Amargosa Opera House

According to Fred Conboy, the Amargosa Opera House located in Death Valley Junction, there is a lot to see in this little berg besides open desert.

“When guests arrive to the opera house, they are amazed by the miracle of seeing Marta’s murals in the legendary Amargosa Opera House which took six years to paint. They were competed by Marta herself.”

I would say that endeavor took patience. Patience is not one of my best virtues. Even if patience is supposed to be a virtue. That concept was probably made up by someone with a lot of patience.

“Marta was a ceaseless fountain of creativity,” Conboy continued. “With her dancing, composing, and painting, which in itself was astonishing.”

Marta performing at the opera house - Getty Image

So, who is this Marta whom Conboy was speaking about with such reverence?

Well, just so happens Laureen and I met her in Death Valley Junction, in the very Amargosa Opera House nearly two decades ago.

Marta Becket was born in New York City in 1924, and at the age of fourteen began ballet lessons. In a documentary entitled, Dust Devil, Marta stated that even before that age, she wanted to dance. And dance she did.

Performing at the Radio City Music Hall and on Broadway, she soon found fame and fortune. She appeared in such famous plays and musicals as Show Boat, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and Wonderful Town.

She had it all in the Big Apple – but it was not what she wanted. She desired to do what she wanted to on stage without being directed about what she would do.

“I wanted the freedom to express myself,” Marta explained in Dust Devil.

Just one of many of Marta's dresses

If that wasn’t a direct quote, then I am blaming my editor – sorry, Jim.

Marta started touring the United States with her one-woman show. Performing all the great ballets in small theatres across this great country.

In 1962, she met the man who would become her husband, Thomas Williams. Five years later, on the way to a ballet gig, the travel trailer they were towing blew a tire out in Death Valley, and the only place where it could be repaired was in Death Valley Junction.

Turns out, while Thomas was seeing to the repair, Marta wandered – and don’t we love wandering – saw a bunch of buildings, which included a hotel built in the 1920s by the Pacific Coast Borax mining company, and a large structure which miners had used as a gathering place called Corkhill Hall.

It was love at first sight.

“By now I had forgotten the tire,” she wrote in her autobiography, To Dance on Sands: The Life and Art of Death Valley’s Marta Becket, published in 2006. “I walked over to the building, afraid to take my eyes off it, lest it should disappear.”

Marta working on her beloved Armargosa Opera house - Getty Image

It did not disappear. She and her husband bought the property and put the small community of Death Valley Junction on the map as a destination for those wanting to witness beautiful and creative performances delivered by a masterful ballerina.

John R Beyer in Death Valley Junction

Many years ago, when Laureen and I met Marta, we were cruising into Death Valley and stopped by the iconic Opera House for a looky-loo.

We like to do that – to see what we can see.

The doors to the Opera House were open and we took that as a sign we were supposed to enter. It was hot outside, the month of May can be like that so close to Death Valley, and we enjoyed the coolness of the interior.

When our eyes adjusted to the dimness inside, we were amazed by the marvelous murals on the interior walls. I mean all the interior walls of the theatre. Brightly colored creations of folks from the past looking down on us and toward the center stage at the front of the theatre.

“You folks traveling?” I recall this woman, who later introduced herself as Marta, asking. 

We explained our current journey and spent the next twenty minutes or so, visiting with Marta, as she told us of her past, her present, and her future.

She was graceful and polite. A few questions and a lot of interesting answers. What we took away from that brief encounter was she was one wonderfully strong woman who knew what she wanted out of life.

Simply, to perform her art without dictation by anyone but herself. She ruled in her Opera House. The plays, the music, the costumes, and the times of performances. She was in charge.

Museum across the street with some of Marta's costumes

Unfortunately, there were no shows for Laureen and me to witness that trip. Marta smiled and said perhaps the next time we drove through we could see her perform.

We smiled and said that would be great.

“I should write a story about her,” I told Laureen, as we left Death Valley Junction and headed into Death Valley.

“Perhaps you should in the future,” Laureen replied.

Marta passed away at the age of ninety-two, on January thirtieth, 2017.

We never did see her perform.

Death Valley Junction came into being in 1907, when the Tonopah and Tidewater Railroad was built through the Amargosa Valley. The rails were used to transport borax from nearby mines.

