The Real Bagdad Café

In the late nineteen eighties, Newberry Springs (a small town in the Mojave Desert in Southern California) was the scene for a meeting of the minds, between Hollywood and a German film crew. They met to discuss the filming of a rather eccentric movie, the Bagdad Café.

A must see film!

One problem though, there was no Bagdad Café in Newberry Springs.

No worries - we didn't either, at the time.

There once was a town of Bagdad, with a cafe, about fifty miles east of Newberry Springs. But when Interstate 40 made Route 66 seem like an afterthought, the town, like the desert sands, just blew away. Not enough business to maintain its lifeblood, it just stopped breathing.

There’s nothing left today to prove Bagdad once truly existed, but a beautiful tree with a plaque that reads - This tree is the last fragile remnant of the town of Bagdad. Please help us protect it by leaving it undisturbed. Thank You!

A beautiful reminder of once was - before progress came to town

Hollywood, with the German screenwriters and director, didn’t let those facts stop them. They just renamed the Sidewinder Café in Newberry Springs to, yes, wait for it – the Bagdad Café. And that is the magic of Hollywood.

We don’t need no stinking reality – we’ll just make up our own.

So, on a Sunday morning, we decided to take the short drive to Newberry Springs and check out the Bagdad Café. After the release of the film in 1987 in Europe, and in 1988 in the United States, the name of the Sidewinder Café was eventually changed to the Bagdad Café in 1995.

 A sound marketing tool, to incorporate the name of a film which used the restaurant for its focal point. The film, starring the likes of C.C.H Pounder, Jack Palance, Christine Kauffman, and German actress, Marianne Sagebrecht, won 6 foreign film awards, including Best Foreign Film at the 23rd Guldbagge Awards in 1988. In 1988, the film won an Oscar for Best Music, Original song by Bob Telson, Calling You.

Heck, even Hollywood came out with a television series, Bagdad Café in 1990, starring James Gammon, Whoopi Goldberg, Cleavon Little, and Jean Stapleton. After two seasons it went bust. A good film, not so good a series, perhaps – it happens.

Sorry, Ladies - a short but good try.

“This will be great,” I told Laureen, as we took the eastbound Newberry Springs exit from the 40 and drove onto Route 66.

“It’s an old café,” she replied.

“It’s historic. A place where two cultures, Germans and Americans met and created something special. I call it, where Hollywood and Berliwood shook hands.”

“Berliwood?”

“You know, Berlin.” I nodded. “Yeah, like Bollywood, but from a German perspective.”

“That makes sense,” Laureen mused. But, I don’t think she bought my conjecture on the topic.

We pulled in front of the red painted building with brown wood shingles on the roof. Laureen was right, it was old and bit worse for wear.

“Look at that,” I said, while pointing to a large black and white tour bus. There in front of us were dozens of people taking selfies by the entrance to the Bagdad Café and others just walking around looking this iconic building up and down.

“French,” I announced excitedly. “They’re French tourists.”

Laureen nodded in agreement. “Did you get that from the French they are all speaking?”

“Dead giveaway,” I returned.

The restaurant is open daily from 7 a.m. until 7 p.m., and according to the owner, Andrea Pruett (she goes by André), “We get so many tourists, and it is really crowded sometimes. You know, we are the most visited café in the world.”

I wasn’t sure that was accurate, but in deference to the owner, I remained mute on the topic. Though, this café must be the most visited in the area.

Entering through the single door of the café, we were taken aback by the hundreds, if not thousands of flags hanging from the ceiling. It seemed every country on earth was represented inside the Bagdad Café.

Can you count the flags - we couldn't

“See what I mean?” André stated. “Most tourists are French; they loved the movie. But there are flags from Germany, Spain, and pretty much everywhere.”

I asked André, how many tourist buses stop by. “Oh, I don’t know – probably five or six per week. Most of the time, they just stop, take photographs and leave. They don’t spend a lot of money here. But we do have good food.”

