Old Town San Diego

The Church of the Immaculate Conception is a quaint-looking building, just the type that I hoped to find in Old Town San Diego. The façade is adobe in color and curves in the old Spanish style with a picturesque bell tower, topped with a sea-blue dome. The innocent-looking place of worship made national news with the Presidential election in November when it warned local voters that if they voted Democrat, they would go to hell.

A flyer inserted in the October bulletin cited issues such as abortion and same-sex marriage as part of the reason that casting a vote for the Dems could be a mortal sin. The pastor of the church later apologized for the comment and stated he was unaware of the flyer.

Our visit to the Church of the Immaculate Conception a month later showed no indication of voter persuasion. All was peaceful as we perused inside the chapel and loitered around the steps in front of the church. A subtle warm breeze stirred on this December evening, being well appreciated by our hardy family from snow-clad Utah. This old Catholic church was our introduction to Old Town.

La Casa de Estudillo

Built in 1917, the church isn't quite old as the “original” Old Town. In fact, structures from San Diego's original settlement are few in number. Most of what exists today are modern re-creations of the old ambiance. Over the years I have asked people what they thought of Old Town, and I would get responses from “very cheesy and touristy,” to “worth visiting.” So, I had to come and see for myself.
 

Old Town is not where one might suspect it to be. Instead of being near the harbor with all the modern skyscrapers, it is located inland and to the north. When Richard Henry Dana landed in the harbor during the hide trade of 1835, he wrote: “There was no town in sight.” Later, when he had a free day to explore the area, he stated: “[we] set out on our walk for the town, which was nearly three miles off.”

Gift shop in Old Town San Diego.

The first European settlement on the west coast of the present-day United States was a military outpost, or Presidio, built in 1769 on a hill just above where Old Town is today. Father Junípero Serra also established a mission there. Spanish soldiers began building homes below Presidio Hill using sun-dried adobe bricks, as wood was scarce. By the 1820's, a small pueblo began to form. It became known as El Pueblo de San Diego. In those days a river passed near the town and flowed into the harbor. (Eventually the river was diverted and now runs into Mission Bay.)

Dana gives a description of the pueblo: “The small settlement lay directly below the fort, composed of about forty dark brown looking huts, or houses, and three or four larger ones, whitewashed, which belonged to the 'gente de razon.' This town is not more than half as large as Monterey, or Santa Barbara, and has little or no business.”

The layout of today's Old Town replicates that of the original with wide, organized streets and plazas. Although most of the structures are replicas, a few of the originals exist, including La Casa de Estudillo and La Casa de Machado y Stewart. Many of these places were locked up for the evening when we arrived.

There was no shortage of souvenir and gift shops. They sold everything from wooden roses to painted skulls commemorating Mexico's Day of the Dead. On an outdoor patio, within one of the buildings, we found a group of kids taking swings at a piñata. Above them, inside an upper room, we spied Santa and Mrs. Claus waving at us through a glass window. We walked through the patio before coming to another gift shop that sold authentic Mexican candy.

The environment at Old Town is colorful and fun. It is easy to get lost in window shopping and strolling around, forgetting that you are looking for a piece of authentic San Diego history. Old Town is a great place for wanna-be history buffs like myself, as well as couldn't-care-less-about-history people like the rest of my family. 

Mormon Battalion Historic Site. Our short December sunlight dipped below the hazy horizon. The dome and the cross and the palm trees at the Church of the Immaculate Conception now silhouetted against the pink hues of sunset. We made our way across the street to the Mormon Battalion Historic Site.

Coming from Mormon stock myself, this was a piece of my heritage. My third great-grandpa, Andrew Jackson Workman, marched with the battalion.

Most have probably never heard of the Mormon Battalion. In 1846, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (or Mormons) had been driven from their beloved town of Nauvoo, Illinois. Just two years earlier, their prophet and leader, Joseph Smith, had been killed by the mob, along with his brother Hyrum. Brigham Young now led the group, and desired to migrate to the west where they could settle in the Salt Lake Valley and find a new beginning.

Presently, however, the Mormons had crossed the Mississippi River and were camped near Council Bluffs, Iowa amongst the Potawatomi Indians. Having been forced to leave their farms and homes in Nauvoo, the Saints were in difficult circumstances to make the trip.

