Sunday, October 21, 2018
MY VISIT TO A REAL GHOST TOWN
W.S. Bodey got bored in Poughkeepsie, NY, and went west to
join the gold rush. There is no note of how Mrs. Bodey, left behind with their
two children, felt about this, but in any event it took him less than a year to
find gold in them thar hills of California (near the Nevada border).
Unfortunately neither of the Bodeys ever got to reap these rewards; Mr. Bodey
died in a blizzard while on a supply trip to another town. His body was not discovered
until the following spring. He would make an appropriately dissatisfied ghost
for the place, but so far has declined to haunt. Perhaps naming the town after
him placated, even though it had been largely accidental—and misspelled. A sign
painter took the liberty of declaring a barn the “Bodie Stables” and the name
stuck.
So did the
gold, not as an overnight boom but a slow gaining of mills and mines and
success. Twenty years later the town had between five and seven thousand
residents—remarkable for an area remote from a port, a railroad, or another
city. To reach it today still
requires spending three miles on a dirt road (yay, rental car!). The wind is
pervasive and now I understand all the references to dust in old westerns.
But in
another twenty, the gold began to peter out and so did the population. Five
years after that, in 1915, came the official label of ‘ghost town’ though
families still lived there as late as 1942. Another
twenty years and it became a state park, where rangers preserve it in a state
of ‘arrested decay.’ Everything is kept as it was found in 1962, no better, no
worse. As I peered through windows or entered the few homes that had open areas
I saw peeling wallpaper, rusted pipes and abandoned toys. Was it creepy? In the
middle of a vacation day, with a bright warming sun, surrounded by families on
an educational outing, not at all. Go back at night and it would be something
straight out of The Blair Witch Project…but
that’s why parks close at sunset.
Yes, but
are there ghosts?
Maybe.
The 500
foot level of one of the mines is reportedly haunted by the ghost of a white
mule, killed in an accident there. Miners refused to work on that level.
Surprisingly,
the one known murder in the town has no ghostly activity attached to it. In
1881 Joseph DeRoche made the mistake of dancing with Thomas Treloar’s wife.
It’s not certain if their relationship had been deeper than that but in any
event DeRoche, not the man’s wife, felt himself aggrieved and waited outside
for the married couple. He shot Treloar in the head, was instantly caught,
turned over to an intoxicated deputy, and instantly escaped. He only put eight
miles behind him when he was again caught and returned to Bodie to stand trial.
He was convicted, but the sentence didn’t seem swift enough for close to two
hundred armed men, who marched to the jail in the wee hours of the following
morning.
Somewhat
courteously, they knocked on the door and waited while the deputy (not
intoxicated, and therefore able to grasp the realities of his situation)
produced the prisoner. The condemned man, though terrified, remained calm and
quiet as the mob, fairly calm and quiet themselves, arranged a makeshift
gallows. A hoist used by the blacksmith to fix wagons was relocated to the
corner near the dance hall, and DeRoche was solemnly hung on the very spot
where he had murdered Thomas Treloar. Their spirits have not been heard from,
perhaps feeling that nothing more remains to be said.
To me, what lay over the town is not a spooky
apparition but a much more unsettling entity: the stark illustration of how
things can change. Not just fashions and technology, but industries,
livelihoods, gathering places. Change can be a
pathway to greater things, of course--surely many families were happy to find themselves
in more bustling areas, closer to family and friends and with more
opportunities for their children. But change can also stem from broken dreams,
dead ends and disappointments, with a restless ghost just one more of the things
left behind.
Have you
encountered a ghost area, and what haunted it?
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I love ghost towns. I love to imagine what life was like back then, the noise, bustle, dust, tumbleweeds... Well, who knows if there's tumbleweeds, but there should be! Great post, Lisa. I feel as if I was standing in the midst of that town, looking through the windows...
ReplyDeleteWhat an interesting post - and so timely history lesson right before Halloween. While I haven't "sensed" the presence of a ghost, I have a question: we all know that dogs hear/smell/sense all sorts of things that we cannot. Sometimes our pups bark and we can't figure out why -- and at this time of year, when we walk them in the neighborhood and they see a "ghost-like" skeleton or other Halloween type display, they bark furiously. I wonder what's going through their "sensitive" little minds. Any thoughts?
ReplyDeleteWhat a spookily wonderful post, Lisa. The one time I felt a ghostly presence was in Eureka, CA, when we were invited to spend the night in a marvelous old Victorian allegedly visited by unnamed but chilly presences. Of course because it was so old, the house creaked even without a wind, and the blackness of dark walls and furnishings seemed an invitation for shadowy figures with malevolent intentions to emerge silently, claws extended. I didn't sleep a wink, and I survived! :)
ReplyDeleteI love the idea of ghost towns, but they do make me melancholy for the reasons you mention. I always think of the industry that is no more. And of these alleged hauntings, the idea of a ghost joining those in their sleep is really creepy. Great post!
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