Originally owned by Robert Tubb, the town boasted a saloon, a store and one of those adult entertainment centers. The local miners loved the place, and it grew.

In 1914, the Death Valley Railroad started using the spot to move borax from the valley up into Amargosa Valley for shipment. Business was booming, to the point that a few years later the Pacific Coast Borax Company constructed Spanish Colonial Revival buildings in the town.

I am not sure exactly what that is, but the architect Alexander Hamilton McCulloch did and that is what Marta Becket fell in love with.

The motel and opera house are beautiful. 

The opera house and adjoining hotel

A year after Marta and her husband bought the property, the name of the locale was changed to Death Valley Junction.

In 1980, the town was placed on the National Register of Historic Places, as the Death Valley Junction Historic District.

Though, Marta is no longer with us, thousands of visitors still visit Death Valley Junction yearly.

According to Conboy, “We get at least one hundred and fifty to two hundred people per week stopping by. Many spend a night or two in the motel.”

Since there are no longer performances, the opera house is used for special events or for private venues, then what would make someone want to stop at this path to Death Valley?

“Guests frequently say they love stepping back in time by spending time walking around the historical complex, staying in the hotel and enjoying Marta’s painted guest rooms, or enjoying her tromp l’oeil painting in the dining room or lobby.”

I had no idea what a l’oeil painting is, I could have asked Laureen but didn’t want to sound ignorant in front of my wife.

“We have no TVs or phones in the motel rooms. In this stillness, you can hear your own heartbeat, and be awed by the total silence which the desert has to offer.”

No internet to check emails, Instagram, Facebook, play video games or listen to the latest music on Spotify. How gauche!

Conboy was not done. “Many of our guests remark how much they enjoy spending time having conversations and interactions with the children, their spouse, or friends instead of sitting together in isolation staring at their devices. Imagine that humans having interpersonal communication with each other.”

Was this guy from the twenty-first century?

Guests are often greeted by wild horses who scamper, if horses scamper, into their own personal bar behind the hotel, where hay and water are available year-round.

“I’ll take a bale of hay and a glass of cool water, if you don’t mind,” one wild Mustang was once heard ordering at the horse bar.

“Why certainly, Mr. Ed,” replied the horse bartender.

Death Valley Junction is also known for its dark skies. That is scientific lingo which means at night there are billions and billions of stars to take a gander at instead of the three which lurk about in a city. And one of those is probably a streetlamp.

Is there a lot to see at Death Valley Junction? Yes, there is. It is not a place to drive through on the way to some other place, but a locale to stop, breathe the clean air, and marvel at what one person can do who had the gumption to do it.

That was who Marta Becket was.

We only wish we could have seen her perform on stage, just once.

For further information: http://amargosaoperahouse.org/

Route 66 at the Smithsonian

Laureen Beyer pointing out where she is in Washington D.C.

A piece of Route 66 history is located 697 miles southeast from where this iconic roadway began back in 1926 in downtown Chicago.

“But I thought the Mother Road went from Chicago to Santa Monica?” little Jimmy may ask.

Well, that is correct but when my lovely wife, Laureen, and I returned to Washington D.C. recently, we were thrilled to see a beautiful exhibit about Route 66 at the National Museum of American History.

Towns along Route 66 from Chicago to Santa Monica

“Are you thrilled?” Laureen asked.

“Thrilled to be thrilled.”

It is not a large exhibit, but all the information a person visiting this Smithsonian Museum is there to garner a taste of how important Route 66 was for early travelers across the United States.

Stretching an impressive 2,448 miles through Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and finally arriving in California.

It took six years to build this road, from 1926 until 1932, but it was not fully paved until 12 years later in 1938.

Cyrus Avery, a businessman in Tulsa, Oklahoma stated, “I challenge anyone to show a road of equal length that traverses more scenery, more agricultural wealth, and more mineral wealth than does U.S. 66.”

Avery founded the U.S. 66 Highway Association and first called Route 66 the ‘Main Street of America.’

I have traveled quite a bit along Route 66 getting research for this or that story and I never tire of driving the long stretches of usually empty roadway. Passing through towns that are still here like Newberry Springs, Ludlow, Seligman, Winslow, and towns that are simply ghosts of what they once were, Bagdad, Siberia, Two Guns, and many more that dot the long stretches of roadway.