Young sent one of his men to Washington D.C. to seek assistance from the government in fleeing the mob. The result was an agreement that if the Saints could enlist a few hundred men to assist the newly declared war on Mexico, then each man would get paid a uniform allowance, as well as pay for his services. As was custom of the church, each man kept the bare minimum he needed, while the surplus was put into the funds of the church, which was used to purchase teams, wagons, and other necessary items for the trek west. Members of the church saw this as a blessing from heaven. 

Statue at Mormon Battalion Historical Site.

The battalion, consisting of over 500 men, walked from Council Bluffs, Iowa, to San Diego, a distance of nearly 2,000 miles. They are the only religiously based military unit in United States history. Although never engaged in a true battle, the battalion's efforts supported the United States in their victory over Mexico, and established a southern wagon route to California.

They arrived in San Diego on January 29, 1847, where they stayed for five months until their discharge. While in San Diego they were beneficial in many projects, including the building of a courthouse, and making bricks and building several houses. They also assisted in building Fort Moore in Los Angeles, and after being discharged, some battalion members were present at Sutter's Mill when gold was discovered.

Our visit to the historical site lasted well over an hour. This is not your basic, walk-though and read-the-plaques type of visitor's center. All of the workers are volunteers for the church, and they bring you into a presentation that's a bit cheesy, but makes you feel as if you were there. It was very educational and my kids loved it. Afterward, they brought the kids outside and let them pan for (fake) gold.

Andrew Jackson Workman

At the end of our presentation I found a kiosk that could pull up information on members of the Battalion. With curiosity I typed in my grandfather's name and found this small biography:

Andrew Workman

Born: July 15, 1824; Bourbon County, Kentucky

Enlisted: July 16, 1846

Company: B

Rank: Private

Description: 5 feet 7 inches tall, brown hair, gray eyes

Occupation: Farmer

Family: His brother, Oliver Gaultry Workman, also served as a private in Company B.

Discharged: July 16, 1847; Los Angeles. Reenlisted for six months. Discharged on March 14, 1847; San Diego. Traveled to the goldfields. Travel route to the Salt Lake Valley unknown and may not have left California until 1855.

Died: June 15, 19096; Hurricane, Washington, Utah.

Junipero Serra Museum on Presidio Hill in San Diego.

Presidio Hill and Junípero Serra Museum. Two days later, we returned to Old Town, but this time to Presidio Hill. This is the place where it all began, the location of the military outpost established by the Spanish in 1769. Atop the hill is the Junípero Serra Museum, a whitewashed building with Spanish architecture. Around the building are trees and a few memorials, giving a peaceful and secluded feeling to a place that is relatively close to Old Town and the Mission Valley Freeway.

Many assume that the museum is the old Presidio, but that's not true. The outpost has long fallen to ruins and the mission that was once there moved several miles up the valley. When Richard Henry Dana visited in 1835, he observed that the Presidio was already in decay:

“The first place we went to was the old ruinous presidio, which stands on a rising ground near the village, which it overlooks. It is built in the form of an open square, like all the other presidios, and was in a most ruinous state, with the exception of one side, in which the commandant lived, with his family. There were only two guns, one of which was spiked, and the other had no carriage. Twelve half-clothed and half-starved looking fellows composed the garrison; and they, it was said, had not a musket apiece.”

Father Junípero Serra was a Franciscan priest who came from Mallorca, Spain. He established the mission on Presidio Hill in 1769, which was the first ever in California. The museum, which bears his name, wasn't built until 1925. Admission is free, and the collection inside is modest.

Outdoor patio at Junipero Serra Museum.

From the information at the museum, I learned that the first inhabitants of Presidio Hill were the Kumeyaay Indians, who had lived there for centuries. They made their homes in small huts called ewaas, and used the nearby river, ocean, and mountains to hunt and fish. They were skilled basket makers and wove nets for fishing.

When the Spanish came, the Kumeyaay way of life was altered forever. European practices of grazing soon depleted the native grass and forced the wildlife onto higher ground. The natives were forced into labor to help build new structures such as the mission. The Kumeyaay eventually lost their lands and were placed on reservations.

From atop the tower in the museum, one can gaze through the window see the grand expanse of Mission Valley, with the busy four-lane freeway, the San Diego River, Mission Bay, and the Pacific Ocean. Within view are hotels, a baseball field, and golf course. The eternal southern California haze weighs heavily.

Inside the Junipero Serra Museum.