André has owned the small local tourist attraction for 23 years, moving from Canoga Park to Newberry Springs with her husband. “It was quite a culture shock,” stated the petite woman. “The people called me, Hollywood, because I came from the Los Angeles area. My husband told me to enjoy the quite of Newberry Springs where I could just write. He’d run the restaurant, and my job was simply to come in once per day to collect the money.”

Seemed reasonable. The problem was, according to André, “There never was much to collect each day. It’s gotten better though, with the tourists – still wish they’d spend more.”

We had lunch and visited with André, between her greeting the numerous tourists. She was correct on both counts – the food was tasty and there were a lot of people stopping by the historic site.

Laureen, waiting for our lunch at the Bagdad Cafe'

This place, this Bagdad Café, is a must to see for any film buff. Not just the history of the building, but the impact it made in the cinema world joining the realms of cult classics. A place most have never hear of, but which made it into the stratosphere of filmology (yes, it is real – the study of film making – taken from, filmologie – and of course, it’s French!). So take a short byway off the road most traveled and find yourself something of international intrigue, on Route 66.

Medal of Honor

His citation reads, in part, "For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty: Major Bruce P. Crandall distinguished himself by extraordinary heroism as a Flight Commander in the Republic of Vietnam, while serving with Company A, 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile)." 

The full text of citation tells the dispassionate details of a commander who completed 22 flights under relentless enemy fire to evacuate 70  wounded soldiers.

There is a distinction between the celebrations of Veterans Day and Memorial Day in this country. Veterans Day honors all military veterans and celebrates their service. Veterans day coincides with Armistice Day as we noted in a previous blog post (see Armistice Day by J and L). Memorial Day honors those who died while in military service. Those who payed the ultimate price. Because of men like Major Crandall, (later promoted to Colonel) we have fewer men and women to honor on Memorial Day -- and for that fact, we, their families and fellow countrymen, are eternally grateful.

Memorial Day began as Decoration Day after the Civil War when soldiers, Union and Confederate (albeit on different days), decorated the graves of their fallen comrades. During this same era, the Medal of Honor was established by an act of law by President Abraham Lincoln, calling for the awarding, in the name of Congress, of  a US Army Medal of Honor and US Navy Medal of Valor to soldiers who "most distinguish themselves by their gallantry in action." Since its inception, the Medal has been conferred upon more than 3,400 men and one woman (Mary Edwards Walker), including the youngest recipient, Willie Johnston, who was 11 when he earned this distinction, and one president (Theodore Roosevelt for his service with the Rough Riders).


Though Memorial is just around the corner and we all owe a great deal to those brave men and women who have given the ultimate sacrifice we can not help to mention those who have received the highest medal in the land.

As we spoke with Colonel Crandall,  what struck us was his great sense of humor and his humility. This man who saved dozens of fellow soldiers while taking an unbelievable amount of enemy fire thought little of it.

"It was my job," was all he stated simply. "Anyone in my position would have done the same."

We're not sure of that but we're glad, just as those families who received their loved ones back after the battle were glad that men like Colonel Crandall was there looking out for them.

These recipients - we made the mistake of saying they had won the MOH and were instantly corrected by Colonel Crandall who stated that he received it, not won it.

"No one in their right mind goes into battle to win a medal. We go into battle to protect our brothers and sisters in arms - I received this medal and cherish it in the memory of those who never made it home. It's not mine - I'm just the caretaker."

With the day over, we returned home in almost silence with thoughts of this man who shared a horrific time in his life with them and were humbled to have met such a hero. Of course, they wouldn't tell Colonel Crandall that - he would have laughed and said he wasn't a hero.

This we could argue.

On that day in November 1965, a young man flew into harm's way without a thought about his own safety. It was such a privotal and brutal battle, that his story was later made into a film starring Mel Gibson, entitled 'We Were Soldiers.'

The battle was so desperate a film was made

So, in this latest blog J and L swept up both Memorial Day and Veteran's Day - that's okay, In out pages all these self-sacrificing individuals don't get the attention they deserve by keeping the United States free.

