The Bradford House

 It was one of those lazy fall days when I found myself in the city of Placentia with not much to do.

Some days are just like that. Cruising down this avenue or that avenue, sort of randomly driving here and there. I had to be somewhere but as usual, I was hours early and had time to kill. So, there I was, randomly driving around.

Not like how millennials use the term ‘random.’

“It’s so like, random,” one millennial will say to another.

“What’s so random?” another millennial would respond.

“The sun, its so random how it rises every day and sets every evening.”

That may a bit of a stretch – perhaps but truly random things do happen daily, if not more often.

So, I’m cruising near Palm Circle in Placentia when I randomly spy a beautiful turn-of-the-century styled home. Not the Twenty-First Century, but the Twentieth Century.

“I must stop and take a gander,” I said to myself. 

In all transparency, I do sometimes talk to myself about this or that, but I never answer. That could be considered a bit off or even crazy.

“We will, we will,” I heard my inner voice responding to me.

Turns out that I had discovered The Bradford House in the City of Placentia, which is located about 75 miles southwest of Victorville, or 3,000 miles west of Shapleigh, Maine where the owner of this stunning home had been born on August 8th, 1860.

The Bradford House

Albert Sumner Bradford, otherwise known as the ‘Father of Placentia,’ grew up on a farm but due to some health issues including asthma, he missed a lot of school and at the age of twelve, he ran away from home.

He had an independent nature and wanted to prove to the world that even at that tender age he could make a success of himself.

Laureen and I had a hard enough time just getting our girls to make their beds each morning let alone having them prove to the world they would take it by storm.

“I successfully made my bed this morning,” Erica would state before leaving for school.

Laureen would only nod. “It’s a start.”

An interesting sidenote on Bradford. His father was William Bradford, a native of England, who was also a descendant of another William Bradford, the governor of the Plymouth Colony from 1621 until 1632. 

And Bradford’s mother came from a very patriotic and loyal Revolutionary family.

A lot of historical branches on that Bradford tree.

Anyway, Bradford ended up in Boston working in the agricultural field and learned how things grew. He learned about horticulture - no idea, hotbed culture - no idea, and vegetable gardening – that I know since I do it each year and end up feeding feral rabbits and squirrels for an entire growing season.

That is what those agricultural type folks, like Bradford, do successfully.

In 1887, Bradford left the east coast and headed west to truly seek his fame and fortune.

And he did, in the city of Santa Ana which at the time was in Los Angeles County. 

The rumor has it that the folks in Santa Ana and the surrounding towns did not like being in Los Angeles County and wanted to form their own county.

“If Los Angeles can be a county, why can’t we?” A man in a top hat yelled at a meeting of other like-minded people.

“Humph, humph,” was the reply from all gathered.

In 1889, he was part of a group of citizens who helped establish Orange County.

Most people at the time grew grapes or raised hogs in the area at the time.

Why Orange County then?

I suppose, when the locals thought about it, Hog County did not sound quite right.

“I reside in Hog County,” a rather oversized person may have stated.

“Yes, we can see that,” may have come the reply.

Could have been worse.

“I’sss lives in grap, no grain, no Grape County, I thinks,” a rather inebriated person may have stated.

“Yes, we can see that,” may have come the reply.

So, Orange County it was.

Soon, people moved into the area and started planting all sorts of citrus trees. It turned out that the orange trees they planted, over a million by 1890, gave the state of California its second gold rush.

Everyone loved oranges and with refrigerated railcars reaching nearly every section of the nation, the citrus industry blossomed.

Bradford knew this is where his family’s fortune would be made and purchased the Tesoro Ranch on Palm Avenue, in the Placentia District. As profits rose, he continued buying up more lands to grow his Valencia and navel oranges to sell at markets across the country.

With his fortunes growing, he built the beautiful home at Palm Circle in 1902.

Another view of the Bradford House

I was surprised that the house, which is now a museum decorated as it was when the Bradford family resided there in the early 1900’s was short on visitors.

Such a gorgeous abode once owned by the man who founded the city of Placentia should have a waiting line of looky-loos.

Wandering about the property, I noticed tours had to be arranged by appointment.

Since this was a random discovery on my part, this Bradford House, (random being used correctly), I knew there would be no tour for me this day.

But, as luck would have it, a young woman by the name of Nancy exited the house by a side door.

“Howdy,” I said. I always say ‘Howdy.’

She looked at me and then clasped her purse a bit more closely.