It is difficult to imagine what this area may have looked like nearly 250 years ago. Before the Europeans came there may have been scattered villages with small wooden huts and thin plumes of smoke rising in the air. After the arrival of the Spanish, there would have been several adobe houses, and the river would have bent southward and flowed into the harbor.

Whether one believes that change has been good or bad, Father Junípero Serra has left his mark on California, and it will forever be altered because of him. Although some have been critical for his treatment of the Natives, there are numerous positive aspects of Serra's life. He established several Catholic Missions in California and left a legacy of honor. In 2015, he was canonized by Pope Francis during his visit to the United States. There is a statue of the Father in the United States Capitol. Nearly three decades before his canonization, Pope John Paul II said this of Junípero Serra: “He sowed the seeds of Christian faith amid the momentous changes wrought by the arrival of European settlers in the new world. It was a field of missionary endeavor that required patience, perseverance, and humility, as well as vision and courage.” ♠

Statue of "The Father" at Presidio Park.

Cima Road and the Mojave Cross

“I was in the desert. I was alone. To myself I whispered, 'I am Johannes Verne and I am not afraid.' My father was dead. They had killed him, and they had left me to die.”

It was a Louis L'Amour book that got me fascinated with the desert of California. In his book, The Lonesome Gods, a young Johannes Verne is traveling west with his father across the barren Mojave landscape. They have encounters with Indians, and eventually outlaws who brutally murder his father and leave the young boy in the desert to perish. Reading the novel left me with not only a respect for those who crossed that pathway without convenience of modern transportation, but also a yearning to discover perhaps a glimpse of that empty desert for myself.

My reality of the Mojave was not as brutal. We arrived in an air-conditioned car on a paved road, with plenty of food and water to supply us in case of disaster. Coming from Utah along I-15, we took the Cima Road with the intention of later connecting the I-40 Freeway.

Prospectors panning for gold at a gas station near I-15.

The gas station just off the exit with I-15 is like no other gas station I've ever seen. Outside are three grizzled prospectors that talk and move when you push a button. The mannequins are dressed in haggardly garb and the front man is holding a tin bowl which he is using to pan for gold. Inside the store there are plenty of postcards and geological souvenirs, but it is the men's bathroom that caught my attention. The urinal is one long decorated waterfall along the corner of the restroom. There are no dividers and men stand side-by-side relieving themselves into something that could easily be used to spruce up someone's yard. A few growths of vegetation sprout around the falls, just enough to make it look more realistic.

The Cima Road is part of the Mojave National Preserve, a large swath of land that is now under jurisdiction of the National Park System. We traveled down a narrow russet-colored road that was sparse with traffic that day. On both sides of the pathway is a thick forest of Joshua Trees, with their barbed leaves and scarecrow-like branches. The Joshua Tree was named by the Mormon pioneers as they traveled across the Mojave Desert in the late 1800's, as they thought it looked like the Biblical Joshua, raising his arms and sending a prayer to heaven.

Our venture along this scenic road was haphazard, with no real goal other than to familiarize ourselves with the area. About ten miles into our adventure, I pulled over at a dirt car park and let the kids get out and wander among the trees. They enjoyed trudging around and exploring the different configurations. One of them spotted a cluster of spiny leaves that had grown into the shape of a heart. This came just fourteen months after my daughter passed away and the kids had been finding “hearts” in all sorts of unusual places. They felt that these were a way for Brittany to say “hello” to us.

As I moseyed around, I spotted what looked like a memorial of some sort across the road. I walked across the pavement and approached what I found to be a white cross perched atop a small stone hummock (called Sunrise Rock), and surrounded by a fence. Fastened to the rock wall just below was a placard stating that the cross was originally erected in 1934 in memory of the dead from all wars.

The Mojave Memorial Cross.

I took a picture of the plaque, but waited around for a minute to get a good picture of the cross as there was a group of four people taking their own picture. One of the group saw me waiting and called out, “Well, aren't you going to get a picture with the son of the man who built the cross?”

The question took me off-guard, because at the time I didn't really know the history of the cross, nor any historical significance behind it. The awkward situation led to a conversation with this supposed son (a conversation I wish I could do again). His name was Jess (I think ???) Bembry, son of John Riley Bembry, the architect of the original white cross. Jess, a tall man wearing a blue t-shirt and using a wooden walking stick, told me his father was a prospector who mined gold, silver and tungsten. When he built the memorial in 1934, it was to honor his fellow comrades who died in World War I. After visiting the cross, Jess and his small group were going to drive over to a little homestead where his father had lived, a place that was further back in the trees. His father left the area in 1948.

