The Huntington Library

 I glanced over at Laureen, who was sipping coffee on our front porch.

“You know,” I started. “I’d like to head down the hill today and walk through some gardens.”

“We have plenty of land here for you to walk through and there are some pretty nasty sized weeds calling your name.”

Listening very attentively for a few seconds, I did not hear one weed beckoning me.

“How about a walk-about at the Huntington Library in San Marino?”

The Huntington Research Center

In 1862, the U.S. Congress chartered the Central Pacific Railroad to build a railway eastward from Sacramento as part of the western extension of the Transcontinental Railroad.

Many in Congress, it is rumored, hmphed and hmphed while smoking big cigars and tipping their top hats to each other over this railroad charter.

“We do such wonderful things for our subjects,” one congressman may have said.

“I believe you meant to say, our constituents,” another congressman may have replied.

The first congressman nodded. “Why certainly that’s what I meant.”

Theodore Judah, an American civil engineer, had an idea to build the Central Pacific Railroad but needed financial support for such a huge project.

“Fat cats are needed for this railroad,” Judah may have pondered.

Soon, he had four wealthy individuals who wanted to get more wealthy by constructing a railroad which would be part of the tracks linking east to west.

Leland Stanford, Mark Hopkins, Charles Crocker, and Collins Potter Huntington ponied up the finances for Judah’s dream.

When the Central Pacific Railroad finally met up with the Union Pacific Railroad at Promontory Summit in Utah, the ‘Big 4’ realized they had done something truly special for the country – and were going to make a fortune.

Instead of taking weeks, or even months, to bring goods from the east to the west, it would now be only a matter of days to supply the needs of pioneers and growing towns along the route.

Shop owners were said to have danced in the streets with joy.

“By golly, that sarsaparilla will be here in no time. My customers will be bellied-up to the bar for that lip-smacking delicacy.”

But this article is not about the railroads, it is about Collis P. Huntington’s nephew, Henry E. Huntington who left a beautiful legacy in the town of San Marino, just southeast of Pasadena.

As a boy, Henry grew up hearing about his rich uncle and what he had accomplished in the railroad world, as well as other successful monetary ventures.

As it turned out, Henry went to work for Collis as an executive at the Southern Pacific, which had been the Central Pacific earlier. When Collis passed away in 1900, Henry assumed the leadership role with the Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company in Virginia as well as other businesses which were under Collis’s control.

To say the least, Henry was becoming wealthy.

Henry E. Huntington

In 1910, Henry divorced his first wife, Mary Alice Prentice Huntington, and in 1913 married his uncle’s widow, Arabella.

No judgement here, but it did shock the high society in San Francisco at the time.

“OMG, can you believe they got married?” one socialite asked another socialite.

“When I heard, it was simply LOL to me.”

The weather was nearly perfect for us to stroll the 207 acres which comprise the Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens.

Over 130 of those acres are taken up the Botanical Gardens. That is a lot of walking in and out of the various gardens at the Huntington.

Laureen Beyer strolling one of the gardens

There’s the Garden of Flowing Fragrance, the Chinese Garden, the Desert Garden, the Japanese Garden, the Rose Garden, the Children’s Garden, the Australian Garden, and some others I forgot to write down.

There are nearly 27,000 different types of plants on the grounds which include 16,000 various species. Must be considerable work for the staff of full-time gardeners to keep track of such numbers.

Lots of various trees at the Huntington

“I think it was sixteen hundred and fifteen, but I suddenly had a coughing spell and lost track,” one gardener told another.

“Well, let’s start again, shall we? You know how the head gardener can be.”

It was relatively early in the morning when we arrived, which allowed Laureen and I to shoot through the gates and onto the grounds rather quickly.

Heading to the 16,000 square foot Rose Hills Foundation Conservatory for Botanical Science proved to us that a greenhouse that large may have its own weather system brewing.

The huge steel and glass building is home to three different habitats – a lowland tropical rain forest, a cloud forest, and a carnivorous bog.

It also sports a humidity that must be nearly 3,000 percent.

I was dripping sweat within seconds of entering the structure – Laureen was glistening.

“Holy Moly,” I said. “My eyeballs are fogged over.”

It was amazing what had been created for guests to experience. Huge towering plants dripping water onto other plants and tourists. A large pond was surrounded by portions of the rain forest. There were plaques everywhere describing this plant or that plant for the curious botanists.

“There is the Corpse Flower,” Laureen observed. “Want to take a closer look?”

“A closer look? Sure, it’s not a Venus Flytrap?”

I was more interested in studying the Amorphophallus titanium, or Stinky Plant in laymen’s terms. Research states that when this plant blooms it can clear a room out quicker than a pug with digestive issues.

I’m immature like that. 

After spending nearly an hour looking at this plant or that plant, we exited into the late morning sun where a gentle breeze greeted us.

“That is refreshing,” Laureen said.

“Yeah, I think I dropped twenty pounds of water weight in there.”

As an entrepreneur, Henry invested in this and in that and along the way purchased great tracts of land. He purchased 500 acres in what was called the San Marino Ranch, where the library is now located, as well as other large parcels in Pasadena and Los Angeles.