“I’m a travel writer and just love the history of this place,” I said, while raising my arms to show I was not carrying anything lethal.

The ice was broken.

“Usually you need to have a reservation for a tour,” Nancy said, “But it turns out that a group of Girl Scouts are coming in an hour to visit. Would you like to wait and go with them through the house?”

No, I thought. I really did not want to tour with a group of young giggling girls. 

So, Nancy took me on a private tour of the Bradford House. 

There are public tours from 2 to 4 pm the second Sunday of each month. 

The Bradford House is a two story, 15 room mansion that is like walking back into a different era. Large colored carpets lay over highly polished wood floors, staircases that seem to have been chiseled out of solid pieces of wood by a professional sculpturer, furnishings – many that had belonged to the Bradford family, were in each room giving the place a feeling of warmth.

Beautifully carved staircase

Nancy was a fount of knowledge.

“As beautiful as this house is, Albert’s family only thought of it as a farmhouse,” she said. “In fact, they had to leave their muddy shoes at the entrance after traipsing through the groves when they came in.”

No mud in the dining room!

I nodded while following this docent about the rooms.

“I tell school children that there are eight bedrooms but only one bath. They all say yuck, but at that time, this was very special in a person’s house.”

The only bathroom, a luxury

When I had arrived, I noticed small windows at ground level. “Is there a basement here?”

“Yes, and Albert had it made special, since he moved from the east, a basement was expected,” she replied. 

She did not offer any tour of the basement. I did not pry.

Turns out, Bradford’s wife played an important role in the Placentia Women’s Club, which is still active today.

The Bradford family was crucial to the growth of the city and surrounding communities with their generosity, forward-looking attitudes, and knowing how to be at the right spot at the right time.

The city of Placentia was incorporated in 1926.

After Albert’s death, the house reverted to his son who visited rarely. He had his own successful businesses in Los Angeles, and besides, did not seem to enjoy visiting the farm in Placentia.

“His son only stayed here on weekends. His main residence was in Los Angeles but much of the furniture you see was purchased by him and shipped from Italy. He liked to travel.”

If one considered the Bradford House as simply a farm house, then I would expect they had a lot of moola-boola to travel with.

“Honey, should we spend the weekend at the farmhouse or a stay at the Gritti Palace in Venice?”

“Una domanda stupida.”

Don’t need a translator for that reply.

With the personal tour over, I thanked Nancy for her assistance and vast knowledge of the grounds.

“We love visitors,” she stated.

And this Bradford House in Placentia should be visited to understand how even twelve-year-olds from Maine can think big and prove they can make dreams come true.

Albert S. Bradford certainly did.

And look at this wonderful desk he ended up with

For more information: https://thebradfordhouse.org/

Boron, a welcoming town

John R Beyer welcomes you to Boron

I was working on my second Street Taco, when Patricia, the owner of Lola’s Diner in Boron, came over to our table.

“How are the tacos?”

Laureen smiled, “Some of the best I’ve ever had.”

“I like the salsa,” I mentioned. “Not too spicy but with enough kick to let you know it is salsa.”

“Our own recipe,” Patricia replied.

We had been driving along Highway 58, after visiting the Rio Tinto open pit borate mine and decided it was time for a bite.

Just a small section of the Rio Tinto borate mine

Lunch and then some wandering around this small berg to see what it had to offer.

Turns out, Boron has a lot to offer, and the folks we spoke to say the town in Kern County, has some truly big plans.

Docent Debi, of the Twenty Mule Team Museum, in Boron, told us that the museum is getting a whole new make-over.

New carpet, new display cases, new this and new that. We thought it was a pretty good museum as is, with all sorts of things to interest any tourist. The entire history of Boron, including nearby mining operations, was there methodically laid out through the large building.

The town has something for everyone

“Everyone who volunteers here takes pride in this place and want each visitor to leave knowing the history of our town.”

There is no way a person could leave without understanding each development in Boron’s history. The museum is broken up into three separate, but equally informative sections. There’s one room which is the entry and gift shop, but with displays of the different ore specimens found in the area. The second room details the people and effort it took to conquer this part of the Mojave Desert and set up their homes and businesses there. And the last room explains the danger and benefits of such mining that surrounds the town of Boron. There are videos dedicated to the history of Boron, a working model of a Twenty Mule Team wagon, including moving mules and a driver snapping a whip. 

