, and northern women, covering women from the Grand Canyon to the northern state line.

“I also have a presentation solely on mining,” said Rowland-Murray. “That one made me nervous, because the first time I presented it was to a room full of prospectors.”

The mining stories are her favorite to relate, she said.

“Mining in Oatman is a real interesting story,” Rowland-Murray said. “It had huge effects on the area, the state and the whole world.”

The presentation didn’t stop with the camels, the burros, the gold or the massacres. Rowland-Murray made the connections between Oatman’s history and the present day.

“Oatman sees more than 400,000 visitors every year, some tracing the history of Route 66 and some who want to see a bit of the Old West,” Rowland-Murray said. “Oatman has never legally been designated a town, although during its heyday it boasted a population between 8,000 and 10,000 people. Oatman is classified as a roadside attraction which makes it difficult to get some things done.”

The 2000 census found 128 residents in Oatman.

“We’re different,” Rowland-Murray said. “It’s a small and quiet community. There is no grocery store. There is no school. There’s no gas station, either, although a couple guys keep extra 5-gallon cans in their backyards in case of an emergency. We like to say, ‘If you need it, we don’t have it.’ But people are drawn here. It has a rich history. It’s interesting.”

John Brown Sr., A True San Bernardino Pioneer

Five of the most prominent founding members of the San Bernardino Historical and Pioneer Society are immortalized in this classic western portrait taken circa 1895. Left to right: W.F. Holcomb, John Brown Jr., John Brown Sr., George Miller, B.B. Harris. (From the collection of the San Bernardino Historical and Pioneer Society)

By Mark Landis
San Bernardino Sun

The amazing life story of mountain man John Brown Sr. wasn’t glamorized in a movie or a television show like some of his fellow trailblazers from the 1840s, but his real-life adventures were so remarkable — they read like chapters from an Old West dime novel.

Unlike many of the famed mountain men of the early 1800s, Brown Sr. used his later “civilized” years in San Bernardino to distinguish himself as a respected pioneer, and civic leader.

In his older years, Brown chronicled some of his life’s experiences in a book, “Mediumistic Experiences of John Brown; The Medium of The Rockies.”

In the book, Brown describes his extensive travels from childhood, to his years in California. Brown was a devout spiritualist, and much of the book is filled with odd ramblings about his spiritual adventures and experiences as a medium, which he claimed, began in his youth.

John Brown Sr., was born in Worcester, Mass., Dec. 22, 1817. His family moved to St. Louis, Missouri, and he was orphaned at an early age.

According to his biography in L.A. Ingersoll’s “Century Annals of San Bernardino County, California,” Brown began his travels as a young boy rafting down the Mississippi River to New Orleans. He survived a shipwreck while traveling to Galveston, Texas, and later continued to Fort Leavenworth.

In 1836, Brown was at the famed battle of San Jacinto, and saw Mexican president Santa Anna taken prisoner. From Texas, he joined a group of mountaineers and trappers, and spent 14 years in the Rocky Mountains, hunting, trading, and exploring.

While in the Rockies, Brown and his hunting companions helped build some of the early frontier forts that served as outposts for the great western migration. Brown’s companions read like a “who’s who” of mountain men, including Kit Carson, Alexander Godey, Joseph Bridger, and William and Charles Bent, founders of Bent’s Fort, Colorado.

According to his biographies, John Brown and his companions acted as guides for Gen. John C. Fremont’s crossing of the Rocky Mountains.

Around 1844, John Brown traveled to Taos, New Mexico, which had become an outpost for fur traders. It was here that Brown met and married Maria Louisa Sandoval, his lifetime partner. John and Louisa’s first child, Mary Matilda was born in 1844, in Taos. Louisa gave John 5 more daughters, and 4 sons, for a remarkable total of 10 children. She proved to be John’s equal as she endured years of frontier life, while raising small children in the most rugged conditions.

In 1849, John Brown and his fur trading companions were struck with gold fever. Brown packed up his young family and headed to the gold fields at Sutter’s Fort, California, arriving in September 1849.

Like most of the 49ers who swarmed into California, Brown and his friends had little success panning for gold. Within months, they struck out for Monterey and opened a small boarding house named the St. John’s Hotel. Louisa and the children were finally indoors, but John began to suffer with health problems from the cool sea air.

In April of 1852, Brown took the advice of his physician to leave Monterey, and reside in the warmer, drier climate of Southern California. Brown moved his family to the newly founded Mormon settlement of San Bernardino, where he purchased a small log cabin within the San Bernardino Fort for $50.

Brown quickly began developing friendships with many of the pioneers who had traveled from Salt Lake City to build the Southern California outpost. According to his “Medium of The Rockies,” Brown became the “resident spiritualist” of the town, and was called upon as a medium, and for spiritual insight and healing.

Apparently still not ready to settle, John Brown moved his family to nearby Yucaipa in 1854, and went into the stock business. The Browns moved back to San Bernardino in 1857, and by this time, John and Louisa had 8 children.

As if the Brown household wasn’t full enough, John took in a boarder named David Noble Smith in the fall of 1857. D.N. Smith was also a spiritualist, and a lasting friendship was struck.

John Brown transferred a piece of land he had homesteaded at Arrowhead Springs to Smith who went on to establish the first sanitarium on the property. This early sanitarium for treating tuberculosis patients evolved into the famed Arrowhead Springs resort that occupies the site today.

In 1860, gold was discovered in Holcomb Valley, in the nearby San Bernardino Mountains.

