The Lacys Come to Palisade

They spent the first night down by the river. Muddy water from the Colorado flowed past the willows and tamarisk, and mosquitoes swarmed hungrily around their meager campsite. They had pulled a camp trailer from Kansas, and that's what the small family slept in. This was a new place with new surroundings, a long ways from their old home in Kansas. The evening must have been peaceful, with the subtle sound of a creeping river and dark shadows of forlorn cliffs. Claude, who was just a young boy, remembered that first night for the rest of his life.

Earl and Garnette had brought their little family to Palisade, Colorado in search of work, most likely at one of the coal mines or in the peach orchards. Earl's brother and father already lived there, but they didn't know where. The next day they found his brother, Howard, and learned that he lived in some cabins near the Garfield Coal Mine. They quickly moved the camp trailer next to Howard's cabin, and there they began a new life on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. The year was 1937.

The Lacy Family at the Garfield Mine in 1937. (L-R) Earl Jr., Earl Sr., Garnette (holding Myrt), Claude.

Earl Lacy is my great-grandfather. I would like to have met the guy, but he died before I was born. However, colorful stories of him abound. He was a tough man who wrestled in the carnivals, as well as a gentleman with the touch of a teddy bear. He loved to drink, which led to a lot of fights, which, in turn, produced so many colorful stories.

A couple years ago I came to Palisade with the idea of learning a little more about my great-grandfather and the rest of the Lacys who called this place home for nearly ten years. I was able to visit a few of the locations that I had read about in our family history, putting an image with the story.

Coal mining was a big part of our family history, especially around Palisade. I remember my grandpa, Claude, pointing at the Book Cliffs on the north side of I-70 and telling stories about his father working in the mine. All the stories and references that I've heard him tell refer to the Garfield Mine. But when I went to Palisade and talked to the people at the city office building, they had never heard of a Garfield Mine. Instead, they knew well of the Gearhart Mine, which is in the same area of the Book Cliffs. Whether the Gearhart and Garfield are the same mine, or two different entities, I may never know. But on this day, the Gearhart Mine served my purpose just fine.

Gearhart Mine in Palisade, Colorado.

A lightly used lane, with the distinct name of “35 8/10 Road”, ducks beneath the freeway and comes to a car park at the foot of Mt. Garfield Trailhead. The hiking trail steeply climbs the Book Cliffs, past old mining debris from the Gearhart Mine, and eventually leads to Mt. Garfield, a prominent summit along the top of the cliffs. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to make the arduous climb, but I did take a moment to get a feel of this place that was nearby where my great-grandfather worked.

Between 1930 and 1968, the Gearhart mine produced 172,000 tons of coal. Once the coal was mined from underground workings high on the palisade, the ore would be transported down the mountain via an areal tramway to a tipple at the foot of the hill. My grandpa told me stories of their high-tech system, and how his dad used to grab the tail of a mule to climb the steep hill:

“Dad did that when he first started working in the coal mines with his two brothers. They were working in the Garfield Mine. One of them had to get up every morning and get the tail of that mule, and they went up to the top, and they had a loaded car up there and they'd turn it loose and it would pull everybody else up in an empty car, up to the top, and then they got off and started to work. But somebody had to walk up there in the morning, and it was steep. Then they took the mule in the mine and that's how they moved their cars around in there, their empty cars. So, they would load it on up and the mule would would pull it. It was pretty level. It would pull it out to the outside and they would hook it onto the hoist and take it down and it would pull the other car back up. Then they would take it down there and empty it. Then, the next time, another loaded car would pull the empty car back up to them. They didn't have much mechanized stuff in there. That was a steep trail going up there. When my dad first started out, he did that, and then when his younger brother, Bob, came along, they let him do that and Dad got to ride up. The mine is closed down now. There's nothing left there; just traces of it.”

Earl and Garnette Lacy family in 1943.

At the end of the day, miners would speed down the slope on the tramway, which was dangerous, but fast. They would leave the mule on top and it would always find its way down to the bottom to greener pastures. The mule would always be near the same spot where the first miner would find him in the morning, grab his tail, and work his way back to the top.

When Earl came home, he would often carry a bag of coal over his shoulder, which they would use to heat their home. When he left for work in the morning, he usually took the car, but if didn't start, then he would walk.

Earl worked in the Garfield Mine for several years, making about two dollars a day. This was on the tail of the Great Depression, and times were tough. Sometimes during the summer, the mine didn't work that well, so Earl went to work in the orchards where he would make from 50 cents to a dollar a day.

Peach Orchard in Palisade.