My visit with Jess Bembry was brief, and I shook his hand and took his picture in front of a wooden sign. It wasn't until I got home and did some research that I learned that this small white cross was the source of a Supreme Court decision and much controversy.

When the memorial was first erected in 1934, it was the gathering spot of a few war veterans, some who had moved to the dry desert on advice from their doctors to help alleviate their wounds. John himself was a medic in WWI. In the beginning, the cross was five feet tall and made of wood. John Bembry took care of the cross. When it was stolen by vandals, Bembry replaced it with a cross made of steel pipes. Shortly before he died in the early 1980's, Bembry asked a friend, Henry Sandoz, to assume care of the memorial.

But when the cross became part of the Mojave National Preserve in 1994, things became a little more dicey. A retired National Park Service employee, Frank Buono, a supposed Roman Catholic, didn't like that a religious symbol sat on public land. He demanded that the cross be removed.

The Mojave National Preserve is home to thick forests of Joshua Trees.

In 1999, the Park Service received a note asking for permission to erect a Buddhist stupa near the white cross. It was signed by a “Sherpa San Harold Horpa.” It turns out that Sherpa San Harold Horpa, was really Herman R. Hoops, a longtime friend of Frank Buono. Soon after the shrine was denied, the ACLU stepped in and began litigation.

To make a long story short, the case went all the way to the United States Supreme Court as Salazar v. Buono. The small parcel of land which surrounds the cross has been traded, and now belongs to a veterans group. The courts ruled that there is no violation between church and state. Because of the Civil Rights Attorney's Fee Award Act of 1976, the defendants (in this case, the United States of America), had to pay the ACLU $62,973.69! *

Mr.  Bembry's father erected the Mojave Cross in 1934.

After our brief visit with Mr. Bembry and the Mojave Memorial Cross, we continued our journey toward the ghost town of Cima. Located about eighteen miles from I-15, Cima lies on a mountain pass between Ivanpah Valley and the Mojave River Basin, hence its name, which in Spanish means “top” or “summit.” Here the Joshua Trees begin to thin out and give way to creosote bushes, and the road comes to a junction with another road from the north and a line of railroad tracks.

The town of Cima began over a century ago as a siding for the Union Pacific Railroad. It was also used as a watering spot for trains after they made the steep climb up the grade from Kelso to Cima, which is supposedly the steepest grade on the line between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. Eventually cattle grazing and mining became a part of the town, but the population always remained small, never exceeding 500 people, and likely having only fifty.

 

Above three photos all taken at the ghost town of Cima.

There are a few old buildings in Cima, as well as a railroad siding and old spray-painted rail cars. An old store appears to be closed. We took the opportunity to explore a small section near the railroad tracks and abandoned structures. The town is privately owned, so we had to keep our distance. Jenelle enjoyed taking pictures of the kids on an idle railroad car until two female park rangers slowed down in their white truck and yelled out the window: “No climbing on the trains! It's a Federal offense!”

From Cima, the road now becomes the “Kelso Cima Road” and wends downhill to the depot town of Kelso. As our detour through the Mojave National Preserve was only a side trip, we felt that we didn't have much time left to deeply explore the ghost town of Kelso. We stopped briefly at the old depot building, which is now a visitors center. The structure is built in the Spanish-California style and served as a restaurant and boarding house. At Kelso the trains would stop for water, and then were attached to “helper” locomotives to assist them in climbing the steep grade to Cima.

Our stop at Kelso was only fifteen minutes, just long enough to use the restroom and peruse the memorabilia at the visitor center.

From Kelso we turned south onto the Kelbaker Road, and drove sixteen miles to I-40. We stopped only once, and that was to get a distant picture of the Kelso Dunes.  By the time we reached the freeway, it was time for me to slide over to the passenger seat and give the wheel to my seventeen year old son for some “California” driving experience. He drove us safely to Barstow. We went from one adventure to next! ♠

[Our trip along the Cima Road was in 2014.]

Kelso Dunes.

Reference

* Last, Jonathan V. "Mr. Salazar, Tear Down This Cross." Weekly Standard. The Weekly Standard Http://assets.weeklystandard.com.s3.amazonaws.com/tws15/images/logo-large.png, 26 Oct. 2009. Web. 05 Feb. 2017.