Being the creator of the Pacific Electric Railway Company – the Red Car. Henry was able to amass more wealth by offering a 24/7 mode of transportation in and around the ever-growing city of Los Angeles. By 1910, his electric trolley system spanned over 1,300 miles with 20 streetcar lines and 1,250 trolleys.

Henry was responsible, along with other early developers, of creating the Southern California that we now recognize.

Huntington Beach, Huntington Park, Huntington Lake, Huntington Hospital, Henry E. Huntington Middle School, and Huntington Drive are just some of the places named after this man who had moved from Oneonta, New York to make California his permanent home.

Speaking of homes, the original home of the Huntington’s, located on the grounds happens to be more of a humongous mansion, now the art gallery. 

The Gilded-Age abode was designed by Myron Hunt, along with the adjacent library built in 1919, also by Hunt. Other buildings were added during the following years including a tea house, a bowling building, billiard building, art gallery, a mausoleum, and other historical structures.

Just one of many beautiful buildings at the Huntington

And I thought the few sheds on my property were impressive.

An interesting fact, the mausoleum located on the grounds was designed by John Russell Pope, who also designed the Jefferson Memorial in Washington D.C.

Arabella was quite the art lover and between she and her husband garnered an extremely large collection of masterpieces from around the world during their marriage.

John R Beyer standing beside one piece of art work

A statement concerning Huntington stated the following, ‘far and away the greatest group of 18th century British portraits ever assembled by any one man.’

It was estimated during his lifetime the collection of art was worth 50 million dollars. Today it is valued at over 400 million.

Prior to Henry E. Huntington death in 1927 – Arabella had passed away three years earlier, a foundation had been formed and the acreage, including all the buildings and gardens were opened to the public in 1928.

Both, Henry, and Arabella wanted to give back to the community which had welcomed them with open arms. They are interred on the Huntington grounds.

We took our time wandering through the Huntington Art Gallery where wide marbled hallways and carpeted stairways greet the visitor leading them to room after room with walls hung with some of the most beautiful paintings in the world.

Thomas Gainsborough’s Blue Boy, Rogier van der Weyden’s Madonna and Child, Thomas Lawrence’s Pinkie, Mary Cassatt’s Breakfast in Bed, Andy Warhol’s Small Campbell’s Soup Can, and so many more to please the eye.

Gainsborough's Blue Boy dressed in blue

There were sculptures, decorative art pieces, prints, furniture from around the world, huge tapestries depicting hunting or battle scenes, and so much more to take in.

Every object was impressive. 

The day sped by quickly and soon early afternoon was upon us. It felt as though we had put many miles on our tired legs traipsing through the gardens and the art collections.

“I’m exhausted,” I said as we left the complex.

Laureen nodded. “In a good way?”

I smiled, “Yes.” 

For more information: https://www.huntington.org/

Happy Halloween

We, at J and L Research and Exploration, want to wish everyone a safe and haunting good 

time on October 31st.

Travel with fellow goblins while scaring your neighbors, it's the right thing to do.

Raise your hands if you agree.

 

The Haunting at Apache Death Cave

As Laureen and I were driving west along Route 66, after visiting Winslow, Arizona – we decided to stop by a place that is so haunted, so scary, so unnaturally spooky that most humans would not dare to tread there.

Not being like most humans, we knew it was an experience we just had to visit on our very own.

Laureen is not that fancy on these spectral sorts of sites but since I was driving . . .

After pulling south off Route 66 by the ruins of the town of Two Guns, I was busy scanning my hand-held GPS looking for the scariest area near Two Guns.

Welcome to Two Guns, Arizona

“I don’t think this thing is working,” I told Laureen. “If I’m holding it correctly, we’re somewhere between Vienna and Salzburg.”

No reply from Laureen.

Suddenly I heard her from about 50 feet away. “It’s right here, I can feel it.”

Laureen Beyer looking for the Apache Death Cave

The reason Laureen does not like to travel to many supposedly haunted places is due to the fact she actually ‘feels’ something. A sense or foreboding of what may have occurred in the past at such a place.

Me, I usually feel hungry or thirsty. 

As in earlier articles concerning ‘haunted places’ I tend to be a bit of a skeptic. Don’t really think folks from the afterlife are lingering around waiting for me to invade their space.

“Hey, you are now in my personal ghost space. So rude of you that I will throw this antique rocking chair at your head.”

Of course, I do have to admit I have heard or seen things that I can not explain while traveling here and there.

I once saw a boy scout escort an elderly woman across the street in Houston, and I thought that only happened in Hallmark films.

“What is right here that you can feel it?” I asked Laureen, finally giving up on the hand-held GPS which had me now somewhere east of Moscow.

“The cave, it’s right here,” she replied.

The Apache Death Cave

The cave, Laureen was mentioning, was the famed Apache Death Cave located about 12 miles west of Meteor Crater in Arizona along Route 66.

The legend is terrifically sad.

In the late 19th century, the two dominate native tribes residing in the area were the Apache and the Navajo. These two groups did not get a long well together and often raided and killed each other over territory or perhaps because they did not like each other.