Brown was once again tempted by gold fever, but his business sense took over. Sensing the need to transport materials to the new gold fields, Brown petitioned the state Legislature for a franchise to build a toll road through the Cajon Pass.

In spring of 1861, Brown’s crew of 30-40 men carved out the first graded wagon road through the pass, and built upper and lower toll booths to manage the route.

With the Cajon Pass toll road built, Brown set his sights on furthering the development of trade routes and built a ferry to cross the Colorado River at Fort Mohave in 1862.

John Brown’s business success allowed him to donate funds and materials to improve public areas in San Bernardino. Brown also took an active role in local politics, and he served in several public service positions.

In January of 1888, the San Bernardino Society of California Pioneers was organized by a noteworthy group of pioneers who helped establish the city in the early 1850s. John Brown Sr. was later elected president of the society, and he served in that position until his death.

This group has since become the San Bernardino Historical and Pioneer Society, which is still very active in the community today.

Louisa Brown passed away suddenly on May 16, 1891, at the age of 66, at the family home in San Bernardino.

John Brown Sr. died April 20, 1899, at the age of 81, in San Bernardino. Brown’s funeral was held at the family home at the corner of D and Sixth Streets, in San Bernardino.

Holding true to his spiritualistic beliefs to the end, Brown’s funeral service was conducted by Mrs. J. A. Marchant, superintendent of the First Spiritual Society of San Bernardino.

Reverend A.J. White, of the Presbyterian Church of Colton also performed duties at the service.

John Brown Sr.’s lasting contributions to the region were carried on by his extensive family, most notably, John Brown Jr. who went on to become a successful lawyer, and a leading citizen of the area.

For more information on mountain men, visit the “Mountain Men in San Bernardino County 1826 – 1850” display at the San Bernardino County Museum, at 2024 Orange Tree Lane, Redlands.

Ward Valley history: Mojave Desert spared a nuclear waste dump

Fatimah Hameed
People's World

This date in 1999 recalls a colossal environmental victory.

Ward Valley, Calif., was decided upon in 1988 as the preferred location for a nuclear waste dump to be operated by U.S. Ecology. The state of California had to buy the Mojave Desert acreage from the Bureau of Land Management, and then grant the firm permission to build only 20 miles away from the Colorado River. For a decade legal, cultural and environmental issues, involving the rights of local Native Americans, an endangered species of desert tortoise, as well as the track record and competence of U.S. Ecology, roiled the state.

Such environmental activist groups as Greenpeace and the Bay Area Nuclear Waste Coalition, joined with the Colorado River Native Nations Alliance (CRNNA) to stop the project. In late 1995, they occupied the land, coming and going to conform to policies on camping in the desert. At a demonstration in front of the Federal Building of Los Angeles in December, CRNNA called upon the sacred importance of the environment to the Native communities. The Department of Interior refused to grant the CRNNA standing, however, thus denying the native peoples a voice in the required Environmental Impact Statement on the dump. Later the CRNNA filed a claim under the Civil Rights Act due to the sacred status of the Ward Valley. Rev. Jesse Jackson agreed with the analysis of "environmental racism," and became a strong ally.

For the next couple of years the encampments continued. Activists blockaded the dumpsite entrance, even after the Department of Interior ordered the occupation closed. Volunteers kept arriving from near and far to try and stop the dump. Afraid of provoking a confrontation, the Bureau of Land Management removed its law-enforcement officers from the area. The occupation ended in June 1998, but the activist coalition continued to pressure state officials, including Governor Gray Davis, to cancel the project.

On April 2, 1999, U.S. Ecology and the state of California lost a federal lawsuit. Secretary of the Interior Bruce Babbitt refused to sell the land to the state, and with a final U.S. Court of Appeals judgment the next year, the Ward Valley nuclear land dump plan came to an end.

There really is no 100% safe way to store radioactive waste for all time. Any waste dump anywhere is in effect a time bomb waiting to explode. Other energy and industrial waste is also problematic. Technological advances require responsible disposal or conversion for dangerous by-products. Although consciousness over these issues has grown exponentially, the people's will is far ahead of governmental policy in most countries, including our own.

LA-Phoenix road race quickly sped through in 1912

The winner of the 1912 LA-Phoenix "Cactus Derby,"

Ralph Hamlin and mechanic Andrew Smith are seen 

above in a Martin shock absorber advertisement.

By Joe Blackstock
Inland Valley Daily Bulletin

From the west came a speeding automobile racing through the night, its driver unaware that danger lie ahead at the railroad crossing up ahead.

In the opposite direction came a westbound freight train, which spectators there could see was going to reach the west Pomona crossing at the same time as the auto.

Fortunately, through the heroic work of one man that night, there was no crash, allowing the 1912 Los Angeles-to-Phoenix auto road race to continue through the Inland Empire.

On Oct. 26, 1912, hundreds of spectators assembled at the turn where Valley Boulevard crosses the railroad in Spadra, an area of western Pomona, waiting for the high-speed contestants to pass on their way to Colton and on to Arizona.

Some apparently went there, according to the Pomona Daily Review, for the same reason some may attend auto races today.

“Drawn by the morbid curiosity that some fatality might happen, half a thousand assembled by the turn this side of Spadra,” read the newspaper account of Oct. 28.

As one of the 12 cars in the race approached the crossing shortly after midnight, spectators heard the whistle of a westbound Southern Pacific train a mile or two to the east.

“The crowd stood transfixed with horror,” said the article, “for it believed the occupants of the automobile would not see the train.”

To the rescue came Pomona resident Frank Balfour, who was assigned to keep the crossing clear for the drivers. Standing on the tracks, Balfour frantically waved a red lantern, though it looked like a collision could not be averted.

