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. 

 

Welcome to Goffs

According to Laura Hammonds, the executive director of the Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association, (that is one long title, she has), nearly 3,000 people visit the center each year in Goffs.

Hmmm, what is Goffs? Anyone driving east or west along Highway 40 knows the turn off for Goffs Road. It’s that exit with a certain gas station, won’t say the name but it charges a wee bit higher price for gas than anywhere else. That’s okay – capitalism works and supply and demand is the root of capitalism. But here’s a thought – check your gas gauge before leaving Barstow or Needles. You may be able to afford your kids’ college if you do. Now, I’m a financial whiz.

Back to Goffs.

Goffs, like many of the small towns or villages along Route 66, has an interesting history. And like many, the towns or villages are now non-existent, or very small when it comes to the number of humans living there.

“I’d say, that there are probably ten fulltime residents and maybe twenty-five during peak times,” Laura stated.

Must be very quiet in the desert at night, miles away from the rumble of Highway 40 to the south. Really quiet.

“You can hear a bat flapping its wings while it flies over the Piute Mountains, it’s so quiet here.” That wasn’t really a quote from Laura. I made it up, as I sometimes do – but it must be pretty silent at night – except for one thing:

The railroad that is literally in the town itself. 

“The Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad Goffs crossing is here. The train crosses Route 66 right here at Goffs,” Laura told me. Yes, that’s a real statement, and not one I made up.

That wonderful creation, the railroad which brings us so many of the things we need to make life bearable, sweeps through Goffs at all hours of the day and night, tooting its horn. Things like medicine, food staples, stuff we buy that we don’t really need, and personal hygiene supplies like toilet paper – yes, toilet paper. 

No one will forget the year 2020 – when it wasn’t unusual to see people stop at traffic lights, roll down their windows and ask the driver in another vehicle – Pardon me, but do you    happen to have Charmin Ultra-Soft?

Goffs was originally named, Blake, in 1893 after Isaac Blake, who was the builder of the Nevada Southern Railway. That name was later changed to the California Eastern Railway and that was changed to something else even later on and that changed to something else still later. Seems, as with so many things in life, change is inevitable. And so it is with names of railroads. Today, it is the Santa Fe Railroad for short, and so far that name has stuck. But, who knows what tomorrow may bring? And a rose by any other name…

And the research is not conclusive as to where the name for Goffs name actually originated, but the railroad was using names in an alphabetical way for stops along the tracks. Let’s call this one Goffs? Have no idea why, but won’t it be fun a long time from now having people guessing its origin? There you go, future folks!

My lovely spouse, Laureen, likes to think that Goffs was named after the author Helen Lyndon Goff, who wrote the magical nanny story, Mary Poppins, under the pen name P. L. Tavers. And she says I have an imagination. But who knows?

The history of Goffs goes way back, to when this area saw the likes of Francisco Garces, the first non-native in 1776. The Spanish friar and explorer was looking for an easy passage east and west through the Mojave Desert and spent considerable time not far from present day Goffs. 

In fact, Garces desert route is what we know today as the Mojave Road – that stretch of isolation on which off-roaders love to spend time. I drove that stretch a few years back, in the summer, of course, with only one vehicle, of course – and lived to tell about it. Thanks Friar Garces – in my heart, he’s a saint for watching over not the brightest of desert travelers.

Then the adventurer, Jedediah Smith came through the area twice, once in 1826 and again in 1827, also looking for a route through the oftentimes difficult desert terrain. On one of those adventures, it is believed that Smith was running for his life from the direction of the Colorado River, chased by a group of angry natives. I wasn’t there, but it is a good story all the same. 

Goffs played an important role delivering water for the steam engines on the main line to Barstow. Situated only thirty miles from Needles made this location – at the top of the hill – to be the ideal watering stop for trains. By 1911, there were enough Santa Fe workers and their families to warrant the building of a school house, which was built in 1914.

The school house still stands, and can be visited on the museum grounds, run by the MDHCA – Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association. Along with the school house, there are many exhibits detailing the history of this once thriving town on Route 66.

                                           Goffs school house - no longer used as a school

Like any town along the route, simple paths became wagon trails, then railroad lines and eventually the dirt paths along those railroad lines were paved. And, there you have a road for that contraption called a car.

The United States Army built a training center in the area during WWII called Camp Goffs. It served its purpose until 1944.

According to Laura, “Because of the availability of water and good rail service an entire division was here at Goffs at one time. People can still find military artifacts throughout the Goffs area.”

                                                          Camp Goffs in the 1940's

We all love finding trinkets on our adventures, but if you come across a rusty pointed munitions thingy – please leave it alone. A military button, belt buckle or an abandoned tank, okay – a bomb, not so much.

“Everything that happened in the West, happened here. Mining, homesteading, cattle ranching, railroad, and Route 66. It all happened in Lanfair Valley,” stated Laura.

Yes, Goffs is located in Lanfair Valley. According to Wikipedia, Lanfair Valley is drained southeastwards, then due south by the Sacramento Wash, which then turns due-east and combines with the Piute Wash drainage. The dual valley drainage is a U-shape, and the first major dry wash drainage from the west, into the Colorado River, south of Lake Mead.

I have no idea what that means exactly, but the area sure is pretty.

Goffs’ largest building, the general store, is abandoned but still standing – unfortunately it has been vandalized and graffitified – I made that word up, but looks like it should be entered into Merriam Webster’s book. 

                                            The once thriving community market in Goffs

Goffs is definitely worth a visit. The museum opens in October, which is a wonderful time of year to visit anything in the desert. When did we visit? The summer – who’d think that? 