Each branch has its own medal

Mojave Road Saga

Road less traveled - better have a GPS!

In Southern California there are two main arteries that flow through the Mojave Desert which are lifelines to the Colorado River and Las Vegas - Highways 15 and 40 are traveled more than most other black topped road surfaces in the United States. Millions of travelers per year drive these highways in search of gambling fortunes, cool river life, or just points beyond - what they both share is miles upon miles of desert landscape.

Towns such as Essex, Baker, Yermo, Barstow, Ludlow and numerous other exits (actually there aren't that many) are mere pinpoints on a map. The traveler drives and looks out the window at cactus, sage, blowing tumbleweeds and thousands of square miles of brown desert dirt.

This is the place Patton trained his tank crews for the operations in North Africa during WWII - it's desolate - it's lonely - it's rough and it's the right place for an adventure.

General Patton in the Mojave Desert during WWII

J along with his trusty companion Paul decided to drive or better yet maneuver the Mojave Road - that stretch of  nearly 140 miles dirt path that parallels the 15 and 40. It's the road which both native Americans traveled for hundreds of years as well as pioneers in the 1800's moving to the promised land. It's rough, dirty, a bit scary, and bloody hot - especially at the end of May and beginning of June where temperatures can easily reach over 100. It did - 102 and 103.

Laureen stayed poolside at home - the thought of night after night tenting in open hot rough country didn't appeal to her this time - dipping her feet into cool water did. This from the woman who loved the Amazon Rain Forest - well not really loved it but went along on that adventure wholeheartedly - the Mojave Road was a different matter. Besides who would look after the four doggies on the home-front?

The boys left on the morning of the 29th of May heading to the Avi Resort on the Colorado River - that would be the jumping off point.

Paul with the Colorado River in the background - the beginning.

Research had been conducted, maps printed, warnings of traveling in only one vehicle discussed and then put away, and the most important tool purchased. A Mojave Road guidebook by Dennis Casebier was a must since this individual has traveled the road more times than anyone could count and the directions - starting off at Avi - were right on with exact mileage and GPS coordinates.

A Must if you want to be safe!

As stated this was not a trip for the faint of heart - this would be like going back in time to follow the footpaths and wagon wheels of those who have gone on before us - the true pioneers who risked it all in an unforgiving desert for a better life. Unlike those John and Paul called once again on the intrepid Toyota FJ - the workhouse of so many of our blogs. The vehicle which has never let J and L down.

New tires, new steel rims, new off road bumper and a 9,000 pound winch were added to the FJ to ensure she (hope that's not taken as sexist) was ready for an off road ordeal. All research stated not to do the trip in one vehicle but one vehicle was all we had.

With the top rack loaded with an extra tire (the FJ already has a spare on the rear door) in case we encountered two blow outs, shovel, hard gravel rake, floor jack we were confident in the tire area. Plenty of water, extra gasoline, tent, cots, and all the other camping needs made us feel that we would at least have some comforts of home on this trip. The FJ was jammed packed with supplies but when the trip is supposed to take three days and may stretch into four one has to be prepared - cell phones are spotty at the best being this remote (in fact John was completely off the grid for nearly 36 hours and Paul's cell didn't do much better).

We followed Dennis's guidebook and learned that the desert isn't a place which is only brown but one of pure beauty and brimming with life. No, while driving on the 15 or 40 a person may look out at the brown of the desert and believe there is nothing worthwhile to view but they are totally wrong - there is so much to see and learn about the Mojave Desert - the only problem is its remoteness and sometimes unforgiving nature.

This road - this Mojave Road is only for four wheel drive vehicles and is only for those who want to get out of their comfort zone to learn the truth about what a beautiful and vibrant world there is between to long lines of black top.

In the next four or five blogs more details on this trip will be written about - hopefully the readers will learn to understand and love this piece of history - this road had to offer.

Not far from the Avi Resort 

We explored and gained knowledge about this part of Southern California we hadn't known existed.