Fortunately, the engineer spotted the signal and brought his train to an abrupt halt just as the auto flashed across the tracks.

In today’s world of freeways and fast cars, it may seem odd there was such fascination about watching no more than a blur of autos careening along city streets. But there weren’t that many autos in the Inland Empire in 1912, and almost no one locally had ever seen a car hurtling down dirt Holt Avenue at 60 mph in the dark of night.

The annual Los Angeles-Phoenix race was put on for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was to highlight the need for a coast-to-coast highway, which at that time did not exist.

The route of the race — taking drivers through Pomona, Ontario and Colton, to Banning Pass, Indio, Imperial County, Yuma and finally to Phoenix — seemed the logical all-weather route for the western end of such a highway.

For the 1912 race, veteran racer Ralph Hamlin was the winner and took home 65 percent of the $5,600 purse. He completed the course (not including an overnight stop in Yuma) in a running time of 18 hours and 20 minutes, which was 43 minutes ahead of runnerup Charles Soules.

Five of the 12 actually made it to Phoenix on the 28th. They battled mechanical failure, sand dunes, and spectators — one car was disabled near the start in Los Angeles after hitting a bystander walking on the route.

For Ontario, the arrival of the cars was a major event. The city held its annual celebration — El Festivo de Ontario — during the day and evening, after which most of the town lined the route to see the cars on A Street (today’s Holt) just after midnight.

There was a special reason for the drivers to hurry — “Festivo” organizers offered a side pot of $200 for the fastest elapsed time to A and Euclid Avenue (they left Los Angeles in 10-minute intervals starting at 11:05 p.m.).

Fastest to Ontario was Al Faulkner, driving a Simplex auto entered by William Randolph Hearst. He won the $200 for arriving in 44 minutes and 34 seconds — a pretty good time from Los Angeles even today. He held the lead by the time he reached Banning but he wrecked his car in the sand dunes east of the Salton Sea.

Louis Nikrent, in a Buick, provided local residents all the destruction they would want. He arrived in Ontario in second place, three minutes slower than Faulkner, but found disaster near Archibald Avenue in the Guasti area.

Nikrent, driving with his younger brother, slowed down to make a turn in the dark, skidded on two wheels, rolled twice and came to rest upside-down in soft sand. The elder Nikrent was pinned against his seat by the steering wheel, his face in the sand.

The brothers were both rescued and were determined to have only minor injuries, but their car was so damaged it could not continue.

Several other racers also had troubles at the sandy turn at Guasti, including Hamlin who barely missed a fence and, over-compensating, almost hit a telegraph pole on the other side of the road.

One other racer was forced to do what these resourceful drivers always did when something broke: He fixed it himself.

Charles H. Bigelow, in a Mercedes, barely avoided Nikrent’s wreck at Archibald but at Etiwanda Avenue went careening into the sand out of control. He got back to the road, but found he had broken a shock absorber and a truss rod.

Three hours later, using available parts in Ontario, he got the repairs made and was back on the road again, ready for more adventures.

From the Archives — New Archivist in Town

The Mojave Desert Archives is the memory of the Mojave Desert community and the MDHCA organization.

by Chris Ervin, Archivist
Mojave Desert Archives

Chris Ervin

As mentioned in the Mojave Road Report, my wife Leslie and I have recently taken up a two-year residency at the Goffs Cultural Center (GCC). I'm excited to be appointed the first archivist for the Mojave Desert Archives and am looking forward to helping make the amazing collections here more widely known and accessible to researchers.

You can think of the Mojave Desert Archives as a department of the nonprofit Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association (MDHCA). Our organization has many wonderful historic buildings and artifacts on display here at the GCC—the Goffs Schoolhouse being the crown jewel. But the 1,300 oral histories, 110,000 photographs, 7,000 historic maps, and 6,000 rare books–just to name a few of our holdings–require descriptions to help researchers understand their content and context, an organized filing system that allows the materials to be quickly retrieved, and special care to preserve them for the longest time possible. That's where the archives staff come in. They ensure there is physical and intellectual control over every item held in the Archives.

I was recently asked by one of our leading members how I'm going to make the above happen. I've had a lot of time to think about just that. I was an Information Technology (IT) professional for 32 years and I've been a volunteer for our organization for 27. When we built the Dennis G. Casebier Library in the image of the Goffs Depot seven years ago, I was struck by the fact that we had this wonderful building, soon to contain desert-related collections found nowhere else, yet we were lacking an archivist to give our repository the level of professionalism it deserved. Becoming the archivist for the Mojave Desert Archives was something I wanted to do, so I went off and got a master's degree in Archival Science. Last August, I passed the Certified Archivist exam.

In October, just before I left the IT world, I induced my former employer to donate two IBM business servers and related equipment to the MDHCA. They are now installed in the Dennis G. Casebier Library and loaded with the archives data management software we'll be using to document the collections and generate collection guides to be posted online. I'm also conducting a survey of all the collections, their locations, sizes, and current status. This will help us prioritize them for any preservation needs and for creating high level descriptions.

The first pass will be done at the collection level so we can measure just how big the breadbox is. Subsequent passes will drill down into the details, where our superb volunteer staff such as Carol and Hugh Brown, Loris Mitchell, Jackie Ridge, and many others have been concentrating for years. Much valuable work has been done to protect and organize the collections. My approach will not be to change any of the good work that's already been accomplished, but to build upon it. We all want to make the Mojave Desert Archives into the world renowned research center it has the potential to be.

