The Historic Cary House Hotel

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Built in 1857, the Cary House Hotel still stands in Placerville, California, and is still a functioning hotel. This jewel, built when the gold rush town was prospering, still treats its guests to an interesting night’s sleep. During the five years I worked in the Chablis Art Gallery across the street from the hotel, I was able to make friends with the manager who graciously let me take photos inside and out, and meet one of the two most active ghosts. I found it interesting to discover the hotel featured such luxuries as hot and cold running water (a novelty in its time), an elegant grand staircase, and a lobby handcrafted in mahogany and cherry woods.

Echoes from a colorful history still linger in the halls of the elegant place of lodging. Early days provided a regular stop for stage lines that brought travelers to the gold country. In some instances, the stage returned to the San Francisco mint with millions of dollars in bullion. Its trimmed wrought-iron balcony not only added to its grace but, also lent a great space for Horace Greely to give a speech. The world-renowned “Hangtown Fry” (consisting of oysters and scrambled eggs) was created at the Cary House by the request of a miner who'd struck it rich in the nearby gold fields.

As I mentioned before, two ghosts inhabit the Cary House Hotel. Stan is the ghost I tangled with the day I toured the hotel and took photos. He lives mostly in the lobby of the hotel. In the gold rush heyday, he worked as the clerk at the check-in counter. He loved the place, so has stuck around all these years since his death. At the beginning of his employment, he checked patrons in and out of the Cary House. He had a great love of liquor, especially brandy and whiskey. When he wasn’t working, he would head down to Rivendell’s Book Store where he could socialize. Back then, the store was a great place to visit with fellow patrons, and to get a drink, especially on the cold, damp days of winter. Stan would sneak out during his workday when no one was around, grab a drink, and hurry back to the hotel.

Stan loved women but was ignored by them. He was a short, stocky man with reddish brown hair, balding on the top and not what most people would consider a 'ladies man'. Truth be known, he also liked men somewhat. He was not really in demand by either. So, he did his job, was polite until the alcohol took effect, loved gossip and checking people out, and was known to be a bit 'mouthy' and insulting. He made a pass at a man, and the fellow stabbed him twice. Stan fell down the stairs to his death.

My encounter with Stan happened the day I wanted to ride the elevator upstairs. It's kept inside a room about the size of a closet. The wrought-iron door wouldn’t open. I tried but to no avail. So did the manager. It was no big deal as the staircase was grand and fun to walk up to the second and third floors. I was disappointed because it looked like a fun ride. On the way down to the lobby, the door opened, and I got my elevator ride. Maybe old Stan was so happy to see me leave his hotel that he gladly let me take the ride. Rumors from some of the patrons have said they've seen their doorknobs turn when they retire for the night. Some believe Stan checks the door to each room with a lady guest to make sure they are locked safely inside their rooms.

A television show that traveled around the country doing spots on the most haunted buildings filmed a twenty-minute show on the ghosts in residence at Cary House.

Information from “The Incredible World of Gold Rush Ghosts”

An Act of Desperation

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

I'm sharing a couple of my photos and stories of the life in Placerville, California during the gold rush era that began around 1849 and, in some circumstances, is still alive now. These two buildings have quite an interesting history as one gave immediate gratification in the form of a drink, and the second in the form of lust fulfilled. The Soda Works building was constructed in 1852, and is one of the oldest buildings in Placerville.

Soda water was bottled using a carbonation machine, which is still on display, and sold to miners because it has seen many different types of businesses inside its doors. I had the opportunity to enter the tunnel that still remains open at the back of the building. It is narrow and has cold rock along the edges. I had to stoop over to keep from banging my head. There is a cool draft as you proceed deeper into the dark. I can imagine it might have been an unnerving experience for the men who headed to the other end to find the Chinese bordello. Up until a couple of years ago, when there was a rock slide at the bordello end of the tunnel, it was still fully functional. The tunnel started at one end of town and went nearly the entire length of Placerville's Main Street, inside a mountain of rock. If you didn't know about it, you would never suspect it was there.

I stepped inside the bordello several years ago to have a video copied. That was the current business that was operating in the building. The owner showed me their historical holes in the wall. I wish I had taken photos, but at the time didn’t think to do so. Along a hallway there are niches cut into a rock wall that were about five-foot long and maybe 2 ½ to 3 feet deep. Apparently, when the men finished with their drinks, they would walk the length of the tunnel from the Soda Works to visit the bordello. I am not sure how long that walk was, but I'd guess at least a quarter mile. When the gentleman reached the end of his walk, he was expected to shower before spending time with the girl in that small cubbyhole cut int the wall. What can I say except that they had to be tough, and they had to be a bit desperate. The saving grace of visiting the girls in that manner is that nobody knew they were there, if that was something they wanted to keep to themselves.

A Matter of Convenience

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

I’m sharing a couple of my photos and stories of the life in Placerville, California during the gold rush era that began around 1849 and, in some circumstances, is still alive now. These two buildings have quite an interesting history as one gave immediate gratification in the form of a drink and the second in the form of lust fulfilled.

