tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14309946374871889262024-02-06T21:09:50.672-08:00Landmark AdventuresJohn Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.comBlogger189125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-15356776422984112902015-02-19T08:12:00.000-08:002015-02-19T08:12:30.226-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide - part 9 - Bennett-Arcane Long Camp
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It had been
a busy day and a long night, so those of us that remained in Furnace Creek took
naps on old cots as mom, dad, and I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>rested up for the sunset mule driven wagon
tour. Mom was still with the 10 - 2 & 4 Dr. Pepper experiment and after
number 2 at 2, she wasn't much for sleeping and made off for the pool to finish
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">At 3 the
Bel Air was headed down <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Badwater
Road</st1:address></st1:street> to the base camp for Covered Wagon Tours
where we met with Neil, the outfit's boss, along with guide Jona and
muleskinner Craig. As the rest of the passengers arrived Neil told us more
about the 20 Mule Teams and wagons in general. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">For
instance, we didn't know that the steel rim around the wooden wagon wheels was
called a tire, and that's where folks got the name for the rubber that meets
the road in the present day. The tires on a 20 Mule Team rig were as wide as 7
inches. We also didn't know that the plank or planks of wood a wagon driver
(also known as a teamster or muleskinner) was called a dashboard because it
helped 'dash' away mud and rocks and such that was kicked up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Neil went
on. Given the times and conditions like hairpin turns and sheer dropoffs, the
20 Mule Teams had a remarkable safety record of no accidents. And that was no
accident in that the lead mule up on the left and the muleskinner had a fine
tuned relationship in which they communicated with a 100 foot leather jerk
line. A steady pull would command a turn to the left and a quick up and down on
the line turns to the right. And that lead mule was not your average mule
either, he was extra smart and could cost as much as $2500. A handsome sum
considering the entire rig cost $900 to build. On tight corners these mules
would jump their chains to maintain an angle. It must have been something to
see. Neil added that mules are smarter than horses, stronger than horses, don't
get sick as much, and survive on a wider variety of food. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">By then
everyone was there and we were off. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As we rode
the covered wagon and looked out from under the shade of the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>canopy I got to thinking that what they
needed along the trail was a Burma-Shave jingle or two spaced along the way.
Something like the one Dave Frey back at Stovepipe was saying all the time and
dedicating to his wife:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The big
blue tube<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Is like
Louise<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">You get a
thrill<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">From every
squeeze<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Burma</span></st1:country-region></st1:place><span style="font-family: Arial;"> - Shave<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We went a
little further and to the rhythm of the wagon I began to quietly sing what I
could remember from 'Cool Water'; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Keep
a-movin' Dan<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't you
listen to him Dan<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">He's a
devil not a man<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And he
sheds the burning sand with water</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Just then
Jona, our guide said "Do you know who Dan Is?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I said I
did, it was Dan Hazelwood from school...the kid I kept getting into fistfights
with. She said no, a Dan was a mule, or sometimes a horse, of a grey-brown
color. Well that pretty much ruined the song for me for I had imaginary designs
of leaving my Dan Hazelwood's bones to bleach out in the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">desert, for
he too had romantic intentions for Susan Gunderson back home.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Jona then
asked us to look around the vista and spot living things and ponder what there
might be to eat in that vastness. The desert floor seemed to me to be stocked
thin as mom's kitchen, though she at least kept a supply of milk and Ovaltine
handy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">While
muleskinner Craig drove on, Jona said most of the activity in <st1:place w:st="on">Death
Valley</st1:place> occurs at night when it cools down. The kangaroo rat comes
out, but he doesn't look for water, he never drinks it. He's adapted special
organs in his nose to extract moisture from the air. Old Dan could have used
that trick. The roadrunners come out looking for kangaroo rats. Tiny pupfish
can swim in briny 115 degree water. The desert holly plant likes the salt too
and uses it to turn its leaves silver as the summer sun approaches. The <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> tortoise can go a full year without
water...if held to Ovaltine and Coke I was pretty sure I could do that as well.
The turkey vulture pees on its legs to keep them from overheating...to which my
mom advised me not to consider that when we stopped at the oasis. I was
considering it. The black tailed jackrabbit needs to eat several times its body
weight every day just to stay hydrated. For regular food though we need to get
off the desert floor into higher elevations to find conditions more like the
rest of the Mojave and Colorado desert where we'll find mesquite beans, pinion
nuts, and acorns and such to make grain and meal. That can be made into a sort
of pancake and with some tree sap and quail eggs, you've got breakfast in no
time at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Jona said
we'll learn a little more when we return to camp from the cowboy entertainer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">From the
small oasis which was our destination it was a short walk to the next landmark
on dad's list. This was where the lost '49ers waited (long camp) and nearly
starved for a month while two members; Manly and Rodgers went on and finally
got help. Higher ground as we just learned would have served them better. If
they'd have stayed with Captain Jefferson Hunt, their original guide, they'd
have already been at the goldfields they sought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Captain
Jefferson Hunt<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">William
Lewis Manly<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">NO. 444:
Bennett-Arcane Long Camp<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Plaque
inscription: Near this spot the Bennett-Arcane contingent of the Death Valley
'49ers, emigrants from the Middle West seeking a shortcut to <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> gold fields, were stranded for a
month and almost perished from starvation. William Lewis Manley and John
Rogers, young members of the party, made a heroic journey on foot to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">San Fernando</st1:city></st1:place> and,
returning with supplies, led the party to the safety of San Francisquito Rancho
near Newhall.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Location: From
State Hwy 190 (P.M. 111.8), go approx 16 mi S of intersection of Badwater
Rd<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(south) and Westside Rd, on Westside
Rd, Death Valley National Monument<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The sound
of a banjo in the distance got closer as we approached the campsite...it was
the western entertainer waiting for us. His name was actually Phillip Boyd
Studge but he went by the handle Philboyd. Soon as we got seated at the benches
inside the tent to wait for dinner call, he played a sort of guessing game song
about a plant to test what we'd learned while on the ride:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I stand out
in the desert, I’m a little guy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When fully
grown. I’m not 4’ high<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I smell
really good, after a rain<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m all
around, what’s my name?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yes I’m all
around, that’s another clue<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I can clone
myself, I’m both old and new<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For getting
old, I have no peer<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And stand
around, for 12,000 years<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I can clear
your head, ease congestion <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Heal your
wounds, now here’s a question<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With all
that I can do you see<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Do you have
a name for me?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Well I
stand alone, and I like it that way<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Don’t grow
too close, or you can’t stay<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Need my
space, so don’t you push<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m your
friend, I’m the Creosote Bush<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m a
medicine cabinet, some folks say<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With a
thousand cures. in a thousand ways<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Treatments
for your afflictions<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Cure your
cold, ease constriction<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dry skin,
consumption, brittle hair<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Cramps and
pains, I’ll be there<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Nausea,
poisons, and infections<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Rheumatism,
poor circulation<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Use my
branches and make tea<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Use my
leaves and pieces of me <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Just save a
little for the next in line<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For I’m
slow to grow, I take my time <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Well I
stand alone, and I like it that way<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Don’t grow
too close, or you can’t stay<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Need my
space, so don’t you push<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m your
friend, I’m the Creosote Bush</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then there
was the song for the Covered Wagon Tours; 'Let The Wagons Roll'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oh can’t
you see the Western sun a settin’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Let the
wagons roll for me<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It’s an
evening that we won’t be soon forgettin’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Let the
wagons roll for me<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Stars in
the sky, ki-yippy-yippy-yi</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">No finer
place to be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oh can’t
you see the Western sun a settin’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Let the
wagons roll for me<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Out on the
trail we’ll see the mysteries of the desert<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">On a wagon
pulled by mule<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Back to
camp we come for dancin’ and a-singin’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">A chuck
wagon bar-b-que<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Over the
pass to the valley floor at last</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">No finer
place to be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Oh can’t
you see the Western sun a settin’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Let the
wagons roll for me<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">He then
taught us the Barn Dance, which seemed a lot easier and a whole lot more fun
than the steps I was learning at Call's Dance Studio back home in Long Beach. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then it was
time for a western dinner of coleslaw, cowboy beans, tri-tip, chicken, garlic
bread.....and pie. We roasted marshmallows and sang 'Happy Trails', the
official last song of the wagon tour, a fitting end to our last full day in <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-86655505519517046972015-02-12T07:51:00.000-08:002015-02-12T07:51:34.194-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide - part 8 - Death Valley Gateway
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<st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Death Valley</span></st1:place><span style="font-family: Arial;"> in a '51 Powerglide - part 8 - </span></div>
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<st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Death Valley</span></st1:place><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Gateway<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We were
dressed and ready for Stan Jones' show as dad poured his flask full of Johnny
Walker from the demijohn in the trunk of the Bel Air to accompany mom's flask
of vodka. We then walked to Harry Oliver's old west backdrop handiwork
whereupon we see Stan Jones engaged in conversation with another little family
of three just like us. It turned out Stollerys came along with Stan with their
son turning out to be actor David Stollery who'd just signed on to do an
upcoming television series for Walt Disney to be called 'The Adventures of Spin
and Marty', with David playing Marty. Shooting was to begin as soon as school
got out. That was the way Walt did things, no fake tutors on the set for Mr. Disney.
He also wanted Stan, who was going to be in the series as well, to write
several sets of lyrics for the theme song Stan had written, and the kids, and
only the kids, would decide which verses made the cut. To woodshed those ideas was
the reason the Stollerys came. Imagine giving that decision making to children....only
Walt Disney would do something like that. And that helped make a dynasty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">News of my so
called show stopping rendition of 'Lady of Spain' on the accordion had been
relayed by The Plainsmen to Stan and the Stollerys along with connection to the
band with my mom's best friend and my godmother, Shirley Patterson. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But rather
than bask in the compliments, I found myself thinking more about the clever
trick Clem from The Plainsmen had just taught me by putting little holes in a
Pep Boys matchbook. This involved Manny, Moe, and Jack who stood together on
the cover and further detail was not suitable for that general audience, so I
just stood there. Besides, I only knew two songs on the thing; the other being 'Fascination'
and went with 'Lady of Spain' because it was perky. I had no business with an
accomplished thespian like David. Still, his mom persisted in telling my mom
that not all the boys had been cast and that I should try out as an extra and
be a 'Mouseketeer' of sorts. At this point we broke into groups; the moms to
talk further about my audition (which thankfully turned out later to be a dud,
as they easily saw a one trick pony), the dads and Stan to further investigate
the demijohn in the trunk of the Bel Air, and 'Marty' and I to look for
peepholes in the outhouses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">'Ghost
Riders in the Sky' took twenty years or one night to write depending on how you
look at it. At fourteen, while growing up on an <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Arizona</st1:place></st1:state> ranch, Stan came up to an old cowboy
on a hill in the wake of a storm and looking to the clouds with him he was
relayed the old legend of the devil's herd and red eyed cows that could be seen
in the clouds in the sky. Twenty years later on his 34th birthday he saw the
same cloud formation in <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> and wrote
the song that night. Right away the song went into his campfire repertoire he
was playing for cast and crew of the John Sturges directed film 'The Walking
Hills' while not being the park's technical advisor to them. Stan was
encouraged to take the song to publishers in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city> and the following year the Vaughn
Monroe recording of 'Ghost Riders in the Sky' became the number one hit of
1949. Stan opens his set with it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">What a
night it was. It was a last round-up of sorts, though no one there knew it
then. With the exception of genre film and TV, western music was fading from
popularity, especially in the live venues, which was the bread and butter for
groups like The Plainsmen, Spade Cooley, or Rose Maddox. Leo Fender turned this
music on its ear with his electric bass, and guitar.... 'stick guitars' my dad
called them. They were loud and bright and popular music in all forms hasn't
looked back since. It would be one of the last times The Plainsmen played in
public, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> night, it didn't
matter and Stan and the boys sang and played and the people danced well into
the chill of a <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> night in January.
My somewhat halting version of 'Lady of Spain' on the accordion went over well,
and though the crowd asked for another, we agreed it was good for me to quit
while I was ahead, and 'Fascination' took the night off. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Meanwhile,
my parents had met Neil Fawcett from an outfit called 'Covered Wagon Tours' and
had decided to stay an extra day and take a sunset ride the following afternoon.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">That night
I again slept in the Bel Air and woke the next morning to a beautiful sunrise over
the eastern hills that rolled over the Chevy's roof parked in the midst of a
tent and cabin city. Finally, things began to stir as it got warmer, with the
sun heating up the tents and amplifying the hangovers inside and coaxing
everyone up to greet the day with first cigarettes. Heck, it was almost 10am
and time for mom's <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">first Dr.</st1:address></st1:street>
Pepper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Despite
hangovers, Stan's friends Julio and Bufungo were already up and helping Dave
Frey break down the props and reload Dave's Studebaker flatbed. They were
rather angry with Harry Oliver and T.R. Goodwin who should have been helping
but had slipped away late in the show to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Pahrump</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">Nevada</st1:state></st1:place> to get into what turned
out to be an all night and all day card game. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">After a
pancake breakfast with the Stollerys which was quite a treat for they had Log
Cabin syrup in the tin log cabin and not the awful clear Karo syrup mom
insisted on using, we made the short drive to the Furnace Creek Inn to see
dad's next historical landmark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">For those
49'ers who came to this gateway to Death Valley that Christmas of 1849, the options
they faced in Utah a few months prior were to either continue the methodical
pace of Capt. Hunt along the Old Spanish Trail and bypass this valley, or to
run with the new fella in camp who had a map made by John Fremont that looked
like it could save them 500 miles. Who could turn down a short cut like that?
Certainly dad couldn't if he was signed on to that train. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">NO. 442:
<st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> Gateway<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Plaque inscription: Through
this natural gateway the Death Valley '49ers, more than 100 emigrants from the
Middle West seeking a shortcut to gold fields of central California, entered
Death Valley in December 1849. All suffered from thirst and starvation. Seeking
an escape from the region, two contingents went southwest from here, while the
others proceeded northwest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Location: near
Furnace Creek Inn</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">State
Hwy 190 (P.M. 111.8), 1.3 mi SE of Furnace Creek, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National
Monument</st1:placetype></st1:place></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on"></st1:placetype></st1:place></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on"></st1:placetype></st1:place></span> </div>
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-88143716312804575752015-02-07T09:58:00.000-08:002015-02-07T09:58:54.315-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide - part 7 - Old Harmony Borax Works
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<st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Death Valley</span></st1:place><span style="font-family: Arial;"> in a '51 Powerglide - part 7 - Old Harmony Borax Works<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The ashtray
on a '51 Chevrolet is integrated into the design of the flat chrome vertical
bars that spanned its dashboard so as to be invisible when closed, but dad's
ashtray was always open for business. At the time, emptying the contents, at a
stoplight for instance, was not considered to be littering according to dad. Though
he was one of very few people who would not throw trash out the window, ashes
and cigarette butts did not count. The main issue with the Bel Air's ashtray
was that while being close to dad and the steering wheel and his Lucky Strikes,
it was a very long reach for my mom's <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Chesterfields</st1:place></st1:city>
coming from the far side of the sofa sized bench seat. Her solution was to let the
ash grow to epic length proportions before leaning over with the precision of a
Chinese acrobat to have the ash fall off into the pint sized container. Watching
this balancing act was so mesmerizing that I wasn't looking at the road as we
backtracked the 40 mile stretch from Scotty's Castle to the highway and it
caught me by surprise when in a softened and somewhat melancholy voice she said:
"snake", I hadn't seen it coming. Nor had dad, who immediately
swerved to the other side of the road to again run over our unfortunate viper from
the trip to Scotty's Castle a second time. That triggered a near word for word
replay of the conversation covered in the previous dispatch on the inbound trip
and lasted till we intersected the highway. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">A few more
miles down the road I began to wonder out loud as to how hot it might get in
this place so famous for scorching summers, to which mom opened the
mimeographed sheet that T.R. Goodwin had handed her back at Scotty's Castle and
from the blurry blue ink she quoted:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"The
maximum temperature recorded in <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place>
was 134°F. on July 10, 1913, which constituted the world's record until
September 13, 1922 when 135°F. was reported at Azizia, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Tripoli</st1:city></st1:place>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The minimum
for <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> occurred January 8, 1913 with
15°F. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Average
annual precipitation i 2.41 inches. Average humidity 4. With occasional
absolute zero. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Research
has determined that air temperature at five feet above ground does not exceed
120—F. for more than four hours. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Temperature
distribution form the sheltered thermometers (at 5 feet) indicating 125°F. to
the ground surface follows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">a. Air at 5
feet .............. 125 degrees F.<br />
b. Air at 1 foot .............. 150 degrees F.<br />
c. Air at 1 inch .............. 165 degrees F.<br />
d. Surface of ground ...... 180 degrees F. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">By
computation, the air temperature on the surface of ground can ge determined
when the air temperature at 5 feet was 134°F. It would be hot enough on the
ground surface to boil water or fry eggs and too hot for visitors to walk
bare-footed. —T.R. Goodwin"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Yikes"
I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Just before
powergliding our way into Furnace Creek (originally called '<st1:place w:st="on">Greenland</st1:place>'
by the way) and about a mile and a half north of town, we came up to the Old
Harmony Borax landmark dad was looking for. Mom and I thanked the stars there were
only a few more landmarks to go. We later learned the 20-mule teams written
about on the plaque were actually 2 teams of 10 mules that hauled 10 tons of
borax in 10 days, 165 miles to Mohave<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why 20 mules? Well, Mr. Perry and Ed Stiles (his main muleskinner) tried
teams of 8 and 10 and it wasn't enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sometime during
their 5 year run between 1893 and 1898 in a effort to replace the mules, a
steam traction engine named “Dinah” was brought in but proved less reliable,
and was eventually towed back to town by the mules it tried to replace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">'Dinah
won't ya blow' indeed. We'll get into this 20 Mule Team outfit in more depth in
a later dispatch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">NO. 773:
Old Harmony Borax Works<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In 1881
Aaron Winters discovered borax on the marsh near this point. He later sold his
holdings to W. T. Coleman of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">San
Francisco</st1:place></st1:city>, who built the Harmony Borax Works in 1882
and commissioned his superintendent, J. W. S. Perry, to design wagons and
locate a suitable route to Mojave. The work of gathering the ore (called
'cottonball') was done by Chinese workmen. From this point, 20-mule teams
transported the processed borax 165 miles to the railroad until 1889</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Location: <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">State Hwy</st1:address></st1:street> 190 (P.M.
