Fairmount Park, Riverside, CA

The great American author, John Steinbeck once wrote – ‘You can’t go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.’ 

John Steinbeck - a great writer

When I had first read that in his non-fiction book, Travels with Charley: In Search of America, I didn’t completely comprehend what he had been trying to suggest.

Actually, it was more like - What, the heck was this guy thinking? You can’t go home? Home no longer exists? Memories of mothballs? And by the way, what is a mothball?

Decades after reading those words, it made sense. I was born and raised in Riverside, California before relocating to the High Desert. Yes, I would visit Riverside quite often when my parents were alive, but after they were gone – the visits pretty much stopped.

Oh, we would still drive down during the Christmas holidays to take in the Mission Inn’s Festival of Lights. Perhaps drive down Victoria Avenue to take in the beautiful rows of orange trees – and yes, once in a while drive down the street, and pass the house I had spent my childhood in.

The Mission Inn in Riverside during the Christmas Season

Pleasant memories. Those days when all I had to ponder was going to school, hanging out with friends, and doing some chores. It would be later in life that the reality of careers, parenting, mortgages, utilities, food, and all the rest of the grown-up responsibilities would make their presence known.

More like – geez, did I really sign up for all this adulthood drama?

Recently, I had to drive down the hill to Riverside to pick up a few items for a party one of our daughters was having. Of course, it was to be a COVID-19 compliant party – with the limit on guests to only six family members, and each guest would sequester into their own room. We would communicate with each other by means of a string attached to metal cans. 

I arrived a bit early to pick up the items and found there was about an hour to burn. Never let an hour to burn go to waste, is one of my mottos.

Heading west on Route 60 from the junction with Interstate 215, I exited on Market Street and found myself driving through a place that was full of recollections of my youth. 

Fairmount Park is an iconic place in the city of Riverside. Two hundred and fifty acres of relaxation.

In 1911, the city commissioned the nation’s first landscape architectural company to design an urban park. The company, first started by Frederick Law Olmsted, and later taken over by his sons John Charles Olmsted and Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. had a great amount of experience developing barren land into things of natural beauty.

Some of their most famous works were Yale University in New Haven, Stanford University in California, and Central Park in New York City, just to name a few. 

This talented group of landscaping architects was as busy as bees in spring. Just thought I’d throw that in – I’ve seen bees buzzing a lot in spring, and they seem pretty busy. Same with the folks from Olmsted and Olmsted.

With this incredible resume, the city of Riverside knew they had the best team on their side.

“Well, let’s grab some shovels and start planting trees!” one of the city planners gushed.

“Yes, some giant Redwoods would be nice, and perhaps a wading pool with duckies,” suggested a city engineer.

“Hmmm, I believe it may take some time to design the park before we start the actual process,” either John or Frederick Jr. replied.

“Oh,” said the city planner. “I’ll put the shovels back in the shed.”

It took nearly thirteen years to complete the project, but the time and effort were worth it. In those years, Olmsted and Olmsted turned vacant land into an inviting and restful respite for the city residents.

There were walking trails through lush green grass areas. With the completion of Lake Evans, there was plenty of space to fish and to use sailboats or rowboats. There were tall trees to lay beneath on hot summer days. A bandstand to listen to music by local bands. Eventually, tennis courts, lawn bowling areas, and a large rose garden complete with a gazebo were completed, making Fairmount Park something to be very proud of, in this city nestled beside the Santa Ana River.

Looks like a nice place to take a restful saunter

The rose garden with a beautiful gazebo

As I drove around the park, beneath trees with branches nearly covering the entire roadway, I recalled riding my bicycle to the park countless times with friends when I was young. It was the place to go. A few miles of peddling, and soon we would find ourselves at this beautiful oasis with so much to do.

No one was supposed to swim in Lake Evans. Signs were posted everywhere. But, and that’s the pivotal word ‘but’ after riding along the streets of Riverside, we were hot and sweaty.

My mother would ask, more than once, “Why is it that you get pink eye so often?”

Pink eye, again?

I had no answer, as most kids wouldn’t, knowing that swimming in a muddy, dirty, but inviting lake might be the reason.

Ancient thoughts of days spent at the lake ran through me as I continued my slow drift through the wonderfully green park. A tree inventory conducted in 1985, determined that many of the trees planted during the building of the park were still living. It made sense, as I walked around a bit and marveled at the size of some of the Montezuma Cypress trees – it looked as though it would take four or five adults linked together to wrap their arms around the trunks.