Palisade is known as “The Peach Capital.” Even in the early days of settlement, the locals learned that it was an excellent place for the cultivation of fruit, and especially peaches. The area has a milder climate and fewer freezes than anywhere else in the valley. The growing season averages 182 days, and 78% of those days are sunny. Irrigation allows for exact watering.

Mesa County drew many settlers from the mid-west, such as the Lacys who hailed from Kansas. Many others moved from Iowa to Palisade and today there is an Iowa Avenue. On the south side of Palisade, across the river, is Orchard Mesa, where groves of peach trees continue to thrive.

Claude's first job as a boy was in the peach harvest. He didn't pick the peaches, but hauled them in from the fields. It only last a couple of weeks. I wonder how many of the local boys work in the peach harvest now-days. When we drove on Orchard Mesa, we saw a tractor hauling a flat-bed trailer with ladders—and a bunch of Mexicans. 

Modern-day peach workers.

Trying to keep track of where the Lacys lived while in Palisade can be a difficult task for anyone who didn't experience it. Exact locations and dates can be vague, impossible to pinpoint, or sometimes appear to contradict themselves. The best I can come up with is that they moved into the area in 1937, lived there for a couple years until Earl and his family moved to Hasty, Colorado where he worked for a year on the Caddao Dam. They returned to Palisade around 1940. By 1944 they were living near Cameo, or at the mouth of Plateau Creek. A year or so later they moved back into Palisade where they lived in a house for their final two years before leaving for Utah in 1947.

As far as I know, Eri Lacy and his wife, Millie, lived at the mouth of Plateau Creek up until he died, and she continued to live there for a few years before moving into Palisade.  She lived in two locations in Palisade, including an apartment building. As for Earl's brothers, Bob and Howard, I don't know their exact time-line.

Earl Lacy home as it appeared in the year 2000.

The only structure that I've seen that I know they lived in was the last house in which they lived in Palisade. My Grandpa, Claude, is the one who showed it to me in 2000, and although I didn't write down an address, one can judge from the picture that it is close to the Book Cliffs, on the south side of I-70. When we returned in 2015, after my grandpa had passed away, we searched everywhere and couldn't find the house.

We do know, however, that Grandpa Claude attended Mount Lincoln School until the eighth grade. The white, flat-topped structure still stands, although it is now a residence. Back in the day, it was a two-storied building, with an auditorium on the west side, and a ball field on the east. 

Claude Lacy's class at Mount Lincoln School (1939).  Claude is on the front row, third from the left.

Mount Lincoln School in 2015 is now a residence.

The year 1941 began as a traumatic year for the Lacys, as their patriarch, Eri, died from a heart attack while packing a deer down a steep hill near his cabin at the mouth of Plateau Creek. Although only nine years old at the time, Claude remembered the incident vividly sixty-four years later:

“Eri Lacy stayed in a little place at the mouth of Plateau Creek. He liked to hunt and was always up on the mountain poaching deer. We used to go with him quite a bit. In fact, he died on the mountain poaching a deer. He was carrying it down the hill and died of a heart attack and my brother, Earl, was with him at that time, and I can remember that real plain where Earl was coming off the mountain top. He was coming off the side of the hill there yelling that Grandpa was dead. And my dad had been drinking and he was in there sleeping in the house. But he got up and he and Mom and Earl went back. They went up the mountain trail and he carried Grandpa most of the way down. Now, by the time he got him almost down, his two brothers, my uncles, Howard and Robert, they got up there then and helped him carry Grandpa. But Grandpa was only sixty-three years old, and that happened January 12, 1941.”

Decoration Day, 1941, at the grave of Eri Lacy.

Another day during that year that proved memorable was December 7, 1941, the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. In those days, it wasn't the television that leisurely entertained families in their living rooms, but the radio. The Lacys had a small radio that they listened to. Claude enjoyed programs such as The Green Hornet and The Shadow, and he remembers them coming on around eleven o'clock. On the Sunday morning of the attacks, he recalls getting ready to listen to his programs and being on the fight because they were all replaced with news coming from Pearl Harbor!

Abandoned structure in Cameo.

During our visit to Palisade, I knew that I wanted to visit the abandoned ghost town called Cameo. Nothing is here now, except a power plant and a few abandoned structures. Just a few miles north of Palisade, up De Beque Canyon, Cameo was once a small town associated with the Cameo Coal Mine. Earl and his family used to live in Cameo and Earl worked in the mine. Exactly where they lived, I don't know.

When we drove there, we took the exit from I-70 and crossed the Colorado River, then the railroad tracks, and then traversed a canal after passing a power plant on our left. We didn't go too much further, but far enough to get a feel of the place. On this day, it was hot and dusty. A couple of four-wheel drive vehicles passed us coming from up the canyon.