From Bootlegging to Nascar

Bootlegging, the illegal activity of getting outlawed moonshine (distilled high octane liquor) through the backwoods of the south without being stopped by the Revenuers (federal tax collectors) was a tough and dangerous job. The shiner’s wanted to sell their hooch without paying taxes and the government wanted their money – the two did not see eye to eye on the arrangement. Started in the Prohibition days but continued afterwards because people wanted their ‘shine’ and the feds wanted the tax for that wanting.

That'd be Hooch in the trunk - Officer

It was also exciting fun to be driving stripped down muscle cars along dark lonely roads at all hours wondering where the feds would be waiting. Here and there suddenly a police cruiser would pick up chase and it was up to the guts and skills of the moonshiner to make their daring escape. With large uncorked engines (horsepower maxed to the limit), gutted auto bodies (all non-essential parts taken out to lessen the weight) and with the skill of race car drivers the moonshiners raced away from the pursuer leaving them in the proverbial dust. Even to this day the war between the revenuers and the moonshiners continues in the south east portion of the United States – doubt it – check out ‘Moonshiners’ on the Discovery Channel. The past is the present with these folks wanting to make their ‘shine’ while the federal government tries weekly to close down the stills. Who will win – watch the reality television show and learn on your own.

The damn blog - now I remember.

But back to the blog.

Eluding the authorities was way too much fun and after a couple of decades someone decided to try having this sort of excitement on permanent tracks. No one could watch the routine chase scenes taking place in the hinterlands so why not bring the drivers and spectators together in one venue.

Catch me if you can, Coppers!

There were already race tracks throughout the south but each had their own rules and regulations which was confusing and also often times didn’t account for the real money being taken in by the races with winners earning nothing. It was a very corrupt way to run any contest.

Races but not fair purses for the drivers.

There needed to be a hero to get this all right. A person who would stand up for the bootleggers who wanted to go straight and earn lots of cash.

And that's where Billy France comes into the scene.

William (Bill) France Sr. moved to Daytona Beach in 1935 and realized the potential for a racing phenomena. In December of 1947 he met with well-known racers who would run their stripped down street vehicles with supped up engines around tracks trying to earn enough to rebuild their vehicles. Prize money wasn’t much to write home about in the early days of car racing. 

But on February 21, 1948 NASCAR was born with clear regulations, rules and static prize money for winners and losers. The National Association for Stock Car Racing (NASCAR) proved to be a boon for Bill France Sr. and the other investors starting so small in 1948 and expanding into the mega-business it is today.

NASCAR is broadcast in over 150 countries worldwide and Fortune 500 companies sponsor NASCAR more than any other motor sport on the planet. Compared to other sports NASCAR has the record of holding the top 17 out of 20 single-day sporting events internationally by spectator. The sport is still growing competing in more and more countries each year and soon will be racing in Japan as it is Canada and Mexico.

Large and loud crowds!

From the days of ‘shiners’ outrunning law enforcement to a guy coming up with a good idea in Dayton Beach, Florida – world headquarters for NASCAR – to a multi-billion dollar enterprise has been the history of this sport from down south.

Danika Patrick - a woman with a dream - she crashed though.

A dreamer had a dream and that dream turned into pure enjoyment for fans who love to do nothing but watch race cars speeding around an oval track at over two hundred miles per hour, eat greasy and fried food, drink beer, and be with their friends.

Sometimes there is a little smoke.

Today, as stated, NASCAR is a huge sport that includes people from all walks of life from around the world. Interesting when one looks into the history of something that started so small, but profitable, on the wrong side of the law turns out to be such a huge success.

People like chances, they like speed, they like fancy painted cars, and they really love those that sit cramped behind break-away steering wheels with their foot to the metal. The drivers give it all for the audience who give it their all - it is truly a synergistic relationship.

Sounds pretty thrilling to J and L and the between 40 to 50 million fans of the sport from around the globe.

NASCAR is nothing but Patriotic!

And sometimes a goofy hat is just right.

Where Did They All Go?

