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.