A model of a team at the local mine

A closeup painting of a pretty mule

And of course, there is information concerning some of the movies filmed there, such as Erin Brockovich (2000), Dragon Day (2013), and my favorite Apocalypse According to Doris (2011), just to name a few.

With Hollywood only a hundred and nineteen miles southwest of Boron, the town is a perfect backdrop for all sorts of movies.

“We’re getting a lot of tourists coming in now, and we know that in spring and summer this place will be seeing a lot more each and every day.”

As of now, the museum is still averaging fifty or more tourists per week. Not bad for a place that does not advertise itself, but that is about to change.

“We’re going to redo the signage near Highway 58, inviting travelers to the historic part of town,” said Jerry, who was busy building new shelving for the museum. “This town has a lot of draws, but it will have more once everything is in place.”

Jerry seems a determined man. As he explained how the museum’s exterior park, filled with all sorts of old mining equipment, picnic tables, walkways, and an actual outdoor stage, is also getting a face-lift.

“We want the town to come alive again,” he said. “We want people to feel welcome and enjoy their time here in Boron.”

Main St., Boron

Exiting the museum grounds, we noticed an old railway depot standing just to the west. It was in mint condition – as if it had been recently painted, just waiting for train passengers.

Turns out the depot, built in 1896 by the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway company, served rail customers in nearby Kramer, now Kramer Junction, until 1941 when it was moved to Boron as a freight depot.

“Makes you wonder how many people stood outside that depot waiting for their tickets to so many varied destinations,” Laureen mused.

“Two hundred and thirty-three thousand,” I replied, believing it was a good guess.

Laureen simply rolled her eyes.

Boron rose from the dusty desert landscape in 1913 when a water well was being drilled and Borate evaporites in the form of colemanite were discovered. This was the beginning of a mining boom. The claims were purchased by the Pacific Coast Borax Company and more mining and exploring for further valuable sites was begun. In 1925 commercial mining began in the area, and as the old saying goes, the rest is history.

Boron became a major dot on the map in this part of the Mojave Desert. 

In 1938, the federal government knew the community was growing with all the new mining operations and opened a post office there. 

“Ma, we got us a post office,” it is rumored that little Tommy squealed in delight.

“Yes, son – we are in the big leagues now,” his mother replied. “And soon, probably a Starbucks too.”

Today, the largest employer for Boron is the nearby Rio Tinto mining company. Of its eight hundred employees, many live in the nearby town. And five miles to the east, just across the San Bernardino County line is one of the world’s largest solar power production facilities, with some of their employees also residing in Boron.

“One of the largest, in the little old Mojave Desert,” a stranger once hmphed.

Yes, doubtful stranger, that is true. In fact, the Solar Energy Generating Systems (SEGS) is so big, that it is rumored that the plant can supply power to every human on Earth, twenty-four seven.

That's a lot of panels

“And if they do not treat us correctly, we will simply switch the power off and plunge the world into darkness,” one of the SEGS managers reportedly said, with an evil laugh and wringing of his hands.

No wait, that was Mr. Burns from an old Simpsons episode. My apologies to SEGS.

The solar plant covers over sixteen hundred acres and can supply power to nearly two-hundred and fifty thousand homes during peak outlay and displace nearly three-thousand eight hundred tons of pollution each year.

There are also over nine hundred thousand mirrors pointing sunward at the plant. That is a lot of mirrors, may not be enough for some Hollywood celebrities, but for the common person – that is a heck of a lot of mirrors.

But this column is not about solar energy collectors or big pits in the ground to mine borates. It is about a small but charming town by the name of Boron.

After visiting the train depot, we sauntered over to the Saxon Aerospace Museum, which was named after Colonel Vernon P. Saxon Jr., a former Vice-Commander at the Air Force Test Flight Center at Edwards Air Force Base. There we met up with Alison, who seemed to know everything we did not about this flight museum.

The museum has a place set for one's no longer with us

“The museum needs some work,” Alison said, as we signed the guest book at the entry. “It’s been closed for a couple of years, and it needs some dusting off, but we are making great progress toward that goal.”

To state the museum had a lot of artifacts, would be an understatement. The building is literally filled to the rafters with every sort of aeronautical thingy-bob one could only imagine.

The motto of the museum is simple, but to the point – ‘To collect, interpret, preserve, and display aeronautics and aerospace materials relevant to flight research performed over the skies of Boron and the surrounding Aerospace Valley.”