In future installments of this column I'll be highlighting our collections and how we're taking care of, organizing, and making them accessible. I'll also share how we will continue to develop and enhance the collections and, more importantly, how we'll inform the community about the cultural richness and authentic heritage preserved here at Goffs. In the meantime, you can keep up with Mojave Desert history at our blog at mojavedesertarchives.blogspot.com and by following us on Twitter at twitter.com/desertarchives.

Field trip explores Cajon Pass “Gateway into the San Bernardino Valley”

A field trip—Exploring the Cajon Pass: Gateway into the San Bernardino Valley—will explore historic trails and roads along the Cajon Pass inlcuding the site of the Cajon Pass Monument dedication in 1913. (Photo/Nick Cataldo – San Bernardino Historical Society)

By Yazmin Alvarez
Inland Empire Community Newspapers

A one-day field trip along the trails and paths traveled by mountain men and American explorers is being offered March 21 through Cal State San Bernardino’s Office of Extended Education.

The drive-and-stop course—”Exploring the Cajon Pass: Gateway into the San Bernardino Valley”— will be taught by local historian Nick Cataldo and focus on what he refers to as “the gateway into the Southern Valley” following in the footsteps of Jedediah Smith and Kit Carson, the Mormon Battalion and passing through wagon roads.

“The Cajon Pass has played a prominent role in the San Bernardino Valley since prehistoric times. Indians, explorers, trappers, loggers, settlers, land speculators, rail passengers, the military and early motorists have all passed through the Cajon Pass on their way to or from the desert, making this an important gateway in Southern California”.

As part of the hands-on field trip, guests will trek along historic routes including the Old Spanish Trail dating back to the 1830’s, the National Old Trails Road, John Brown’s Toll Road and a portion of the infamous Route 66. Day trippers will also visit the grounds of an old Serrano Indian campsite. Each stop will include lessons on the historical sites along with stories and opportunities for discussions.

The course—which has a fee of $83 for no credit and $140 for one unit credit— will run from 8 a.m.. to 4:30 p.m. There will be an optional no-host breakfast at 7 a.m. at the Summit Inn, 5960 Mariposa Road in Oak Hills prior to the start of the day’s trek.

Nick Cataldo, second from right, leads a group up the old route of travel in Crowder Canyon. (Photo/Nick Cataldo – San Bernardino Historical Society)

Field-trippers are encouraged to bring good hiking shoes, a camera, a walking stick, lunch, water, pencil or pen and clothing suitable for both warm and cold weather.

Walking trips of no more than two miles are required during the excursion. Children seven and older are welcome. Those interested in driving their own vehicle can do so, but clearance is required as part of the route is on bumpy dirt roads and small ravines.

Baker Thermometer on Strange Inheritance

The world’s tallest thermometer in Baker, the ‘Gateway to Death Valley’.

by Jamie Colby
Foxbusiness.com

Strange Inheritance host Jamie Colby travels to Baker, California to learn the story of a family’s 134-foot thermometer. Here's a 7 minute video clip from the program: World's Tallest Thermometer video clip

Here's a second video aired on Strange Inheritance Unpacked on the popularity of roadside attractions in America including the world’s tallest thermometer: Roadside Attractions video clip

The Lost Dutch Oven Mine

Tom Schofield

By Mark Gutglueck
San Bernardino County Sentinel

The Lost Dutch Oven Mine is one of the most famous lost mines in California and likely the most famous of those in San Bernardino County. The tale is a rich one, with several variations, as is often the case with lost mine legends. Some of the particulars are verifiable, and indeed it seems very likely the mine actually existed and may yet be out there, waiting to be found.

In 1894, Tom Schofield was working for the Santa Fe Railroad at the Danby watering station. In those days, trains pulled by locomotives carried enough coal to go more than half way across the country, but needed to constantly replenish their water stores as the steam used to power the locomotives was lost at a rapid rate. At the extreme end of San Bernardino County were six watering stations along the Santa Fe line, named in reverse alphabetical order after the track came west across the Arizona border: Goffs, Fenner, Essex, Danby, Cadiz, Bolo and Amboy. Schofield manned the Danby station. His job was to maintain the apparatus from which the water for the steam engines that rolled down the track were supplied.

The Danby station’s water came from what is known as Bonanza Spring located in the Clipper Mountains, which was claimed by the Southern Pacific Railroad in 1893. The railroad company had constructed a four-inch pipe running from the spring to the Danby Station. That pipe continued to provide water to Danby until it was replaced by a well near the station in the 1930s.

Trains travelled on strict schedules and Schofield was free to roam about the area around Danby during the hours when no trains were due. On occasions, at that time, as long as a day-and-a-half or two days might pass without a train passing through the six watering stations.

Schofield, who was then 42, one day had noticed during his sojourn to the spring in the Clipper Mountains that there was what appeared to be a long neglected, indistinct trail leading off to the side of the mountain where the spring was located. On one of the days when there was a long gap between trains into Danby, he resolved to follow the faint path to see where it would lead him.

Here the story begins its deviation.

According to one version, he hiked some distance, coming upon a recently abandoned miner’s camp. He then continued up a steep bank and scaled the edge of a narrow shale wall, before arriving at a mine shaft of some depth with sides well boarded up by old railroad ties. In this version, he sensed, based upon its appearance, that the ore on the tailing pile next to the shaft was exceedingly rich. However, it was getting on in the afternoon and so he decided to stay the night at the small miner’s camp below. In the morning, he happened to kick the lid off of an old Dutch oven located near the fire pit and from that old pot gold ore “rich-to-the-eye” spilled onto the ground. According to this version, he gathered up as much of the ore as he could carry and headed down the mountain and back to Danby.

