by S. L. Hawke
“Oh wow!” Genoa giggled. “Moon. Girl. Wow.”
I shook my head, “Oh com’on!” Two of the flashlights went off. One stayed on, then faded.
I tried to find Randall hiding alongside the stairs on the walk but suddenly he wasn’t there. Where’d he go?
“Who…Why…Emma…” Genoa read the words off the tablet. She shook her head.
Chills hit me. I was wrong. Maybe I really did see A.J. again.
“Who was Emma? Was she your wife?” another investigator asked. One light from the flashlight went on. “Maybe you weren’t married but wanted to be?” Two lights went on.
“Did she betray you?” Kent asked, very loudly. I felt uncomfortable. This felt different from before, this whole line of questioning.
All three lights blazed forth.
“Really?” Genoa checked her equipment again. She took a breath.
“Show yourself, Jack Sloan. Can you try to show yourself?” Kent also asked this out loud. He sounded challenging, like he wanted to provoke A.J.
“Look! Over there. I see him!!!” another team member whispered loudly, prompting everyone to turn. The video camera, now stationary on a tripod with a night vision lens, looked like a big green eye.
“Oh my God, it’s really Jack Sloan,” another woman team member whispered with reverence.
“Say something, Jack. Don’t be afraid,” Genoa spoke. “We’d like to talk about how you died.”
“Enough…Bullets…Kill…anybody..?” Genoa said the words that popped out on her tablet out loud trying hard not to chuckle. “This entity has a sense of humor.” She looked at her tablet again as if surprised by its readout. “’Will not…die…I..am..not..dead…home.” Genoa tapped her device to check its status.
Someone pointed right at where I thought Randall had been.
“A full size apparition. Amazing!” Kent commented quietly. Someone else held up a K2 meter, which measured either cell phone wireless activity or EMF from any other source. The K2 meters all lit up green. A.J. took a few steps down the walk into their field of view. He made no sound.
“So you were shot? How many times did they shoot you, Jack?”
“Once,” Randall answered, loudly. He walked out of the darkness behind us and placed a hand on my arm. He did not let go. “And the name’s Federal Agent Randall Ikebara. What the hell are you doing in my backyard?” His hand went back down to his side, but the feel of it on my arm didn’t leave. Some of the crew were sitting down on the lower half of Peter and Olivia’s place.
“What?” Jesus, the sound guy, took off his headphones. “What the hell is going on?”
“Oh my God. You can’t be real. How long have you been standing there watching us?” the Celtic Queen, whose name was Myra, objected with a loud gasp.
“Long enough,” Randall said. The silence was tense. The investigators weren’t reacting to his presence, but to the way he answered them.
“Wow, Jack Sloan in the flesh.” Another investigator moved forward to look up at Randall. “Thought those answers were a bit too funny.” She smiled widely. In the dim light I saw it was Tech Girl (whose name was Julie).
“You get any answers?” Randall addressed me.
The group got very animated. Randall graciously looked at their equipment, the EVPs and then removed his hat and coat, draping them over my outdoor couch as if he lived here.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt your investigation.”
Imp, I thought. Of course you did. I asked you to.
“It’s okay,” Genoa said with a smile. “We can come back another night. Maybe you can join us? You might be able to get the Ghost of Arana Gulch to give up his secrets.” Here Randall did something oddly familiar. He smiled and looked out onto the Gulch.
“There is still a lot of research to do,” I agreed. “You need to come back, for sure.”
Genoa looked between us. “When you both are ready, give me a call.” She handed me her business card.
I looked back out onto Arana Gulch. “What really happened to you, A.J.?” I muttered. “Was that A.J. who spoke?” I added. His recent haunting came back to me. Those eyes of his, dark, sad, and the words: I must get home.
“I have a feeling,” Randall said as he came alongside me, “that if we work together, we can find out what really happened back in the day.” I looked up at Randall.
“He came to me, here.” I choked up. “I couldn’t help him then.”
“But you are now. Just by believing that he was more than the story others said of him.” Randall looked down at the gulch.
“Whatever truly happened, I don’t believe he died that night.”
