Man in the wind
Charles Lummis did more than his share to preserve the culture of America’s Southwest
By Joanna Beresford 07/16/2009
“I feel that we who today inherit California are under a filial obligation to save whatever we may of the incomparable romance which has made the word California a word to conjure with for 400 years. I feel that we cannot decently dodge a certain trusteeship to save the Old Missions from ruin and the Old Songs from oblivion.” — Charles Fletcher Lummis
Charles F. Lummis named his home El Alisal, Place of the Sycamores, because in 1898, when he found the property along the west bank of the Arroyo Seco, it was scattered with boulders, brush, gravel and “30 noble sycamores.” Construction of the house itself lasted more than 20 years. Today, when you pass through the gates of El Alisal, enter the still and quiet entry garden and stroll the glittering dirt path that leads to the house, you might look at that sun-warmed façade and imagine Lummis himself at work, his hands covered in dust and wielding a lathe. I did, and I wondered how he managed it. How did he create this fantastic, intricate work of architecture and design all by himself? The answer is simple: one stone at a time.
In September 1884 Lummis embarked on a journey from Chillicothe, Ohio, to Los Angeles, traveling 3,507 miles on foot. He arrived in LA 143 days later, having survived, among other things, the brutal snows of New Mexico — all with a broken arm but with a fresh and fervent passion for the Southwest and its people.
Lummis joined the staff of the Los Angeles Times. He lived and worked like a zealot without much sleep until suffering a stroke that left him paralyzed on the left side of his body. Then he returned to New Mexico and embarked on a rigorous self-prescribed recuperation regimen that included horseback riding, handling a gun, shooting photographs and fishing.
Lummis published 10 books in the 1890s, the most enduring of which is probably “The Land of Poco Tiempo,” which he dedicated to both of his first two wives. Later Lummis traipsed around South America, exploring and taking photographs with Adolph Bandelier. After leaving the Times, he became editor of the seminal monthly publication, Land of Sunshine, later named Out West. Lummis used his breadth of influence and experience to advance his lifelong quest to preserve and protect the culture of Native Americans. He also founded the Southwest Society, a branch of the Archaeological Institute of America. He wanted to build an institution that would preserve and celebrate the real efforts and accomplishments of the American Southwest — and thus was born the Southwest Museum. He also served as Los Angeles city librarian from 1905 to 1910.
El Alisal now serves as headquarters for the Historical Society of Southern California. The house may embody his most profound response to a question he often asked himself and the world: Why are we here? He built the place to last 1,000 years, and its architecture and craftsmanship he described as “part of my life and my brains and my love and my hands.”
He built his stone castle in an L-shape around a magnificent sycamore tree. Concrete covers the stones and boulders that he found along the dry riverbed. He laid concrete floors and fashioned massive wood doors and window frames and built cabinets himself with hardware he procured from professional metal workers. He plastered the walls in an attempt to evoke the adobe homes of the Southwest that he loved. And he instilled in the house and in the burgeoning culture of Southern California architecture and design a fascination for things simple, solid, hand-hewn and functional.
“The creative thrill is so fine and keen,” Lummis once said. “It is sheer pitiful to see a man get a home off the bargain counter, and miss nearly all the joy he might just as well have of it.”
Lummis hosted legendary parties and soirees at El Alisal, inviting artists, intellectuals and other luminaries, among them environmentalist John Muir and President Teddy Roosevelt. He read and worked and raised his children here, tried to manage the women in his life, and grew a great sprawling garden of trees and thousands of flowers and other plants.
Like most homes, El Alisal was ultimately a bittersweet place. One of Lummis’ younger children died here. Wives left him, taking other children with them. And he himself is interred in one of the courtyard walls.
A plaque hangs on the wall of the home, listing the accomplishments for which Charles Lummis hoped to be remembered: He founded the Southwest Museum; he built this house; he saved four old missions; he studied and recorded Hispanic North America; and he tried
to do his share.
A light breeze wafts across the landscape and through the rooms. Many people believe they have encountered Lummis’ spirit here, adrift in the wind.
Contact Joanna Dehn Beresford at truewrite@yahoo.com.
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