Another version is that on his trek that day he was about three miles up the side of the mountain when he came upon a long abandoned stone house. He continued on, hiking what he later reckoned was about nine more miles when he came upon a spring. He followed a trail from the spring leading over a hill at the peak of which was a rock or boulder he described as being the size of a house. The boulder was split in two and the trail continued straight through it. Beyond this passageway he encountered what appeared to be an old Spanish camp.

Shortly beyond this he found himself upon on a high shelf, surrounded by high walls. Through other openings in the rock walls, he could see that the “shelf” was sitting high above the ground at about 500 feet. The only way in or out of the little flat was through the split rock. Scattered about the long deserted camp, Schofield found rusty mining tools, pots, pans, fragments of a bedroll, and an old iron Dutch oven.

Also on the shelf was a mine shaft, in which he found the skeletons of seven burrows (sic). Next to the shaft was a mine dump that contained numerous stones still containing rich gold quartz. Night was approaching, and he bedded down on the shelf planning to leave at daybreak. In the morning, as he was leaving, he tripped over the Dutch oven and out tumbled a mound of pure gold nuggets. He gathered up the gold nuggets, and fashioning a makeshift pack from one of the side packs found next to the burro carcasses, carried out as much of the ore as he could manage.

A third version is that he hiked for some distance, passing through a huge split boulder and came upon a wooden cabin with a hitching post, in front of which were the carcasses of several dead burros. In the cabin were the skeletons of three or four humans. Also in the cabin was a Dutch oven. When he kicked the top off the oven, he saw it was filled with rich gold ore. Outside the cabin and not too distant from it, a mine had been dug between ten and fifteen feet into the side of a hill. He retrieved several gold quartz samples from this mine, and was able to easily pull them from the wall of the mine using just his hands. He used the canvas burro side packs to carry as much of the ore and nuggets back with him to Danby.

Schofield caught the first train into Los Angeles.

How do we know that one of these three versions or some order of a combination thereof is true? Because records show that Tom Schofield had testing done on the ore he had with him. Those tests showed that the ore in the Dutch oven had indeed a very high gold content and that the ore he had personally removed from the mine was also quite rich. For just the nuggets and ore he had been able to carry with him, Schofield netted over $200,000. In just two years, he spent all of his newfound wealth gambling, on liquor and fast women.

Two years later, he headed back to the Clipper Mountains, searching, searching, searching, for what he had stumbled upon. He was never able to find it. Schofield spent the rest of his life, essentially, as a prospector. He worked claims in the Old Woman and Turtle Mountains. He mined salt in Danby Dry Lake for a time. He even mined for iron ore in the Marble Mountains and prospected in other locations between Essex and Amboy. Beginning around 1920 and for a few years he held an interest in the Iron Hat Mine located about twelve miles east of Amboy in the Marble Mountains.

In the 1930s and into the 1940s, when he was in his 80s and early 90s, he was still wandering around Danby and the Clipper Mountains, seeking the Lost Dutch Oven Mine.

In 1936, while he was living in an abandoned store outside Danby, Schofield was interviewed by Walter H. Miller and George Haight. The gist of that interview formed the basis for much of what we know today as the Legend of the Lost Dutch Oven Mine.

There is no record of the Dutch Oven Mine ever having been found again. The Clipper Mountains are located just south of Interstate 40 and the Clipper Valley, between the freeway and National Old Trails Highway, northwest of the small community of Essex. The range is home to at least three springs, as well as the Tom Reed Mine. The Danby Station is located about 1.6 miles southeast of Highway 66 on Danby Road.

Plans underway to preserve historic High Desert stretch of Route 66

A car passes through Amboy on historic U.S. Route 66., Thursday, July 31, 2014. (John Valenzuela)

By Joe Nelson
The San Bernardino Sun

America’s love affair with Route 66 endures.

Songs have been written about it. A television show was named after it. It played a prominent role in John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath” as the route taken by the Joad family from Oklahoma to California to escape the Dust Bowl.

And for nearly a quarter of a century, the city of San Bernardino paid tribute to it with its annual Route 66 Rendezvous, a weekend street faire for classic car enthusiasts.

And now, plans are underway to preserve and enhance a 150-mile stretch of the two-lane historic highway from Needles to Barstow, creating roadside kiosks and mobile apps, among other things, to attract visitors and keep its memory alive.

“I’m convinced the route will get busier and busier because of tourism and the baby boomers retiring,” said Albert Okura, owner of the historic roadside Roy’s Motel and Cafe in Amboy, one of the mainstay attractions along the dusty desert stretch of Historic Route 66.

On Wednesday, the U.S. Bureau of Land Management and the California Historic Route 66 Association released their Route 66 Draft Corridor Management Plan.

A 30-day public comment period on the plan is now underway. A webcast is scheduled for Feb. 19. The webcast, as well as a digital copy of the plan, can be accessed at http://cmp.route66ca.org.

Hard copies are also available for review at the BLM California Desert District Office in Moreno Valley, the BLM’s Barstow and Needles field offices, the Barstow Chamber of Commerce, the Barstow Public Library, the Needles Chamber of Commerce, and the Needles Public Library.

A limited number of black-and-white hard copies of the plan may be requested via email at cahistoricrt66@aol.com, with “CMP Hard Copy Request” entered in the subject line of the email.

The long-term plan includes the most comprehensive strategy to date on the preservation and marketing of the highway stretch. Once the plan is complete, the BLM and California Historic Route 66 Association will push to get it designated as a National Scenic Byway by the U.S. Department of Transportation.