109.1), 1.4 mi N of Furnace Creek, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Death
Valley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National Monument</st1:placetype></st1:place><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">From the
'20 Mule Team' landmark we rolled into the ranch to find Harry Oliver already
there....affirming it was his Ford V8 woody that passed us on the way from
Scotty's Castle. Set designer that he was, he had a plan to make a circled
wagons backdrop for the campfire show and dad threw in with him to help, along
with Stan Jones' friends Julio and Bufungo, who had shown up from Trona. Several
of the French tourists from Stovepipe Wells pitched in as well. Dave and Louise
Frey were on the way with another wagon and extra props piled high on the
flatbed of his '47 Studebaker truck, not because Dave somehow knew what Harry
was up to, he simply never traveled light, or without adequate 'walkin' around
money'. The 'set' came together quickly and looked so good it could have been
in the John Sturges movie that started Stan's career in show business at that
very spot. . </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Not being
inclined to physical work myself, I'd slipped over to where Stan Jones' band
'The Plainsmen' had been going over a few of his songs. Right off, I recognized
steel guitarist Joaquin Murphy from seeing him many times with Spade Cooley at
the Santa Monica Pier Ballroom, the house bands on 'Rocket to Stardom' at KTLA
and 'Town Hall party at the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Compton</st1:place></st1:city>
town hall to which mom and I would ride the bus to play my red accordion. The
other band members were looking familiar as well. The bandleader was Andy
Parker, along with Clem Smith, Charlie Morgan (who was going on about his
sister Jaye P. Morgan's recent recording success), and George Bamby. Andy said
I'd likely seen them in the Saturday matinees playing with Eddie Dean. I hadn't
but I shyly mentioned that I thought my godmother, Shirley Patterson had done
some acting with Eddie Dean. "Some?" Andy said. It turned out she'd
starred in three westerns with him, they knew her well, and when he said the
dates the movies were released, one of them it turned out. 'Driftin River' was
released the very day I was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">To borrow a
quote from dad I went: 'Hmmm". I'd realized now the reason mom was hauling
me around to play those talent shows was to live a bit vicariously the stage
door side of things she perceived existed for her best teenage friend turned
actress. "So you play the accordion?" "Show us what you've
got" George Bamby says and I borrowed his smallish Italian job and knocked
off 'Lady of Spain' complete with the 'doodly-doodly' trick bit they taught me
at Morey's Music back in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Long Beach</st1:place></st1:city>.
They jumped in and accompanied me with an instant arrangement that threw me off
some but I hung on. They said I just had to play it that night for everyone, no
excuses. And here I'd simply wandered by to get out of work, but I knew being a
kid act shill that night would make mom happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Speaking of
mom, she'd wandered off to the pool and was back reading 'Cat on a Hot Tin
Roof' when I had realized the time and running back to the Bel Air, the
dashboard clock showed a bit past 4, and grabbing the soda from the cooler I
rushed Dr. Pepper #3 to her poolside in the nick of time. And time it was to
get ready for the show. </span></div>
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-79653491878386445172015-02-01T11:14:00.002-08:002015-02-01T11:17:20.771-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide - part 6 - Scotty's Castle
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Back on the
highway towards our rendezvous at Furnace Creek, dad and mom had decided to
take Dave's advice and detour a left down a 40 mile road whose only function
was to deliver folks to Scotty's Castle. I thought it had to be the world's
longest driveway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As
mentioned in an earlier dispatch, mom had switched to Dr. Pepper after seeing
what Coca Cola does to corroded battery terminals the previous day and was
adopting the consumption policy laid out on the bottle's label; 10 - 2<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>& 4. and with a minute left till 10am
showing on the dashboard clock of the Bel Air, I reached in the cooler for
mom's first bottle. Just as I was handing the <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Texas</st1:place></st1:state> based concoction that I felt tasted
like carbonated prune juice to her, mom saw something in the road ahead:
"SNAKE" she screamed. Without any hesitation whatsoever, dad veered
off course and ran directly over the hapless reptile. From the rear window I
noted that we were only one of many who had made that maneuver on the rattler.
I wondered out loud to dad as to why we veered down on the poor critter like
the point of a cowboy boot to a cockroach stuck in a corner, yet he would
swerve and skid to avoid squirrel and bunny. "Hmmm" dad said. Meanwhile,
mom's Chesterfields and Dr. Pepper were taking hold and in that clarity she
recalled nearly every word from an article she'd recently read in the
Press-Telegram about a man who'd died from the venom of a rattlesnake fang when
he pricked his finger removing the viper's tooth from his tire.
"Hmmm" dad said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Right after
the war and fresh out of the Navy, dad skipped around with various jobs before
settling down in the family profession of working for oil companies. One such
endeavor was building a stage and set in the employ of designer, humorist,
actor, and all around character, Harry Oliver out in the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Indio</st1:place></st1:city> desert. With an Arabian Nights theme
and his father in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Saudi
Arabia</st1:place></st1:country-region> working for an oil company, it seemed
like the right job to take. So when he saw Harry standing there on the grass in
the flesh just as we rolled up to the parking lot of Scotty's <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Castle</st1:placetype> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National Monument</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
he was elated. What were the odds? Well, less than one might think, for Harry
had been there for awhile researching material for forthcoming editions of his
'Desert Rat Scrapbook' quarterly and hanging out with friend, fellow
storyteller and national monument superintendent; T.R. Goodwin. While waiting
for T.R. to finish conducting a tour, Harry, with his booming theatrical voice
and an appearance better suited for radio, decided to give us the nickel tour
himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Harry asks
us if we've noticed the lack of Kleenex bushes blooming along the roadside
while in <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place>. Not the wildflowers
that we were too early for anyway, but his term for roadside litter so
prevalent in those pre litterbug campaign years. "Hmmm" dad said.
Harry also noted he'd slept in Scotty's bed the night before and that the
Buffalo Bill painting gave him cowboy dreams. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Walter Edward Scott or 'Death
Valley Scotty' had passed a year prior and as we walked the winding path to his
grave above the castle, Harry speculated that the place should really be called
'Johnson's Mission Revival' for it was millionaire Albert Johnson's place and
his money that built it. So much money that they still didn't know if it was
1.5 million or 2.5 million dollars, but certainly enough to ensure good digging's.
And insurance was Johnson's game, National Life it was. Yet, since right out of
college, he had the mining speculation bug, and great early success in a lead
zinc mine kept the bug alive. Later, he convinced his moneybags dad to
accompany him on a rail trip for a look-see at a new mining venture when
tragedy struck. Their hottentot <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Pullman</st1:place></st1:city>
was rear ended by another train and dad was killed, leaving Albert seriously
injured and the business. He never fully recovered and was in constant pain the
rest of his life. As to <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place>, he
originally came to inspect his investment in Scotty's 'lost' gold mine. Mom
perks up and asked if anyone might know anything about her 'Tom Reed Gold Mine'
stock in which she inherited 5000 shares since it was around these parts. Harry
answered:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"Let
those who seek Peg Leg's gold<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Cast ten
rocks to the pile<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">To the lost
trail of a hundred years<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">You may add
another mile" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom took
this to mean her stock might be in a fragile state of value for we knew through
Harry's Desert Rat Scrapbook publication his obsession with Peg Leg Smith, who
could have been Scotty's spirtual mentor in folly and con. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We reach
the hilltop and enjoy the incredible vista while Harry continued his story with
Albert and other speculators coming out to see the so called mine and call
Scotty's bluff that it existed. Meanwhile, Scotty gathered some fellers of low
degree along with his brother to stage a raid on the convoy and the 'Battle of
Wingate Pass' and its 'rain of lead' went on to make national headlines. Though
the only serious casualty was Scotty's brother Warner, it was the stuff of
western lore and oxygen to millionaire boredom and the odd fellowship between affluent
Albert and Scotty the con began and lasted the rest of their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As it
turned out, coming here improved Mr. Johnson's health and though wife Bessie
grew to love Death Valley as well, she wasn't much for camping, and the
'castle' was built. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Back off
the hill we met T.R. Goodwin and dad asked if the place was a state landmark,
since we were looking for them. Mr. Goodwin, a slyly built, prim man in
government garb, complete with a flat brim 'Smoky' hat said it wasn't, but it
was part of the National Monument. He said that one of the common questions
asked by visitors to the area was: "Where is the monument?" And they are
greatly surprised to learn that <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Death
Valley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National Monument</st1:placetype></st1:place>
comprised nearly 2,000,000 acres and that was the monument. Not long a go
Superintendent Goodwin received the following letter from a representative of a
paint manufacturing concern: "Formula X has been tested on several
national monuments. It does not change the color of the surface yet it penetrates
deeply into the stone preventing the absorption of water, weather, and
deterioration." Comments Superintendent Goodwin: "Such a letter
tempts one to ask the writer to submit an estimate of the quantity of his
product required to protect <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> from
weathering and deterioration." Yes, T.R. was a great storyteller. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Returning
to the parking lot, Harry was reunited with the hat he'd left on the Bel Air's
fender. It was 2 o'clock and time for mom's <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">next Dr.</st1:address></st1:street> Pepper and also time for us to
head to Furnace Creek, and with goodbyes said to Harry Oliver and T.R. Goodwin
(who both were definitely coming to the Stan Jones shindig) we bid toodles to Scotty's
Castle. </span></div>
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-56681848193171670002015-01-29T08:43:00.000-08:002015-01-29T08:44:03.392-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide - part 5 - Stovepipe Wells
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Old
Stovepipe Wells<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I awoke in
the back seat of the Bel Air to find I was the last one up for mom and dad were
already outside the tent cabin having breakfast and talking to Dave Frey the
proprietor. I quickly performed my duty of winding the Chevy's clock (30 turns,
no more) and made for the outhouse (a fancy two hole-er). Inside the cabin tent
was an old windup Victrola and to play on it Dave had brought by a 78 of Vaughn
Monroe doing Ghost Riders in the Sky to help get us all in the mood to see that
song's author Stan Jones over in Furnace Creek later on. I played it again and
again, almost getting two plays out of a windup. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mom seen
cooking while Dave turns about for the photo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dad and
Dave continued to hit it off well and were in total agreement about how much
'walkin' around money' a man needs. Not the cash in your wallet but front
pocket tender to keep at the ready. Then they returned to the subject of the
landmarks we were going to and Dave gave us new directions and a short cut to
Old Stovepipe Wells nearby, noting that we'd be walking part of the way due to
sand. Also, he said we should drop the landmark endeavor for a few hours and go
to Scotty's Castle for it was well worth the trip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">All packed
up, we gave a wave to good old Dave and said goodbye to the little resort of
Stovepipe Wells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The
stovepipe well. You have to cross the mesquite dunes to get to it and after a
spell on the dirt road that came to a washout, and with our recent experience
of getting stuck in these same sands, the Bel Air stayed put and we walked. Mom
turned back after a few hundred yards, a few more <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Chesterfields</st1:place></st1:city> and a paperback at the car were
more appealing. We press on with dad recalling most the lyric to the recent
Sons of the Pioneers song 'Cool Water'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The words
made the desert scorching hot on that cool day as we continued across the faux
burning sands with no provisions whatsoever. For me that meant the 1950's standard
boys equivalent to civil war hard tack; a PPJ on Wonder Bread and a 6 ounce
Coke, stuffed in jeans back pockets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cR9OrbHEAIHEoXkx9Q-o0CRtpt5svDpGVNaiVH66Xtpxd077Jwpi4xicbfxT-WeLenGrGoqaSfUxLPbVbDqZxPWeHe0V2bf4qDb8VJnrxPEQWqwq4DU8_M3LhMGhyphenhyphenPNksnUhyY4TlqM/s1600/07+Death+Valley+20144+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cR9OrbHEAIHEoXkx9Q-o0CRtpt5svDpGVNaiVH66Xtpxd077Jwpi4xicbfxT-WeLenGrGoqaSfUxLPbVbDqZxPWeHe0V2bf4qDb8VJnrxPEQWqwq4DU8_M3LhMGhyphenhyphenPNksnUhyY4TlqM/s1600/07+Death+Valley+20144+025.JPG" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Over and
over dad sang: 'All day I face the barren waste without the taste of water,<br />
Cool water.<br />
Old Dan and I with throats burned dry and souls that cry for water,<br />
Cool water.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">By the time
we arrived the song had the 60 degree morning feeling more like 120 and my
visions of pools of bubbling artesian wells were dashed as we found nothing but
a rock and cement base with a pipe sticking out of it. Dad made the best out it
and to perk me up told me how that method of marking spots in the desert helped
grandfather cross on the old plank road many years prior. With two way traffic
on eight foot wide wood planks over sand dunes they'd put up 4x4 lumber real
high to mark the turnouts. After figuring out that you could tell time by the
pipe's shadow, we returned to find mom engrossed in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, just
out in print. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In reality
the water at Stovepipe Well was never pleasant, here's one prospector's
account:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">"My canteens were exhausted when I arrived there [old Stovepipe
Wells], and I disregarded the admonition and drank. The water is very low in
the spring, is of a yellowish appearance and intensely nauseating in taste. Its
odor is very disagreeable, and it can be smelled for half a mile away.
Nevertheless, I filled my canteens, and drank of it while there. As I proceeded
on my journey my legs became unsteady and I found it difficult to continue my
usual pace. I lay down thinking to gain strength, but no improvement was
noticeable. The distance between Stove Pipe and Hole-in-the-Rock is about 14
miles, and I fully realized that it was by all odds a case of make this or die
. . . . I struggled forward, my legs becoming more and more uncertain…"</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">NO. 826:
Old Stovepipe Wells<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Plaque
inscription: This waterhole, the only one in the sand dune area of <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place>, was at the junction of the two Indian
trails. During the bonanza days of Rhyolite and Skidoo, it was the only known
water source on the cross-valley road. When sand obscured the spot, a length of
stovepipe was inserted as a marker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">From State
Hwy 190 (P.M. 92.1) go N 2.8 mi on (unpaved) Sand Dunes Access Rd, 6.1 mi E of
Stovepipe Wells, Death Valley National Monument<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-76846338050796322702015-01-27T04:36:00.001-08:002015-01-27T04:36:42.848-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglige - part 4 - Eichbaum Toll Road<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Eichbaum Toll Road</span></st1:address></st1:street></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It had been
a long and eventful day and with having to turn back and check on the iron back
home on my suggestion that it may have been left on, we found ourselves in
Stovepipe Wells and not in Furnace Creek as setting winter sun turned the hills
to brilliant gold. Since Stan Jones' campfire shindig wasn't until the next
night, being behind the pace wasn't much of an issue. However, there was the
issue of food and lodging for the night, and since it looked like some other
folks were hunkering down nearby, we went back across the road to the general
store where we met the proprietor Dave Frey who was happy to take care of our
needs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Considering
how far the Stovepipe Wells General Store was from any competition, Dave's
prices were quite fair. Smokes for mom and dad were still 25 cents, bread was .19,
and a half gallon of milk for 45 cents. He even had sirloin at 76 cents a pound
but mom decides on hot dogs, figuring we can roast them over the campfire Dave
said he has for the guests every night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Out back
were the 'cottages', which were old military GP tents draped over a wood frame.
Dave said he got the idea from living and working at <st1:placetype w:st="on">Camp</st1:placetype>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Curry</st1:placename> in <st1:place w:st="on">Yosemite</st1:place>
and the tents they had there. As coincidence would have it, it turns out in
conversation that back in the 1940's, Dave had also owned a small store and
cottages right by our current place near Idyllwild. It went bust in '47 largely
due poor roads leading there, and this was where dad and Dave really hit it off
as neither could understand why people don't carry shovel and boards in their
cars at all times. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dad
mentions the landmarks we've gone to and wonders where the next one, the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Eichbaum Toll Road</st1:address></st1:street>,
might be. To this Dave said it was a funny thing, we only had to look back across
the road and it was right next to the 'Burned Wagons' landmark about 100 feet
to the right. Another funny thing about it said Dave was that the landmarks was
all about this store's predecessor, old Bob Eichbaum and his toll road that
opened up Death Valley to tourism back in 1926 and enjoy stay with Bob and his
wife Helene at what they called 'Bungalette City'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Old Bob got
'em with a toll going both ways, with a renaming to '<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Mt.</st1:placetype> Whitney Toll Road</st1:address></st1:street>
on the other side of the overhead sign. The tolls stopped when the state took
the road over in the 1930's.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">At the
campfire that night were Dave and his wife Louise, a half dozen French tourists
who spoke no English, and us. With mom and dad's pianos at home (they each had
their own) and fortunately my accordion as well, we had no instruments, so dad
decides a little acapella sing along is in order and he launched into some
Lefty Frizzell favorites with 'Long Black Veil' and 'Always Late'. To this the
confused <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>French countered with Edith Piaf's
'La Vie en Rose' and the latest Gallic pop hit, the melody to a song we'd later
know as 'Let It Be Me' from the Everly Brothers. A good time was had by all,
and with the news that the Stan Jones event was just a day away, everyone was excited
about heading to Furnace Creek for the event. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">With a new
block of ice in the cooler, we settle in, or rather mom and dad settle in the
tent and it's decided that I'd be better off sleeping in the Bel Air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Laying
there in the back seat that night turned out to be feast for the senses, stoked
like Dave's poker had just done livening up the campfire embers to flame. It
was totally different than laying down in the back seat of a moving car. First,
I found a little switch hidden halfway down on the herringbone cloth below the
armrest behind the driver's door. It turned on the dome lights. Who knew?