Just one of many aircraft on display

That is one large mission statement, but as Alison showed us around the museum, the statement became increasingly true.

Since the opening of the museum in 1997, the collection of exhibits has grown so much that a larger building could be in order. She explained that there are so many donations, the entire volunteer staff are currently busy trying to figure out who donated what and if they want to leave the item in the museum.

“We just don’t know,” she said. “A lot of these items are extremely valuable, and I just want to make sure the families want to keep sharing them with the general public.”

There are cockpit control panels, landing gear, plane engines, flight trainer simulator, parachutes, photographs depicting the entire advent of human flight, mannequins dressed up as pilots, mannequins dressed up as various military personnel, and mannequins dressed up as mannequins.

So much to see and according to Alison, the museum wants visitors to take their time and look at each display as long as they would like.

Sounds good, if that visitor had a few extra months to spare, since there is so much to experience.

Our favorite item, I’m speaking for Laureen and myself here, was the wooden ski sleds that Admiral Richard Byrd used during his famous exploration to the south pole.

Admiral Byrd's skis

We were staring at history – and it was cool.

So, a slight jog off Highway 58 had found us in the small but inviting town of Boron. 

As we drove east toward Kramer Junction, I looked over at my darling wife and said, “That was really a pleasant stop.”

“Yes, a lot more then I expected,” she replied. 

And that what traveling is all about – not to expect too much but then to be pleasantly surprised when you find so much more.

For more information: https://www.facebook.com/BoronChamber/

Cerro Gordo - the Ghost Town

The road to Cerro Gordo

“This road looks a bit sketchy,” I stated.

My traveling partner on this trip was our old friend, Paul.

“Nah, you got this,” he replied.

Just then a humongous propane tanker truck came down the narrow dirt track right in front of us and stopped.

“I don’t think I got this,” I said.

Nice view of Owens Valley from a steep incline

Being the courteous driver I am, I stopped and backed into a very little crawl space on the side of this mountainous road toward the ghost town of Cerro Gordo.

The driver of the tanker stopped, and yelled through his open window, “You’ll have to go around me. I’m too heavy and will topple off the dirt road to the valley below.”

The valley below is just east of Owens Valley, and was probably a hundred thousand feet straight down.

“I’ll get out and guide you,” Paul said. The truck door closing, nearly masking his statement.

I travel a lot. I sometimes get myself in situations that are not the best for me, or the particular vehicle I may be utilizing for this trip or that. This was one of those times.

I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I backed up, allowing the propane delivery vehicle to edge by me and take the spot in the tiny turn-out on the dirt road.

“You got plenty of room,” the driver yelled.

Plenty of room does not include the concept of not seeing the road from the driver’s window. All I saw was a steep drop off to the Owens Valley. The passenger mirror barely missed the end of the propane truck by the time I traversed this harrowing spot in the roadway. 

I applied the brakes and waited until Paul caught up with me.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he assured me.

“You weren’t driving,” I replied. “Heck, you weren’t even in the truck.”

“I was guiding you.”

“I should have guided you.”

Paul shook his head, “Nah, it is your truck. I wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for tumbling off the road and crushing it.”

The road to the tiny old mining town of Cerro Gordo is not for the faint of heart. It is eight miles of crooked earth, torturedly carved out of the steep mountain side in the White Mountains, just east of Keeler on Highway 136, which is off Highway 190 out of Olancha, which is on Highway 395.  

Welcome to Cerro Gordo

The history of the town though, is quite interesting and that made the white-knuckler adventure worth it.

Cerro Gordo – Fat Hill in Spanish – was named for the amount of ore found there through the years, beginning in 1865. And as with any mining town, that’s where our history begins. Pablo Flores found some rich veins of gold and silver and began processing it. Then, through the ensuing couple of years, others heard of the chances of getting rich and by 1868, the place was starting to get a pin in the map of next bonanzas.

The problem was, Native Americans living in and around Owens Lake didn’t like all the newcomers taking their ancestral lands and serious issues developed. To counter that, Fort Independence was built, and the United States Army explained to the natives living there that they could either go along with the mining operations or leave.

One of our darkest moments is history, they were generally expelled from their lands in favor of the mining operations when they complained. 

In 1868, Mortimer Belshaw came to town and began a partnership with another person in the Union Mine. The mine was the first to deliver a cart load of silver to what was then small town of Los Angeles, and the boom was starting for this high elevation locale in the White Mountains.