The targeted audience includes Route 66 enthusiasts, historians, multi-generational travelers and travel groups, photographers and railway enthusiasts.

“It represents a great chance to introduce people to the Mojave Desert,” said Jim Klein, the project’s lead planner.

He said several gateway centers with kiosks are planned for Barstow, Needles, Amboy, Essex, Goffs and Ludlow. An interactive mobile app would allow travelers to see then-and-now photos of the many stopovers and other geographic points of interest along the highway, he said.

“When you’re trying to draw people toward Barstow, you need to create something for them to see and do,” Klein said. “There are a lot of great old photographs of all these communities. Some of them are no longer there.”

Building new infrastructure along the highway stretch and refurbishing many, if not all, of the 128 timber trestle bridges dotting the historic route is also a top priority, Klein said. He said the stretch of Route 66 from Needles to Barstow has most of the antiquated wooden bridges, which were built in the 1920s during construction of the highway.

Written comments on the draft plan will be accepted through Feb. 28, and may be submitted by mail to Lardner/Klein Landscape Architects, 815 N. Royal St., Suite 200, attn: Route 66 CMP, Alexandria, VA 22314. Comments can also be sent via email to cart66cmp@lardnerklein.com.

Come for the Giant Rock, Stay for the UFO History

George Van Tassel believed he could communicate with aliens

By Laura Clark
smithsonian.com

At first glance, there’s not all that much exciting about what has been called the “world’s biggest rock.” It’s as huge as its nickname suggests—a freestanding boulder about seven stories high and covering about 58,000 square feet in California’s Mojave Desert.

But visitors to the rock don’t typically go there for geology; they come, often, because of the rock's association with a race of space creatures with “good healthy tan[s]."

Giant Rock, as it is formally called, was once just one of many boulders scattered over an arid swath of unused government land. Native Americans may have viewed it as a spiritual site, but it wasn’t inhabited until the 1930s, when Frank Critzer arrived, as Sasha Archibald writes in Cabinet Magazine.

No one knows how he came upon the rock, and technically he was a squatter, but he sure did settle in. He dug out a cave under the boulder, built a runway for small private planes and carved out 33 miles of road leading to the nearest paved street. In 1942, during a visit by police, Critzer was killed when an old box of dynamite exploded.

With the first owner gone, Giant Rock only became weirder.

That same year, perhaps intrigued by Critzer’s exploits, George Van Tassel, a 32 year-old Ohio native and aviation tradesman, visited the site and decided to live there. He bought the land around Giant Rock from the Bureau of Land Management and, in 1947, moved himself, his wife, Eva and three daughters from Los Angeles to their new desert home.

As Archibald explains, most of what's known about Van Tassel is gleaned from his own writings and from his devotees—not exactly objective sources. By his death in 1978, he had become a kind of new-age philosopher, UFO “expert” and the leader of Ministry of Universal Wisdom, a religion he created. One thing is clear, though: Van Tassel believed he was in contact with aliens.

In his first book, I Rode a Flying Saucer, published in 1952, he describes meeting those tanned space creatures, who transmitted knowledge to him through telepathy. Van Tasssel claimed that Solganda, the aliens’ leader ultimately instructed him on how to build a time machine that would heal and strengthen humans—and so, about three miles south of Giant Rock, he built a two-story-high white dome, The Integratron. Though he worked on it for the rest of his life, it was never quite finished.

Van Tassel claimed at one time that the machine’s design came from a 17-page alien equation. The more likely inspiration was the research of a Russian scientist named George Lakhovsky, whose theories included the idea that human bodies were electrical conductors and that cancer could be cured by his Multiple Wave Oscillator. The Integratron time machine was a variation on these ideas. Archibald writes:

“Like an automatic car wash, the Integratron was an amalgam of architecture and machine. Its purpose was not to transport a fixed body to a different time, as time machines typically do, but to eliminate time’s effect on a body; the machine produced time, rather than suck it away.”

Beginning in the early 1950s, in order to raise money for himself and the development of the machine, Van Tassel held UFO conventions around Giant Rock. At the height of its popularity, the convention is thought to have attracted over a thousand attendees. Life even shot a series of photos documenting the participants in the “Flying Saucer Convention of 1957,” where believers shared alien experiences and theories on extraterrestrial life.

Today, the unfinished Integratron still stands out in the desert, cared for by the current owners, who put it to use as a site for “sound baths” which, according to their website, are “60-minute sonic healing sessions that consist of 25 minutes of crystal bowls played live.” And though Van Tassel's conventions ended in the 1970s, in 2006, devotees convened for convened for a day-long “Retro UFO Convention." The Independent reports:

Old-timers recalled the glory days of spotting mysterious lights in the desert sky. Present-day believers spoke enthusiastically about their own close encounters, everywhere from Arizona to New York City. Those blessed with actual contact with the aliens - known in the vernacular as "contactees" - were welcomed like prophets for the new millennium, complete with shiny silver hats and cloaks that looked eerily like cast-offs from the Star Trek wardrobe department.

Van Tassel would have felt right at home.

A Chicken Magnate's Quest to Revive a Desert Ghost Town

Photo from "The Silence and the Sun" by Joe De Kehoe, courtesy of Martha Burnau and Sally Carlos.

by Matt Blitz
Curbed Network

In the middle of October, the Mojave Desert is cool by desert standards. The wind is so strong it's hard to stand up straight. The air is so dry that thirst is a constant. Dust, rock, and sand get into every crevice. Few brave living here.