Couldn't wait to tell dad in the morning. Then there were the chrome strips
crossing the headliner and emulating supports for a convertible top. Since I knew
all GM hardtops had them, I wondered if Cadillac had more of the chrome strips.
On average back then, the guy at the top of a company made about seven times as
much as the guy at the bottom, and with Chevy, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Pontiac</st1:place></st1:city>, Oldsmobile, Buick, and Callilac, General
Motors had a car for every step along the way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Called hardtop convertibles then I was to
learn later that the cars were actually convertible bodies and not sedans and
that they'd simply weld the tops on after making the rest of the car. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then there was
the clock. The windup ticker sat up in the middle of the dashboard and in the
quiet desert night, was really loud. I'd heard the Cadillac clock was now
electric and thought how nice that would be, as it was becoming a bit like Edgar
Allan Poe's 'The Tell Tale Heart' I'd just read. Then the action scenes from
'It Came From Beneath The Sea' where a '51 Chevy is chased across a bridge by a
hideous giant squid play over and over in my head. The car didn't make it. And
I'm in a '51 Chevy. Eventually, soothing thoughts began like Dave's mentioning
earlier that the term 'dashboard' came from the wagon days and was the plank a
driver would rest his feet on and used to 'dash' away the mud and dirt and such
tossed up from the road and I fell asleep to a gentle breeze and yips of
coyotes in the distance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmSFYKRr1XczXdY31DCCjB_qEcbpwal9hty83Z95l-y9W6vBC6GMijnBs1Bz4O37N1UvIZPnK1Mfr_LhlpWtp9jYtC-s-uc-1IcBn51nXlmB7UczzwZz_-fEpntr9YnIrnnw2k7SH8Tk/s1600/Death+Valley+20144+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmSFYKRr1XczXdY31DCCjB_qEcbpwal9hty83Z95l-y9W6vBC6GMijnBs1Bz4O37N1UvIZPnK1Mfr_LhlpWtp9jYtC-s-uc-1IcBn51nXlmB7UczzwZz_-fEpntr9YnIrnnw2k7SH8Tk/s1600/Death+Valley+20144+022.JPG" height="310" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Plaque
inscription: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">NO. 848
<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Eichbaum Toll Road</st1:address></st1:street><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In 1926, H.
W. Eichbaum obtained a franchise for a toll road from <st1:placename w:st="on">Darwin</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Falls</st1:placetype> to Stovepipe Wells, the first
maintained road into <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> from the
west. It changed the area's economic base from mining to tourism and brought
about the creation of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Death
Valley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National Monument</st1:placetype></st1:place>
seven years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Location: 100
ft S of <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">State Hwy</st1:address></st1:street>
190 (P.M. 85.83), Stovepipe Wells , <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Death
Valley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National Monument</st1:placetype></st1:place><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-22173634197493202472015-01-21T10:52:00.000-08:002015-01-21T10:55:03.266-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide - part 3 'Burned Wagons Point'
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Burned Wagons Point<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We were back
in the Bel Air and headed north on the Trona - Wildrose Road about 65 miles to
reach the Death Valley Road cutoff, with its sweeping turns and panoramic
desert vistas in every direction and a growing realization that the hum of the
Chevy six and the banter of the people within it were the only signs of life on
this day as far as the eye could see. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ5VB64N-AIIBOIVquCO7LAsV_FpaTXrv3Rh2wxn8zPxE0Z72XKrCKQLOIhq1HT7l2zuCO8UF748q9-cukgAOiF5wK6n9jQpj2ZlNEuAqYeSGkGbLOR_Z4z0dZgZNba6qe6RWmgT1DJk/s1600/Death+Valley+20144+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQ5VB64N-AIIBOIVquCO7LAsV_FpaTXrv3Rh2wxn8zPxE0Z72XKrCKQLOIhq1HT7l2zuCO8UF748q9-cukgAOiF5wK6n9jQpj2ZlNEuAqYeSGkGbLOR_Z4z0dZgZNba6qe6RWmgT1DJk/s1600/Death+Valley+20144+013.JPG" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"On
curves ahead <br />
Remember, sonny<br />
That rabbit's foot <br />
Didn't save <br />
The bunny<br />
Burma-Shave"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">"The
place to pass<br />
On curves <br />
You know <br />
Is only at <br />
A beauty show <br />
Burma-Shave"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">That was
all the roadside poetry I could recall to recite at the time, the tank was dry.
Mom however picked up the slack and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was
quite chatty after two Cokes and some Chesterfields and going on and on in her terminology
about 'this, that, and the other thing', to which my dad in his quest to always
minimize vocabulary would say 'hmmm' if he didn't know the answer, or what she
was talking about, or 'uh-huh' when he did. This went on for 45 miles or so as
we came down to and crossed the desert floor and then the road went away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrLtEnhGQuSlGeGzZiU3gbFZwXEofRM-xnJ5J2yJgPTmC7ucDSQ9gbzLDPfGcrUn_5uSBJ7NQwKauo9dyOcSVc_HIGgFh1xipoSo3AJ4EN3VzU3NLdynpo41P4XHJ9usVQ3mBlFiVrdHs/s1600/Death+Valley+20144+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrLtEnhGQuSlGeGzZiU3gbFZwXEofRM-xnJ5J2yJgPTmC7ucDSQ9gbzLDPfGcrUn_5uSBJ7NQwKauo9dyOcSVc_HIGgFh1xipoSo3AJ4EN3VzU3NLdynpo41P4XHJ9usVQ3mBlFiVrdHs/s1600/Death+Valley+20144+015.JPG" height="320" width="280" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Apparently
a rainstorm had washed away our little byway at the low point for five miles or
so and repair wasn't much of local priority. It would have been nice if someone
had mentioned this back in Trona. The dirt washboard surface was passable but
slow and bouncy when 'short cut' dad decides the smooth dirt to the side was
the way to go, and of course we got stuck in the sand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Not to
worry, because as mentioned in earlier dispatches, we were short cut trained
and had boards and shovel in the trunk. With several years experience
installing snow chains on trips to the mountains of Idyllwild, California and
with a flip of the hidden lever underneath, I had the fender skirt off in a
flash, boards under the wheel, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and the
slushy Powerglide automatic had the car out of sand in no time and we were on
our way again. This time staying to the center. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_Vq5DL9f3aUSUrCxG3rPXDk3963BFVYNc56V6uJQymUGLA2RKMKFv9sRCTq0caYvPXS6KbI-yoA0Ap_j2XWbqHmoVwxU8js60YDVikr7mwFfq1hsi9R93xyf-XorPyUBoggxYLcA7Ns/s1600/burned+wagons+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_Vq5DL9f3aUSUrCxG3rPXDk3963BFVYNc56V6uJQymUGLA2RKMKFv9sRCTq0caYvPXS6KbI-yoA0Ap_j2XWbqHmoVwxU8js60YDVikr7mwFfq1hsi9R93xyf-XorPyUBoggxYLcA7Ns/s1600/burned+wagons+5.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">We finally
met the road to Death Valley and went up, down, and around, though mostly up,
till at the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">high point</st1:place></st1:city>
just before descending to the valley floor, the Cokes caught up with me, I
couldn't take it any longer and had to pee. Afterwards, dad went to start the
car but nothing happened, so since it was downhill all the way to Stovepipe Wells
from this point, dad figured we'd simply roll there in neutral. It was a bit
like Woody Guthrie's 'Talkin' Dust Bowl Blues':<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">'Way up
yonder on a mountain curve<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This was
way up yonder in the piney woods<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I gave the
rollin' Ford a shove <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I's a gonna
coast, fer as I could<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Commenced
to coastin'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Pickin' up
speed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">There's a
hairpin turn<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I..............didn't
make it.' <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Well
actually we did make it and rolled right to the service station at the
Stovepipe Wells General Store where the mechanic looked under the hood, and
then took the Coke from my hand and poured the contents over the corroded battery
terminals and the Bel Air's battery was good as new as she started right up.
This was the day mom stopped drinking Coke and switched to Dr. Pepper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Right
across the street was Burned Wagons Point and the next landmark on dad's list. Another
monument dealing with the lost '49's, this time being the spot where they
burned their wagons and continued on foot, taking the same path we had just
rolled in on and the famous slogan 'Goodbye Death Valley' was spoken, quite
possibly at the very hilltop spot I'd just made water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">No 441 Burned Wagons Point</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Plaque
inscription:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Near this
monument, the Jayhawker group of Death Valley Forty-Niners, gold seekers from
Middle West, who entered Death Valley in 1849 seeking short route to the mines
of central California, burned their wagons, dried the meat of some oxen and,
with surviving animals, struggled westward on foot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-56447805048788163782015-01-13T15:26:00.000-08:002015-01-13T15:27:21.074-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide - part 2
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Valley
Wells</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The 'Trophy
Blue' and 'Moonlight Cream' topped 1951 Chevrolet Bel Air hardtop was a smooth
ride. As the old Fred Hutchinson song states: "The Chevrolet six just
can't be beat." The three speed column shifters got 90 horsepower and the
Powerglide automatics, 105 horses. That infamous 2-speed transmission herded
many of those horses to corrals unknown before reaching the wheels, so the
extra power was necessary. Power being a relative thing. The 'stovebolt six' as
they called it had been around since the '30's and a Ford V-8 could make mince
meat out of a Chevy and whiz by on the old suicide passing lanes. When that happened
dad would recite: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"A guy
Who drives <br />
A car wide open<br />
Is not thinkin' <br />
He's just hopin' <br />
Burma-Shave"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The only
hope was to pass an occasional <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Plymouth</st1:city></st1:place>,
which took a fair amount of exposure in the two-way middle lane as the
'Thriftmaster' single barrel carburetor would gasp for more air and fuel. Ah
but who cared, the Bel Air hardtop had Cadillac class and Harley Earl style.
And pillarless 4 X 60 air conditioning; four windows down and sixty miles an
hour. Besides the Powerglide, the other factory options were a radio and a
heater. We had it all. Plus a backup light from the dealer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dad aims
the Chevy back through town to the library where Stacy the librarian gathers
some information for my dad's newly perked interest in landmarks, figuring it
was likely there'd more along our way. And if there might be a short cut
besides the known road north. Stacy said there wasn't but it was funny he
should ask about a short cut for there was a landmark dealing with that very
issue of short cuts just five miles ahead. In fact it was those very people the
landmark talks about, the 'Lost 49'ers' that named <st1:place w:st="on">Death
Valley</st1:place>. Exciting news for some but at the time I couldn't care
less. I wanted a Coke. Mom agreed and we stop by the market and pick up a six
ounce six pack for thirty seven cents and drop it in the metal Colman cooler.
Dad had taken a mental snapshot of the landmark locations ahead and we were
off,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for as always, he felt a man does
not ask directions and does not need a map. What he needs as stated in the
previous dispatch, is a good short cut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As Stacy
the librarian had noted, we were at our next landmark, 'Valley Wells' in no
time at all. The short story is that in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Utah</st1:place></st1:state>
a big piece of a wagon train outfit became upset with the slow but safe pace
and track the guide had chosen and broke off, and with a new guide who was said
to have a map of John Fremont's, made off for a short cut. This group had yet another
tiff and it broke in two as well with the adventurous ones heading across what
is now <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> in the winter of 1849.
Nice weather but food and water were hard to come by. As they left, one person
wrote down: "As I look back at <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place>"
....and the name stuck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">They were
getting pretty desperate and the Sierras were looking formidable from where
they stood, so when they spied what we now call <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Searles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>
to the south they were elated, only to find it salty and undrinkable. Too bad, for had they
stayed put they'd have been far wealthier than throwing in the placer mining
crowd. Potash just doesn't have the attraction of gold. The real gold in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> then was in
making a good wheelbarrow like John Studebaker, or borax like John Searles, Our
lost wagon train pressed on however and was eventually rescued down around
Newhall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN;">NO. 443 VALLEY WELLS</span></b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> - In this
area, several groups of midwestern emigrants who had escaped from hazards and
privations in Death Valley in 1849 sought to secure water from <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Searles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>. They turned northward and westward
in despair when they discovered its salty nature, and with great difficulty
crossed the Argus and other mountains to reach settlements of Central and <st1:place w:st="on">Southern California</st1:place>.<br />
<b>Location</b>: <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Trona Wildrose Rd</st1:address></st1:street>
at <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Valley Wells Rd</st1:address></st1:street>,
5.5 mi NE of Trona</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Two
landmarks down and the Bel Air continues north to complete our short cut and
meet the main road into <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> and the
Stan Jones shindig at Furnace Creek.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-914151687219711952015-01-10T08:35:00.000-08:002015-02-07T08:53:14.286-08:00Death Valley in a '51 Powerglide
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<st1:place w:st="on"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Death Valley</span></st1:place><span style="font-family: Arial;"> in a '51 Powerglide - part 1 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Back in
1955 the Elks Hall in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Long Beach</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place> was the kind of place where
working class folk from the aircraft assembly plants and oil refineries could
gather, mix, dance it up, and take the wide-eyed kids along. And what a night
it was when Stan Jones came down from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los
Angeles</st1:place></st1:city> and brought Eddie Dean's boys, 'The Plainsmen'
to accompany his western songs, with 'Ghost Riders In The Sky' being the most
famous. By then, it seemed like most everyone had recorded it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">While on a
break, Stan and dad got to sharing a little hooch in the parking lot from the
trunk of the Bel Air and Stan gets to the story of how he was discovered. Of
his many occupations, one was as a park ranger in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">National
Monument</st1:placetype></st1:place> and the task to act as a consultant to a
John Sturges movie on location there fell in his lap. Around a campfire one
night, Stan got to playing his songs about the west and the movie boys said:
"You've got to take that 'Ghost Riders' song down to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city></st1:place>." Well, he followed that
advice and before long, Stan was off to another career as a songwriter, actor,
and performer. With his break over and back on stage and newly inspired he
announced: "Me and the boys have talked it over and we're going to stage a
big campout in <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> at Furnace Creek,
it'll be just like in the movies and we're hoping you all can come along."
Well, that was all dad needed to hear and the adventure to the enchanted desert
had begun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">TRONA<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The first
leg of any journey in our small family was always hampered by the same
complication, and it was my fault actually. I just couldn't help it. As the
blue '51 Bel Air would glide well into its first hour of travel I'd stand from
the back and lean over the front bench seat and mention in my 'shy' voice a
ruse from the arsenal; "Hey mom, did you leave the iron on?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once planted, the statement would brew in my
dad's mind, sort of like making a pot of coffee and when done we'd be headed
back home for another inspection of the homestead's potential catastrophes. All
because the original walk through had mom and I waiting in the driveway for
twenty minutes while hatches were battened down. I couldn't let it go. And that
went on for years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Under way
again, and this time with the 'saturate before using' Desert Brand burlap water
bag hanging from the front bumper, we headed north to our first goal and one of
several paths to <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place>, Trona. We headed
that way for three reasons; The Pinnacles, Julio & Bufungo, and the third I've
forgotten. Wait, I remember now, dad considered it a short cut. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And that
short cut part started out well with the seldom used Trona Road bypassing
Ridgecrest and heading straight for a town named after a mineral, and the
annual tourists making this a destination can be counted on one hand....us.
Why?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Reason #1;
Julio & Bufungo were former cowboys (their cowboy names...no one knew their
real ones) that Stan Jones said he hung and rattled with back in his rodeo days
that were now working for Kerr-Magee in Trona. Dad felt it important to rustle
up these boys for the shindig in Furnace Creek. Reason #2; short cuts.....dad
always took them. The more unsubstantiated, the better. We'd learned the hard
way to always travel with boards, shovel, ponchos, water, gas, Shell X-100
motor oil, fan belts, and ropes & chains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">For reason
#3, we first ran by the Pinnacles, the lunar landscape and green screen for
many a space film venture....and perhaps later, a Neil Armstrong footprint or two.