The Soda Works building was constructed in 1852 and is one of the oldest buildings in Placerville. Soda water was bottled using a carbonation machine — which is still on display — and sold to miners because ordinary water was polluted due to the placer mining in the area. The building is still open today and over the years it has seen many different types of businesses inside its doors. I had the opportunity to enter the tunnel that still remains open at the back of the building. It is narrow and has cold rock along the edges. The ceiling is so low that I had to stoop to keep from banging my head. There's a cool draft as you proceed deeper into the dark. I imagine it might have been an unnerving experience for the men who walked through it to get to the Chinese bordello. Up until a couple of years ago when there was a rockslide at the bordello end, the tunnel was still fully functional. The tunnel started at one end of town and went nearly the entire length of Placerville’s Main Street, inside a mountain of rock. If you didn’t know about the tunnel carved inside the mountain, you'd never suspect it was there.

I stepped inside the building that was formerly the bordello several years ago to have a video copied. It was the current business operating in the building. The owner showed me their historical holes. I wish I had taken photos, but at the time didn’t think to do it. Along a hallway there were niches about five foot long and maybe 2 1/2 to 3 feet deep cut into a rock wall. It is rumored that when the men finished with their drinks at the Soda Works, they would walk the length of the tunnel to visit the bordello. I'm not sure how long that walk was, but I’d guess at least a quarter of a mile. When the gentleman reached the end of his walk, he was expected to shower before spending time with the girl in that small cubbyhole. What can I say except that they had to be tough and they had to be a bit desperate. The saving grace of visiting the girls in that manner was that nobody knew who was visiting, if that was something a person wanted to keep to himself.

Snowshoe Thompson

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

In 1855 mail service over the Sierra Mountains in the winter was simply uncertain.Things, indeed, looked bleak when, a strapping young Norwegian immigrant appeared on the scene. Within a short time, this young, blond Norseman would be celebrated throughout the Sierra Mountains — and become one of the most famous cross-country skiers of all time. His reputation and legend would grow by leaps, and, in time, the facts and fiction of his life would become so intermixed that it would become difficult, if not impossible, by modern historians to separate the two.

His name was John A. Thompson. To the admiring residents of the Sierras, however, he was known simply as Snowshoe Thompson. He emigrated with his family from Norway when he was 10 years old. In 1851, at the age of 24, Thompson arrived in California. It was just 3 years after gold had been discovered and the mountains were crawling with recent arrivals. Prospectors had spread out all over the Sierras and more strikes were being made, particularly in a lovely region of the Sierras to the west of Lake Tahoe. It was here in a swath of mountainous country between Sacramento and Reno — 60 miles to the north and south of present day Interstate 80 — that Thompson would make his mark.

The striking, blue-eyed Thompson had dabbled at mining in Placerville and farming near Sacramento, but, like many in those days, he was always on the look-out for other employment opportunities. Also, he had the constitution and inclinations of his Viking heritage, and a job with an adventurous slant would undoubtedly pique his interest. According to some writers, it was an ad in the Sacramento Union in 1855 that led him to the profession which would open to the door to fame: “People Lost to the World; Uncle Sam Needs a Mail Carrier.”

The mail route referred to in the Union’s ad was between Placerville, 50 miles to the east of Sacramento, to Mormon Station, 25 miles southwest to Carson City, Nevada. The total distance of the route: 90 miles, all the way, from one side of the Sierras to the other.

Thompson got the job. His first run would be in early January. He planned to use skis, a method of winter travel he had learned as a boy in Norway. The term skis, however had not come into usage yet. They were called Norwegian Skates by the Sacramento Union. What we now know as snowshoes were called webs, Indian Snowshoes, or Canadian Snowshoes.

Relying on his boyhood memory, Thompson constructed his first set of Norwegian skates out of a freshly cut, and very green, plank. As you can imagine, they were monstrosities. Thompson weighed them when he got to Placerville and they tipped the scales at 25 pounds. He eventually got the weight down on subsequent pairs, but, even so, the skis of the 1800’s were still formidable in size. In a newspaper article some years later, Thompson described the dimensions of his skis: 9 feet long, 4 inches wide at the tip and narrowing to 3 1/2 inches. Thickness: 1 1/2 inches.

The Sacramento Union announced that first famous trip: “Mr. John A. Thompson left Carson Valley on Tuesday morning and reached this city at noon yesterday. He was three days and a half in coming through from Carson Valley. On January 3, 1855, he left the settlement behind and disappeared into the mountains. A short while later, he was back. He had done it faster than anyone imagined. When he later arrived at Sacramento, his total return time from Carson Valley was an amazing three and half days. Snowshoe Thompson, a moniker that he would pick up over the next few years, had proven that skis were an efficient and suitable mode of winter transportation in the mountains.

He regularly made the journey twice a month through the rest of the winter. His pack, weighing from 60 to 80 pounds, included mail, newspapers, periodicals, ore samples, and medicines. UPS and FedEx can’t claim any originality when it comes to express service plans. Thompson long beat them to it, instituting 2-day and 3-day service. He could run the 90-mile Placerville to Carson Valley leg in 3 days and reverse journey in 2 days.