J and L enjoy traveling together at all times but there are those instances when one or the other have to kiss the other goodbye for various reasons. Once in a while exploring with Paul (the 3rd leg of J and L) J will take off but business is the general culprit when L or J separate for various conferences around the country.

Happy feet traveling together

One such situation occurred recently when J glided into the blue skies of Southern California heading east toward Phoenix for an educational conference being held in Scottsdale. Arizona is a favorite haunt for researching and exploring and this time it would be researching to learn how truly effective schools and districts work most effectively.

Students should always come first when it comes to education and the chance to improve the educational benefits of those students is always key.

But this blog has nothing to do with education – it has to do with missing people.

J arrived an hour and half early to Ontario International Airport for the short flight to Phoenix when he was taken aback by the displays that lined the north side of Terminal 4 where Southwest Airlines hub is located.

By Gates 400’s, his was 403, there were glass enclosures with five quart sized milk bottles in each of the seven displays with photographs of missing people on them. Surprising the majority were adults who had disappeared throughout the years from personal relationships ending, self-exile, running from debtors, or perhaps more of a nefarious nature.

Have you see me?

 To bring attention to the fact that millions of people each year make it to the list of those people who just end up missing with no idea of what happened to them was the reason for the displays.

Milk cartons with photographs of faces of those missing was the brainchild of the dairy industry in 1984 who believed since milk was a staple in the home perhaps people may recognize those identified on the cartons as missing. Maybe it was Anderson Erickson Dairy or Wisconsin’s Hawthorn Melody Farm Dairy but whoever was given credit it carried on for many years until the late 1980’s when Dr. Benjamin Spock (yeah, the one who later apologized to parents about raising their children since he didn’t have a clue) and others said the milk cartons may frighten children unnecessarily. 

Where is this woman?

Maybe it would have frightened those who wanted to steal children from their parents also – but that’s just conjecture at this point.  It was all started, per research, when the high profile case of Etan Patz who was abducted in 1979 on his way to school and later by John Walsh, father of Adam Walsh who was kidnapped in 1981. Whoever or whatever was the cause the point was made nationwide that people, not only children, go missing in unheard of numbers every year.

Artist Brandy Eve Allen created the plaster casts of the milk cartons from the early 1980’s recently as an art exhibit in Los Angeles and other locations such as Ontario International Airport. A stark reminder of what lurks behind the darkness of abduction.

Everybody needs milk and what a clever innovation but then again it was from an artist who grabbed that decades old idea and brought it again to the forefront of society.

 Then again most artists are pretty creative – that is what separates them from the rest of humanity in just one way.

 J is an artist, if being a professional writer counts – he says it does so we’ll leave it there.

Of course, those milk cartons aren’t as popular any longer in the 21^st Century and perhaps it’s because they didn’t find all the missing people or perhaps the missing people really didn’t want to be found or perhaps no one cares any longer. Or perhaps Dr. Spock was right and a child kidnapped from his loving family and saw their face on a milk carton would be too frightened to turn themselves in – NOT!

 Who knows?

Whatever the case it was rather eerie for J to arrive at his gate to find it deserted with faces staring out from plaster milk cartons from behind locked glass cases.

That's J in the hat - not a missing person

Looking around the seating areas contained none of the usual waiting passengers, the white tiled halls void of the sound of footsteps, no annoying announcements bellowing indistinguishable comments from the ceilings, and no planes standing majestically at the end of the flexible tethers.

No planes

No passengers - zero

He certainly could not have been the only passenger on Southwest flight 182 bound for Phoenix on this unusually warm winter day in February – it couldn’t be. But where were all the people? Gate after gate was devoid of human activity – dead silence filled the air.

Had he gone missing? Would he end up on a milk carton in some aairport lobby some day?

Being a fictional writer J immediately began to conjure up images of him being the only passenger at Ontario that day. Of course, he had been cattle called through TSA with dozens of other customers and as he walked to his gate there were people gathered around the various restaurants, bars, and sundry shops but where had they all gone?

Where was everyone?