Dad took a photo or two of the area on the Argus. We walked around a bit, I had
counted three scorpions under lifted rocks when mom yelled "SNAKE"
and we side stepped past the knurled twig wedged in a pinnacle crevasse. Though
it was a false alarm, there were plenty of rattlers on this high desert floor
for sure, and sure enough, as we made it back to the car, one was curled up on
the ground and warming itself on the ground directly under the Chevy's motor,
and we drove on. I thought about telling mom the viper may have crawled up in
the engine to get dad's mind percolating again but we'd lost enough time
already...we needed lunch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As we came
around a bend, the experience of seeing Trona in the split windshield panorama
to the left and <st1:placename w:st="on">Searles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> to the right for the first time was below our
modest expectations, and the antithesis of viewing my favorite spot of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">June</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Lake</st1:placename></st1:place>
from the bend at Oh! Ridge further up highway 395. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">When a man
got a good paying job here at this Kerr-Magee (now Searles Valley Minerals)
company town and brought the family, the wife would cry. You were paid in
script. The school football field as well as the golf course were dirt. Grass
does not grow here. What is found is </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN;">trisodium hydrogendicarbonate
dihydrate or Trona for short, or 'rotten eggs' smell for real. You get sodium
carbonate and potash from the stuff and it's <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">America</st1:country-region></st1:place>'s only reliable source. No
gunpowder without it, or Alka-Seltzer for that matter.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">If you were going to Trona however, it was a good day, for
it was cool, in the high 40's, and that scrambled the rotten egg smell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The locals
happily used terms like: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">'Use a gun,
go to Trona' </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">'<st1:place w:st="on">Siberia</st1:place> of the desert'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">'Eau de
Trona'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Why they
were self deprecating yet cheerful we found out shortly.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> Still, when we
saw the abandoned cars that had rusted clean in two, one had doubts about the
place. </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dad had
called ahead and we were to meet up with Julio & Bufungo at Cowboy Bob's
restaurant on their lunch break. We ordered, but for some reason I couldn't
find an egg salad sandwich on the menu. The boys showed up and Lucky Strikes
and conversation were exchanged and we learned a thing or two from them. It
turned out the people were cheerful there because more wealth had been taken
from <st1:placename w:st="on">Searles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype>
than all the gold in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state>
since the Gold Rush of 1849 began. There's money to be made. Teachers were the
highest paid in the state and pay at the plant was the best for that field of
work. In that dried and dusty lake bed are 98 of the104 known chemical
elements...including the one that eats cars. Just when I was thinking these
were some pretty smart fellas, Bufungo mimics mom's earlier comment and yelled "SNAKE"....and
everyone scurried about for a bit. Julio said he did that for effect once every
few hours. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZunFkK8aIeS8Hlc81ef_R4vmIZHN6yoa257-r6JBRoiycMnXPOTgZvb08IKdTia_DBvnA-wMuY6Eqe7a-vLafWlLUa8peA2GLcybNM5nWkdepla6DvA4GmLkKPbjRo-dJlHGlDe7A2o/s1600/06+Death+Valley+20144+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZunFkK8aIeS8Hlc81ef_R4vmIZHN6yoa257-r6JBRoiycMnXPOTgZvb08IKdTia_DBvnA-wMuY6Eqe7a-vLafWlLUa8peA2GLcybNM5nWkdepla6DvA4GmLkKPbjRo-dJlHGlDe7A2o/s1600/06+Death+Valley+20144+005.JPG" height="226" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">They
thought seeing old Stan in <st1:place w:st="on">Death Valley</st1:place> was a
great idea and with pleasantries exchanged they said that before we go we
should check out the landmark down the street for more information about this
town without which there would be no Boraxo. We sauntered down <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Trona Road</st1:address></st1:street> a tad to
<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Church Street</st1:address></st1:street>,
where there was no church, just the potash plant with smokestacks chuggin' on
the other side of the road, and came to a little turnout where the state landmark
resided. An official looking bronze plaque stated the following: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUtXUWfDnwbpKWadWOI4shN690RGUNNC_Sl5KZLsYkxGfsM0Ljo_Xa9EkxtielJqiek6htnnM7WPhyphenhyphenSM7s_8neZFygFdtZmx67v-fVry-ZSLbC7jX2_lba3xXKERSImpW36ANlrpC9Ns/s1600/07+Death+Valley+20144+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUtXUWfDnwbpKWadWOI4shN690RGUNNC_Sl5KZLsYkxGfsM0Ljo_Xa9EkxtielJqiek6htnnM7WPhyphenhyphenSM7s_8neZFygFdtZmx67v-fVry-ZSLbC7jX2_lba3xXKERSImpW36ANlrpC9Ns/s1600/07+Death+Valley+20144+006.JPG" height="198" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpT_XJSOSVCxUZS4LUZTg5n5kaQmlVaywp7r-WTdgFKdODtaSOVwnb1X8dTmhJxg0Lb8rQ4erkQbHru2OlrcPCio5PzLzauMGDi8hZ0TIgRvl2z0sLnKo9j_wrllimGAIhAxKPsE3lGI/s1600/08+Death+Valley+20144+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpT_XJSOSVCxUZS4LUZTg5n5kaQmlVaywp7r-WTdgFKdODtaSOVwnb1X8dTmhJxg0Lb8rQ4erkQbHru2OlrcPCio5PzLzauMGDi8hZ0TIgRvl2z0sLnKo9j_wrllimGAIhAxKPsE3lGI/s1600/08+Death+Valley+20144+004.JPG" height="153" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN;">NO. 774 <st1:placename w:st="on">SEARLES</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">LAKE</st1:placetype> BORAX DISCOVERY</span></b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> - John Searles
discovered borax on the nearby surface of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Searles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>
in 1862. With his brother Dennis, he formed the San Bernardino Borax Mining
Company in 1873 and operated it until 1897. The chemicals in Searles
Lake-borax, potash, soda ash, salt cake, and lithium-were deposited here by the
runoff waters from melting ice-age glaciers, John Searles' discovery has proved
to be the world's richest chemical storehouse, containing half the natural elements
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">known to man.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">No one said much to amplify
this serendipitous event, probably because no one knew what that word meant
then. Especially dad, who liked to keep vocabulary to a grab bag of 500 words
or so. Still, his interest was perked with this landmark thing and he wondered
if there were others along our journey, and that </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">sparked a trip to the Trona library we had passed
along the way, to be the gateway to our next Landmark Adventure. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfey3jwytkK-7ihZ9Y6fKtX-mapNW1v5E88yBKlNBgqiTEZQWa0AX8-iYXtelbQF6_PuS3kgKZ3SO2Gc0antZCwK94YZ0P5JXMVlsqxV3GVV4sbgLk3zsk-zr5Oe5WP8cBnTHZr9jMmE/s1600/09+Death+Valley+20144+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfey3jwytkK-7ihZ9Y6fKtX-mapNW1v5E88yBKlNBgqiTEZQWa0AX8-iYXtelbQF6_PuS3kgKZ3SO2Gc0antZCwK94YZ0P5JXMVlsqxV3GVV4sbgLk3zsk-zr5Oe5WP8cBnTHZr9jMmE/s1600/09+Death+Valley+20144+007.JPG" height="191" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-55703836804858721502012-01-12T09:56:00.000-08:002012-01-12T09:56:54.788-08:00Pioneer Odd Fellows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2A3ORb3v5KbuXiZSQhG9LfY5MaOHHyvYWRvgjEKwWvWW9Zf8NNMuPbGwbd_MIKcP0Bhp9g0OB4942lFUmBZUx0fzUiPW42b9z9rAwddck2UCTB0VmDl55pcMeHjOwDcoUGeCodO77mU/s1600/0378+Pioneer+Odd+Fellows+-+Alpine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2A3ORb3v5KbuXiZSQhG9LfY5MaOHHyvYWRvgjEKwWvWW9Zf8NNMuPbGwbd_MIKcP0Bhp9g0OB4942lFUmBZUx0fzUiPW42b9z9rAwddck2UCTB0VmDl55pcMeHjOwDcoUGeCodO77mU/s320/0378+Pioneer+Odd+Fellows+-+Alpine.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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Photo of the more appealing Snoeshoe Thompson Monument<br />
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Alpine County August 4, 2009<br />
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With this landmark we bid farewell to Alpine County and five of the six state landmarks within….gonna get to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Ebbetts</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Pass</st1:placetype></st1:place> (the 6<sup>th</sup>) someday down the line. In retrospect, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Ebbetts</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Pass</st1:placetype></st1:place> not being down the line is the reason it was pushed to the way-back of the station wagon. You see, most everything around here of historical significance deals with trying to get out of here one way or another, and puts us on the route of many names; Carson Pass, Route 88, 1862 toll road, Amador/Nevada Wagon Road, etc. Unlike its other two lane brethren that cross the Sierra, 88 stays open year round, except for extreme snowstorms, and is the alternate to US 50 when it closes due to avalanche or flood. From the time of the Pioneer Odd Fellows inscribing their names here in 1849 till 1869 when the Transcontinental Railroad was completed, this was the equivalent of Interstate 80.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMD0b2ikpNaULJWzjPnmnVYF5LfUF4eLXskaX7tJ034C0xUmIUjYoS7P4Ummyob3FQb_PwZjxMAZH-FfQf_vAekprb1mNsS107lAMqVThrihDJNxtw5wS-M8zQCGq38tnZ5r_JtQchLPE/s1600/Photo72455%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMD0b2ikpNaULJWzjPnmnVYF5LfUF4eLXskaX7tJ034C0xUmIUjYoS7P4Ummyob3FQb_PwZjxMAZH-FfQf_vAekprb1mNsS107lAMqVThrihDJNxtw5wS-M8zQCGq38tnZ5r_JtQchLPE/s1600/Photo72455%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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On January 3, 1944 this site was designated California Historical Landmark #378 for the simple reason that some guys inscribed their names on a rock in the pass nearly 100 years prior. Bigger things have happened. It’s confusing, for it isn’t as if these were the first Odd Fellows to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>, a lodge was already established. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Who are the Odd Fellows? Well, an unofficial mission statement would go like this: ‘Independent Order of Odd Fellows aims to provide a framework that promotes personal and social development. Lodge activities aim to improve and elevate every person to a higher, nobler plane; to extend sympathy and aid to those in need, making their burdens lighter, and to be a great moral power and influence for the good of humanity.’ The boys at E Clampus Vitus on the other hand, who likely put this landmark on the map, profess absolutely none of that. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ynCIZbWWBA-0_InvCFQlXUioN9VlOFdBl3HmI19N3xyVFwq0kRoem5H2BRUSzoQG6ZMjIvlbz-0j943VtoRHVNZYUZjWlhyKaRUAI_k7_ZgB7wK1AZGI_rOXDx8Vip8mlCSicGdT5LU/s1600/Photo72451%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ynCIZbWWBA-0_InvCFQlXUioN9VlOFdBl3HmI19N3xyVFwq0kRoem5H2BRUSzoQG6ZMjIvlbz-0j943VtoRHVNZYUZjWlhyKaRUAI_k7_ZgB7wK1AZGI_rOXDx8Vip8mlCSicGdT5LU/s1600/Photo72451%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 378 MEMORIAL TO PIONEER ODD FELLOWS - On some large rocks near <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Carson</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Pass</st1:placetype></st1:place>, a group of pioneers inscribed their names and the emblem of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows in 1849.<br />
Location:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">State Hwy</st1:address></st1:street> 88 (P.M. 5.3), 14.4 mi W of Woodfords<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">GPS 38.692184,-119.986008</span>John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-26378650830074237002012-01-06T07:09:00.000-08:002012-01-06T07:09:21.718-08:00Kit Carson Marker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lSDOFbFc4g8FiH_7ut24miI-SzhgNQYfvnDme7745UI2jBgNu1ktxKFQZsBrKAvSlZ4SzBS4VB7FND1a_QjFuTeEEzfNWykrF8ehM3gK2_KijYT37upcXuwEx_8Zqdpf9XpLPGVEUXU/s1600/0315+CHS-7121%253Bjsessionid%253D050E92C84829AE822C2EECC8181F9449%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lSDOFbFc4g8FiH_7ut24miI-SzhgNQYfvnDme7745UI2jBgNu1ktxKFQZsBrKAvSlZ4SzBS4VB7FND1a_QjFuTeEEzfNWykrF8ehM3gK2_KijYT37upcXuwEx_8Zqdpf9XpLPGVEUXU/s1600/0315+CHS-7121%253Bjsessionid%253D050E92C84829AE822C2EECC8181F9449%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Kit Carson<br />
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Alpine County August 4, 2009<br />
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From the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Old Emigrant Road</st1:address></st1:street> marker we head east on highway 88 for three miles. It was this route Kit Carson had picked using information obtained from Washoe Indians to guide the <st1:city w:st="on">Fremont</st1:city> expedition out of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Nevada</st1:place></st1:state> and over the Sierra to Sutter’s Fort in winter conditions in early 1844. And sure enough, as the Washoe had warned, there was no food or game along the way the they had to resort to eating some of their dogs, horses, and mules. <br />
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'Kit Carson Marker' actually denotes the spot he carved his name on a tree. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbxx3yXTknnj_01A9lollFcm5WplafTtpmLmHzmehuA5chNGLp2u7xM_fu2h9os54ao14jEgQp67u2mHynFM2fsXyNYZeKI7SghzM_U6LvksaQ3WLezQIRPpc1ZAzSHKqjpSISXVxRB4/s1600/0315+I0040785A%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbxx3yXTknnj_01A9lollFcm5WplafTtpmLmHzmehuA5chNGLp2u7xM_fu2h9os54ao14jEgQp67u2mHynFM2fsXyNYZeKI7SghzM_U6LvksaQ3WLezQIRPpc1ZAzSHKqjpSISXVxRB4/s320/0315+I0040785A%255B1%255D.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><br />
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John C. Fremont<br />
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There’s a pastoral place in <st1:city w:st="on">Snake Valley</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Utah</st1:state> named <st1:placename w:st="on">Pruess</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype>, not for the hybrid <st1:city w:st="on">Toyota</st1:city> but for Charles Preuss, the melancholy ‘old guy’ cartographer on the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fremont</st1:place></st1:city> expeditions. While it seems as if everything in sight was either named Carson or Fremont from these early expeditions, the best Mr. Preuss could get was that small body of water in rural <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Utah</st1:state></st1:place>…and misspelled at that. <br />
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Charles Preuss<br />
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As well as being a mapmaker, Preuss was an artist, and the illustrations he made of the expeditions were engraved and accompanied the published reports, for just like Facebook or a blog, it’s simply better with pictures. The maps and guidebooks from the expeditions became best sellers and helped the country expand to the Pacific. But again, all Preuss got out of it was temporary employment. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGkFoD1T6dQS3ec0r1nVUV2sGkpLFBIO4f-djQj6IgfqVUOtJuX3DZ6R7luFbV7nAxiHDhJdJIaFs39IXcpBvY_a6i99EeO_W4W2a0t1Vbs_vxx2dvZOZk2Wb8hqorVvVlsipcPMZWtI/s1600/0315+kt909nc3m4-cmpr0101%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGkFoD1T6dQS3ec0r1nVUV2sGkpLFBIO4f-djQj6IgfqVUOtJuX3DZ6R7luFbV7nAxiHDhJdJIaFs39IXcpBvY_a6i99EeO_W4W2a0t1Vbs_vxx2dvZOZk2Wb8hqorVvVlsipcPMZWtI/s320/0315+kt909nc3m4-cmpr0101%255B1%255D.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><br />
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It was a bit like a serial western, with <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Fremont</st1:city></st1:place> as the heroic Lone Ranger and Kit Carson as Tonto, his trusty sidekick. And then there was Preuss as the grumbling tenderfoot they needed to bring along.<br />
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To that trio of main characters, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fremont</st1:place></st1:city> hired a group of cherry-picked civilians that were French-Canadian and American, seasoned hunters and trappers that could endure the hardships without complaint. Just about all of them were illiterate, so written record of the goings on were confined to Fremont’s notes and Preuss, who kept a diary for his wife. Biographers had to rely on <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fremont</st1:place></st1:city> field notes which were remembered and often enhanced after the fact, for the existence of Preuss’ notes were unknown. It turned out they had remained in his family and were found in the early 1930’s in his native <st1:country-region w:st="on">Germany</st1:country-region> after a derivative ‘memoirs of a northern <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> pioneer’ was published. Attempts to retrieve the notes came to a halt with Hitler coming to power and eventually they were found in the American Memorial Library in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Berlin</st1:state></st1:place> in the 1950’s. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9v4fl6_e07ivOyr8vK5fb6huF7nv9SdVBaQ_Z_RpwAQiIKu6pmKzDerGjJHZjR8JCh0fZdBZHZ7omHp8lrv1hwr58DluawYfOq480B9YFWjjzL2yjsyAHuxoPJ8f-9p2YeprhqQTrrk/s1600/0315+Kit+Carson+Alpine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9v4fl6_e07ivOyr8vK5fb6huF7nv9SdVBaQ_Z_RpwAQiIKu6pmKzDerGjJHZjR8JCh0fZdBZHZ7omHp8lrv1hwr58DluawYfOq480B9YFWjjzL2yjsyAHuxoPJ8f-9p2YeprhqQTrrk/s320/0315+Kit+Carson+Alpine.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><br />
