A Big Rock - Really Big!

I (John) was recently asked if I would be interested in seeing a pot o noodle. Not much into instant foods, I declined the invitation.

“Dude, it’s really cool and not far from here.”

“I may have some Top Ramen somewhere in the pantry. Will that suffice?”

Turns out I was wrong on both counts. We didn’t have Top Ramen in the pantry, and the pot o noodle I was invited to visit wasn’t an instant dietary food source.

Pot o Noodle is not food, but the actual name of the giant rock near the town of Landers. In fact, it was once the largest free standing boulder in the world. That is, until sometime in the year 2000, when a huge section – oh, I’d say the size of a two-bedroom apartment – split from the main section.
It’s big, even with the piece lying next to it. The rock covers nearly 5,800 square feet and is almost seven stories high.

That ain't no can of noodles - it's just a big rock sitting there

I have no idea what Pot o Noodle stands for and the more I researched the name, the stranger the results became.

Let’s just say, Pot o Noodle, means, an extremely large piece of granite in the middle of the Mojave Desert that you cannot eat, looks nothing like noodles and wouldn’t fit in a pot anyway.

The Native Americans, who resided in the area of Joshua Tree, believed the giant rock and surrounding locale was sacred. Again, I have no solid understanding of why any particular area is considered sacred, but I feel that way about certain breweries. Not trying to be sacrilegious here; just saying to each man his own.

What is really interesting is all the – how does one politely talk about craziness in others? Oh, I know, the craziness some people adhered to what is aptly named Giant Rock.

For the record, I will never knock someone’s belief, no matter how crazy it may sound. I wrote that with a straight face.

Off Highway 247, near the city of Landers, is a humongous rock or boulder or big piece of granite just sitting on top of the desert. It’s big. A family of twelve could live on the square footage it takes up and maybe not see each other but once a week. For some families, that may be still too much togetherness – but, I digress.

The rock has been there for eons - that’s an indefinite and very long period of time. It’s also a term that can be used for exaggeration or humorous purposes.

Allow me to elucidate: Laureen and I went shopping and it took her eons to select a new purse. See, that’s used in a humorous or exaggerated way, because it only took four bloody hours, two malls and six stores, not an eon. On the other hand, I got lunch and two beers out of the bargain. Fair exchange, but I digress. Back to the rock.

Giant Rock has been there a long time and since it’s been there so long, it took on a persona of its own. Something almost mystical. Something that cannot be explained. Something that must be hiding the secrets of the universe.

In the 1930s, this big rock got the attention of Frank Critzer. He knew that tortoises and other desert life often burrowed beneath rocks and such to keep cool in the summer and warm in the winter. A great idea for burrowing critters.

So, Frank decided to follow the example of our reptilian cousins and soon Frank had dug himself a home, with the help of dynamite, beneath the largest rock on earth. He reported that his home beneath the rock never got above 80 degrees in summer, and never below 55 degrees in winter. Forget solar panels – he had found the perfect solution for comfort and relied on nothing but Mother Earth – literally.

Actually, Frank was a sort of a genius and not only built the home for himself, but set up an airport right near the rock on the dry lake bed. There would sometimes be one to two flights a week coming to visit Frank and his very unique abode.

If you miss the runway - there's about a million miles of desert to the left

It is rumored that Howard Hughes actually flew out to visit Frank’s home, invited by George van Tassel. Tassel was an auto mechanic (his actual history is a bit fuddled) who had met Frank and thought the man was interesting enough to maintain a friendship with. He would keep up that friendship until Frank died in 1942.
This is the realm where novels are created. There is mystery and intrigue about how and why Frank died on the July 25th of 1942.

Frank, not wanting to be totally out of reach with the world, had erected a tall radio antenna on top of Giant Rock. A German immigrant erecting the large antenna, living under a rock in the middle of the desert, attracted the curiosity of local law enforcement.

So, on that 25th of July, three deputies from Riverside County arrived to ask Frank certain questions. We all know the questions – it’s World War II, a guy of German heritage is lives beneath a rock in the middle of nowhere and has a large radio antennae bolted to the top of that rock.

That’s right, he must be stealing radio signals to listen to ball games for free.

As the deputies approached the hole that served as a doorway to Frank’s house, there was a terrible explosion. The three deputies received injuries, one very seriously, and unfortunately, Frank died during the explosion.

Was it an accident? That would be for the conspiracy theorists or novelists to determine at a later date.