The Sacramento Union reported that during the winter of 1856-1857, most of his 31 crossings of the Sierras were on skis. That second winter appears to be the high water mark in Thompson’s trans-Sierra ski express. In 1858, he was again carrying the mail, but with improved wagon roads, he was now using horse-drawn sleighs. He continued, however, to use skis when the roads could not be used. For the next two decades of his life, he used Norwegian skates on and off for other shorter mail routes and for privately contracted express service.

A MATTER OF CONVENIENCE

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

I’m sharing a couple of my photos and stories from the life in Placerville, California, during the gold rush era that began around 1849 and, in some circumstances, is still alive now. The Soda Works and Chinese Bordello have quite an interesting history as one gave immediate gratification in the form of a drink and the second in the form of lust fulfilled.

The Soda Works building was constructed in 1852 and is one of the oldest buildings in Placerville. Soda water was bottled using a carbonation machine — which is still on display — and sold to miners because ordinary water was polluted due to the placer mining in the area. The building is still open today and over the years it has seen many different types of businesses inside its doors. I had the opportunity to enter the tunnel that still remains open at the back of the building. It is narrow and has cold rock along the edges. The ceiling is so low that I had to stoop to keep from banging my head. There's a cool draft as you proceed deeper into the dark. I imagine it might have been an unnerving experience for the men who walked through it to get to the Chinese bordello. Up until a couple of years ago when there was a rockslide at the bordello end, the tunnel was still fully functional. The tunnel started at one end of town and went nearly the entire length of Placerville’s Main Street, inside a mountain of rock. If you didn’t know about the tunnel carved inside the mountain, you'd never suspect it was there.

I stepped inside the building that was formerly the bordello several years ago to have a video copied. It was the current business operating in the building.

The owner showed me their historical holes. I wish I had taken photos, but at the time didn’t think to do it. Along a hallway there were niches about five foot long and maybe 2 1/2 to 3 feet deep cut into a rock wall. It is rumored that when the men finished with their drinks at the Soda Works, they would walk the length of the tunnel to visit the bordello. I'm not sure how long that walk was, but I’d guess at least a quarter of a mile. When the gentleman reached the end of his walk, he was expected to shower before spending time with the girl in that small cubbyhole. What can I say except that they had to be tough and they had to be a bit desperate. The saving grace of visiting the girls in that manner was that nobody knew who was visiting, if that was something a person wanted to keep to himself.

The Historic Cary House Hotel

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Built in 1857, the Cary House Hotel still stands in Placerville, CA, and is still a functioning hotel. This jewel, built when the gold rush town was prospering, still treats its guests to an interesting night’s sleep. During the five years I worked in the Chablis Art Gallery located across the street from the hotel, I made friends with the manager, who graciously let me take photos inside and out, and meet one of the two most active resident ghosts. I found it interesting to learn that the hotel featured such luxuries as hot and cold running water (a novelty in its time), an elegant grand staircase, and a lobby handcrafted in mahogany and cherry woods.

Echoes from a colorful history still linger in the halls of this elegant place of lodging. Early days provided a regular stop for stage lines that brought travelers to the gold country. In some instances the stages returned to the San Francisco mint with millions of dollars in bullion. Its wrought-iron trimmed balcony not only added to its grace, but also lent a great space for Horace Greely to give a speech. The world-renowned “Hangtown Fry” (consisting of oysters and scrambled eggs) was created at the Cary House cook at the request of a miner who'd struck it rich in the nearby gold fields.

As I mentioned before, the hotel is inhabited by two ghosts. Stan is the ghost I tangled with. He lives mostly in the lobby of the hotel. In the gold rush heyday, he worked as the clerk at the check-in counter. He loved the place. He has stuck around all these years since his death. In the beginning of his employment, Stan checked patrons in and out of the Cary House. He had a great love of liquor, especially brandy and whiskey. When he wasn’t working, he would head down to Rivendell’s Book Store where he could socialize. Back then, the store was a great place to visit with fellow patrons, and to get a drink, especially on the cold damp days of winter. Stan would sneak out during his workday when no one was around, grab a drink, and hurry back to the hotel.

Stan loved women, but was ignored by them. He was a short, stocky man with reddish brown hair, balding on the top and not what most people would consider a 'ladies man'. Truth be known, he also liked men somewhat. He was not really in demand by either. So, he did his job, was polite until the alcohol took affect, loved gossip and checking people out, and was known to be a bit 'mouthy' and insulting. Apparently he made a pass at a man, the fellow stabbed him twice, and Stan fell down the stairs to his death.

My encounter with Stan happened the day I wanted to go upstairs by riding on the elevator. It's kept inside a room not much bigger than a closet. The wrought-iron door wouldn’t open. I tried, but to no avail. So did the manager. It was no big deal as the staircase was grand and fun to walk up to the second and third floors. I was disappointed because it looked like a fun ride. However, on the way back down to the lobby the door opened and worked perfectly.

Maybe old Stan was so happy to see me leave the hotel that he gladly let me take the ride. Some of the patrons have said they've seen their doorknobs turn when they retire for the night. Some believe Stan checks the door to each room with a lady guest just to make sure they are safely locked inside their rooms.

A television show that traveled around the country doing spots on the most haunted buildings did a twenty minute show on the ghosts in residence at Cary House. I took many photos the day I encountered Stan. I used the hotel in my Paradise Pines Series: Night Angel. Having the pictures reminded me of its elegance and made it easy for me to add the building as a large part of my story. The hero, Declan Grainger, was the hotel owner and since he was a Scot, he named it Chaumers Hotel, which means a house with many bedrooms.