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As it turned out the notes were mostly complaints about food and long hours in the saddle, along with tart observations of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fremont</st1:place></st1:city>’s leadership and decision-making process. When combined with <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fremont</st1:place></st1:city>’s notes however, a good account of the first three of the four expeditions can be had. Preuss diary also exposes his weltschmertz; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that unique German word meaning roughly a growing world-weary sadness. That sadness eventually got to Charles Preuss and he committed suicide in 1854 at the age of 51.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYhjJO0fZRbtoY37uhZMURiChu0I7VCvpRCfVAp64Ufyg788DGABr7U0YPnzgJectrSuucYrXD2_WLdyudlnlLKfwPGcN5RUHveC6eDrgVjWePbsCsWT47gv76RRmohwWDOlOVV5Ej9Q/s1600/0315+fold_out%255B1%255D.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYhjJO0fZRbtoY37uhZMURiChu0I7VCvpRCfVAp64Ufyg788DGABr7U0YPnzgJectrSuucYrXD2_WLdyudlnlLKfwPGcN5RUHveC6eDrgVjWePbsCsWT47gv76RRmohwWDOlOVV5Ej9Q/s320/0315+fold_out%255B1%255D.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The fold out from the 1845 report showing the 1844 route of the winter crossing of the Sierra Nevada. It begins on the East Fork of the Carson River near Markleeville, Ca (on the right) and ends at Sutter's Fort at New Helvetia (Sacramento) near the American and Sacramento Rivers. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Plaque inscription: NO. 315 KIT CARSON MARKER - On this spot, the summit of the Kit Carson Pass, stood the Kit Carson Tree on which the famous scout Kit Carson inscribed his name in 1844 when he guided the then Captain John C. Frémont, head of a government exploring expedition, over the Sierra Nevada. The original inscription was cut from the tree in 1888 and is now in Sutter's Fort, <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Sacramento</st1:place></st1:city>.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Location:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">State Hwy</st1:address></st1:street> 88 (P.M. 5.2), 14.5 mi W of Woodfords</div><div style="text-align: left;">GPS 38.694889,-119.989007</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-72418070951025591682012-01-03T07:01:00.000-08:002012-01-03T07:01:23.301-08:00Old Emigrant Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloVVgDlGCS1FkJD5P-4sQj4EcgHeJbQITteHZn0mw2sbf0x6ijzKFVUAy9wTWtl36M-SRUUx_M6i6tVNBTdimv9fEAtCd8zlcZpQXbLwci3gXanCcssVMTXOdWRwQBlTMrcGnB2cASVs/s1600/0661-3+Emigrant+Road+Alpine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjloVVgDlGCS1FkJD5P-4sQj4EcgHeJbQITteHZn0mw2sbf0x6ijzKFVUAy9wTWtl36M-SRUUx_M6i6tVNBTdimv9fEAtCd8zlcZpQXbLwci3gXanCcssVMTXOdWRwQBlTMrcGnB2cASVs/s320/0661-3+Emigrant+Road+Alpine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Alpine County August 4, 2009<br />
From Coulterville in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> we’re going to magically skip across Tuolumne County 125 miles to the winding scenic landscape viewed from state highway 88 in Alpine County. When formed in 1864, Alpine County had a population of 11,000, due to the Comstock rush, but today is reduced to a tenth of that, and like Mariposa, has no incorporated cities. Additionally, Alpinians have no traffic lights, no college, no high school, no fast food, no gas stations, no theatres, no convenience stores, no dentist, no supermarkets,no banks, and no ATM’s. In other words, you might consider being self contained when you come here<o:p> </o:p><br />
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Also apparently missing is the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Old Emigrant Road</st1:address></st1:street> plaque that we’re headed to. Dedicated on November 5, 1958, it stood by the highway telling passers by of the path to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Placerville</st1:place></st1:city> till some road agent of questionable ethic made off with it the spring of 2011. Sadly, unless there is local effort and financing, it will not be replaced, for even when economic times were good, the state has shown little interest in maintenance or replacement..<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWspioz10D2HWsDXbsxhNpiADuCvybomNMAv4vzkuwa50hunenvJBqZcILd4Pzgxbvcp0_TNgUtst4N0evoy6CEkG-8RNF_jyo4MPSiN27O6SHnAxPdQkzVQ5KvcnJClKsk-4SOQ55UQ/s1600/0661+kt200010bm-cmpr0101%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWspioz10D2HWsDXbsxhNpiADuCvybomNMAv4vzkuwa50hunenvJBqZcILd4Pzgxbvcp0_TNgUtst4N0evoy6CEkG-8RNF_jyo4MPSiN27O6SHnAxPdQkzVQ5KvcnJClKsk-4SOQ55UQ/s1600/0661+kt200010bm-cmpr0101%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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For a time, this was the most popular route over the <st1:place w:st="on">Sierra Nevada</st1:place> range with 120,000 people passing through from 1849 to 1852. And later in 1859 there was a second run when silver was discovered in <st1:place w:st="on">Virginia City</st1:place>. <br />
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Originally the improved route came to be when the Mormon Battalion on their return to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Utah</st1:state></st1:place> sought an alternate to the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Truckee River Route</st1:address></st1:street> the Donner party used. The earliest white explorers through the region included all-stars Jedediah Smith and Joseph Walker, but it was John Fremont and Kit Carson, in their famous midwinter trip across Alpine County and the <st1:place w:st="on">Sierra Nevada</st1:place> in 1844 that brought attention to possible travel routes across the range. Since it was Alta California at the time, you could say these explorers were immigrants and not emigrants. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9V3jEWsLA3AUFpRNCgB_7o-pSqHfDmmPESOYjUq9jZ7rjts_UCUMvqmQWuuLX3JeHtCPl6d4np42DVd7GGkApdYF70iL5upAaBmngz4Is_MFeUHpc8xQEQ9mIg4iLu9RWvaoZ5v7yTek/s1600/0661-2+Emigrant+Road+-+Alpine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9V3jEWsLA3AUFpRNCgB_7o-pSqHfDmmPESOYjUq9jZ7rjts_UCUMvqmQWuuLX3JeHtCPl6d4np42DVd7GGkApdYF70iL5upAaBmngz4Is_MFeUHpc8xQEQ9mIg4iLu9RWvaoZ5v7yTek/s320/0661-2+Emigrant+Road+-+Alpine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">661 OLD EMIGRANT ROAD</st1:address></st1:street> - Here the <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Old Emigrant Road</st1:address></st1:street> of 1848 swung down across the meadow now covered by <st1:placename w:st="on">Caples</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> (<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Twin</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Lakes</st1:placetype></st1:place>) and climbed along the ridge at the right to the gap at the head of the valley. From this summit (9,460 feet) it descended to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Placerville</st1:city></st1:place>. This rough and circuitous section became obsolete in 1863 when a better route was blasted out of the face of the cliff at Carson Spur.<br />
Location:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Lake</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Caples</st1:placename></st1:place>, on <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">State Hwy</st1:address></st1:street> 88 (P.M. 2.4), 173 mi W of Woodfords<br />
GPS 38.706699,-120.043847<br />
Marker not well displayed but great view of lake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No G-13 500' apporoach signs.John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-73727514430923097062011-12-21T07:30:00.000-08:002011-12-21T07:33:19.639-08:00Coulterville<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-K2fB_00JwQbk9mxC5st-H3Lxho4sehNFTeeMwxsGZhTHQj9O1uZgqgcoWIU677o6g0WJc3b3YYdfXWjbFaG5tyiF1zvz6ZffhuzaUs6egKZdjZXpILI9aszFizl0H-iUISI670tdMGQ/s1600/0332+6+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-K2fB_00JwQbk9mxC5st-H3Lxho4sehNFTeeMwxsGZhTHQj9O1uZgqgcoWIU677o6g0WJc3b3YYdfXWjbFaG5tyiF1zvz6ZffhuzaUs6egKZdjZXpILI9aszFizl0H-iUISI670tdMGQ/s320/0332+6+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> – August 25, 2009<br />
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From the Hornitos (landmark #333) we backtrack and go up Highway 49 which they’re calling around these parts the ‘<st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Golden Chain Highway</st1:address></st1:street>’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fifty two miles to the gold rush town and commerce center of Coulterville. You can easily walk the old town area, and check out the Chinese store (Sun Wo Col), tour the Hotel Jeffery, and cap things off with a sarsaparilla at the Magnolia; where patrons have been passing through those swinging doors since 1851. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6GMFx3NbGn0vXRHl6tbjSiwbACn6kCmhJ-tDH8Jxee3TpuuY6dxzHvYlA3XP0CX63BxZKb00nwTer9G6mepQa1g0aDH0Mt2k-jP-1i_fSygaxvmAT-gE-NwnrmnZL9o8KiJVt0uDe7uI/s1600/0332+5+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6GMFx3NbGn0vXRHl6tbjSiwbACn6kCmhJ-tDH8Jxee3TpuuY6dxzHvYlA3XP0CX63BxZKb00nwTer9G6mepQa1g0aDH0Mt2k-jP-1i_fSygaxvmAT-gE-NwnrmnZL9o8KiJVt0uDe7uI/s320/0332+5+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgjpJlau2LUO_klDBpDlNp2ZSKvUv78T4qMJMl17U6F9reA-qjbPibz0vYdKr4AoLFaJmSgpakZpr3FIDMQJY-S5lkKDn2czhcDwJfXkOMhjghodv26tvR3YnH0JgNb5vbMB_GpvGYOU/s1600/0332+OACmpb0012a%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgjpJlau2LUO_klDBpDlNp2ZSKvUv78T4qMJMl17U6F9reA-qjbPibz0vYdKr4AoLFaJmSgpakZpr3FIDMQJY-S5lkKDn2czhcDwJfXkOMhjghodv26tvR3YnH0JgNb5vbMB_GpvGYOU/s1600/0332+OACmpb0012a%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Inside the Magnolia<br />
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You don’t really notice it at first, but they’ve buried the utilities here and that helps preserve the look of the many old structures still standing. Like clockwork, the town burned down three times, always in July and always twenty years apart; in 1859, 1879, and 1899. <br />
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It was after the 1899 fire that the ‘Gold Rush of 1899’ came. The story was that one of the residents had hidden his gold coins in the walls of one of the structures that burned and after that rubble was used for potholes in the streets, winter rains began uncovering the coins. The rush was on and the streets were soon impassible. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7yM82cvFWQ8y_vNwmAs1GuanP0ZinNwG0AbeAjxL3Dz-bmDzHOtMyaE6Pm_W4rDursgExV3EJeX6Jhv92-QhuzvcX4t5m0OLmFxVD1PPIH0pf1m1LyUAwDkYG-DVZb-zlgDMaw53keI/s1600/0332+4+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7yM82cvFWQ8y_vNwmAs1GuanP0ZinNwG0AbeAjxL3Dz-bmDzHOtMyaE6Pm_W4rDursgExV3EJeX6Jhv92-QhuzvcX4t5m0OLmFxVD1PPIH0pf1m1LyUAwDkYG-DVZb-zlgDMaw53keI/s320/0332+4+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Coulterville had a lot going for it, not the least of which was its crossroads location and proximity to other towns, mines, and camps, making it a natural center for commerce. That’s what brought George Coulter and family here in the first place. Also, after placer mining faded out Coulterville got a second boost by the fact it sat on huge deposits of gold baring quartz, and that hard rock mining yielded gold for years to come. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmcpQVz4YJKQbpAS4BUebGxi9Fl_9E55gUJ4oev1uLN_Vs8OVw1HFzNfX0rkQ5qwjGUl1tJ9VM0BQVkQsuGjvMo2s1aPN4VOnNZ9zkLnNQ_U9gdbCQN20FeAVwZNlxOiHx426a_ngUUI/s1600/0332+OACmpb0014a%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZmcpQVz4YJKQbpAS4BUebGxi9Fl_9E55gUJ4oev1uLN_Vs8OVw1HFzNfX0rkQ5qwjGUl1tJ9VM0BQVkQsuGjvMo2s1aPN4VOnNZ9zkLnNQ_U9gdbCQN20FeAVwZNlxOiHx426a_ngUUI/s1600/0332+OACmpb0014a%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Coulter built a hotel to accommodate the new traffic and came up with an ingenious water system for it consisting of a pump driven by a flywheel that was forty feet around and had a two foot rim. He then trained he two black Newfoundland dogs operate it by running inside the wheel, and when the water tank became full, the wheel stopped automatically and the dogs were free to resume duties and waiters and bellhops. Note to patrons: ‘Go easy on the bathwater;. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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This is the last dispatch for <st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype> as we’ve already covered <st1:place w:st="on">Yosemite Valley</st1:place> early on and all that remains is Savage Trading Post, which will hopefully be visited sometime down the line as part of a sweep of gold country’s landmarks that have been passed by on previous trips. So long, butterfly. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVQ_WP1VfwjkgOo_OpakkInkHI74VO9HEy9SJPrLt7vm0-oAFrMaCv033ShgJv4TxpbdCumoHMCary2nAP2iWgQoHlq1LGfEr4xe5ag4V3kJj7HE5Kgy5gFpgyPO0_dhGWQqdWIx00yE/s1600/0332+2+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVQ_WP1VfwjkgOo_OpakkInkHI74VO9HEy9SJPrLt7vm0-oAFrMaCv033ShgJv4TxpbdCumoHMCary2nAP2iWgQoHlq1LGfEr4xe5ag4V3kJj7HE5Kgy5gFpgyPO0_dhGWQqdWIx00yE/s320/0332+2+Coulterville+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="261" /></a></div><br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 332 COULTERVILLE (S)- George W. Coulter started a tent store here in early 1850 to supply the hundreds of miners working the rich placers of Maxwell, Boneyard, and Black Creeks. He also built the first hotel, water for it was pumped from a well by two <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Newfoundland</st1:state></st1:place> dogs. Originally called Banderita from the flag flying over Coulter's store, the settlement became <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Maxwell</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Creek</st1:placename></st1:place> when the post office was established in 1853, but the name was changed the following year to honor Coulter. The family of Francisco Bruschi, who erected the first permanent building here, provided the town's leading merchants for over eighty years. Despite their crude methods, and with only wood for fuel, the nearby quartz mines operated for years and produced millions of dollars worth of gold, Andrew Goss built the first stamp mill for crushing their ore.<br />
Location: 5004 Main St. Coulterville, 95311 County Park, NE corner of intersection of County Hwy J20 and State Hwy 132 (P.M. 44.8), Coulterville N 37° 42.684 W 120° 11.853 Marker is at the intersection of State 49 and Main Street, on the right when traveling south on 49.<br />
GPS: 37.710307,-120.197017John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-45545942358492458002011-12-17T08:27:00.000-08:002011-12-17T08:27:05.123-08:00Hornitos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzq2gui6kdweJOkJxdldQ-Vwm-F-vIIUbpyS7A7_KrvE3GkPCfssS7qHNa0HVYYQX2BRbJk1w2kpCcYooKlj0zVbBiOPslra14It_Yt2Nzcnp_TWFqQ_MOJLfOPwku42dRYlKSejEkS8/s1600/0333+1+Hornitos+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzq2gui6kdweJOkJxdldQ-Vwm-F-vIIUbpyS7A7_KrvE3GkPCfssS7qHNa0HVYYQX2BRbJk1w2kpCcYooKlj0zVbBiOPslra14It_Yt2Nzcnp_TWFqQ_MOJLfOPwku42dRYlKSejEkS8/s320/0333+1+Hornitos+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> – August 25, 2009<br />
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We leave <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Bear</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Valley</st1:placetype></st1:place> for a nineteen mile run down <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Bear Valley Road</st1:address></st1:street> to Hornitos, population seventy five. Hmmm, that sounds like the opening act for Los Lonely Boys on the casino circuit. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hdlQLnu5kv86zc0SUXbmi59GxVtMbrscyr3HiVCn0vX75UgzMCLSxkycG1p4rRVPN1ae0z2yngUnVRwrvZG1cujkhJ8Bk1l-wwBJbX_t0xDL1V_sA88XZDvLJTwWmylKHyoqDk_s3kw/s1600/0333+2+Hornitos+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hdlQLnu5kv86zc0SUXbmi59GxVtMbrscyr3HiVCn0vX75UgzMCLSxkycG1p4rRVPN1ae0z2yngUnVRwrvZG1cujkhJ8Bk1l-wwBJbX_t0xDL1V_sA88XZDvLJTwWmylKHyoqDk_s3kw/s320/0333+2+Hornitos+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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These little valleys and low spots on the western slope of the Sierra can get rather toasty on a summer day (about 102 degrees on this one), but its name ‘little ovens’ came from the bake oven shape of its tombstones. <br />
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Most gold rush mining towns and villages with their matchstick construction burned to the ground and for some, several times over. Hornitos however is a bit different because they used a lot of adobe and stone in their buildings, for instance, the walls of the jail are two feet thick. Why? The town was built like a typical Mexican village by inhabitants that came here from other nearby camps and towns for being 'undesirable'....for their ethnicity. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47Z2SQ-TC8b33mF87P_92M8zLzVbJdptHWJ2S1DZnNklbOcRr_dWEoImacy0NaPCJ-C-5BN2bK5eqwVBEiRhwpcdCXXfkc_t00dEfXSVSQQbfpaCBD0G2v82uc5zh90BTHovPNTfUF2M/s1600/0333+3+Hornitos+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47Z2SQ-TC8b33mF87P_92M8zLzVbJdptHWJ2S1DZnNklbOcRr_dWEoImacy0NaPCJ-C-5BN2bK5eqwVBEiRhwpcdCXXfkc_t00dEfXSVSQQbfpaCBD0G2v82uc5zh90BTHovPNTfUF2M/s320/0333+3+Hornitos+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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At first, Hornitos was as wild as any other mining town with streets lined with bars, gambling dens, and houses of ill repute, but eventually they settled in and town folk desiring law and order even incorporated the settlement...the only town in Mariposa County to ever do so and that's the reason it became a state landmark. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vOPdj1SNJHiPk_aZjrC5ozDbitzUKWsu57MDK8sW3UavXQIoHovVU6mXYTnLGp3CI7ssxGvzBxdQn2T8uk6UUbCIuqnXppFCFtefzT0_FXL8psmO-l-wOwPoKn22GEuCzPEt5bqjV-s/s1600/0333+mpc0008a%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3vOPdj1SNJHiPk_aZjrC5ozDbitzUKWsu57MDK8sW3UavXQIoHovVU6mXYTnLGp3CI7ssxGvzBxdQn2T8uk6UUbCIuqnXppFCFtefzT0_FXL8psmO-l-wOwPoKn22GEuCzPEt5bqjV-s/s320/0333+mpc0008a%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span><br />
The infamous bandit/folk hero Joaquin Murieta was almost captured here in the early 1850’s but slipped away. Though the official line is that Murieta was eventually caught, killed, and his severed head paraded about the state, many people thought it was faked and that he retired from his Robin Hood’ish ways to live off riches he’d stashed away. One version of that story puts Hornitos as the place he buried his gold. Joaquin Murieta was the basis for the fictional character of Zorro, and for a song ‘Joaquin Rides Again’ by yours truly, and part of the album ‘Hangtown Fry’ coming out on Blue Night Records in January 2012. Here’s the lyrics: <br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">JOAQUIN RIDES AGAIN<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In a dusty Spanish pueblo, where the heat drives you insane</div>Lived the bravest man around, Murietta was his name<br />
In the evening air he would disappear, and become the poor man’s friend<br />
He’ll come to fight and it would be all right, when Joaquin rides again<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In early <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>, where the forty-niners came</div>The lands in the hands of the white man, and the brown man has no name<br />
But the wealthy few will always lose, when he is in command<br />
Hang on tight; it’ll be all right, when Joaquin rides again<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">(Chorus) From the sky at midnight, </div>To an outlaw’s moon well sing this tune, when Joaquin rides again<o:p> </o:p><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">He’ll come down from the mountain he’ll come from the river shore</div>He’ll be in the hearts of free men, and even up the score<br />
He’ll be the liberator, and put troubles on the mend<br />
Hang on tight it’ll be all right when Joaquin rides again<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">From the mining camps and valleys from the hillsides to the sea</div>He’ll be asking one lone question won’t you ride with me<br />
For all of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place>, he’s got a hand to lend<br />
He’s come to fight it’ll be all right, when Joaquin rides again<br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 333 HORNITOS (no plaque)- Hornitos, 'little ovens,' derived its name from the presence of many old Mexican stone graves or tombs built in the shape of little square bake ovens and set on top of the ground. The town seemed to have been settled by an undesirable element driven out of the adjoining town of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Quartzburg</st1:city></st1:place>, but as the placers at Quartzburg gave out, many of its other citizens came to Hornitos. It became the first and the only incorporated town in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<br />