But in 1878 it is rumored that some Apaches entered two Navajo camps and killed everyone except three young girls whom they kidnapped.

Other Navajo warriors hearing of this diabolical action started to chase the Apache to seek their revenge and get the girls back.

The Navajo were closing the gap of the fleeing Apache but suddenly lost sight of them near the edge of the Canyon Diablo, a long arroyo that meanders through the territory.

Getting off their horses, the Navajo looked high and low and low and high but could not locate the Apache.

Just then, as the story goes, one of the Navajo thought he heard voices coming from somewhere below him and then found a deep cave carved into the Kaibab Limestone.

Sure enough, the Apache had ridden into the large cave with their horses and captives hoping to trick the tracking Navajo.

The ruse did not work.

Grabbing a lot of sagebrush, the Navajo decided to smoke the Apache out of the cave by lighting the bushes on fire.

Moments later, a few Apache ran from the cave but were immediately killed by the waiting Navajo.

It only took a few minutes to realize the captives had been murdered by the Apache, so the rest of the Navajo posse decided to finish the job and continued to throw large amounts of burning sagebrush into the mouth of the cave.

There was no chance for escape for any of the Apache trapped within the walls of the cave. 42 Apache succumbed to the smoke and fire.

I wandered over to where Laureen was standing by a small rock border, and she pointed downward. Sure enough, there was a cave which seemed as though the walls may have been smoke damaged sometime in the past.

“The hairs are standing up on head,” she stated.

Looking at her perfectly quaffed hair, I did not know what to say. So, I said nothing.

An old wooden ladder type of bridge ran across the width of the cave allowing the visitor a chance to get closer into the cave.

The bridge leading to the cave

“You first,” I said.

“Me never,” Laureen replied.

After a few tense moments of rock scrambling and teetering on the wooden bridge, I found myself at the bottom of the cave. 

It was dark inside the cave. 

“Do you feel anything?” 

“Yes,” I replied.

“Wow, what?”

“I think I dislocated my right shoulder.”

The cave was longer than I had thought it would be. I wandered a bit bumping into this wall or that wall, once nearly knocking off the top of my head on a low ceiling and thought that if the ghosts of the murdered Apache were not going to talk to me, it was time to call this adventure off.

Besides, it did seem rather spooky in that dark hole in the ground alone.

Not a lot of room inside the Apache Death Cave

“You want to come down, and see?”

“Nope.”

After dusting myself off and making sure my forehead was not bleeding, I noticed that Laureen was not looking quite herself.

She told me that there was something in the immediate surroundings she could sense. A sense of doom, of tragedy, of unmistakable horror.

“They were afraid to die in such a way.”

I do not question her feelings. I may do it inwardly but not outwardly.

But there was something different in that cave – I am not saying I felt what Laureen did, but it was rather oppressive in the cave. Almost suffocating, but that could be the close quarters and wandering around in a dark place by yourself.

New Reality paranormal investigators, Shawn and Cody, had visited the Apache Death Cave in the past and recorded their investigation for their hit series.

They felt and heard things while pulling their stint within that cave.

We spent time with them when they investigated a haunted ranch house in Lucerne. We all heard and experienced things that long haunting night.

These guys are experts in this paranormal field.

But I am still a skeptic. I am waiting for Casper to come sit next to me on the sofa and explain clearly why he is a ghost and why I need to believe.

In 1881, a bridge was built across Canyon Diablo by the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad and a small tent city, named Canyon Diablo was constructed for the workers.

Canyon Diablo

But that little tent city grew up to be a rootin’-tootin’ full-time town which made Tombstone look like a children’s nursery school.

The population boomed to 2,000 folks overnight and there was at least one killing in the streets near the dozen saloons, gambling halls, and brothels each day.

In fact, the first Marshall hired to protect the town was shot dead three hours later. It was a lawless town.

Boot Hill became so full that the undertaker ran out of room for any new customers.

One problem with this tale, according to the Republic Newspaper out of Arizona, is that this town probably never existed.

Images of town that may have never existed?

In an article written by Scott Craven, the town had been created by a fictional writer by the name of Gladwell Richardson who passed away in 1980 who had written nearly 300 western novels under various pseudonyms.

When the bridge was completed, the tent city moved on.

It was also Richardson who first wrote about the Apache Death Cave in his only non-fiction book about the town of Two Guns, Arizona. Prior to him writing about it in his book the tragic event had never seen print.

Seems, that both a town so wild Doc Holiday would have circumvented it and a horrific story such as the Apache Death Cave had occurred there should be more mention of it in the history books.

But, as with many historical records, things may get a bit exaggerated by those writing those histories.

Those silly writers. Who do they think they are embellishing here and there?

We walked around studying the layout, checking this out and checking that out and Laureen said she could still feel that something tragic had occurred here in the past.

Perhaps something had happened to the Apache and Navajo in the 19th century and perhaps not.

A town may have been here that was totally lawless but perhaps not.

That is the way with myths and legends, they grow stronger as the decades slip by.

Are they true or does it really matter?

Something was here at some time