Lily Fox craves attention. Her amazing voice and ability to mesmerize the miners and lumberjacks in a mountain community saloon brings her more than the notoriety she needs. She draws the attention of the town's hotel owner. If she plays her cards close to her chest and becomes his queen of hearts, the wealthy Scot could give her more than she dreamed.

The day Lily Fox sauntered into his hotel with the poise of a self-assured woman, Declan Grainger knew trouble wasn't far behind. Stealing his heart was only the beginning...

Declan realizes that underneath Lily's flamboyant behavior is a frightened, insecure woman searching for stability and a proper place in society.

Declan aches for Lily's love. He can't ask for her heart without revealing his secret life. If he unmasked himself as Paradise Pines' allusive Night Angel, how would she react?

Link: http://amzn.com/1612527957

The Day I Met A Ghost

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

In 1849 three desperados were line up and hanged from a tree at the location where the Hangman's Tree Lounge stands, in Placerville, California. History has conflicting stories as to what their crime might have been. Some historians say it was probably robbery. Others are certain the desperados cheated at cards, and when they got caught, a ghastly fight ensued and it ended up in a murder. The three were buried behind the tree, now a parking lot beside Highway 50.

A monument marks the spot. It reads:

"Somewhere here lies the remains of

The three unfortunates hanged in late

1849 from the oak tree in the feed

corral. After a fair trial by the

vigilantes, this incident changed the

name of Dry Diggin's to Hangtown.

Let us not judge too harshly, for those

Were rough days of the Great Gold Rush."

Years ago, I worked in an art gallery located three building down the street from the Hangman's Tree Saloon and had to deliver something to one of the patrons. The owner had mentioned in an interview that one morning when she opened the saloon, she saw a man sitting at one of the tables in front of her. She went on to say he wore a black coat and a tall hat. Once she'd recovered from the shock at seeing a man sitting alone in the locked saloon, he'd disappeared.

When I read this interview, I smiled and nodded because I knew she spoke the truth. That day when I was inside the saloon, I also had an experience with this same ghost. I passed a tall man wearing a long black coat and a tall black hat as I walked into the woman's bathroom. He was on his way out of a hall and nodded to me as he passed. At the time, a vision of Abraham Lincoln went through my mind. When I mentioned seeing the man, who had immediately disappeared into nothingness, I got a nod from the bartender. I'd seen their ghost. He had a friendly air about him, and since I didn't realize at first that I had encountered a ghost, I wasn't frightened. Even after I learned who he was, I was more excited than alarmed.

Currently hanging by his neck from the second story of the building is "George" -- a mannequin, dressed in 1800's attire and with his hands tied behind his back. He's been a part of the town's colorful history for almost 70 years. Some complain about seeing the unusual sight, but the majority of the people who live in Placerville and most of the visitors to the town think he adds mystique and gives the town an impression of what it might have been like living there during the heights of the gold rush.

The last of my Paradise Pines Series books, Stealing Her Heart, is now released.

http://amzn.com/B010PCJIEG

In Paradise Pines, real men didn't read romance much less write it. That is until Liam O'Toole comes to town. Unfortunately using a woman's identity to write under might get him hung. Because of a misunderstanding, a murder charge could put a rope around his neck for his own murder.

Margaret Hennessey's homemade biscuits have homesick miners flocking to her table. To her utter frustration a misguided thief is stealing her biscuits only to pay with a romantically written IOU. When the town cook dies, the townsfolk need her to take over the cafe kitchen.

An intrigue involving hidden gold and a band of renegade outlaws drives Liam to become the hero he's always written in his books. How else can he save not only his muse but the fiery redheaded biscuit maker who's not only his muse but the woman he just might call his happily ever after.

Excerpt:

"Wherever ya are ya dirty rotten thief, I hope ya choke on me food."

Her beauty stole his breath, but her quick temper sealed his fate. He'd found his heroine. She stood so close he could have reached through the thick brush and touched her, but at the moment he struggled to breathe.

An older man stepped from the tent's interior and rushed toward her. "Margaret, what's going on?"

She stuffed the IOU into her apron pocket. "A biscuit bandit is prowling these woods, Da. He stole one off me plate, the scoundrel."

Her father reached inside the tent and pulled out a shotgun. He checked to make sure the chambers were loaded. "Don't ya worry, daughter, I'll put buckshot in his behind."

Not liking where the old man's actions headed, Liam hurried back through the woods and didn't stop until he reached the river. He sat on the bank and stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. Damn but that was good. He wiped the crumbs off his face with the back of his sleeve. In fact, he'd never tasted anything like it before. He would risk everything, including his life, to eat another. Maybe not today, but he'd be back first thing tomorrow.

He couldn't stop thinking about the redhead with the fiery temper. Before he'd left Dublin, he'd loved his share of beautiful women, but none of them compared to this daughter of Ireland. Her father called her Margaret. Hmmm. Margaret? Maggie? Meg? Yes, that was it. He would name his new heroine Meg.