Belshaw was quite the entrepreneur. Not only did he own a large part of the riches coming out of the area near Cerro Gordo, but he developed, if we can call it that, the dirt path up the long and dangerous eight miles a toll road.

Part of what remains of Cerro Gordo

The road was known as the ‘Yellow Road’ for the color of the rock the road was cut through. He made a lot of moo-la-boola, with the ore he was sending to Los Angeles and the tolls for those willing to risk coming up the ‘Yellow Road.’

A pretty smart dude, that Mortimer Belshaw.

“Can you imagine driving a team of horses up and down the road we just drove?” I asked Paul.

“I can’t even imagine driving your truck on it.”

“You didn’t,” I replied, my white knuckles were still white as we approached the end of the road and into the town of Cerro Gordo. 

Almost pristine building in Cerro Gordo

The town is currently owned by Brent Underwood. Yes, ghost towns do go on the real estate market now and then, and Brent bought all three-hundred and sixty acres of the town in July of 2018.

A building under re-construction

In all fairness, I did email Brent a few times to see if we could meet in the town, but I never did receive a response. He’s a very busy man – he has a YouTube channel called Ghost Town Living, and probably has around five billion followers.

“Brent, it’s John,” I would have said. “Got time for an interview.”

“No interview for you,” he might have responded. “I’m a very busy man.”

Actually, speaking to the manager at Cerro Gordo, Brent seems to be a very nice and caring guy. He purchased the ghost town to restore it to its original design. And, that is going to be a lot of hard work.

“Brent wants to make this a go-to place for tourists,” stated the manager. In all transparency, I don’t recall the young man’s name. He was nice and very informative but my notebook was in the truck a hundred yards away, I was tired – it seemed a long walk to retrieve it, especially at such a high altitude.

Cerro Gordo Peak is over nine thousand feet in elevation, and the town of Cerro Gordo is nearly eighty-five hundred feet above sea level. Going back to the truck and grabbing my notebook would have acquired a twenty minute nap, and we were on a schedule on this specific day.

“We have plans to make the town exactly what looked like during its heyday,” the manager stated. “We have a lot of people driving up here and wanting to spend some quality time, just enjoying the serenity of the place.”

Standing on the wood porch in front of the visitor’s center, I knew why a person would want to come up this steep mountainside. The views of the Owens Valley and the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range to the west were spectacular.

Interior of the visitor's center

Cerro Gordo produced a lot of rich ore for the miners and owners in this desolate location. It is estimated that over seventeen million dollars’ worth of gold and silver was mined between 1865 and 1949. That is about a hundred billion dollars in today’s money.

“Wander around a bit and take in the scenery,” the manager said.

We did.

There are houses, buildings, and the like, that are still standing and being renovated for guests. Brent has an eye that Cerro Gordo will become a great destination for those willing to drive up a very narrow and often nerve whacking dirt road to see what a real ghost town was like.

Remains of a cart rail

I did ask the manager if there is any mining still going on.

“No, we explore them, but there is no active searching for minerals at this time.”

From some research, I discovered that Samuel Clemons – Mark Twain - actually spent some time in Cerro Gordo. He happened to be residing in Aurora, another small mining town to the east in the state of Nevada, and spent time in both places.

“I’m not sure which town I like best,” the master of words might have mused. “I think Aurora. It doesn’t get those dastardly easterly winds.”

But, during the winter, temperatures in Cerro Gordo can drop to a chilling ten or more degrees below freezing and receive somewhere around twenty-four inches of snow. And that’s not including the wind chill factor which can be drop the thermometer at least a hundred degrees, or so it feels.

That is cold in anyone’s world – unless you are filming in the Yukon which can drop to more than a million degrees below zero.

Paul and I wandered the ghost town, and it really is a place to visit. Residential houses are being re-done, but only to the time period they were built. Buildings are being shored up, and the whole town will soon be a location for those who want to spend a night or more in the past, in a very secluded but beautiful spot across form the Sierra Nevada’s.

Future Airbnb?

“What’s the draw?” I asked the manager.

“To visit, and experience what I see every day.”

“And that is…?”

He smiled and pointed west. “The sunset over the Sierras. I’ve never seen anything like that, and I’ve been here a year. Each day is like the first.”

Looking past his outstretched hand, I had to agree. The location of Cerro Gordo is gorgeous, but the drive is not for the faint of heart.

Weighing beauty versus safety, I sighed deeply and we got down the road before the sun dropped below the range to our west.