“Then why is he haunting?”
“Maybe he doesn’t want the story to be forgotten. The real story. Maybe, too, he wants us to understand what drove him to do what he did.”
Here I doubted myself, the sighting, all of my research. “But he would have left more of a trail,” I admitted.
“Maybe,” Randall sighed. “Then again, you have to know more about the situation, the times, the people around him. What were they like? What were they doing? Sometimes clues appear when you shift focus. Once you figure out the motive, the trail of evidence appears.” Randall got up and looked over at the stairwell. “Maybe it isn’t just Jack Sloan who haunts.”
“What?”
“Well, the man said his wife, or the woman he loved, had betrayed him. Sounds like that might be a reason to haunt.” Randall looked at me.
“This afternoon–” I started.
“I’m sorry, Ellen needed something of her mother’s. Looks like we’re gonna be in-laws.”
“What?” Mick hadn’t told me. I checked my phone. Two missed calls, one from my son, one from Randall. Randall looked like he was going to laugh.
“I’m sorry I ran off without saying anything. I called Mick to get your number, then called you, then remembered this.” Randall gestured for me to join him on the outdoor couch. “And I have a few theories of my own about this murder. I hope you will hear me out.”
All I could do was nod.
Acknowledgements
Locals will enjoy some of the references to current historic and popular sites. The closest experience to the Harris Hotel today will be the Red Room on the opposite side of what was once the original downtown. (Please see links at the end of this book). The Red Room itself was once the Santa Cruz Hotel, built in 1877.
The Veteran’s Memorial Building is all that remains in the area of the Franklin House, the real “Harris House” of this novel. I am indebted to the Archives of the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History for allowing an original lithograph to be made available for viewing and for Researcher’s Anonymous for having a “Bird’s Eye Viewing” Day of this wonderful map, colorized, and currently available on the media site, Prezi.com.
Everyone at the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History, especially Executive Director Nina Simon inspired me to have passion, to believe in my vision and encouraged me to keep going on my research into the Sloan history.
The Curator of Collections, Marla Novo, has amazing patience regarding my paranoia surrounding our Evergreen Archives file cabinet. She met my repeated requests to view old Evergreen map originals with warmth, advice, and listened to all my haywire theories.
Assistant Greg Gardner found stuff during his clean outs that changed my interpretations of Evergreen completely. And then he let me know! Wow!
Dhyanna, our Volunteer Coordinator is an incredibly cheerful presence, demonstrating dedication to the art of welcoming volunteers. She made me hang in there and hang on.
A group of local historians humorously referred to as Researchers Anonymous were plainly befuddled at my interest, but in the end, saw my work at the cemetery as helpful and hopeful. Most especially, thanks go to Norm and Kathy Poitevin, Robert and Joan Nelson, Randall Brown, Traci Bliss, Rick Hyman, Derek Whaley and the Curator of The San Lorenzo Museum and Historical Publications Committee member Lisa Robinson. History is truly
addictive and they were great at enabling my habit.
For the real Evergreenies: Kate, Gary, Sibley, Mary, and Heather, thanks for keeping me on my toes about respecting the past and creating the present.
Thank you Nancy, Judy, and Mary Jo. You are the original multitaskers: career women, lunch ladies, docents, grandmothers, and board members. You never, ever give up on anyone, anything, or any event. Thanks for your reminders and rememberances.
Thank you, HSC (Homeless Service Center). Your Volunteers were tireless and indispensable with their commitment to backbreaking excavation help.
Santa Cruz Ghost Hunters are real. They haunt historic venues, appear at odd times in famous beer joints and were incredibly tolerant of me crashing investigations. They even insisted I be their token “psychic” and opened my eyes to my “gift” as being a gift, epic drinking parties not withstanding…
E Clampus Vitus is an amazing fraternity. Member Jim Cirner, Humbug Steven Martenuk, and all the guys at the 1797 Branciforte unit, restored my faith in the art of being gentlemen. Their tireless efforts towards conservation at Evergreen was a bonus. Their former leader, the late Dennis Gobbets, whose E Clampus Vitus quote: “A drinking society with an historicial problem,” will make me never forget him.