Excited he'd finally found the inspiration for his heroine, Liam wanted to write. He hiked down the dusty road into town. The fresh mountain air stirred his muse to a frenzy. At least today it did. It amazed him how this beauty could conjure up all kinds of ideas, most of them about writing -- a few not so creative, but a lot more enjoyable to think about.

Ghosts Still Haunt the Site of the California Gold Rush

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

I've been enjoying all of the ghosts stories posted this past week. We used to live in a community that is known for its gold rush ghosts. In fact, the art gallery I worked in had its own resident ghosts so I am definitely a believer.

The gallery was housed in a renovated building located in Placerville, California. The building dated back to 1851. Originally it was called the 49er Corner Saloon and to this day a creek runs under the building. My first inclination of a live-in ghost was when I heard heavy footsteps overhead. I wouldn't have thought anything of it except all the tenants who worked above the art gallery were away for Christmas holiday. A man's footsteps walked back and forth; doors slammed. I mentioned this occurrence to my boss. She went upstairs and checked the entire floor. She found nobody. The next year around the Christmas holidays it happened again. Then a few months later, we found one of our wastebaskets missing. There were three gray and one pink left together in the middle of the backroom after we'd emptied them. In the morning, the pink wastebasket was missing and was never found. One of my jobs was to print out tags and tape them on the wall next to each painting. One morning I found all of the tags in the middle of the room on the carpeted floor and several paintings hung crooked on the wall. The final blow was when my boss and another clerk were working behind the counter on one side of the gallery. Across the room, a six-foot tall ceramic vase slammed against the wall hard enough to break into several pieces and the mahogany table that was next to the vase had a leg badly scratched. The ghost had turned violent for the first time. My boss called in a ghost expert and she worked her trade well. The ghost never came back after her visit.

Across the street from the art gallery is The Cary House Hotel, built in 1857. I have used this hotel in several of my books in the Paradise Pines Series. The inside has been kept in the same décor as it was when it was built. The hotel boasts of having two ghosts. The former television show that explored haunted places in the U.S. spent twenty minutes exposing Stan. I did encounter Stan when I was going upstairs to gather information for my stories. The owners have added an elevator to the hotel and it is kept inside a closet. We tried to open the door but it was stuck. The manager told me Stan wasn't happy about us intruding so we walked up the stairs. On the way down, there was no problem. The door slid open and we got our ride. It is rumored that Stan loved women and possibly the men as well. To this day he checks each doorknob in the hotel to make sure the guests are safely locked inside. He also rides the elevator up and down most of the night. Stan was the clerk in the lobby for many years. He was a short, stocky man with reddish brown hair, balding on the top and not what most people would consider a 'ladies' man. He did his job politely until alcohol took effect, loved gossip, and checking people out of the hotel. Sometimes he was insulting and sarcastic. He apparently made a pass at a man, the man stabbed him twice in anger, and Stan fell down the stairs to his death.

The hotel has many ghost sightings and it draws people to tempt their fate with the ghosts. Several other buildings in town are haunted. One day while I was taking notes in the Hangman's Bar I saw a tall man with a long black coat and tall black hat walk out of the women's bathroom. He reminded me of what Abraham Lincoln looked like. He just dissolved a few feet in front of me. No, I had not been imbibing.

We have moved from the Placerville area so I no longer watch for ghosts. They give the town a sense of the past and a bit of mystery.

Declan Grainger, the hero in my Night Angel story, was the owner of Chaumers Hotel, which I modeled after The Cary House. Chaumers Hotel took on a life of its own, but as far as I know no ghosts live there...yet.

http://amzn.com/B00909PON0

The Incredible World of Gold Rush Ghosts written by Nancy Bradley and Robert Reppert give a great accounting of all the ghosts living in this area. I recommend it to anyone with a ghostly imagination.

Wheelbarrow John Returns to Old Hangtown

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

The El Dorado Republican and Nugget got out a special edition in honor of the occasion of John Studebaker returning to Placerville, California, fifty-nine years after he left the gold rush town. (April 1907)

More than fifty-nine years ago a gaunt youth of nineteen stepped down from an emigrant wagon and took his first look around at the country where he had come to make a fortune. In his pocket was a lone 50-cent piece. Today a kindly-faced aged man stepped from a luxurious automobile and looked around him at the area where he had laid the foundation for his fortune. It was J.M. Studebaker returning to take perhaps his last look at the scenes of his early struggles.

The auto had drawn up in front of the Ohio House where on the wooden porch stood a score of grizzled men. As Studebaker stepped down from his auto he spied a face in the crowd. ''Hello Newt, you around here yet?" he said, by way of salutation.

"Yes, I'm here yet," answered Newton T. Spencer with his Missouri drawl, "but they call me judge now, Mr. Studebaker, ye see I'm the Justice of the Peace."

"Huh! What did you ever know about law when you and Hank Monk used to stop in the road and decide with your fists which of your stages was going to back up to let the other pass?" exclaimed Studebaker in jocular tone.

"And you, too, Charley Von Weidierwachs, where's that rip-snortin' Jayhawk, Blackhawk, Mohawk father of yours?" asked Studebaker, shaking hands with a bent figure, beneath whose black hat hung locks of silver gray.