There is one story associated with Cameo that has always fascinated me. While Claude was living there, he and his friends got the idea that they wanted to go to a cabin back in the hills. One of his friends borrowed a horse and they packed all their gear on the unfortunate animal. It was wintertime and they got up to a place that was slick and the horse couldn't keep its balance. It slid back down and over the cliff with the pack and everything on it. The gear was scattered everywhere! Laughing about it years later, Claude said, “That poor horse. We should have known better than what we did. We didn't. I can see it right now. We started up that long hill there and it just couldn't keep its balance and started sliding down. Boy, it sure shot off there, off that hill! We never did get up to the cabin.”

The Lacys ran this service station at the mouth of Plateau Creek (1944).

During the fall of 1944, a new arrival was delivered to the Lacy family. Although she can't remember it, Aunt Alice does a good job describing the day she was born:

“My parents had a little service station and kind of a convenience store right at the junction of Plateau Creek and the Colorado River and I was born there on September 9, 1944 at about one o'clock in the morning. At the time, our cousin, Ronnie Coleman, was staying with us and when my mother went into labor, my brothers, Earl and Claude, and Ronnie, were sent to go get the doctor. Well, they couldn't get the car started. So they all three piled onto a mule that we had and rode into town to get a doctor. My mother had me really fast, so my dad delivered me. My sister Myrt always said that he dropped me on my head when I was born, but that's not the truth I'm sure. I don't know how long we lived there. We didn't live there very long after I was born. My Grandparents Lacy lived right up the canyon from us. It was probably two blocks (in length), and they had a little house up there. My grandpa Lacy had died by that time. He had died three years before I was born.”

Shortly after Alice was born, Earl and Garnette moved into town at Palisade with their four kids⸺Earl Jr., Claude, Myrt, and Alice. Alice recalls the front of the house being on street level, but the back had long stairs leading down to an alley. The house also had a chicken coop and outhouse. 

Palisade High School in 2015.

Palisade football team (1945). Earl is on back row, third from left; Claude on middle row, second from right.

At this time Claude made the transition from Mount Lincoln to Palisade High School. It was there, while as a freshman, that Claude began his wrestling career. It is true that their father, Earl, had been a professional wrestler, but of amateur wrestling, he knew very little. For me, this is a very pivotal time in our history because it is what continued the Lacy tradition of wrestling that continues to this day. In my family line alone, there have been five generations of Lacy wrestlers, with 100% of the males participating, and several State Championships. Even the females participate in stats-keeping. Without that one decision that my grandpa, and his brother, Earl, made to wrestle for Palisade High School, wrestling in the Lacy family may have fizzled out over fifty years ago.

The man responsible for coaching Claude and Earl Jr. was a former college wrestler by the name of Carl Cox. Claude recalls his first match that year, as a freshman. He wrestled 138 lbs. in Olathe, Colorado, and got beat. He would quickly rebound from his loss, and went on a roll until the end of the year, when he took third place at the State Championships in Denver. Back in those days, they didn't have classifications such as 1A, 2A, 3A etc. They were all grouped together. The little schools like Palisade wrestled with the big teams from Denver.

The following year, Claude wrestled 145 lbs. and didn't lose a match until the Western Slope Championships where he lost to a kid by the name of Alvis Fetters. The following week at the State Championships in Denver, Alvis Fetters got beat, and Claude defeated the kid who beat him. This would be the first of three State Championships for Claude.

Speaking of his older brother, Earl, Claude said, “He was just a one-time state champion in Utah. He didn't get started until he was a sophomore. If he would have been around and started wrestling as a freshmen, when I did, he would have been a two-time state champion. He came in fourth when he was a junior, and then came to Utah and became a state champion. He was a year older than me.”

Little Grandma Lacy (Millie) with Wolfie in 1946.

In 1947, Earl and Garnette Lacy, with their four kids, left Palisade for good and moved to Carbon County in Utah where Earl got a job at the Columbia Coal Mine near Draggerton. His brothers, Robert and Howard, eventually moved away also, but their mother⸺Little Grandma Lacy⸺stayed in Palisade for the rest of her days.

Even after leaving Palisade, the Lacys continued to call it home and would visit there often while Little Grandma Lacy was still alive. Aunt Alice tells a humorous story of these memorable trips back to Palisade:

“My mom would always drive so my dad could drink beer while we were going. It seemed like every time Mom and Dad and I would go to Colorado, they'd get in a fight, and they'd be just on the east side of Green River, and Mom would pull over and kick Dad out. And she and I would go on to Palisade—and we were going to visit his mother's house—and I can remember, clear as a bell, we would show up at her house and Grandma would say, 'Earl didn't make it again, huh?' And Mom said, 'No. He'll be here tonight or in the morning.” He'd hitchhike the rest of the way and stop wherever he wanted to. It happened just about every time we went.” ♠

Descendants of Eri Lacy at a park in Palisade, Colorado.