Eighty years ago, though, this desert was alive with trains, people, stores, cars, gas stations, and cafes. Many of those buildings are still here, but only a few are occupied. By the mid-20th century, there was no longer enough to live here for. Not enough trains or cars passing through. Not enough commerce to sustain a community. Not enough committed citizens to reinvent the towns. The buildings were left as they were, as if the former occupants had every intention of coming back. The mostly-wooden structures still stand, swaying with the wind, baking in the heat, and collecting dust.

The Mojave Desert is filled with these ghost towns, places like Essex, Baghdad, Ludlow, Chubbuck, and Goffs, all teetering on the edge of existence. They inspire questions about our responsibility to abandoned buildings. Do we just let them rot away? Do we continue to hope that people will come back? Is preserving the past a noble cause or a fool's errand?

Amboy, one of the many wind-blown towns of the Mojave left to fade away in the sun, has changed ownership numerous times with no one able or willing to put in the work to revive it. In 2003, Amboy was listed on Ebay for $1.9 million. There were no takers and the property entered foreclosure. In 2005, at a much-discounted price, it finally landed in the hands of a Southern California chicken magnate, Albert Okura, who committed to reviving the town. Nine years have passed and Okura remains steadfast in his commitment. But the future of Amboy is up in the air, swirling around with the dust and sand.

Amboy's official birth year was 1883, but it was actually settled in 1858, when prospectors came to claim the hills' iron ore. According to an 1877 map (right) drawn up by Lieutenant J.C. Mallery of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, a road established in these years connected Amboy to the Dale mining district.

It is not exactly clear why the settlement was named "Amboy." As the railroad established water stops in California, the communities were named in alphabetical order from west to east, stopping at the Arizona state line. Amboy was the first.

Seven years later, in 1865, the Southern Pacific Railroad Company was founded with the goal of establishing rail service from San Francisco to San Diego. The company did just that, but its goals were much loftier. Beginning in 1862, the Pacific Railway Acts promoted the construction of a transcontinental railway through land grants and government bonds. The Southern Pacific Railroad Company took full advantage of these government handouts. By 1884, through land grants, bonds, company consolidation, and leasing of other railroads, the "mighty" Southern Pacific reached New Orleans (a route nicknamed "the Sunset Route").

Southern Pacific promised to build at least twenty miles of rail per year beginning in 1870. Construction fell behind, but on June 22nd, 1883, the Southern Pacific Railroad finished its 223 miles of rail connecting the Mojave Desert to Needles, California, allowing the giant steel beasts known as locomotives to pass through the desert.

At first, Amboy was nothing more than a water and repair stop for the trains. Amboy didn't have a bank or a fire department, though a two-room wooden schoolhouse was built in 1903. (Western railroad towns, in general, tended to be unimaginative in design and created for the sole purpose of catering to the railroad worker and self-sufficiency.)

Other communities in the Mojave, like Ludlow or Essex, were different from Amboy. They became 'blow-off' towns for the thirsty, recreation-starved miners who had to deal with alcohol-free mining camps. With their abundance of pool halls, saloons, and brothels, communities like these lived off of workers' vices. Amboy, though, got a boost from the discovery of a natural resource. This resource wasn't found in the mountains, but at the bottom of Bristol Lake.

That resource was salt, or calcium chloride. Drilling a water well in 1910, the railroad company had discovered that the water contained 10 times as much salt as the ocean. The Pacific Cement Plaster Company had already built a mill in Amboy in 1904 to process the gypsum at the bottom of Bristol Lake, and the salt offered another revenue stream. By 1914, mining in Bristol Lake for both salt and gypsum was at its height. Mills, worker residences, and even saloons were hastily built in the nearby town of Amboy. But like all booms, this one was short-lived. Over-mining and discovery of other salt deposits in easier-to-reach places forced all the mills to close by 1924. Amboy began to deteriorate, just like the other towns of the Mojave Desert.

Other problems followed. On October 29th, 1929, "Black Tuesday," the stock market lost nearly thirteen percent of its value. The subsequent Great Depression decimated the railroads. The Tonopah and Tidewater and the Ludlow and Southern line, other famed desert railroads, were ripped up by 1935. The mighty Southern Pacific, bigger and more financially solvent than its competitors, continued to operate and was still turning a profit until the late 1940s, but the end was nearing for even the strongest of the locomotives.

But the invention that came next, the automobile, revolutionized the way Americans traveled and breathed new life into Amboy.

In 1927, Cyrus Avery (right) and the newly formed US Highway 66 Association convinced Congress to establish a well-maintained, easily passable interstate highway from Chicago to Los Angeles. Construction began on US 66 that same year and all 2,448 miles were paved by 1938. Route 66 was built specifically to follow the railroad, which had carved a clear path, both in infrastructure and notoriety, through the southwest. The road was built nearly parallel to both the Southern Pacific and Santa Fe railroads. For this reason, Amboy was included on the route.

During the mid-1930s, with the Depression at its height and the dust storms wrecking havoc across the Midwest, thousands of people traveled the newly-built Route 66 in search of a better life elsewhere. As immortalized by John Steinbeck in The Grapes of Wrath, Route 66 was "the path for people in flight, refugees from the dust."

Amboy flourished, hitting its peak right when the Depression was at its worst. The permanent population jumped to nearly 200 people. Three gas stations, two cafes, three motor courts, four garages, a post office, a church, and a school were built, all with colorful signs and enticing offers (air conditioning!) to lure in visitors.