Well, after that incident, Frank’s friend Tassel moved out there and became convinced there was something really special about the area. So special, that he believed alien life forms visited from time to time.

The largest rock on earth – why wouldn’t aliens want to visit it? The happiest place on earth, wasn’t to be built in Anaheim until 1955, so they had to have somewhere to go in the forties.

So, since that time, UFO enthusiasts routinely visit the area looking for signs of life from the heavens. Not sure that’s a great idea though – there’ve been enough Alien films (6) to know that never turns out well for the human race.

Calling all aliens, or humans who believe

But one thing, a visit to Giant Rock in Landers is a great experience. Fresh air, no crowds, and the history of this place is fascinating. Frank Critzer, was simply a man determined to find his own way in a chaotic time. Was he a hero, as some may claim? Who was George van Tassel? Those are questions only those reading their personal histories can determine.

But what isn’t in question, is Giant Rock is worth the trip. It really is. And, if I haven’t made the point, it’s really, really big. I mean, really. As in giant.

Easter During a Pandemic

These are strange times for the United States; no, strike that - for the entire globe. This Coronavirus, COVID-19, has changed how each and everyone conducts daily business. Nothing is quite the same any longer.

If it is, then you're not following the guidelines. Wash your hands constantly. Sneeze into your elbow. Don't shake hands. Don't hug anyone. Stand six feet apart from any other human. Stay indoors whenever possible. Wear a mask covering your mouth and nose if you dare step outside - some counties in the country have made it a misdemeanor not to follow that last guideline.

How we got here as a world population can be discussed or argued about at a later date. That conversation will surely take up volumes of new books, countless documentaries, and enough politicians blowing hot air at each other to inflate every balloon in the world.

But what about Easter? One of the holiest and important religious days on the calendar for Christians. It's right around the corner - how do we celebrate such a momentous holy day when we are stuck indoors - alone or with a few family members?

During the Spanish Influenza pandemic in 1918, people worshiped indoors and actually maintained social physical distancing from each other. As we are hunkering down now, so did our ancestors during that time period.

The toll of that pandemic, lasting from 1918 to 1919, caused an estimated 50 million deaths world wide, the United States saw at least 675,000 fatalities.

It was a horrific time to be alive, wondering if you would be the following day. But, the human spirit was strong and endured. People stayed home as best they could, didn't gather in large groups, wore masks, and began to practice better sanitation. It all worked.

They celebrated Easter, as well as the other holy days and holidays, avoiding each other but they still celebrated.

Why celebrate when things are going so badly? Because it is the human spirit. There are good times and there are bad times.

Good times are easy to get through. Stock market nearing thirty thousand on the DOW, that is easy to deal with. A promotion at work, really easy to deal with.

But people getting ill and dying from an invisible virus, not so easy. Sadness and despair wreaks havoc in homes and towns. Uncertainty fills the air, but again, the human DNA will kick in and we will move forward, knowing things will get better.

Lives may never really return to normal, but what does that mean in the large scale of things anyway?

When passengers gave up boarding trains in lieu of airplanes, life wasn't really the same. When the horse was given up for the automobile, life wasn't really the same.

So, perhaps, in the future, when this monster of a virus is laid to rest, life will return to something approximating normal but it probably won't be quite the same. It will be a new normal.

And that's okay. It will become the norm in the very near future and the normal we once recognized will be written about in the history books.

So, celebrate Easter at home this year - watch a church service on the television or internet. Worship with those in your own home. Read an uplifting piece of writing - religious or not. Our opinion only, going to church does not require a building or specific denomination - no, worshiping comes from within - no matter what religion. Depending on what source, the word church, actually means where people gather for a common purpose. So, have that church at home.

These are strange times for everyone - but we will get through this and hopefully be better for the trials and tribulations thrown upon all of us.

In the meantime though, the new normal will be fine and we will adjust.

From us to you - Happy Easter

Llano, a Socialist Failure

Robbyn, a fan of local history contacted us and described a place to visit that she had heard about through family stories. After a few more historical tidbits from Robbyn, we discovered those family legends were indeed based on historical facts.

 As with all stories – let’s start at the beginning.

At fifty-five years of age, Job Harriman had had it with his law practice and his political aspirations. The defeated California candidate for governor with the Socialist Labor Party in 1898, and the defeated Vice-Presidential candidate for the United States with the Democratic Socialist Party in 1900, and twice defeated for mayor of Los Angeles, Harriman knew a change of scenery was needed.
So, in 1913, the avowed socialist decided he could build a community where all worked together, to make a better tomorrow.