Sources

Barker, Alice Lacy. Interview by John Lacy, March 30, 2009.

Lacy, Claude. Conversation with John Lacy, June 17, 2000.

Lacy, Claude. Conversation with John Lacy, June 27, 2000.

Lacy, Claude. Interview by John Lacy, August 16, 2005.

Lacy, Claude. Interview by John Lacy, July 23, 2006.

Lacy, Claude. Interview by John Lacy, August 2, 2009.

Where the Deer and the Antelope Play

I am blessed to live the the Western United States.  We have a unique heritage that crosses the Cowboy with the Indian, and the Mormon with the '49er.  A barren landscape is more common than a cityscape.  Our skyscrapers include monoliths of vermilion rock and snow-capped peaks.  A drive home from work might take you past irrigation sprinklers, bales of hay, sheep, or dilapidated barns.  The air is clear. Sometimes you can see seventy miles in one direction.  The water is cold and crisp and when I am hiking I love to dip my face into a frigid stream and gulp down mouth-fulls of liquid.  A summer evening could be spent hiking in the hills, or at a rodeo, watching a young cowboy lasso a calf and wrestle him to the dirt.

One of my favorite pastimes, however, is looking for animals.  Not the cattle or sheep or horses, but the wild animals.  Deer are the first to come to mind because they tend to wander closest to town.  Once in a while I'm lucky enough to spy a big buck, with thick antlers and a wide spread.  In September, during the rut, nothing is more exhilarating than to sneak upon a herd of wildly bugling elk, and watch them roar, and sometimes wallow in the mud.  Mountain goats are fun also, but take a lot of work getting to the highest of peaks where they hang out year-round.  But sometimes, I don't have to go any further than the valley I live in and watch the eagles as they nest in the trees.

The following photos are my own that I have compiled over the years.  I am by no means a professional photographer, but I love to get out and do it.  It is a passion that I don't spend enough time pursuing.  All locations are anonymous, as I don't believe in divulging secret places, but I can assure that they were all taken in the American West.

Desert bighorn sheep live in some of the most rugged territory of the Southwest.

I was hidden behind a tree when I heard some elk coming up the other side of the hill.  I hoped to see a monster bull, but instead found an adorable cow and calf.

Every winter, bald eagles come to our valley from places as far north as Canada. 

 

A coyote is a very elusive animal.  Usually they are a couple hundred yards away and on a dead run.  Rarely will they stop close enough to pose for a picture.

Turkeys are becoming more common on the mountains.  Most of the time (when I see them) they are in their little flock and waddling away.  It is always a treat to see one with his feathers fanned out.

Black bears are not that common where I live, so any sighting is a thrilling experience.  This sow and cub were walking along a steep slope up in the mountains.

This bull elk had big velvet antlers and a fat belly.

A yellow-bellied marmot at 11,000 feet in the Colorado Rockies.

Catching up with these mountain goats requires a grueling climb to 12,000 feet in elevation.  After taking the picture, they scattered down the other side of the mountain through rocky scree, and gave me no chance at all to catch up.

Pronghorns, or commonly known as antelope, can be a common sight on the desert if you make the effort to look for them.  But to catch them at close range for long enough to take a picture is a difficult task.

The best time to photograph deer is during the rut.  That's exactly when I found this buck chasing a doe.

A golden eagle can have a wingspan of over seven feet!  I was excited to see this sedentary raptor spread its plumage.

The American Bison, or buffalo, is a massive animal. 

This ram is not as big as some of his counterparts, but is still pleasant to look at.

This collared lizard is perched atop a headstone in a rural Utah cemetery.  I remember as a youngster seeing a similar colorful lizard in the same graveyard and my grandma thinking it was a plastic toy--until it moved!

Nothing beats the rut during September.  I snuck through the trees before dawn and found this bull elk bugling through the trees before he came prancing out.

My daughter is the one who spotted this great horned owl.  It is stealthily perched in the crotch of a tree, blending perfectly with the bark.  This was in the middle of town, next to a church building.

I don't know if this antelope is of a slightly different breed, but it belongs to a herd that live in the mountains.  Most antelope that I know of live on the desert.

Double the pleasure is always better!

A peaceful buck lying in the shade of a tree in the low country.

This is the first bear that I ever photographed.  We spotted it while deer hunting and watched him casually prowl around, never too afraid of us.

An early-morning surprise!  Three bull elk out in the field on a misty morning.

This is a remarkable buck that was nice enough to pose for us.  The most surprising part is that we are literally in someones back yard! ♠

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.