If Amboy was an oasis in the middle of the desert, then Roy Crowl was mainly responsible for its reemergence. Working as a railroad line operator a few miles down the road in Saltus, he noticed the rise of car traffic and decided it was time to go where the people were. He moved to Amboy and built Roy's Garage. The desert roads were rough on cars and thus made Roy's the busiest place in town. Soon, Roy realized that waiting customers got hungry, so he built a café. Auto parts weren't always available, so travelers had to wait, sometimes overnight. Luckily, Roy also built a motel.

Roy's Motel & Café has since become a Route 66 legend. Opened in 1938 by Roy and his wife Betty, along with their son-in-law Buster Burris, the motel has five cabins with a café next door. Roy did so well with his properties that he was able to buy Betty, a trained pilot, a runway left over from the 1920s. Propeller planes still land on this runway (in fact, Harrison Ford made an unscheduled stop there in the mid-2000s). Roy and Betty retired in 1959, leaving Roy's in Buster's name. Buster traveled to Los Angeles for design ideas and renovated Roy's in the style he observed there. The Roy's sign still stands over the town of Amboy, its retro-future look harking back to another era.

On June 29th, 1956, Dwight D. Eisenhower signed into law the Federal-Aid Highway Act. He called it "the greatest public works project in the history of the world." It is said that a cross-country trip that would have taken twenty days in 1950 would now only take four.

For Amboy, it was another death sentence. Route 66, with its twisty, turning road and lower speed limits, would become obsolete. And so would the small towns that populated the road. By 1964, the concrete had been poured for the new super highway, Interstate 40, and cars were bypassing Amboy and the other Mojave towns. Life again screeched to a halt in the desert.

Today, Amboy feels more forgotten than dead. The landscape is still dotted with rubble, but there are signs of life. A dog barks in the near distance. Some of the houses are lived in. RVs and trailers along the side of the road provide traveling homes for a few. An estimated 15 to 20 people live here year-round. On nice days, like this one in October, cars pass through, stopping for a picture of the most photographed sign in the world. The trains still huff and puff occasionally on the outskirts of the town.

But Amboy is still very much on the mind of Albert Okura. In 2005, Okura bought the town of Amboy from Buster Burris' ninety-year-old widow for $425,000. She had better offers, but Okura had cash and a promise. Okura explained over the phone, "I told her I am going to keep it pure."

Okura grew up in Wilmington, only a few miles from Long Beach on the coast of southern California. His first job was at a Burger King in 1970. Fourteen years later, Okura opened his own fast-food restaurant with an uncle in San Bernardino County (about 55 miles from Wilmington)—a Mexican rotisserie chicken place called Juan Pollo. Today, there are 27 locations throughout Southern California. Okura purchased the site of the very first McDonald's in San Bernardino County in 1998, which was run by the McDonald brothers in the 1940s before Ray Kroc bought out their company. He turned the site into the corporate offices of Juan Pollo on one side and a McDonald's museum on the other. On the surface, the McDonald's site purchase makes more sense than Okura's decision to buy Amboy, but Taylor Louden, a preservation architect who helped Okura with Amboy, describes Albert as a benevolent collector. "Things just find their way to him. He's sort of a one-man orphanage."

When Amboy appeared on Ebay in 2003, a friend who knew of his tendency toward collecting alerted Okura. The price was too high, but Okura, believing it was "his destiny" to own Amboy, kept checking in until the number came down. Okura immediately went to work cleaning, repainting, and preserving the town. In the nine years he has owned it, he hasn't knocked anything down, and the only thing he's built is a small storage shed. He has simply tried to keep the town afloat. Okura reopened Roy's, not as a motel or café, but as a gift shop with hopes of turning it into "an authentic Route 66 diner" someday. Okura hired a few people living in town to work shifts at Roy's. He was able to bring back gas to two pumps (a third was already functional). Okura and Louden even gave Amboy a clever nickname, "the ghost town that ain't dead yet," in hopes of attracting tourists. Despite all of this hard work, Okura admits the task is tougher than he thought. Okura explains he never had any delusions of making money off of Amboy itself; the value for him was promotional, "if I keep it pure, functional, historically accurate, than me and my company…get recognition."

Still, he tells me that he spends upwards of $5,000 a month on staffing, keeping gas flowing, and general maintenance. It took two years to get electricity because "Buster, the great man that he was, did his own electric work and it wasn't up to county codes." Okura says he loses money on his investment on a yearly basis.

Despite Okura's best intentions, Amboy sits in a state of suspended life. The old cabins that still stand off to the side of the former café have a decently fresh coat of paint but are a mess inside. A "Keep Out" sign blocks off visitors from the rest of the cabins behind Roy's. The giant white church down the road (built about the same time as the new school) is empty inside, save for a single ghostly chair delicately placed at a piano, as if waiting for someone to play it one more time.

Amboy illustrates the difficulty of preserving the past. Towns like Amboy must adapt or die in a kind of Ghost Town Darwinism. Although Okura has no plans to demolish any buildings in Amboy, perhaps that should be an option. If no one wants to live there or turn it into a useful property, why expend energy and resources preserving something that provides very little, if any, value back?

Before I leave Amboy, I wander into Roy's. Thirsty from the Mojave, I pick up a bottle of water and approach the man at the cash register, whose name is Kevin. I ask him how business is today ("Not bad. A guy and his girlfriend on a motorcycle was just here about twenty minutes ago."), tourism in general ("We get a lot more people from Europe and Asia, than Americans"), and if he lives in town (he does, in a room inside of the café). And then I ask Kevin the question: is Amboy a ghost town? His answer: "I live here and I'm alive. So, this town ain't dead yet." But for how long?