He lost that race, as well as all others

According the to the book, Two Hundred Years of American Communes (Yaacov Oved, 1987), Harriman was quoted, “It became apparent to me, that people would never abandon their means of livelihood, good or bad, capitalistic or otherwise, until other methods were developed which would promise advantages at least as good as those by which they were living.”
 
And who wouldn’t like those sort of promises?

What Harriman needed was a place to put down roots for his desire of everyone living in harmony with each other, without disagreements or turmoil.

Hmmm, most people can’t get two hours of that at a family Thanksgiving dinner.

Anyway, that paradise was approximately 45 miles northeast of the city of Los Angeles, in the Antelope Valley. Utopia had been waiting for a visionary and Harriman was that dreamer, thus, his socialist enclave would become a reality on May 1st, 1914.

But first Harriman needed money to purchase the nearly 9,000 acres in the unincorporated area of Los Angeles County, in the town of Llano.

This is where his friend and socialist banker, Gentry P. McCorkle, from the city of Corona, came into play. Socialist banker? That seems like an oxymoron. But in the book, Bread and Hyacinths: The Rise and Fall of Utopian Los Angeles (Paul Greenstein, etal, 1992), Harriman is quoted as proposing his dream to McCorkle, “If you join me and a few other of my friends, we will build a city and make homes for many a homeless family. We will show the world a trick they do not know, which is how to live without war or interest in money or rent on land or profiteering in any manner.”

McCorkle was in, and Llano del Rio was soon up and running. Of course, being in the High Desert, there was a need for water, but Harriman and McCorkle had also purchased the water rights from the Mescal Land and Water Company, which had control over most of the water from Big Rock Creek. This stream, active for much of the year, got its water from the San Gabriel Mountains to the south and should be plenty to sustain a thriving colony. Or so they assumed.

In Harriman’s magazine, The Western Comrade, large advertisements went nationwide inviting like-minded individuals to this sparsely populated but beautiful location in Southern California. He touted how the land would be a bountiful mecca for all sorts of agricultural products.

There were some catches before a person could become a member of the commune – and, isn’t there always a catch in paradise?

First, a person had to believe in the tenets of socialism. Second, the person had to have three socialist references. Third, you had to purchase two thousand shares of the Llano del Rio Company at a dollar a share. And fourth, you had to be Caucasian – won’t touch that last requirement here. 

Rules? Comrade Beyer says, we don't need no stinking rules

Of course, Llano del Rio promised a living wage of four dollars per day for labor – that was a good deal higher pay than normal for that time. But, if a person didn’t have the money for the shares, they were allowed to purchase three-quarters on credit to the company.
Simple math, one dollar a day to the loan debt, the other daily amount for living expenses provided by the company, and the leftover of an individual wages went into a general account for the community. At times of surplus, all would share in the profits from the combined work.
Turned out, there never seemed to be much of a surplus at all.

I paid a dollar a day, and didn't even get a roof over my head

People started arriving from around the country, and in the first year, over 150 people lived in Llano del Rio. Most lived in tents with their families, but soon stone structures started to appear.  The comrades built stone meeting halls, dormitories, and even a small hotel, among other buildings, making the area a real community. Rather a laudable accomplishment. By the beginning of 1917, nearly 1,100 people resided at Llano del Rio. But as with many dreams, this one of Harriman’s didn’t quite pan out.

Distrust and accusations started erupting at Llano del Rio between various group members. Some like the Brush Gang, who had private meetings outside (thus the name), complained the board of directors treated themselves better than the rest of the community. True or not, mistrust creeped in.
It seemed, to paraphrase George Orwell, all comrades were equal but some comrades were more equal than others.

By the end of 1917, most members had moved away and in 1918, Llano del Rio filed bankruptcy. Many of the original members, including Harriman had relocated to New Llano, in Louisiana to start over at the end of 1917. That dream also ended in 1937.

The dream kind of went up in smoke

As we walked among the ruins of Llano del Rio, Laureen and I met a couple from Los Angeles, Chris and Joanne, who were also visiting the site. Chris had explored the area by motorcycle quite often and always wondered what the story behind all the stone remains were.

Remaining walls for community quarters

“So much history and so close to home.”

We agreed. It’s interesting to walk among the concrete and rock remains of what was once touted as a community for all and which in reality became a community for none.