Each time I stop, it’s hard not to imagine hearing the voices, the laughter, the tears, that once could be heard in these once vibrant spots.

What were the hopes of dreams of these folks along Route 66

It’s not a quick trip taking the byways, but that is the reason - to enjoy and understand the history of this wonderful highway that stretches for so many miles.

The Smithsonian’s were something that was top on our list as we landed at the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport.

Actually, making sure our bags arrived on the same plane as we did, getting to our hotel and having an adult libation were my top priorities. 

But during our trip to the city planned by George Washington, we hoofed it to some of the most famous museums in the world.

The Smithsonian’s.

I had only traveled to our nation’s capital once before and knew there was so much to see that numerous trips may not cover all it had to offer. 

I learned there was a lot this large berg had to show a visitor - and one previous trip was not enough.

We like getting up early, having a sip of coffee and hitting places before the crowds show up - and in Washington D.C. the crowds were always present, especially during the 4th of July week.

And as usual, we headed out before most people had tumbled from their beds to a place which was on both of our radars.

The Route 66 experience at the National Museum of American History.

The exhibit is inundated with memorabilia commemorating this masterpiece of a highway.

Some travelers provisions on display

Four outstanding women who braved early Route 66

There are some of the original vehicles on display which drove across Route 66. Along with those displays there are sculptures of men and women standing or sitting in those very same vehicles - it was rather surreal since the area the exhibit is located is rather dark and lights shine on each exhibit.

Often, Route 66 was not for the weak of heart

“Rather ghostly,” Laureen said.

“Yes, it's as though the mannequins may turn and talk to us,” I replied.

“Wonder what they would say?”

I shrugged. “Hey, I get tired standing on my feet twenty-four-seven. But then again, perhaps all these inanimate objects come alive once the museum closes at night and have a monster gala.”

Laureen ignored me, she’s good at that.

An open aired two seat car from 1903 is on display showing two men and a dog trying to pull it out of a sandy patch using block and tackle.

Another shows a family sedan loaded down with everything they would need while crossing the nation along Route 66. Spare tires, spare water, sleeping bags, lanterns, tents, and the like.

Everything a family may need during the Route 66 journey

Stories of folks who made the adventure are there for visitors to read. Stories about the Hamons, the Shorts, the Haggards, and four young women who ventured out on their own in 1947 from New York to Los Angeles, utilizing Route 66 once they reached Chicago.

In fact, in 1946, an up-and-coming musician, Bobby Troup, drove the route from Pennsylvania to Los Angeles. During the trip his wife suggested he write a song about it - the rest is history. Nat King Cole took the song and made it a gigantic hit, ‘Get Your Kicks on Route 66’.

There is a lot to see and experience at the Route 66 exhibit, but there is a lot more to see while taking the time and wandering at this and the other Smithsonian Museums in Washington D.C.

Actually, visiting our nation’s capital should be on any traveler's ultimate destination list.

Though I would suggest Fall or Spring, summer is brutal with the humidity hitting at least 1,000 percent.

For further information: https://www.si.edu/object/route-66-pavement-1932%3Anmah_1276320

Welcome to D.C.

The new big beautiful flag pole in front of the White House

Washington D.C. is a big place with a small town feel. The seat of power in the United States revolves around certain buildings along the National Mall and blocks on either side. It may seem large but the locals don’t view the capital as such.

“We’re really a city of small neighborhoods,” Tony, a bartender at the Dubliner, told us. “The capital seems large and bustling to many tourists, but to us locals, it’s just home.”

Laureen and I had walked about a hundred miles during the first four hours on the day of our arrival in our nation's capital and I was parched - from the walking and the two hundred percent humidity.

Since this was only the second time I’d traveled to Washington, D.C., I asked myself why I had come during the summer again. Wasn’t the first time enough to warn me off future summer trips where a shower in the morning wouldn’t last for the first three minutes when exiting the hotel?

“I need a shower and a towel,” I said. “And not sure in that order.”

We had stopped by the Dubliner, located on ‘F’ Street, not far from Columbus Circle, for a bite of lunch and a respite from Mother Nature.

The Dubliner - a fine Irish pub in the heart of Washington D.C.

“Tony,” I said. “How do you folks deal with the humidity?”