"City clerk Weatherwax, if you please," he drew himself up with a mock show of pride, "that name bothered me worse than all tarnation, so I had to change it."

"Well, this town hasn't changed," Studebaker paused to glance about him as he shook hands with the men who were young and full of hope when he first came here.

"And where's Mike Mayer, one of the men who worked with me?" he asked.

Studebaker was told. A few minutes later he was driven up to a white painted cottage and was shown inside. His visit must be brief, he knew.

"Is that you, Wheelbarrow John?" a tremulous voice asked the question as a thin and emaciated hand came out from beneath the coverlet and groped for a hand to press in greeting.

"Yes, it's I, Mike," answered Studebaker, as he looked into the sightless eyes and drawn face of Michael Mayer.

There was feeling in his voice as Studebaker said, "I must go now, Mike."

They clasped hands for a minute more -- these two relics of the days of 1849 -- one worth millions and the other -- well, not so rich.

Before Studebaker would sit down to the banquet in honor of his return to Hangtown he must see some of the old places he knew. He saw not many. Hangtown was swept by the fire while he was here in the early days; it was destroyed again many years after he left. But the old-timers who rode alongside of him pointed out the place where he went to work for Joe Hinds to make wheelbarrows for $10 each.

The dining room of the Ohio House where the banquet was served had been elaborately decorated. The tables held bouquets of wild flowers, and the walls of the room were banked with yellow poppies against a solid background of ferns. The menu card, on which was emblazoned a picture of a man swinging from a tree, and another representing a man with overalls in boots trundling a wheelbarrow load of gold, was printed after the manner of pioneer typography, the clever imitation winning compliments for the craftsmen of the Placerville "Republican and Nugget office." The catalogue of eatables was replete with early-day references.

CHUCK LIST:

Chili Gulch Rib Warmer

Sluice Box Tailings, flavored with Chicken

High-grade Olives

Spanish Flat Onions

Cedar Ravine Radishes

Coon Hollow Pickles

Sacramento River Salmon paved with cheese

Indian diggings Spuds

Tertiary Moisture

Slab of Cow from the States

Bandana Fries with Bug-juice

Lady Canyon Chicken, Hangtown dressed

Webbertown Murphy's Shirt-tailed Bend Peas

Dead Man's Ravine Asparagus

Cemented Gravel a la emigrant Jane

Butcher Brown Fizz Water

Assorted Nuggets

Amalgam Cheese, Riffle Crackers

Mahala's Delight en tasse

Texas Hill Fruit

Pay Day Smokes

Hard Pan Smokes

The Historic Cary House Hotel

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

The Cary House Hotel, built in 1857, still stands in Placerville, CA, and is still a functioning hotel.

This jewel, built when the gold rush town was prospering, still treats its guests to an interesting night’s sleep. During the five years I worked in the Chablis Art Gallery across the street from the hotel, I was able to make friends with the manager who graciously let me take photos inside and out, and meet one of the two most active ghosts. The hotel featured such luxuries as hot and cold running water, a novelty in its time, an elegant grand staircase, and a lobby handcrafted in mahogany and cherry woods.

Echoes from a colorful history linger in the halls of the great place. Early days provided a regular stop for stage lines that brought travelers to the gold country and returning with millions of dollars in bullion for transport to the San Francisco mint. Its wrought-iron trimmed balcony lent a great space for Horace Greely to give a speech and the world-renowned “Hangtown Fry” (oysters and scrambled eggs) was created at the Cary House by request of a miner who had struck it rich in the gold fields.

The ghost I tangled with was Stan. He lives in the lobby of the hotel.

He was the clerk at the check-in counter for many years, and he loves the place so he sticks around. In the beginning of his employment, he checked patrons in and out of the Cary House. He had a great love of liquor, especially brandy and whiskey. When he wasn’t working, he would head down to Rivendell’s Book Store where he could socialize. Back then, the store was a great place to visit with fellow patrons, and to get a drink, especially on cold damp days of winter. Stan would sneak out during his workday when no one was around, grab a drink and hurry back to the hotel.

Stan loved women, but was ignored by them. He was a short, stocky man with reddish brown hair, balding on the top and not what most people would consider a 'ladies man.' Truth be known, he also liked men somewhat. He was not really in demand by either. So, he did his job, was polite until the alcohol took affect, loved gossip and checking people out, and was known to be a bit 'mouthy' and insulting. Apparently he made a pass at a man, and the fellow stabbed him twice, and Stan fell down the stairs to his death.

My encounter with Stan happened the day I wanted to go upstairs by riding on the elevator. The wrought-iron door wouldn’t open. I tried and so did the manager.

It was no big deal as the staircase was grand and fun to walk up to the second and third floors. However, on the way down it worked perfectly. Guess old Stan was so happy to see me leaving that he gladly let me take the ride. Rumors from patrons have said they see their doorknobs turn when they retire for the night. Some believe he checks each room that has a lady guest just to make sure they are safely locked in their rooms. A television show that traveled around the country doing spots on the most haunted buildings did a twenty minute show on the ghosts in residence at Cary House.

Information from “The Incredible World of Gold Rush Ghosts”

Gold Rush Buildings of Stone and Bricks

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

During the 1849 gold rush, mining camps started as a cluster of tents and other makeshift shelters. If the mine became productive, wooden buildings were erected and a town was born.