Location: 2877 Bear Valley Rd Hornitos<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>11 mi W of Bear Valley on County Road J16, Hornitos The town of Hornitos is located at the intersection of Bear Valley Road and Hornitos Road about 18 km west of Bear Valley<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
GPS: 37.501334,-120.238345John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-36302931059076847672011-12-16T08:08:00.000-08:002011-12-16T08:08:05.922-08:00Bear Valley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDkPkGiUyPdZW0_OqShFozzIigqlnSpUlxHMnlw1FACB_iIxo4YIgyQ6uZF3zdgfS3RNg-R0i0jy09KHYA2FmvjBrNjPkEakRrnl0lCBJcTrctHxI12JiZjd7Z8ypILSjXfEDvLIHfhA/s1600/0331+1+Bear+Valley+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDkPkGiUyPdZW0_OqShFozzIigqlnSpUlxHMnlw1FACB_iIxo4YIgyQ6uZF3zdgfS3RNg-R0i0jy09KHYA2FmvjBrNjPkEakRrnl0lCBJcTrctHxI12JiZjd7Z8ypILSjXfEDvLIHfhA/s320/0331+1+Bear+Valley+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> – August 25, 2009<o:p> </o:p><br />
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From landmark #518 we mosey 16 miles on Highway 49 to the community of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Bear</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Valley</st1:placetype></st1:place>, population 125. In its early days the town had the habit of naming itself after the most important guy of the day and was called <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Haydenville</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">, <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Biddle's Camp</span>, <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Biddleville</span>, <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Simpsonville</span>, and <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Johnsonville before settling on Bear Valley, which is tied to John C. Fremont’s part in the Bear Flag Revolt and not so much bears in the valley. </span></span><br />
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<st1:city w:st="on"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Fremont</span></st1:city><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> got the 44,387 acre parcel in what is now <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> by accident in 1847. Having settled in the <st1:placename w:st="on">San Francisco</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Bay</st1:placetype> area, he wanted a ranch in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">San Jose</st1:place></st1:city> and gave $3000 to the American consul, Thomas Larkin who came back with a ‘floating grant’ for Rancho Las Mariposas in the Sierra foothills. ‘Floating’ meant the boundaries were not firm so when gold rush began in 1848, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Fremont</st1:city></st1:place> floated his boundaries into the hills where gold was likely, and proving to be very lucrative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Oso House - 1860 <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Bear</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Valley</st1:placetype></st1:place>, Ca</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Carleton E. Watkins photo</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Salt print<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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From The Getty: “This image reveals Carleton Watkins's skill for choosing the right spot to place his camera.Taking the picture on a winter day with the bright sun low in the sky allowed him to expose the image in a short time--possibly a twenty-fifth of a second. The speed captured only one individual moving his head and leg, on the far left; the five men on and inside the stagecoach and all but one of the twelve men standing nearby remained perfectly still for the brief period of the exposure. Watkins made the photograph to document John C. Frémont's departure from <st1:placename w:st="on">Bear</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Valley</st1:placetype> for <st1:place w:st="on">Europe</st1:place>. Frémont is the second man from the right, on top of the stagecoach.”<br />
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To this observer the stage appears to be a very high end ‘coach and four’ (as they’d describe it then), with the short wheelbase and thick wheels indicating it was what they called a ‘mud wagon’, lighter and more agile than a Concord Coach. In other words, this shot of Fremont and friends is like George Clooney posing with buddies and his Ferrari. <br />
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Oso House was the centerpiece of this boomtown of 3000 promoted by <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Fremont</st1:place></st1:city> and it’s unfortunate that it no longer stands, for it would have made a fine stopover point for tourists making the trek on Highway 49. By 1935 only one man was staying at the hotel, stating that he’d moved from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Chicago</st1:place></st1:city> to escape the noise. Fire destroyed the hotel in 1937. <br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 331 BEAR VALLEY (L) - First called Johnsonville, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Bear</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Valley</st1:placetype></st1:place> had a population of 3,000, including Chinese, Cornish, and Mexicans. During 1850-60 when Col. John C. Frémont's Ride Tree and Josephine Mines were producing, Frémont's elegant hotel, Oso House, was built with lumber brought around the Horn. It no longer stands. After a fire in 1888, structures were rebuilt. Some still standing are Bon Ton Saloon, Trabucco Store, Odd Fellows Hall, school house and remains of jail.<br />
Location: On State Hwy 49 (P.M. 29.2), Bear Valley 37° 34.123′ N, 120° 7.132′ W. Marker is in Bear Valley, California, in Mariposa County. Marker is on State Highway 49 south of <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Bear Valley Road</st1:address></st1:street>, on the left when traveling south. About 7802 <st1:state w:st="on">CA-</st1:state> 49, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">CA</st1:state> <st1:postalcode w:st="on">95338</st1:postalcode></st1:place><br />
GPS: 37.568477,-120.118783John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-88621504185478588112011-12-12T07:35:00.000-08:002011-12-12T07:35:49.377-08:00Agua Fria<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RD1fF8KsScGOd2wXjnXWK8k-18yfYc2jEGJUI-mPLbyacpPTEv4B9tbuQIieTcP2jt-aGHXFPxsS-5RHLETjCRuKxl1LwMK3LlbQuHn2s8vogqTbjf7nGt_S10NAZwwAA_eavI0e9tU/s1600/0518+3+Agua+Fria+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_RD1fF8KsScGOd2wXjnXWK8k-18yfYc2jEGJUI-mPLbyacpPTEv4B9tbuQIieTcP2jt-aGHXFPxsS-5RHLETjCRuKxl1LwMK3LlbQuHn2s8vogqTbjf7nGt_S10NAZwwAA_eavI0e9tU/s320/0518+3+Agua+Fria+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> – August 25, 2009<br />
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From landmark #670 it's three miles on the Yosimite Highway to the site where a town once stood.<br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Lower Agua Fria</span></st1:place> was the main camp, and was located about a quarter mile above Agua Fria Springs and Carson Creek. When <st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype> formed on Feb 18, 1850, <st1:place w:st="on">Agua Fria</st1:place> was designated the county seat till it was transferred to Mariposa on November 10, 1851. Lacking a fire department and ironically its namesake ‘cold water,’ <st1:place w:st="on">Agua Fria</st1:place> completely burned Jun 22, 1866, sparing only 1 building.<br />
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From the <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Mariposa Free Press</span> June 23, 1866:<br />
“<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Agua Frio Burned.- The town of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Lower Agua Frio</st1:city></st1:place> was entirely<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">destroyed by fire yesterday morning. The fire originated in one of the</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">houses occupied by Chinamen, and as the buildings were all wood</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">structures the whole town was soon in a blaze. We are unable to give</span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">the amount of loss, as we have only learned the above meager particulars<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">just as we go to press</span>.”<br />
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The chairs seemed to be arrainged with intent of meaning and perhaps important conferences of local note are taking place at this historic site. Or maybe it's trash day. <br />
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The name came from two springs of cold water about a quarter mile below <st1:place w:st="on">Lower Agua Fria</st1:place>. Gold was first discovered here in 1949 and by 1850 it was a busy trade center. To answer the question of ‘what makes this monument to nothing a state landmark?’ we look to the criteria of qualification in that it has to be the first, last, biggest, or of significant historical value to make the cut. We’ll run with Agua Fria being the first county seat of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>, a huge part of the state at the time. <br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 518 AGUA FRIA (L) - One-quarter mile north of Carson Creek, a tributary of Agua Fria Creek, was located the town of <st1:city w:st="on">Agua Fria</st1:city>, in 1850-51 the first county seat of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. One of the original 27 counties in <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state>, <st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype> comprised one-sixth of the state-all of what is now <st1:city w:st="on">Merced</st1:city>, <st1:city w:st="on">Madera</st1:city>, <st1:city w:st="on">Fresno</st1:city>, <st1:city w:st="on">Tulare</st1:city>, Kings, and <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Kern</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Counties</st1:placetype></st1:place>-until 1852, while mining was the main industry of region. The town of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:place></st1:city> became the seat of government in 1852, and the courthouse there was completed in 1854.<br />
Location:Approx: 4189 <st1:place w:st="on">Yosemite</st1:place> All Year Hwy CA-140 Mariposa 95338 (P.M. 17.2), 3.2 mi W of Mariposa <br />
4212 CA-140 or <st1:place w:st="on">Yosemite</st1:place> All Year Highway (PM 17.2), 3.2 mi W of Mariposa. <br />
GPS: 37.481056,-120.010614<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-20842828505731906812011-12-10T08:34:00.000-08:002011-12-10T08:34:34.970-08:00Mariposa County Courthouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgktDuMbohjYDCIW1vOMT_MzCoSTLaXCmxRGIvlSmUQGHmeQ-_SOUKZRil6Mo1HuGB5mqhYAZVCsT4tn6UVDocJm3ykL7TO05MJdR2Hkzh6So-Ec_F_fGmlTmSFZ4_5jqt8n2j7x5TChQs/s1600/0670+1+Mariposa+County+Courthouse+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgktDuMbohjYDCIW1vOMT_MzCoSTLaXCmxRGIvlSmUQGHmeQ-_SOUKZRil6Mo1HuGB5mqhYAZVCsT4tn6UVDocJm3ykL7TO05MJdR2Hkzh6So-Ec_F_fGmlTmSFZ4_5jqt8n2j7x5TChQs/s320/0670+1+Mariposa+County+Courthouse+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="264" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> – August 25, 2009<br />
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From Mormon Bar the Montero goes a mere two miles to the county seat town of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:city></st1:place> and the next landmark, the Mariposa County Courthouse. The white wooden two story Greek revival structure sits on a gentle slope like the principal focus of a small town movie set. It is the oldest courthouse west of the <st1:place w:st="on">Rocky Mountains</st1:place> still in use, and though they talk about building something new from time to time, folks realize it still does a fine job serving this county of 18,000 after 157 years. <br />
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The wooden stove in the courtroom is ornamental these days as they've snuck in climate control, but everything else is original and functional. The judge's bench is unusually wide due to the fact they had three judges in earlier days. Decorations are kept simple; small portraits of Jefferson and Lincoln over the bench. Furnishings are oak or pine made to look like oak and the original structure was made without nails, using mortise and tenon construction. The white walls of the interior are hand planed pine and the floors creak as you walk along, but even here you'll be checked out with metal detectors at the entrance. <br />
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OAC photo cir 1885<br />
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Countless decisions have been made here and some of the most important were made in the courthouse's earlier days dealing with mine claims with decisions that meandered their way up to federal law. John C. Fremont eventually won a long fought case brought first to this court with the final judgment coming from the US Supreme Court regarding his mineral and land ownership of property obtained under Mexican rule. <br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 670 MARIPOSA COUNTY COURTHOUSE (S) - This mortise-and-tenon Greek Revival courthouse, erected in 1854, is California's oldest court of law and has served continuously as the seat of county government since 1854. During the 19th century, landmark mining cases setting legal precedent were tried here, and much <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">United States</st1:country-region></st1:place> mining law is based on decisions emanating from this historic courthouse.<br />
Location: <st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">5078 Bullion St</st1:street>, <st1:city w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:city> <st1:postalcode w:st="on">95338</st1:postalcode></st1:address><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listed on the National Register of Historic Places: NPS-91000560<br />
GPS: 37.488821,-119.967404John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-23092040742628298352011-12-08T08:37:00.000-08:002011-12-08T08:37:39.652-08:00Mormon Bar<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EVFR-2ISxKf6tUIloGkOwdHW0vpXLOcXQQG2F135hslqCXYIPXudUHNzw6-0UYDOeWjbur2mnQzXsrfMoNS-BfDsEjgiBouiH4Pa565YQ5uZVhsXWXahGJ146-k_4ltcdIHyPmfHfeY/s1600/0323+4+Mormon+Bar+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EVFR-2ISxKf6tUIloGkOwdHW0vpXLOcXQQG2F135hslqCXYIPXudUHNzw6-0UYDOeWjbur2mnQzXsrfMoNS-BfDsEjgiBouiH4Pa565YQ5uZVhsXWXahGJ146-k_4ltcdIHyPmfHfeY/s320/0323+4+Mormon+Bar+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> – August 25, 2009<br />
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There are no traffic lights in all of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>. That alone should be enough to entice a weary city dwelling Californian to consider joining the 18,000 people that reside within its borders. But wait, there’s more; Mariposa does not have a single incorporated town! Mariposa is Spanish for butterfly and folks here celebrate the passing through of the Monarch butterfly every May. It’s a good thing Germans weren’t the first European people through here or it might have been called Schmetterling, and sounding more like a description of a butterfly hitting a speeding car windshield than the more elegant aura of the word ‘Mariposa’. <br />
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Some might say ‘there’s nothing to do here’ and that may well be true if endless strip malls, fast food, and numbing sameness is your thing, but bear in mind the rolling, grassy western hills of Mariposa County give way to Yosemite National Park, and if that can’t excite a naysayer, then they’d best stay home with their video games. Mariposa was one of the original counties of 1850, and the largest, but has ceded land to Fresno, Inyo, Kern, Kings, Los Angeles, Madera, Merced, Mono, San Benito, San Bernardino, San Luis Obispo, and Tulare, and because of that, it is sometimes called 'mother of the counties'. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuGVzP3eksjiq-KKsd62YvpBfqhLMqLe8Jwdr8slgztFlxmkxEBL-BxuD-JDc9Oqm7jyZKmh_i8wNyk7XLKUqPElTtxDOJ1hkr6wRg2BPxJX_ZpHhfUkaSK64i2RfIHlvXt8yuASXro8Y/s1600/0323+mormonbar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuGVzP3eksjiq-KKsd62YvpBfqhLMqLe8Jwdr8slgztFlxmkxEBL-BxuD-JDc9Oqm7jyZKmh_i8wNyk7XLKUqPElTtxDOJ1hkr6wRg2BPxJX_ZpHhfUkaSK64i2RfIHlvXt8yuASXro8Y/s1600/0323+mormonbar.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Mormon Bar cir. 1860<br />
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Our first stop on this trip through <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> is Mormon Bar and early on it’s apparent the directions are faulty, both from the state guidebook and GPS, The landmark is actually 500 down <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Fairground Road</st1:address></st1:street> from Hwy 49 in the rambling community of Mormon Bar. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qu6i8MuqjsWl-zTL-EOtu1groqJdej7VFaWCqGkziuUPOe-vsA5q4_2jzmLd6QaoCkKN7m_GWu40B77tTpbF3dNNXLxZ5z58GIy4hYhdPaTwTAyVl5ajl_ywKAwVtscS5Nupdn_Zp40/s1600/0323+2+Mormon+Bar+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qu6i8MuqjsWl-zTL-EOtu1groqJdej7VFaWCqGkziuUPOe-vsA5q4_2jzmLd6QaoCkKN7m_GWu40B77tTpbF3dNNXLxZ5z58GIy4hYhdPaTwTAyVl5ajl_ywKAwVtscS5Nupdn_Zp40/s320/0323+2+Mormon+Bar+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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The Mormon Battalion was only here briefly in 1849 to 1850 after which the claim was taken over by other prospectors. Since Mormons aren’t supposed to drink alcohol, a literal thinker might believe Mormon Bar to be something of an oxymoron or oxymormon, but a <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">bar claim is gold lying in low collections of sand, or gravel, in rivers that is exposed at low water. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqtDAwNRJ56PDQ6fbkq_o-k6Zwik5jlToVNBuUNF-t6-GYq9jwT1heirZPIqdSwyGy7a7yieHZ3Iy78kWHQpLqmilUMU9wQW0GfPHrpmd-8figKCHSpnCbDcuqYiA1mEZ6CUpJPBZN9w/s1600/0323+3+Mormon+Bar+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqtDAwNRJ56PDQ6fbkq_o-k6Zwik5jlToVNBuUNF-t6-GYq9jwT1heirZPIqdSwyGy7a7yieHZ3Iy78kWHQpLqmilUMU9wQW0GfPHrpmd-8figKCHSpnCbDcuqYiA1mEZ6CUpJPBZN9w/s320/0323+3+Mormon+Bar+8-25-2009+Mariposa.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 323 MORMON BAR (N)- Mormon Bar was first mined in 1849 by members of the Mormon Battalion. They, however, stayed only a short time and their places were taken at once by other miners. Later, thousands of Chinese worked the same ground over again.<br />
Location: On small auxiliary rd on right, 500 ft SE of intersection of 4720 Hwy 49 S, Mariposa 93601<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(P.M. 16. 7) and <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Ben Hur Rd</st1:address></st1:street>, 1.8 mi S of Mariposa<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