My family kept telling me to keep at it, and despite two of them being scientists (a geneticist and an engineer) they insisted I believe in A.J. My husband patiently comforted me through bouts of self doubt and by sheer confident calm resistance to my self criticism, helped me believe in myself.
As for Andrew Jackson Sloan, his continuing vigil of our property may finally end, but his legend is only beginning.
And K. Kennedy, you simply saved my life! (and edited, questioned, and listened with enormous patience to my difficulties!)
Author's Note
Today A.J. Sloan is known as The Ghost of Arana Gulch. There have been many sightings of a “tall thin man wearing a wide brimmed hat, and dark coat.”1 His very first ghostly appearance began in 1895 thirty years after his murder2. Labeled as “hooey history” in a file in our Evergreen Cemetery Archives, the embellished story is still available as part of a larger more compelling work by the late historian Phil Reader, called Charole.3
A.J.’s fate grew in telling, much of it not reliant on facts. Media often talks about his angry ghost, or how A.J. ‘had a deep hatred for the Mexican People.’4 For many years, during Evergreen Cemetery’s event, Spooky Tales, docents told a tale about how ‘Jack’ met his drunken fate, alone, unarmed, and in cold blood.5
This story did not sit right with me. A drunken, raging unarmed man pursuing armed men, in a dark, bush clogged, muddy creek, made no sense. However, a confession of the murder, made by an eighteen year old man who was miles away from the murder site at the time of his arrest less than thirty minutes after the alleged crime, confirmed to me that this event needed a second look. A small paragraph in the local newspaper, dated fourteen years after the crime, also reflected a similar idea, that there was ‘hooey’ in this happening.6
In the interim, I had tried to interview and engage previous historians who had worked on compiling Sloan’s history. Many told me they could not remember or that I had taken it further along than they had initially researched. Most had relied on the original fanciful tale of ambush and drunkenness.
Bottom line: no one wanted to mess with the Ghost of Arana Gulch.
Approaching A.J.’s murder using a crime board, taking a ‘forensic’ approach to our actual gravesite, yielded some interesting inconsistencies and a few genuine surprises. This novel, though fanciful, fun, and perhaps, yes, romantic, explores many of these funny theories. Some of my ideas came from actual arrest and court documents of the time, from Monterey, then the seat of Federal Law for this county. These documents, Marshals’ warrants and subpoenas, showed some prominent Santa Cruz business owners involved in opium smuggling.7
But the most interesting crime around all of this, was the slew of questionable deeds and affidavits filed two months previous to A.J.’s death. These affadavits state that a number of white people had lived within the village of Branciforte, near the murder site, for many years. This was impossible as Branciforte was entirely Latino. Branciforte Adobe and village, located, and included the other side of what is now called Arana Gulch. Branciforte was one of the largest and oldest Adobes, the last of the large family land grants originating from Spain. (Today’s Arana Gulch was referred to as Rodriguez Gulch on maps of the early 1860s8.)
These odd affidavits were all filed in groups, several on the same day, December 21, 18649. A week, sometimes two weeks later, appeals were filed by the Rodriguez/Lorenzana family contesting these claims with affidavits of residency and promises of land parcel owners to convert to United States Citizenship.10
A week before A.J. was ambushed and murdered, pistols, clothing, and a horse stolen from Branciforte, along with the deliberate felling of telegraph poles, is an interesting investigative side note11. A.J. was shot three times with a pistol, according to the coroner’s jury12.
Local law enforcement swept into this legally contested village the night of the murder. Using the raw power of a vigilante mob, the Sheriff arrested women, children, older folk, and burned the Adobe itself. The Sheriff immediately assumed the murderer was fugitive bandido Faustino Lorenzana, even though no one identified Lorenzana as the assailant until four days AFTER the murder itself. Under confession, a young cousin, known to have been ‘simple’, told a complex story about who shot who in plain sight of another white witness who claimed to not see a thing13.