Story first appeared in the Daily Press under - Beyer's Byways

                                                            
 In 1542, Captain Juan Cabrillo landed just off the coast of Southern California, having sailed into the entrance of what would be later be known as San Diego Bay. It was a momentous occasion for the Spanish explorer, even though he was actually Portuguese, to finally find such an immense safe port so far away from home.

                                                             That looks like a nice bay.

Months of sailing had tired Cabrillo and his men, and nearly exhausted their food supplies. The bearded man – I assume he was bearded; weren’t all early 16th century explorers bearded? Even the women?

“We have done it my fine fellows,” he exclaimed, in perfect Spanish, with perhaps just a hint of a Portuguese accent. “We are tired, hungry, and I know a great place that serves wonderful fajitas and large margaritas near the Embarcadero.”

Okay, perhaps I exaggerate.

But he was pretty thrilled, according to some history paper I once read, about his discovery of the bay. His men were too – finally able to disembark and look around the vacant lands that bordered the blue waters which streamed in from the Pacific Ocean. What a relief it must have been to walk on solid ground again, after so long bouncing up and down and down and up across the waters.

In fact, embarcadero means, boarding place, in Spanish. I don’t know what it means in Portuguese, though.

Cabrillo, per history, was the first European to set foot, or webbed feet – considering he had been at sea for so long, onto the soil that would centuries later encompass one of the most beautiful cities in the United States.

It would be nearly two hundred years before any other Europeans would revisit after Cabrillo departed, and start to settle there permanently. It would be a lonely land, except for the large groups of Kumeyaay – pronounced Kumeyaay - who lived there already.

                                                        That's some pretty big territory

These Native American people, had resided near the large bay for nearly 12,000 years before Cabrillo had claimed the area for Spain. I guess, Cabrillo simply forgot about the indigenous people already living there.

“I claim this land in the name of the King of Spain, even though I’m Portuguese,” he was heard announcing, at he stuck a flag in a beach.

“Uh, sorry, but we were here first,” replied the chief of the Kumeyaay people.

“Yeah? Where’s your flag?” Cabrillo asked. All his men, who weren’t busy building sand castles, nodded in agreement.

“Got me there,” the chief lamented.

Anyway, as the centuries moved on, San Diego prospered, and in 1976, the first female port commissioner, Bernice Leyton, approved two parks to be built on the peninsula jutting out into the San Diego Bay. 

                                        The two parks have great views of Coronado Island

In 1978, the Embarcadero Marina North and South Parks were completed, with rolling open grass areas, tall eucalyptus trees, and other flora making the parks not only breathtakingly scenic, but also acting as a buffer from the western breezes coming in from the bay to protect the boats in the marina.

The Embarcadero Marina Park North, was a nine-and-a-half-acre extension for the already present Sea Port Village situated at the northern edge of the park. The designers believed, and were correct, that this addition of lands would make a gorgeous area for walking for visitors and citizens of San Diego. A walking path winds gently along the bay with views of the Coronado Bridge, as well as Coronado Island itself.

Even though Francisco Vasquez de Coronado, if we remember our history, made a pretty big name for himself as another Spanish Explorer - at least he was Spanish, born around 1510 in Salamanca, Spain - who explored the area in what would later be the American West and the country of Mexico, he never set foot in the San Diego Bay area.

Why name a bridge and island after him? How about the Cabrillo Bridge, or Cabrillo Island? Perhaps, the Kumeyaay Bridge and Kumeyaay Island would have worked out just fine also.

Sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.

Still, the view of the bay is outstanding, and being in Southern California, the weather is almost perfect year round. That is why San Diego is known as America’s Finest City. Miles upon miles of white sandy beaches, dozens of lush green parks, bike lanes all along the waterfront, and so much more to offer those who reside there and those who would like to. Those would be the tourists.

                                                The view from anywhere, is awesome

So, a few weeks ago, I decided to pay America’s Finest City, a visit. It was a quick visit. A little business, but time enough to walk around the Embarcadero Marina North Park, and wander through the shops at Seaport Village.

The sun was shining, no clouds in the sky, the crystal blue waters of the bay lapping the shorelines of the Embarcadero, and crowds of likeminded people enjoying the outdoors. I knew they were enjoying themselves as their foreheads were wrinkled up and their eyes squinting.

That’s the new way of knowing if someone is smiling. A scrunched up face. Since we’re all required to wear masks – the new way of life – no smiles were actually seen, but only felt.

“I was smiling at your joke, Dad.”

“I didn’t see any smile.”

“My eyes were watering, that’s the sign now.

The day was just lovely. In fact, love was in the air along the promenade that circles the embarcadero.

Young lovers smashing masks together as they sat on the bay retaining wall. Couples walking hand in hand, and then sanitizing soon after. 

It was all so romantic. 

But, I was alone on this trip. Laureen couldn’t accompany me – so I thought I’d do something she would never think of doing – I went shopping.

That last line was tongue in cheek – of course, me wearing a mask, no one would know.

There are actually some sixty plus stores in Seaport Village. I didn’t make but two – I was exhausted, after purchasing some snazzy t-shirts and a couple of patriotic masks.

                                           One of many shops offering great items for sale

There are also countless restaurants, bistros, coffee shops, sweet shops. And did I mention mask shops? The shopping area is so eclectic in what is offered, that it sounds silly to say it’s an eclectic set of eclectic businesses, all bunched in one area. I had to write that – just had to.

                                    Enough for anyone, wanting to enjoy San Diego at its finest

But, in this time of COVID and with all the rest 2020 has brought us – I’m waiting for swarms of locusts to descend from the heavens at this point – the Seaport Village and both parks on the Embarcadero are worth visiting.

It’s San Diego – that should say it all, but, and here’s another selling point. It’s cooler there by the water – and in this blistering summer – that is enough said.

This article was first published in the Daily Press Newspaper, in - Beyer's Byways.