Another view of the lake at Fairmount Park

It was Olmsted’s idea that these trees would forever be home to many different species of birds. Listening to the chirping above me in the limbs, I knew these architects would be very happy with their choice of Taxodium mucronatum – that’s the botanical name for this tree. 

As I continued around the park, I saw a group of young ladies walking and chit-chatting with each other.

I wanted to get their take on the park. Why were they walking around it? How often did they do it? 

Slowing, I rolled my window down and proceeded with caution – I didn’t want to come across as a park creep and get sprayed with mace.

“Excuse me,” I said in my friendliest tone – maybe that did sound kind of creepy. “I’m a writer, and was wondering if I could ask you, ladies, a couple of questions?”

“What do you write?” asked one of the women.

“This and that, mainly about traveling to places worth visiting.”

“Sure, ask away,” Silvia said.

“Do you walk through the park often and why?”

Mary replied. “The park is near my house and it so beautiful and clean out here. Makes me feel great each morning as we take this mile walk.”

“I love it here,” Barbara stated. “I’ve been coming to this park since I was a child with my parents.

“It’s a piece of history for Riverside. Look around, it’s green, peaceful, and the rose garden is something no one would get tired of looking at.”

“My husband and I love hanging out in here in the summer. So relaxing,” finished Silvia.

In the summer, how couldn't this be relaxing

In full disclosure, the four women were speaking so quickly and my note-taking was so slow, that I’m not sure I got the correct quotes with the correct person. I don’t think they will mind though, the bottom line was they love Fairmount Park.

In fact, in 2011 the American Planning Association designated the park as a ‘Great Public Space.’ That same year, the City Parks Alliance out of Washington D.C., also designated Fairmount Park as a ‘Frontline Park’ – a jewel in the park system.

As I drove out of the park and headed toward my original destination, I thought back to what Steinbeck had written.

Memories of the past may not be allowed to exist in reality alongside the present, but that doesn’t mean new memories cannot be created.

And isn’t that what traveling is all about? 

  Laureen and I recently visited the Agua Mansa Cemetery in the city of Colton. It is supposedly one of the most haunted locations in Southern California. What better place to encounter other worldly spirits?

The cemetery is the only reminder of what was once part of the thriving community of Agua Mansa. Established in 1845, in what was then Alta California, a town of non-native settlers located against the flowing waters of the Santa Ana River. Agua Mansa, actually means – gentle water. It was here folks established a home and it soon became the largest settlement in San Bernardino County.

A church had been built across the river in the town of La Placita, that was later destroyed in 1852, sinking in quicksand. A new church was built in Agua Mansa in 1853, so both towns had a place to worship together.

But in 1862, strong rains came to the area, causing the Santa Ana River to dangerously flood into both towns, destroying the majority of the houses and businesses. People tried to rebuild what they once had, but to no avail. Prosperity never did return, and like many places, both towns were pretty much abandoned.

But the cemetery survived – strange way to put that. The first burial, was in 1852, which could make this cemetery the oldest in Southern California. Though, others make that claim, like the Evergreen Cemetery in Los Angeles, which was built in 1877. Math, was never my favorite subject, but something built twenty-five years earlier, would make this one older. 

Anyway, one of the most observed, or imagined hauntings at Agua Mansa Cemetery, is the legend of La Llorona'. It is a sad story about a woman who got rid of her children, won’t go into any more detail here, since it breaks the heart. After what she did, according to legend, she walks the cemetery looking for her children. Her screams can be heard above the whistling winds streaking across the crumbling tombstones.

                                          La Llorona', with her children before killing them

Besides, La Llorona', there are supposed to be ghosts wandering around the place like crowds lining up at Starbucks. Ghosts with no heads, ghosts with no limbs, ghosts with lanterns, ghosts walking dogs, and ghosts reading my novels.

                                                                   Not a bad novel 

I made that up, well, not all of it. Many people claim to have seen ghosts as I mentioned above, with the exception of the ones reading my novels. But, it could happen.

I have no idea what is seen at this cemetery, since it was closed. The cemetery is getting so popular with ghost hunters, that the county has the five acre parcel completely fenced off, including topped with barbed wire. There are hours listed on the high front gate – we were there when it was supposed to be open, but it was not.