So who was the “white witness”? A man named John Towne. The last one to see A.J. alive, John Towne had married A.J.’s youngest sister just two years previous this incident. John Towne was also an active County Supervisor and met regularly with the founder of Santa Cruz, F.A. Hihn. This familial connection appeared to be a significant reason for a number of reactions, one of which was the death of the young confessor and witness, by a mob, and the release from lack of evidence, of another young man implicated by the confession, Jose Rodriguez.14
Andrew Sloan’s story is still unfolding. What we have ascertained are the following facts: A.J. served six months in the Mexican War, never saw action, and was mustered out due to illness15. A.J.’s sisters were successful in business and community endeavors. His brother-in-law Jonathan Guild built many of our roads. His entire family is listed on the United States Census for Santa Cruz County in 1860 but he is not16. A.J. was one of the first men to travel the Nobles Trail into California with Captain Fuller, a regular wagon train guard. A.J. himself came into California in 1852 and led new settlers into the town of Shasta California, telling the correspondant that they lost two cattle to arrows from an attack near the area of Black Butte.17
I really did find and excavate that broken piece of A.J.’s headstone on a tip from an Evergreen historian, Robert Nelson, now retired. Please see the Santa Cruz Museum of Art and History’s October 18, 2012 blog post called: “A Dig That Led to a Ghostly Discovery”.
I do volunteer at Evergreen Cemetery and help research the many interesting folk interred there. (see appendix for our Facebook page and Twitter feed links).
Andrew Jackson Sloan’s story serves an example of the tensions people faced during these times. Unfortunately the attitude still lingers in Santa Cruz today between diverse communities.
Knowing that history repeats itself, creates, ironically, change. We can bridge the cultural gap and do what our current museum has already done: Make unexpected connections and create unique, creative, and vibrant solutions to community issues that continue to challenge us.
Enough said. – S.L. Hawke, Arana Gulch, February 2015
For Author’s Notes, timelines, and other historical tidbits please follow S.L. Hawke’s blog
https://www.evergreencemeterymysteries.blogspot.com
http://www.santacruzmah.org/our-exhibition-philosophy/historic-sites/
http://www.santacruzmah.org/wp-content/u
ploads/2011/07/Evergreen.pdf
http://www.santacruzmah.org/evergreen
https://www.facebook.com/groups/109114362454881/#_=_
http://laforetrestaurant.com/info_history.htm
http://www.byington.com/
https://www.bonnydoonvineyard.com/
http://www.redrestaurantandbar.com
http://www.newalmaden.org
http://www.sccgov.org/sites/parks/parkfinder/Pages/Almaden-Quicksilver-Mining-Museum.aspx
http://www.usmarshals.gov/usmshist.html
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Ami burro, Children’s Mexican Folk tune, unknown
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Bouvier, Virginia M. Women and the Conquest of California, 1542-1840. Tucson, AZ University of Arizona Press 2001
Brewer, William H. Up and Down California, 1860-1864. Berkeley, CA University of California Press 4th Edtion 2003
Clark, Donald Thomas. Santa Cruz County Place Names. Santa Cruz, CA Santa Cruz Historical Society 1986
Calhoun, Frederick The Lawmen: United States Marshals and their Deputies 1789-1989, Washington, DC Smithsonian Press 1990
Grey, Ethel Sunset Gleams from the City of the Mounds (New York: John F. Trow, 1852), 68–69; Philip Schaff and Arthur Gilman, eds., A Library of Religious Poetry: A Collection of the Best Poems of all Ages and Tongues. With Biographical and Literary Notes (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1881)
Harrison, E.S. History of Santa Cruz County California. San Francisco,CA Pacific Press Publishing Company, 1892
Hayes, Derek Historical Atlas of California. Berkeley, CA University of California Press 2007
Kirby, Georgiana Georgiana: Feminist Reformer of the West, The Journal of Georgiana Bruce Kirby, 1852-1860 Santa Cruz, CA Santa Cruz Historical Trust 1987
Lanyon, Milton and Bulmore, Laurence Cinnabar Hills: The Quicksilver Days of New Almaden Los Gatos, CA Village Printers 1967