GPS: 37.461847,-119.949449John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-82757564150547608422011-12-06T06:42:00.000-08:002011-12-06T06:42:31.763-08:00Mission San Fernando<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiemlVh0gH17VSrOeVdA-fr4GAnKctGHJdOsrUUcYnB1LBlza98Lac8dagDhQqpAz_lLmecvZUarnixYC05SEUdmrtRkLfu9AGk_t32D1n1wXqVoJlJ78JNzXInZC87i7M4l3AsGzw-N8/s1600/0157+HN002428aA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiemlVh0gH17VSrOeVdA-fr4GAnKctGHJdOsrUUcYnB1LBlza98Lac8dagDhQqpAz_lLmecvZUarnixYC05SEUdmrtRkLfu9AGk_t32D1n1wXqVoJlJ78JNzXInZC87i7M4l3AsGzw-N8/s320/0157+HN002428aA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 28, 1997<o:p> </o:p><br />
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To the casual observer 45 light years away, it’s Sunday morning early in 1966 and the garp blue ’59 <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Plymouth</st1:place></st1:city> station wagon with the Sanchez-Shield & Penn A/Fuel dragster in tow on an open trailer sits parked directly across the street from what is our landmark of current focus, Mission San Fernando Rey de Espana. You see Sundays at San Fernando Raceway were our only realistic chance at victory as we tried to grab the top ring in the drag racing ladder, and as usual, the disappoints of competing the previous night at the track we felt offered the least resistance, followed by an all-nighter in the attempt to get ready at the garage and a swing by home for a shower and change of clothes with the Plymouth moping by Dennis Sanchez house to pick him up. “Now boys, you make sure Dennis goes to mass today” Dennis’ mom would say. “Yes, Mrs. Sanchez” we’d reply in our best Eddie Haskell-ish voices. However, we actually did honor her wishes a few times and would head out early to catch mass at the San Fernando Mission, donning Pendletons over the uniform of the day of white tee shirts and white <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Levis</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGaYn7oryCL4tEUw6nR8rzDW0tpJ36hlil8KWPp8qS1toI1hIZtC99UwCxUf3WceGmM4YpKl2izaI2HM5uebwn3RUaDhFTSksp0ExmSInxglDBYR3uA2-ddPvc9W_J3vgkRFIh7NtAQUE/s1600/0157+CHS-2268.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGaYn7oryCL4tEUw6nR8rzDW0tpJ36hlil8KWPp8qS1toI1hIZtC99UwCxUf3WceGmM4YpKl2izaI2HM5uebwn3RUaDhFTSksp0ExmSInxglDBYR3uA2-ddPvc9W_J3vgkRFIh7NtAQUE/s320/0157+CHS-2268.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Moving forward to 1997, and from landmark #150, the journey is about a football field or the height of the Statue of Liberty away, where the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Plymouth</st1:city></st1:place> parked years before. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Dks2Djhm1_t-Khw-CivCoJ7DqDUeWxt2QiU-vGWxCDeiueGuz9Mlm0krrZ4Jc4ktgdfFLgrXrWEZTQWs0V06hbfQuNouZONxLfxqEgNwmfcTiqrFLgXHMe-5N5XEA0izle8OU0Ckpp4/s1600/0157+CHS-35539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Dks2Djhm1_t-Khw-CivCoJ7DqDUeWxt2QiU-vGWxCDeiueGuz9Mlm0krrZ4Jc4ktgdfFLgrXrWEZTQWs0V06hbfQuNouZONxLfxqEgNwmfcTiqrFLgXHMe-5N5XEA0izle8OU0Ckpp4/s1600/0157+CHS-35539.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The mission was named for Saint Fernando, King of Spain, San Fernando Rey de España, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and was the seventeenth mission built in <st1:place w:st="on">Alta California</st1:place>. The missions tended to be spaced about a day’s ride apart, or about 30 miles, and while intended to fill the spot between <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">San Gabriel</st1:place></st1:city> and San Buenaventura, it is much closer to San Gabriel Arcángel. It is built around a quad, similar to other missions, in which the church makes up one corner.. With 30,000 grapevines, 21,000 head of livestock, and the manufacture of leather goods and tallow, the mission was busy in its heyday. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLke7FmbQtEsReQnrrxk3zMLzd2ZZBfFh5KNXsKDQK-6kUJalY19d2flZmIH74zcGcAipi7wr48PqvVDSHnai5Y0cLmGmNoX7mKHYQVz0RRWjbBJ8jxJCXHGfnmrfQqxjUm_sAmDD2XuA/s1600/0157+kt3g5032f2-d3e8378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLke7FmbQtEsReQnrrxk3zMLzd2ZZBfFh5KNXsKDQK-6kUJalY19d2flZmIH74zcGcAipi7wr48PqvVDSHnai5Y0cLmGmNoX7mKHYQVz0RRWjbBJ8jxJCXHGfnmrfQqxjUm_sAmDD2XuA/s320/0157+kt3g5032f2-d3e8378.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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As was the case with many of the missions, the structures began a steady decline when the Mexican government took control of <st1:place w:st="on">Alta California</st1:place> and redistributed the land. Roof tiles were used for other construction and caused the adobe walls to crumble from exposure. During the mining boom, a story got around that there was gold buried beneath, so prospectors had a field day destroying what remained searching for gold that didn’t exist. As a guess, it was likely that ‘49ers figured that gold from the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Placerita</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Canyon</st1:placetype></st1:place> discovery of 1842 was stored here. <br />
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In typical fashion, heritage minded Californians have restored the mission to its original Spanish splendor, and then some. And restored again after earthquakes. <o:p> </o:p><br />
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There are a lot of state landmarks in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place>, and after writing up forty seven of them, it’s time for break before taking on the remaining fifty eight. So, we’ll time shift up to 2009, load up the Montero and head off to <st1:placename w:st="on">Mariposa</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype> central <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> for a spell. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVZmweyEIpcD5GDAXYNzueUtULw8LsjT_vf2nil7Flp22eDS1qMDBgvJbrpcaZS1k2czj5XKxhqJAgK9-a8rbDf54FxrmoAGXRQF8EogQuRGzT0wjDVd2sD1RsIaam6pmWDWnnNehWE8/s1600/0157+missionSF01_8in_30%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVZmweyEIpcD5GDAXYNzueUtULw8LsjT_vf2nil7Flp22eDS1qMDBgvJbrpcaZS1k2czj5XKxhqJAgK9-a8rbDf54FxrmoAGXRQF8EogQuRGzT0wjDVd2sD1RsIaam6pmWDWnnNehWE8/s1600/0157+missionSF01_8in_30%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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If there was a plaque it would read: NO. 157 MISSION <st1:city w:st="on">SAN FERNANDO</st1:city> <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">REY</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">DE</st1:state></st1:place> ESPAÑA - Mission San Fernando Rey de España was founded by Father Lasuén in September 8, 1797. A house belonging to Francisco Reyes, on Encino Rancho, furnished temporary shelter for the missionary in charge. An adobe chapel, built and blessed in December 1806, was damaged by the destructive earthquake of 1812 - a new church was completed in 1818.<br />
Location: 15151 San Fernando Mission Blvd, Mission Hills Listed on the National Register of Historic Places: NPS-88002147<br />
GPS: 34.272778,-118.461167John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-86705276598025151502011-12-01T06:45:00.000-08:002011-12-01T06:45:03.866-08:00Brand Park (Memory Garden)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQ37pUPxFm64bhTWqDYv1Lk0MFYlgM8eMg2kMdJ_m82lfOGUcwsEOWQXFG_FfraOM_w0G1JovcVJrrAi5YVP1EnFhGiVK_nLTzQSozerKmb5s9vdTwgReCDqtxc-z78C0k7HYnw2QGug/s1600/0150+CHS-35541%253Bjsessio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQ37pUPxFm64bhTWqDYv1Lk0MFYlgM8eMg2kMdJ_m82lfOGUcwsEOWQXFG_FfraOM_w0G1JovcVJrrAi5YVP1EnFhGiVK_nLTzQSozerKmb5s9vdTwgReCDqtxc-z78C0k7HYnw2QGug/s320/0150+CHS-35541%253Bjsessio.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 28, 1997<br />
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Not to be confused with <st1:placename w:st="on">Brand</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype> in <st1:city w:st="on">Glendale</st1:city> we rumble seven tenths of a mile from the previous landmark (#362) to the San Fernando valley’s <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Brand</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> directly across the street from the San Fernando Mission. <o:p> </o:p><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Melanie in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Burbank</st1:city></st1:place> says: “I love, love this park. It's historic, it's beautiful , it's huge, super clean, super green, and never ever crowed. Perfect place to take dog's and let them roam around.” Let’s hope Melanie is picking up her dog’s deposits, as she captures the feel of this site with its manicured hedge lined walkways that meander to the parks community center which specializes in event, wedding, and quincenera rentals. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p>For this site there is no plaque, or any back story for that matter. As is the occasional case, this landmark meets almost none of the criteria required to become a landmark in the first place except for being part of an original land grant. It appears the Sons or the Daughters of the New Clampus Golden West pulled a fast one on a sleepy committee in Sacramento some seventy years ago. </o:p></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxVoF5KXsTq31au5mr6Rs_63iePEdo7-rmIQDbQ7dl0VH0J2uF4PgF7HXbY2ganZGALEhuVvLEIVmL98qGT2HAS885dfmqyrO_Q3Fj8LVlqB9p7Dva_ABj_vTfTRzMT0CCToBRA6Qu5Q/s1600/0150+813720d5-e0150+bf4546b87e59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxVoF5KXsTq31au5mr6Rs_63iePEdo7-rmIQDbQ7dl0VH0J2uF4PgF7HXbY2ganZGALEhuVvLEIVmL98qGT2HAS885dfmqyrO_Q3Fj8LVlqB9p7Dva_ABj_vTfTRzMT0CCToBRA6Qu5Q/s1600/0150+813720d5-e0150+bf4546b87e59.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Inscription if there was a plaque: NO. 150 BRAND PARK (<st1:placename w:st="on">MEMORY</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">GARDEN</st1:placetype>) - <st1:placename w:st="on">Brand</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype>, also called <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Memory</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Garden</st1:placetype></st1:place>, was given to the city for a park November 4, 1920. It is a part of the original land grant of Mission San Fernando de Rey de España, and the colorful and picturesque atmosphere of the early California missions is preserved in Memory Garden.<br />
Location: <st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">15174 San Fernando Mission Blvd</st1:street>, <st1:city w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city></st1:address><br />
USGS Quadrangle Sheet Name: <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">SAN FERNANDO</st1:city></st1:place><br />
GPS: 34.272379,-118.462036John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-75588255354691912692011-11-30T08:54:00.000-08:002011-11-30T08:54:49.409-08:00Romulo Pico Adobe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVUqrL_aE31JlUNMzGrJDgiOJcj5Rrey2PLZrZPNz1idqvdJKO0tcKKM_uwdw6RgVyuCI_in0E7Ms0CHkki6eFHC8pNifFGA9_TZUQzszBoMiy08fKUTOrQx1whXB-ZmnVkhOe_kDhQk/s1600/0362+AndresPicoAdobe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVUqrL_aE31JlUNMzGrJDgiOJcj5Rrey2PLZrZPNz1idqvdJKO0tcKKM_uwdw6RgVyuCI_in0E7Ms0CHkki6eFHC8pNifFGA9_TZUQzszBoMiy08fKUTOrQx1whXB-ZmnVkhOe_kDhQk/s1600/0362+AndresPicoAdobe2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 28, 1997<br />
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Sometimes the <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> state landmark book just doesn’t get it right, leaving the wannabe geo explorer in the lurch, confused and wondering what they did wrong. Such is the case with this landmark first visited in 1997. We rolled up to the triangle formed by the 405, 118, and 5 freeways and drive to <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">10940 Sepulveda Blvd.</st1:address></st1:street> to find nothing resembling the Romulo Pico Adobe, just nondescript commercial property and a storage facility across the street. What gives? To this day that address remains the correct one for the San Fernando Valley Historical Society, so the best guess is that it’s a postal address and not the site. The adobe we’re looking for is actually a bit south and just off Sepulveda and on <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">West Brand Blvd</st1:address></st1:street>….the first Brand turnoff if you’re northbound on Sepulveda. Geez. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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All ranting aside, the Andrea Pico Adobe where the Romulo Adobe is located is a great site to visit. An active museum where one can experience the feel of the nineteenth century in the <st1:place w:st="on">San Fernando valley</st1:place>. They host numerous events that bring that era to life as well as educational programs for elementary students for that history-social science fix. It sure beats the usual fodder; the neglected roadside landmarks that announce a site or event that left current culture long ago. <br />
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Andreas Pico was a brother of Governor Pio Pico and received a nine year lease for the rancho in 1845. Over the next twenty years the huge plot of land which included the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mission</st1:place></st1:city>, went through multiple hands and partners with Andreas keeping this particular section. Around 1874 Romulo came along and is credited with fixing up the adobe and he and wife Catarina kept it in use till the late 1890’s. After that it fell into disrepair and was abandoned, later to restored, and restored again after the Sylmar earthquake to its present state. <br />
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Bottom line? Don’t go to the address, go to these coordinates: 34.268961,-118.466477<br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 362 RÓMULO PICO ADOBE (RANCHITO RÓMULO) - The oldest portion of the adobe was built about 1834 by ex-mission Indians. It was enlarged by Eulogio de Celís in 1846, and an upper story added by Rómulo Pico in 1874. The house was restored by Mr. and Mrs. M. R. Harrington in 1930.<br />
Location: <st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">10940 N Sepulveda Blvd</st1:street>, <st1:city w:st="on">Mission</st1:city></st1:address> Hills<br />
USGS Quadrangle Sheet Name: <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">SAN FERNANDO</st1:place></st1:city><br />
Listed on the National Register of Historic Places: NPS-66000211<br />
34.268961,-118.466477John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-57838369838821624562011-11-11T06:41:00.000-08:002011-11-11T06:41:39.567-08:00Los Encinos State Historic Park<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8thCQD2a8FpbrC4eyAAeQOtFy_x-uUUuxNOc_SCuBfJ0sh5H_vBZ5Pk3DnOcKfSVWlF3whyYE1uah91lLG7YSVRTCZ9T7ZgrAePRGd0k0shas0QxvMmpvCjATNxePgmDqEpLckVgVpGo/s1600/0689+Los+Encinos+St+Pk+7-29-97+LA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8thCQD2a8FpbrC4eyAAeQOtFy_x-uUUuxNOc_SCuBfJ0sh5H_vBZ5Pk3DnOcKfSVWlF3whyYE1uah91lLG7YSVRTCZ9T7ZgrAePRGd0k0shas0QxvMmpvCjATNxePgmDqEpLckVgVpGo/s320/0689+Los+Encinos+St+Pk+7-29-97+LA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 28, 1997<br />
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There aren’t many places left in the <st1:city w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city> area to walk on acreage and back in time to the rancho era of pre statehood, but here at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Encinos</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">State</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Historic</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> you can, and it’s free. The visitors’ center is in the Garmier building and is open for tours 10 to 5 Wednesdays through Sundays. They offer guided tours of the newly refurbished De la Ossa Adobe as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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Originally this site was a ‘rancheria’ (Indian Village) of the tribe now often called Fernandeno, and was a gathering place for thousands of years prior to the Spanish muscling in in the late 1700’s. Natural spring water at the site was the attraction.<br />
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The original private owners of what was a 4460 acre grant were three Mission Indians and their families when the Mexican government dissolved the Missions in 1834. Raising cattle and simple crops their successors fell on progressively harder times, or got gold fever, and they sold out to Vincente de la Ossa in 1849. <br />
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It’s interesting to come to know that almost all of the vaqueros of the region were Native Americans, and that the cattle they rounded up annually to a rodeo were slaughtered mainly for their hides and tallow for the trade ships, and there was way too much meat to eat or preserve. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xEnKWOcEBoV9QX6seA-e4TfJjosTYe4moCiaBmap1ZlEtYFKAcWCpTLfDqf-Q0PTBCFRKNP64k_TyjUFIt1H7Bj4mIkpuIb_C_DbP3I-eVlpLIpLLnjoTiHnAgxruLmhxOdEQztZqJY/s1600/0689+AdobeGallery_jpg%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xEnKWOcEBoV9QX6seA-e4TfJjosTYe4moCiaBmap1ZlEtYFKAcWCpTLfDqf-Q0PTBCFRKNP64k_TyjUFIt1H7Bj4mIkpuIb_C_DbP3I-eVlpLIpLLnjoTiHnAgxruLmhxOdEQztZqJY/s320/0689+AdobeGallery_jpg%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Plaque inscription (local plaque):NO. 689 <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">LOS</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">ENCINOS</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">STATE</st1:placetype></st1:place> HISTORIC PARK - The Franciscan padres used Encino as their headquarters while exploring the valley before establishing Mission San Fernando in 1797. In 1849 Vincente de la Osa built an adobe with nine rooms. The next owner of was Eugene Garnier, who built the existing two-story limestone house in 1872. In December 1891 Domingo Amestoy acquired the property.<br />
Location: <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Encinos</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place> Historic Park, <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">16756 Moorpark St</st1:address></st1:street>, Encino<br />
Listed on the National Register of Historic Places: NPS-71000142<br />
GPS: 34.160549,-118.498498John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-723796940104667042011-10-30T07:27:00.000-07:002011-10-30T07:27:51.823-07:00Plummer House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_jyhB8lH_HRdWcGi3UuIrgHekkdPuE1kGM0ULj4bllABc8HNufKJzhA9gnamGXqu645wXtoN5BxST_IdzTiGicRgJciPPLAFYk8cf3MUdHxkS-vmdvHVdOJwuIyimOnkGeiU80xiA80/s1600/0160+Plummer+Pk+-+Oldest+House+7-28-97+LA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_jyhB8lH_HRdWcGi3UuIrgHekkdPuE1kGM0ULj4bllABc8HNufKJzhA9gnamGXqu645wXtoN5BxST_IdzTiGicRgJciPPLAFYk8cf3MUdHxkS-vmdvHVdOJwuIyimOnkGeiU80xiA80/s320/0160+Plummer+Pk+-+Oldest+House+7-28-97+LA.jpg" width="253" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 28, 1997<br />
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This landmark begs the question; ‘What’s the oldest house in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:city></st1:place> doing in Calabasas?’ <br />