Perhaps it has to do with COVID-19 - doesn’t everything now? But maybe, the place is getting too many visitors and those visitors are not respecting that it is an actual cemetery and its history. Not just a place to search for ghosts.

We were there to experience that history, research and investigate, but that ended at the front entrance.

“Now what?” Laureen asked.

“Peek through the chain link, and see if there’s someone walking a dog with no head,” I responded.

“Don’t tell me if you do.”

I didn’t see anything except acres of dry grass, bushes, trees, and tombstones. Nearly two thousand people are interred at Agua Mansa Cemetery. It is truly, hallowed ground.

                                              Just a deserted old cemetery - no ghosts

A sad note – of the two thousand, only about fourteen hundred people have been identified. Maybe, it is the unknown resting there that are so restless, wanting others to know who they are.

Peering even deeper into the fenced off grounds, I didn’t see anything moving about. Snapping a few shots on my camera, I knew this adventure was pretty much over.

“What do you think?”

 “It’s nearly noon, so I believe a lunch at Victoria Garden, and some shopping are in order.”

“Let’s be professional. Did you see any ghosts? How about that lady looking for her kids, or the guy walking his dog?”

Laureen closed her eyes. “I see my husband buying a nice lunch, and a couple of shops.”

That was haunting enough.

But, we weren’t over with our searching just yet.

Turns out, there is a house in the city of Fontana that may be haunted by none other than the infamous gangster, Alphonse Gabriel Capone. Yes, the very Al Capone who was known as Scarface, due to a large scar running down his left cheek. Of course, no one called him Scarface to his face – or head. 

“Whatsa madder with you? Calling me Scarface to my scarred face! Have this mutt thrown into the river, with a pair of nice matching cement loafers.”

Nope, you didn’t call the boss of the Chicago Outfit, anything but Mr. Capone.

                                                              Mr. Al 'Scarface' Capone

Our friend, Paul Bakas, who grew up in Fontana, once told me about Al Capone owning a house in his home town. For whatever reason, I never bothered researching to determine if the mobster actually had lived in the area. But today, it seemed like a good time to see if Laureen and I could find it.

Sure enough, dozens of sites list the address of the home, its history, and all the great rumors about the residence. 

The home is located at – wait, no address will be given, since it is privately owned, and I’m sure those folks don’t want a bunch of looky-loos driving around in their neighborhood.

So, just Google – Al Capone’s house in Fontana, and see what you will see. There – no address given, I feel so much better.

According to Inside the Inland Empire, in an article written by Ghostpainer (how apropos for this article) on May 3rd, 2007 – you knew it was the house owned by Capone, because it had a large ‘C’ on the exterior of one of the fireplaces.

That was enough for me. Forget lunch for the moment – we were off to see the Capone house.

“What if the people who built the house, were named the Carpenters?” Laureen asked.

“Why would a singing act build a house in Fontana?”

Within twenty minutes we were looking at the house, definitely built in the early twentieth century. The style of the house, from its rounded entryway, tiled roof, large iron double gates, tennis court, and large property just told me this was Capone’s west coast hideaway.

                                                    Now, that's a gangster's house

There are other articles, stating closets lead to escape hallways. Tunnels beneath the property to another street, where a getaway would be certain. Rumors after rumors.

But is the place haunted?

Capone was supposed to be terrified during his prison stay at Alcatraz, in the San Francisco Bay. Guards and other inmates recalled that Capone would scream all night at someone named Jimmy.

“Jimmy, leave me alone!” the prisoner would yell from his tiny cell.

This made sense – perhaps the house in Fontana wasn’t haunted, but only Capone himself, from his lifetime of misdeeds.

The terrible St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, on February 14, 1929, orchestrated by Capone to wipe out a rival gang, had an Albert Kachellek (alias, James “Jimmy” Clark) as one of the murder victims. 

Could it be this ‘Jimmy’ that tormented the sadistic killer while on the Rock? 

Don’t know and don’t really care. But, we were at the house and took some photos. That’s all one can do, unless you know the owner, and we didn’t.

“Well, that was interesting,” I stated.

“And a little creepy.” Laureen agreed. “Now, how about that lunch?”

“Of course.”

“Then shopping,” Laureen replied.

And that, is my true spectre this day – shopping.