Fifteen minutes later life was back to normal – screeching over the intercom systems about not leaving bags attended, suitcases making click-clack sounds across the tiled floors, and the munch- munch of people chewing whatever items they had purchased in the various food stores they had passed on the way to their individual gates.

Life again took center stage on the tarmac

There are all the people!

He wasn’t missing after all but simply early to the wing of the airport where his gate was located.

Though, there could be a story in all of this anyway.

Three Days and No Agenda

Iconic sight on the boardwalk

The sun rose over the eastern canyons of Laugna Beach with a brightness that promised well needed warmth.

Thank goodness for the rising sun

Warmth requested at a beach community in Southern California even during winter seemed a little farfetched but when J and L left their suite at the Laguna Canyon Resort for a day’s outing recently the thermometer in the car registered a dismal 32 degrees – yes, freezing!

May not look like it but it was cold!!

Uncalled for – undemocratic – unearthly – unwarm – and downright chilly.

The Resort was only a minute from the Coast Highway but in that short drive we gained the sight of the blue ocean and ten degrees. The day was looking promising for wandering the sights of the eclectic world of Laguna Beach with its myriad of enticing shops and delicious restaurants.

Chilly but a sweater did the trick.

What better place to have a breakfast while watching the glint of sun skid across the Pacific toward the outlying island of Catalina only twenty-six miles to the west? We found the Cliff and a marvelous breakfast while watching paddle boarders making their way southward over the clear blue waters.

Yes, the day was going to be fabulous with the clear skies, full stomach and nothing on the agenda – literally nothing.

Laguna Beach - a beautiful place to visit

Normally when on an outing J and L ensure there is no downtime with the belief that life is short and every second of traveling needs to be full of exploration but on this three day holiday to the coast no plans except relaxing and walking the crowded and welcoming streets of this idyllic beach town of nearly 23,000 souls.

Laguna Beach was founded in 1887 even though people had been living in the region far before that; the Native American tribe Tongva lived there centuries before the white settlers ventured down the canyons created millions by the San Diego Creek carving its way through the San Joaquin Hills. Then in 1944, the actual town of Laguna Beach was created and the rest is history.

New Orleans? No, Laguna Beach.

The storybook town has played host to many Hollywood movers and shakers including Betty Gable, Mickey Rooney, Charlie Chaplin and even today people like marine artist Robert Wyland, comedian Rita Rudner, tennis champion Rick Leach and Stray Cats bassist Lee Rocker call the small water front community home.

It is a city rich in history and things to do – obviously the clear waters beckon surfers, paddle boarders, kayakers, divers, and just those who want to push bare toes into the white sand looking out over the calming effect of the Pacific Ocean. Just a few miles south of Newport Beach lies this almost villagesque locale which boasts over three million tourists per year making tourism its number one industry.

A view and a cold local brew - Paradise

In the afternoon visitors often grab cocktails or a bite from rooftop restaurants with only the horizon for their view. 

Sunsets are something to behold as the light slowly dissipates into the blue waters just over the curvature of the earth and sometimes – just sometimes that green flash can be seen when the sun says goodnight. J has been fortunate enough to see two of these extremely rare phenomena in Mexico but not on this trip to Laguna Beach though the sunsets were spectacular in themselves.

Unfortunately not our photograph

What exactly is a green flash? Isn't that just a myth? Only to those who never had the chance to see it for themselves. The green flash is a result of refraction most likely seen in clear, stable air when the light from the setting sun can reach the observer without being scattered. You might expect to see a blue flash since we know the sky is blue as blue light is refracted most of all in the spectrum, and thus the last of the light from the sun to reach us before it dips below the horizon. But in a blue sky, the blue is preferentially scattered and that last beam appears green.

Three days, actually two and a half when including drive time, with no plans was a perfect way to settle down after the holidays. Of course, there will be a couple more follow-up blogs about this trip and what was leaned about what is going on in Laguna Beach but for now it was just nice to write about doing nothing but enjoying the time together. Sure, we relaxed but the camera and notes were part of the mini-vacation as always.