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The answer is that it fell into disrepair and hard times and into an agreement with the folks at the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Leonis</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Adobe</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place> (the Leonis and Plummer families were friends btw) moved the landmark house to their grounds in 1983 and restored it. Today, it serves as the museum visitor center and gift shop. <br />
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Captain John Cornelius Plummer and his wife, Dona Maria Cecelia Plummer had two sons, Juan (John) and Eugenio. The Plummer house was built about 1874 by sons Juan and Eugenio. The home was a typical ranch house of the times. Wine and brandy were made on the premises. Vegetables, fruits, flowers and dairy products were raised and sold to the people of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city></st1:place> and local hotels. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9dx3tmnoGvwOFaF4AKpd9r0HRsbI7CyvqgPRLUf8NafaR7T69bnUAzsc70_vOBtzMH0aK50QAjwDGfZu1nnioT8cZAXd_g9JjoZT0GFxRye9-plSQGv_TSvm4MQ6RddHiR3NlfUWiZ9U/s1600/0160+CHS-9791%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9dx3tmnoGvwOFaF4AKpd9r0HRsbI7CyvqgPRLUf8NafaR7T69bnUAzsc70_vOBtzMH0aK50QAjwDGfZu1nnioT8cZAXd_g9JjoZT0GFxRye9-plSQGv_TSvm4MQ6RddHiR3NlfUWiZ9U/s1600/0160+CHS-9791%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The three acre <st1:placename w:st="on">Plummer</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype> where the Plummer house used to be is in the eastern part of <st1:place w:st="on">West Hollywood</st1:place> in a predominately Russian medium density neighborhood. There’s a farmer’s market every Monday. Locals are for the most part happy with the park as it is and don’t want to see most of it close in January of 2012 for reconstruction that may take up to two years, nor do they want to lose the mature trees to new trees that will take years to grow. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFTzPZgy4zdJMN8wnVwPxKchtmRpAXjEOMDqdb6V4oGmL41gI43zNYgMbiDS6UhJkjl6nBr0MsubLhnyRuylcxb4nb0MnqLuUAoMb3Nz5_-t1TBi7S1yFUNl2qerbSz3u1Ydxn_aUwsI/s1600/160p%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFTzPZgy4zdJMN8wnVwPxKchtmRpAXjEOMDqdb6V4oGmL41gI43zNYgMbiDS6UhJkjl6nBr0MsubLhnyRuylcxb4nb0MnqLuUAoMb3Nz5_-t1TBi7S1yFUNl2qerbSz3u1Ydxn_aUwsI/s200/160p%255B1%255D.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><br />
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NO. 160 PLUMMER PARK AND OLDEST HOUSE IN <st1:city w:st="on">HOLLYWOOD</st1:city> - Known as the 'Oldest House in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city>,' this house was built in the 1870s by Eugene Raphael Plummer.<br />
Location: Old location: <st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">7377 Santa Monica Blvd</st1:street>, <st1:city w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:city></st1:address> (<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city>) New location: <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">23537 Calabasas Rd</st1:address></st1:street>, Calabasas<br />
USGS Quadrangle Sheet Name: <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">HOLLYWOOD</st1:place></st1:city><br />
GPS: 34.157348,-118.639399John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-22781850927292561872011-10-19T07:23:00.000-07:002011-10-19T07:23:50.400-07:00Campo de Cahuenga<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0SKxNHkbp9GdFgyZQDPrPuEsK3bgvmpoSlucBj7ZDrYH-_l9wXTQKL5Iuel6uwWdyFB250qt6x_-6z5m5JvfHUKN7wPQJRtaP4b18eaZYM_avrSJ5UzSjz3DakIEWWTay4EOofErpuk/s1600/0151+3+Campo+de+Cahuenga+6-14-09+LA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0SKxNHkbp9GdFgyZQDPrPuEsK3bgvmpoSlucBj7ZDrYH-_l9wXTQKL5Iuel6uwWdyFB250qt6x_-6z5m5JvfHUKN7wPQJRtaP4b18eaZYM_avrSJ5UzSjz3DakIEWWTay4EOofErpuk/s320/0151+3+Campo+de+Cahuenga+6-14-09+LA.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 28, 1997 & June 14, 2009<br />
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North on 101 for 3.3 miles to <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">Lankershim Blvd.</st1:address></st1:street> and next to Universal City Station (metro). <br />
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Ah, memories of earlier days in the music business at the mention of Lankershim Blvd; the Palomino Club, Nudie’s Rodeo Tailors, The Sportsman’s Lodge…but we’re here in the shadows of Universal City to the site where 110 years prior to Nudie Cohn stitching up Elvis’ gold lame suit, the Mexican Army capitulated and made an agreement with American forces to stop shooting at each other while a treaty was put together. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqazkHMGIS2_8vW6El6Y9_nx-Tx8jikcIChsv235eX_6Wog1mh5cob8H465We9JLqoiOe-jxABa-SYJBccpbtqsXJpIZY4bk7xmdUNbYe_JqizOS339olTOQq34fSzRNzdqr0-cgyQlj0/s1600/0151+77+scan0033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqazkHMGIS2_8vW6El6Y9_nx-Tx8jikcIChsv235eX_6Wog1mh5cob8H465We9JLqoiOe-jxABa-SYJBccpbtqsXJpIZY4bk7xmdUNbYe_JqizOS339olTOQq34fSzRNzdqr0-cgyQlj0/s320/0151+77+scan0033.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqUKxwE_Cnyjn8cIOkSGj-u7TG_q_0iLTVWcMKaVEou4n-DU9oACq7Bo25P-JPxuAbIRcvJK8lCRydpEcXi4NKe88qDIOa9r-ewgoah7f3cbtLNFNvY_y5wOiHmW2pC4hKF88cvxeSy8/s1600/0151+2+Campo+de+Cahuenga+6-14-09+LA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqUKxwE_Cnyjn8cIOkSGj-u7TG_q_0iLTVWcMKaVEou4n-DU9oACq7Bo25P-JPxuAbIRcvJK8lCRydpEcXi4NKe88qDIOa9r-ewgoah7f3cbtLNFNvY_y5wOiHmW2pC4hKF88cvxeSy8/s320/0151+2+Campo+de+Cahuenga+6-14-09+LA.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">To describe the details of that agreement it’s best to leave it to Warrant Officer 1 Mark J. Denger representing the <st1:placename w:st="on">California</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">State</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Military</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Museum</st1:placetype> and their fine website on <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state>’s military history.</span><br />
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“At the site of an abandoned adobe ranch-house, Lieutenant Colonel John C. Frémont signed a treaty, generally termed the "Capitulation of Cahuenga," with General Andres Pico of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Mexico</st1:country-region></st1:place>. This was a significant treaty that led indirectly to <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state>'s statehood by ending rival hostilities in <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> for the duration of the Mexican War.<br />
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Campo de Cahuenga was once a part of Rancho Verdugo, occupied by Mariano de la Luz Verdugo. In 1810 the San Fernando Mission had taken over Rancho Partezuela, the Verdugo ranch, and had dammed up the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> running behind the Campo de Cahuenga site so as to raise corn and squash for the mission. At that time, the mission fathers built a building for the housing of workers and seed storage. In 1845 Tomas Feliz, the new occupant of the land, doubled the size of this building which is now known as the Tomas Feliz Adobe.<br />
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In January of 1847, the last two serious military engagements against <st1:country-region w:st="on">U.S.</st1:country-region> forces invading <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state> were fought at the battles of <st1:city w:st="on">San Gabriel</st1:city> and <st1:city w:st="on">La Mesa</st1:city> just below <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city>. Gen. Flores, seeing the situation as hopeless, now moved north of the city. In the meantime, Frémont arrived in the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city> area from the north<br />
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It was on January 11, 1847, a few miles above <st1:city w:st="on">San Fernando</st1:city>, that Col. Frémont received a message from Gen. Kearny informing him of the defeat of the enemy and the capture of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city>. That night Frémont's battalion encamped in the mission buildings at <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">San Fernando</st1:place></st1:city>. From the mission Col. Frémont sent Jesus Pico to find the <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> army and open negotiations with its leaders. Jesus Pico, a cousin of Gen. Andres Pico, found the advance guard of the Californians encamped on the Verdugo Ranch.<br />
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Detained there, Pico informed the leading officers of the army of Frémont's arrival and the number of his men. With the combined forces of Frémont and Stockton, now in <st1:city w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city>, he urged them to surrender to Frémont as they could obtain better terms from him than from <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Stockton</st1:place></st1:city>.<br />
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General Flores, who had been appointed by the territorial assembly governor and comandante-general, had taken his departure for <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region> on January 11. Before departing he appointed Gen. Andres Pico commanding-general and gave him command of the army.<br />
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General Pico, on assuming command, appointed Francisco Rico and Francisco de La Guerra to confer with Col. Frémont.<br />
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Meanwhile, Frémont appointed Major P. B. Reading, Major William H. Russell and Captain Louis McLane as commissioners to negotiate a treaty. Gen. Pico, in turn, appointed Jose A. Carrillo, commander of the cavalry squadron, and Augustin Olvera, disputaso of the assembly, and moved his army near the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city> river at Cahuenga. On the 13th Frémont moved his camp to the Cahuenga.<br />
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The commissioners met in the deserted ranch-house of Tomas Feliz (Campo de Cahuenga), and a treaty was drawn up.<br />
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The principal conditions of the treaty of "Capitulation of Cahuenga," as it was termed, were that the Californians, on delivering up their artillery and public arms, and promising not to again take up arms during the war, and conforming to the laws and regulations of the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>, shall be allowed to peaceably return to their homes. They were to be allowed the same rights and privileges as are allowed to citizens of the United States, and were not to be compelled to take an oath of allegiance until a treaty of peace was signed between the United States and Mexico, and were given the privilege of leaving the country if they so wished to do so.<br />
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The terms being mutually acceptable to both Colonel Frémont and General Andres Pico, it was signed. An additional section was added to the treaty on the 16th at <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:place></st1:city> releasing the officers from their paroles.<br />
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In accordance with the terms of the treaty, two cannon were surrendered, the howitzer captured from Gen. Kerny at San Pasqual, and the "Old Woman's Gun" that won the battle of Dominguez Ranch.<br />
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On January 14, Frémont marched his battalion through the <st1:placename w:st="on">Cahuenga</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Pass</st1:placetype> to <st1:city w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:city> and entered it four days after its surrender to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Stockton</st1:place></st1:city>. The conquest of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> was now complete. Frémont presented the treaty to Stockton, who approved it.<br />
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In a little more than six months, U.S. naval forces of the Pacific Squadron, aided by the California Battalion, two companies of dragoons, and the Morman Battalion, had seized and pacified the whole area that is, today, the state of California.<br />
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To Frémont's credit, the treaty of Campo de Cahuenga (shown below) brought peace with honor, allowing both nationalities in <st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state> to calmly assimilate into the <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>. The treaty was consolidated into the final treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo of February 2, 1848, between the <st1:country-region w:st="on">United States</st1:country-region> and <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Mexico</st1:country-region></st1:place>.”<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEGo5EJ7W8xwHRE97QIYcWR3mf1y_q8qRCU_oXvjzYPhCp6EP0JveNGppUaAzzqS7SF-E9dkJ8Fkig4H4tX-mQpQtt22K0QlbKq4935W6aRKx-BwQSsnujb0b2GsL-08nEDgB154uQpQ/s1600/0151+CHS-36590%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixEGo5EJ7W8xwHRE97QIYcWR3mf1y_q8qRCU_oXvjzYPhCp6EP0JveNGppUaAzzqS7SF-E9dkJ8Fkig4H4tX-mQpQtt22K0QlbKq4935W6aRKx-BwQSsnujb0b2GsL-08nEDgB154uQpQ/s1600/0151+CHS-36590%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to their webpage, the site is currently closed for renovations, as it was in 2009, but will be open soon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 151 <st1:city w:st="on">CAMPO</st1:city> <st1:state w:st="on">DE</st1:state> CAHUENGA - 'Here was made the Treaty of Cahuenga by General Andrés Pico, commanding forces for <st1:country-region w:st="on">Mexico</st1:country-region>, and Lieutenant-Colonel J. C. Frémont, U.S. Army, for the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">United States</st1:country-region></st1:place>. By this treaty, agreed upon January 13th, 1847, the <st1:country-region w:st="on">United States</st1:country-region> acquired <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place> - finally secured to us by the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, made February 2nd, 1848.' This legend was written February 9, 1898 by Mrs. Jessie Benton Frémont. Location: <st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">3919 Lankershim Blvd, North</st1:street> <st1:city w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:city></st1:address><br />
GPS 34.139759,-118.361973John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1430994637487188926.post-85629498927668351142011-10-18T06:07:00.000-07:002011-10-18T06:07:13.933-07:00Cecil B. DeMille Studio Barn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3B2VE2-L7_x0ywvvgxVZ22oVGju7cruGG2larj-_EbVAlvZ38er9SmliaM3CgQ_bCV0TLqcfwDrN5iRBvTz1jUqpwfpkEumESL2gxvMc9hEMagP-HBdemeWP4FjNKnwsK8W5FZaHfkQ/s1600/0554+2+Cecil+DeMille+Studio+Barn+6-14-09+LA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3B2VE2-L7_x0ywvvgxVZ22oVGju7cruGG2larj-_EbVAlvZ38er9SmliaM3CgQ_bCV0TLqcfwDrN5iRBvTz1jUqpwfpkEumESL2gxvMc9hEMagP-HBdemeWP4FjNKnwsK8W5FZaHfkQ/s320/0554+2+Cecil+DeMille+Studio+Barn+6-14-09+LA.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Los Angeles</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">County</st1:placetype></st1:place> -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 28, 1997 & June 14, 2009<br />
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The Studio Barn is now the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Heritage</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Museum</st1:placetype></st1:place> which is right off the 101 and in a parking lot across from the Hollywood Bowl. From its original 1896 location, the barn was moved to Paramount Studios where it sat for 55 years and was occasionally used as a set. It was saved from destruction and moved to its present location in 1982. On the first visit here in 1997 the building was closed due to fire damage the previous year. <br />
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Though not the first movie shot in the LA area (Old California has that distinction), it was the first feature length film made in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city>. Back in 1913 most movie sets were open roofed and used natural light, so the fair weather, cheap rents, and endless variety of exterior shots made southern <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">California</st1:state></st1:place> the obvious choice as the new center for the burgeoning film industry. Another factor was Thomas Edison’s financial lock on east coast filmmakers, think of <st1:state w:st="on">New York</st1:state> as an iPhone and <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city> as open architecture Android. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOWzGii50w8vA9dvO1jvP2J80YarBByheucNednUHF6BL__36qsK1hbyXw7wEcYJS6fz0SvO9izOqMicqrFVP7Tud5mO8cV3HHtDQtRgz_MMJOswm4PBIziHVJAeM2KDimW1CwgwnQT5Y/s1600/0554+TheSquawMan1914%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOWzGii50w8vA9dvO1jvP2J80YarBByheucNednUHF6BL__36qsK1hbyXw7wEcYJS6fz0SvO9izOqMicqrFVP7Tud5mO8cV3HHtDQtRgz_MMJOswm4PBIziHVJAeM2KDimW1CwgwnQT5Y/s1600/0554+TheSquawMan1914%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Even in his first feature film, Cecil B. DeMille’s flair for location shooting was in full swing. The saloon set was built by railroad tracks in the <st1:place w:st="on">San Fernando Valley</st1:place>, while harbor scenes were shot in San Pedro. Meanwhile, they went Keen Camp in Idyllwild for open range cattle shots, and over to Palomar to catch some snow. DeMille’s partners included Jessie Lasky (became Paramount) and Sam Goldwyn (MGM), with comedy film legend Hal Roach doing a bit of acting as well. Even DeMille himself was extra. <br />
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Though the adapted stage play is reviewed as being somewhat staid and Victorian in direction, it was made for about $20,000 and grossed nearly $250,000, making it the Blair Witch Project of its day and gave DeMille power and influence. He liked it so much he made the movie again in 1918, and again as a talkie in 1931. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXvS2CiRO_uTZ3UcmjxHxxV17pt6cmfmoQv-fCBUTCHzH8ozyoAJT-M538NeQHpsoes71gYVsfFn9iRr7IBJuzCx5WiO3e43IxLjAQMplvOv4WD1faoxtfKrmEqpQ205uWG4C2odi9Jg/s1600/0554+3+Cecil+DeMille+Studio+Barn+6-14-09+LA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXvS2CiRO_uTZ3UcmjxHxxV17pt6cmfmoQv-fCBUTCHzH8ozyoAJT-M538NeQHpsoes71gYVsfFn9iRr7IBJuzCx5WiO3e43IxLjAQMplvOv4WD1faoxtfKrmEqpQ205uWG4C2odi9Jg/s320/0554+3+Cecil+DeMille+Studio+Barn+6-14-09+LA.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Plaque inscription: NO. 554 CECIL B. DeMILLE STUDIO BARN - Cecil B. DeMille rented half of this structure, then used as a barn, as the studio in which was made the first feature-length motion picture in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:city></st1:place>-The Squaw Man-in 1913. Associated with Mr. DeMille in making The Squaw Man were Samuel Goldwyn and Jesse Lasky, Sr. Originally located at the corner of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Selma</st1:city></st1:place> and Vine Streets, in 1927 the barn was transferred to Paramount Studios.<br />
Location: <st1:address w:st="on"><st1:street w:st="on">2100 N Highland Ave</st1:street>, <st1:city w:st="on">Hollywood</st1:city></st1:address><br />
GPS: 34.108562,-118.336208John Malcolm Pennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16269273734875057631noreply@blogger.com1