He simply smiled at me while passing over a pint of Smithwick’s. Did I mention Tony was a saint?

“We think cool,” he responded, and then went to wait on other patrons.

I looked at Laureen, “Does that work?”

Even my lovely bride had shiny beads of sweat upon her brow. Women don’t perspire, she once told me. They glisten. “No. It does not.”

Washington, D.C., is a city laid out by the founding fathers in a rather neat mathematical way. Four quadrants - northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast. Rather mundane but easy to understand, compared to many places I have encountered in my travels.

“Well,” someone would say to me with a piece of straw hanging out of their mouth. “You go down until you see a red-spotted cow and then turn right, but not before waving at old widow Wilson. Then you move on for a stretch until …”

The point is made.

Each of the supposedly 130 various neighborhoods in D.C. revolve around their own culture and vibes.

“Do you want to visit all the neighborhoods?” Laureen asked me as our lunch arrived. A light pub salad for Laureen and a heavy dose of Shepherd’s pie for me - I had to gain my strength back to continue walking the streets of D.C. later.

 “Nope,” I said. “That’s why there is Uber, Lyft, the Metro, or Flip.”

“Flip?”                                                                                                                                                             

I nodded. “Flip a coin to see if we head back to the hotel after lunch and take a nap.”

We ended up, after a wonderful time at the Dubliner Restaurant, heading out into the steamy afternoon. It got even steamier when a sudden thunder storm eased over the east and blanketed the capital with what seemed like ten inches of rain in two minutes.

I knew it was coming, since I had insisted that we would not need an umbrella - my albatross.

“Why an umbrella?” I once posed to Laureen in the hinterlands of Northern Ireland. Fifteen minutes later the Irish Coast Guard showed up.  

As we walked back toward the National Mall to take in the sights, Laureen said, “I wish we had brought an umbrella.”

Which in her world actually meant, you should have listened to me and taken the umbrella from the Watergate Hotel like I suggested.

There really should be two dictionaries - one for smart women and one for the rest of us.

With soaking shoes and smiles, we meandered our way to the White House to see the two new big beautiful flag poles that were recently erected.

It is awe inspiring to stand across the street from where the President and First Lady reside, no matter what political party, and contemplate the importance of such a building.

The current residence has housed every president since John Adams. But George Washington chose the spot and supervised its construction - so his spirit is still there. It is a venue where world leaders come and discuss worldly issues on a constant basis.

But, being tourists, we could only gawk through the tall black wrought iron fencing and ponder what goes on inside those special walls.

“Do I really need to meet with him this afternoon?” a president may ask his Chief of Staff.

“Sir, he’s the Prime Minister of England.”

“But he sounds so Scottish.”

The White House is located in an area known as Foggy Bottom. And yes, Laureen asked me not to write immature statements about the name. So, in bygone days the area was often covered by a blinding low-lying fog along the marshy area of the Potomac River, and with the smoke from and soot from nearby industrial complexes, the  name stuck.

This is also where the Kennedy Center is located, along with the Department of State and other high-affluence entities. D.C. is full of such places.

Standing across from the White House was special and allowed us to see America at its best. There were lots of tourists snapping selfies, asking for others to take their photos, selfies taking selfies, and others trying to steal their cameras. There were also a bunch of protesters waving posters and flags, wearing masks, and singing songs out-of-tune.

John R Beyer right before asking protestors what they were upset about

“What are you protesting?” I asked, being a journalist and all.

“Not sure,” a lime green-haired woman told me. “But it’s probably something about the government.”

“That is an awesome answer,” I replied.

Laureen shook her head, “She has green hair and a nose ring that hangs to her belly-button.”

“The First Amendment covers poor fashion choices, I believe,” I said. 

Our first day back in the nation’s capital after two years was interesting, sweaty, and overall great. This D.C. is a place to visit time and again. The week we had planned was not nearly long enough to see everything. We knew that but also realized we would pack as much into this adventure as possible.

I have always said to our children - if you are not exhausted by the time you return from a vacation, then you haven’t been on vacation.

Our Founding Fathers wondered if this great American dream would work out in the long run -  at this point, for nearly 250 years it’s done okay. A few bumps and hiccups but overall, not a bad experiment in the concept of a nation being self-governing.

For further information:

https://washington.org/visitors-guide

https://www.dublinerdc.com/