Fires were a recurring curse. Often entire towns were repeatedly destroyed by fire. Stonemasons, especially Italian immigrants from Liguria, began building "fire proof" banks and stores of stone or brick with iron doors and iron window shutters to protect the contents from fire. Many of these stone buildings still survive. The Cary House in downtown Placerville, California is one of those buildings with the huge iron doors that were closed and saved the building more than once from burning.

The Placerville Soda Works, also referred to as the Pearson Soda Works Building, is another classic Gold Rush structure and perhaps the most interesting building in town. It was built in stages, a mixture of fieldstone, rectangular blocks, bricks, and assorted rubble. John McFarland Pearson, a Scotsman, arrived in Placerville during the early 1850’s and built the lower portion of this building in 1859, with walls twenty-two inches thick.

Pearson was an ice merchant. He would cut ice from mountain lakes, haul them into town by horse and wagon, and then sell the blocks to the various places that had need of ice. He then branched out into the soda business, producing soda water, cream soda, and syrups which he sold to the townsfolk. Spring water was carbonated, bottled and sold to the miners. The soda water was an important product as the river and creeks were polluted from mining activities which made that source of water unsafe to drink. Pearson’s sons added the brick second story in 1897 for use as a bottling room.

Several interesting features are incorporated into this unique structure. Underground rooms, mine tunnels used to store ice and soda, iron doors which help support part of the upper floor, and a water driven elevator which once transported the heavy cases of soda from the bottling room to the storage areas all combine to create one of the most unusual buildings of the Gold Rush. This property is a significant reminder of one of the city's important 19th century economic activities. The building of Victorian architecture is a notable local example of its type and method of construction, with an 1859 lower story of cut stone and an 1897 upper story of stone and brick; it remains as one of the city's oldest commercial buildings without major alterations.

Smith Flat House

A couple of weeks ago I started physical therapy on my knee. The doctor sent me to a therapist who has his office in the historical Smith Flat House which is located three miles east of Placerville, California. I was pleased to be able to visit this unique building again because I have used a part of it in my current WIP, Broken Promise. When we first moved to this former gold rush area, the upstairs in this building was used as a restaurant and the downstairs as a bar. That is where I saw the Blue Lead Goldmine tunnel, my first observance of a mine entry into the ground. The house was built over the entrance. I will never forget the smell of decay and the darkest black I have ever seen. The thought of miners entering into the earth at that point terrified me. You cannot imagine what it would be like unless you thought you might run into the devil’s hand reaching out for you.

Mile houses were established during the gold rush. They were places along the stage coach lines where travelers could stop to rest. Many of the mile houses that were on parts of the road that were privately owned also collected tolls.

Being on the Placerville wagon and stage road, Smith's Flat was the perfect location for a hotel and toll station. The Three Mile House, now known as the Smith Flat House, was built at this location in 1853. Built over the entrance of the Blue Lead Mine, the Smith Flat House originally consisted of a general store, post office, bedroom, dining room and dance floor, all situated downstairs, with more bedrooms above. There was also a barn that could stable 40 horses for the many teamsters and travelers that passed this way.

Just as the number of California emigrants passing through Smith's Flat began to decrease, silver was discovered near Virginia City in Nevada. Immediately the traffic reversed and the road became the most crowded road in the state as thousands of freight wagons carrying supplies and equipment passed by on their way over the Sierra Nevada to the mines. Because of this traffic, in 1863 a blacksmith's shop was added next to the Smith Flat House, followed in the 1890s by additional improvements to the building including a kitchen, pantry, laundry, more bedrooms and a saloon and card room.

When Sarah Lombardo turned eighteen in 1885, she married Nicola Fossati, the soul owner of the Smith Flat House at that time. She was expected to take over management of the house, including doing all of the work. It had two floors. Located on the first floor was the general store, saloon, card room, post office, and living quarters for the family. Upstairs there were 11 rooms for boarders and a large dance hall that was used as community center for political meetings, precinct voting, dancing, traveling shows, and auditorium for other large gatherings. At first Sarah was overwhelmed; however, she soon adjusted to supervising the business.

Also, since Sarah was expected to manage the post office and general store, she needed to learn bookkeeping. The agent for Sperry Flour Company offered to teach her and was amazed at how fast the young woman learned. When a young arrival from Italy, John Lagomarsino, needed help learning English and arithmetic, Sarah became his tutor. Lagomarsino was later instrumental in helping A.P. Giannini found the Bank of Italy, now known as the Bank of America.

During Sarah’s lifetime, it is doubtful that she ever left Smith’s Flat House, except for an occasional visit to Placerville. Yet she managed to reach out and touch the lives of many.

Old Hangtown, California

From Dry Diggins to Hangtown to Placerville
Dry Diggins was the first of thirty mining camps to spring up around Coloma, where gold was discovered by James Marshall on January 24, 1848. While other camps, such as Bottle Hill, Georgia Slide, and Murderer's Bar just faded away, Hangtown, or Placerville, was a survivor, along with Diamond Springs, El Dorado, Shingle Springs and Georgetown.

Dry Diggins became known as Hangtown in the fall of 1849, due to vigilante justice meted out to criminals at the end of a rope, often at the giant old oak tree on the thoroughfare in town. With the large influx of fortune hunters from around the world came the usual portion of unsavory characters committing all manner of despicable deeds, from robbery to murder.

The miners quickly became short-tempered with the rising crime rate and the lack of readily-available law enforcement, so they took the "law" (or lack thereof) into their own hands. Criminals were punished in short order, whether it be flogging or hanging, based on snap decisions made by impromptu courts with hastily-formed juries. If you voiced your reasonable objections in favor of a more lengthy, but fair trial for the accused, you'd risk swinging, too.

Flog Five, Hang Three - The first lynching in the camp, a triple hanging, came after a gang of five tried to rob a miner of his gold dust. They were caught and each received a whipping of nearly 40 strokes. Then someone in the crowd of 2,000 said he recognized three of the five as being wanted for involvement with a murder on the Stanislaus River. At that, the three suspects, who were still weak from the flogging they took, were immediately tried, sentenced and hanged by the mob.

There was one dissenter, E.G. Buffum, who stood on a stump and protested on behalf of the accused, saying they were too weak from loss of blood to either stand or speak in their own defense. His valiant efforts were in vain, however, and he himself was threatened with lynching by the angry mob if he didn't 'shut up'. Buffum escaped with his life and later became the senior editor of the Alta newspaper in San Francisco.

The three suspects were hanged together from the huge oak tree in camp. The location of this well-used hangin' tree is marked by an effigy dangling by his neck from the second story of the Hangman's Tree Historic Spot in downtown Placerville. The stump is said to be in the cellar.

A lynching in 1850 resulted from an incident that happened at the El Dorado Hotel, when a miner accused a young Monte dealer of "waxing the cards". The card dealer was the infamous Dick Crone, who threatened to cut the miner's heart out if he accused him of cheating again. When the miner repeated the words, the gambler drew a large bowie knife, plunging it into the miner's chest twice, twisting it around the second time (obviously trying to make good on his threat to cut his heart out). Miners flocked into town from outlying diggins to locate and punish Crone. He was found hiding in Coffee's tavern, and was promptly tried (with witnesses testifying), convicted, and hanged that very evening by a mob jury of thousands.

The vigilante lynchings, with their often deserved but sometimes questionable justice, brought about a measure of peace within the camp. The criminals hadn't left the scene completely, however. They just moved their business to the outskirts of town, ambushing miners. These bushwhackers had a gang-like network, complete with in-town spies, secret handgrips, and special passwords. A vigilante committee was formed to deal with this problem.

The Cary House Hotel

The Cary House Hotel, built in 1857, still stands in Placerville, CA. This jewel, built when the gold rush town was prospering, still treats its guests to an interesting night’s sleep. During the five years I worked in the Chablis Art Gallery across the street from the hotel, I was able to make friends with the manager who graciously let me take photos inside and out, and meet one of the two most active ghosts. The hotel features such luxuries as hot and cold running water, a novelty in its time, and an elegant grand staircase and a lobby handcrafted in mahogany and cherry woods.

Echoes from a colorful history linger in the halls of the great place. Early days provided a regular stop for stage lines that brought travelers to the gold country and returning with millions of dollars in bullion for transport to the San Francisco mint. Its wrought-iron trimmed balcony lent a great space for Horace Greely to give a speech and the world-renowned “Hangtown Fry” (oysters and scrambled eggs) was created at the Cary House by request of a miner who had struck it rich in the gold fields.

The ghost that I tangled with was Stan. He lives in the lobby of the hotel. He was the lobby clerk for many years, and he loves the place so he sticks around. In the beginning he checked patrons in and out of the Cary House. He had a great love of liquor, especially brand and whiskey. When he wasn’t working, he’d head down to the Rivendell’s Book Store where he could socialize. Back then the store was a great place to visit with fellow drinkers, and to get a drink, especially on cold damp days of winter. He would sneak out during his workday when no one was around, grab a drink and hurry back to the hotel.

Stan loved women, but was ignored by them. He was a short, stocky man with reddish brown hair, balding on the top and not what most people would consider a “ladies man. Truth be known, he also liked men somewhat. He was not really in demand by either. So, he did his job, was polite until the alcohol took affect, loved gossip and checking people out, and was known to be a bit ‘mouthy’ and insulting. Apparently he made a pass at a man, and the fellow stabbed him twice, and Stan fell down the stairs to his death.

My encounter with Stan happened the day I wanted to go upstairs by riding on the elevator. The wrought-iron door wouldn’t open. I tried and so did the manager.

It was no big deal as the staircase was grand and fun to travel up to the second and third floors. However, on the way down the elevator worked perfectly. Guess old Stan was so happy to see me leaving that he gladly let me take the ride. Rumors from patrons have said they see their doorknobs turn when they retire for the night. Some believe he checks each room that has a lady guest just to make sure they are safely locked inside their rooms. Maybe at another time, I can share some of the interesting ghost stories from Cary House. A television show that traveled around the country doing spots on the most haunted buildings did a twenty minute show on the ghosts in residence at Cary House.

Information from The Incredible World of Gold Rush Ghosts”