Probing New Mexico's OUTER LIMITS!!!

I don't usually go in for all that outer space, alien jive.  I just have too many earthbound issues I must resolve before I even begin to consider the possibilities of interplanetary invasion.  I have no problem believing that somewhere in the vast expanses of time and space there exist other life forms leading parallel lives.  I simply wonder why we are forced to believe that they are so superior to human kind as we know it - not only superior but aggressive, imperialistic, and ultimately deadly (okay, so maybe those are things we have in common).  It also seems odd to me, given the limitless reaches of outer space, that these hyper-intellectual and highly-malevolent beings would bother with such a dopey planet like Earth.  Then again, I've never tried to sell a sci-fi screenplay.  Or maybe I'm just frustrated that for all of my provocative behavior, I hardly ever get abducted and never, ever probed...

Although seemingly unrelated, New Mexico, with its numerous military installations and storied history of nuclear testing, has garnered quite a reputation for extraterrestrial encounters.  I suppose it's only fair that Nevada's Area 51 share some of the glory with its Southwestern neighbors.  Not quite as prevalent (outside of Roswell) as the imagery of New Mexico's indigenous peoples, UFO symbolism can still be found everywhere from gas stations, to souvenir stands, to entire buildings!

Like this roadside UFO with which we were so thrilled to have a "close encounter" on our way to the Carlsbad Caverns.

Looking like an abandoned set piece from Plan 9 from Outer Space, the lure of this temporarily-grounded flying saucer was irresistible; we were as powerless to its wacky tacky tractor beam as we were to that of its second-cousin, the Arizona Space Orb.  And me without my tinfoil hat.

Sure, there are "Private Property: Keep Out" signs dotting the
perimeter but we're always very respectful in our tresspassery...
and "keeping out" never got the photo-op.

Although, I have to wonder, if one has both the means and motivation to build a novelty structure yet is somehow plagued by unmitigated misanthropy, why on earth would one construct that thematic building along a major automotive artery, the only real road in-and-out of Carlsbad, NM?  You have to know that folks are going to want to stop and take pictures.  If you were any kind of business man, you'd have a stand to sell pop, keychains, and ray guns.

Speaking of thematic buildings, the gorgeous shade structure at the onsite, employees-only picnic
grounds looks like it belongs with the Theme Building at Los Angeles International Airport.

If indeed there are alien life forms interested in exploring our people and planet, then I choose to believe they are a kindly race of beings like E.T., Mork, or ALF.  After all, spaying and neutering your pets is all well and good but we obviously need a more powerful resource in helping to control the burgeoning population of unwanted cats!

"ALF Theme" (1986)
('cause ALF eats cats...)

Cheers & Nanu Nanu!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: Idle Hour, The Devil's Playground

As it so happens, I prefer consuming my food from a barrel.  It has oft been whispered around the dinner table that I eat like a horse; after our feature on the Barrel of Boron, it was confirmed that the closest thing I can find to a socially-acceptable trough has indeed become my food-delivery method of choice.  

And in other barrel-related news, we finally made it to Idle Hour in North Hollywood. 

A few years back, on our hunt for Bing Crosby's Toluca Lake estate, we happened upon a barren barrel, crumbling after decades of delinquency.  The barrel-shaped restaurant was once the Idle Hour Cafe, a 1941 taproom faithfully serving the thirstiest of the San Fernando Valley's wartime residents.  In 1972, the Idle Hour changed ownership and became a flamenco bar known as La Caña.  Going belly-up in the early-'80s, the great big barrel has since remained shuttered, a forlorn reminder of Los Angeles' fabled legacy of programmatic architecture.

While the wacky tacky adventure team was brimming with brilliant ideas on how to bring the barrel back to life, there was one tiny, little issue; our dreams are forever woefully underfunded.  Luckily, another group of visionaries came along with both the desire and the necessary capital to resurrect not only the barrel but the original name, Idle Hour.  With its rotten siding, festering water features, and yawning awning, La Caña was essentially perfect already; on some level I wish it could've retained just a dash of its weather-beaten charm.  But in a town free of meat, gluten, lactose, peanuts, and joy, I can only imagine the outrage when a drink might have arrived with an unexpected garnish of mosquito larvae skewered by splinters covered in lead paint.

Idle Hour - North Hollywood, CA

Except for the fact that it remains a giant barrel with an identical street address, it is hard to believe that this is the
same La Caña we once knew.  This is due in no small part to our pal, journalist and preservationist, Chris Nichols.

After a glossy transformation, the once empty barrel is full again - full of craft brews and a surprisingly-diverse crowd.  Who knew that an oversized barrel would become an every man's watering hole, appealing equally to the preciously bewhiskered, the vintage vanguard, neighborhood regulars, and wacky tacky turkey necks.  

I didn't get many interior pictures because well, it looks like the inside of
barrel (a multi-million dollar barrel, to be sure).  I loved the curved walls,
the barrel skylight and the barrel-shaped windows made of thumbprint glass.

On the tail end of a recent work/adventure day, I found myself in the vicinity of both Idle Hour and my oldest friend.  She has been my friend since the day I changed schools in the middle of first grade and found myself in an unfamiliar classroom with an unfamiliar teacher, husky of voice who wore velour pant suits and smelled of cigarettes and instant coffee.  As I wept, I felt a hand on my arm and heard a little voice that said, "It'll be okay."  It's possible that our friendship may not have endured for thirty years had I heard the tag, "you dumb crybaby..."  Because I'm unsure of her feelings about being spotlighted on wacky tacky, we won't use her real name.  Instead, we'll call her Sharon Marilu because she is like one of those memory wizards...like Marilu Henner.  Seriously, a short time ago (for reasons unknown to even me) I found myself contacting Sharon Marilu to find out the name of our middle school librarian.  She knew it instantly.  I've already forgotten.  As Sharon Marilu is keen of memory and has known me longer than pretty much anyone outside of my family, she would probably be the one to go to should you need any dirt on Mr. Tiny (the only trouble is that she is far too kind to dish the proverbial dirt).

Sharon Marilu said that she was embarrassed to be drinking in front of me (I told
her to go for it; the Idle Hour is the devil's playground after all).  I have a feeling
that she'll be even more embarrassed by the the heart frame I put around her face.

Meeting at Idle Hour, we second-guessed ourselves after deciding to sit outside; even at seven o'clock in the evening it was still quite hot.  We were well rewarded for our decision, however, with an inexplicably-breezy courtyard, shaded by lovely trees and Idle Hour's resident mascot.

Like a pipe-smoking watchdog, a replica of the world-famous Bull Dog Cafe (immortalized in The Rocketeer) stands guard over the Idle Hour patio.  Originally built for display at The Petersen Automotive Museum, the scale model had
to be cut down, trucked over, and reassembled onsite.  It took us several puffs to figure out that the pipe actually works, billowing an occasional cloud of "smoke" over the unsuspecting heads of Idle Hour patrons.
(Source)

The fare at Idle Hour can best be described as pinkies-up pub grub, ranging from the pedestrian (The American Burger) to the inexplicable (turmeric rice with mayonnaise and an egg).

Neither one of us raved about our dinners (me: chicken sandwich, Sharon Marilu: veggie sloppy joe) but what Idle Hour might lack in noteworthy menu offerings, it more than makes up for in charming atmosphere and attentive service (and probably booze).

But what am I complaining about?!?!!
For someone who abstains from alcohol,
I sure do frequent many a cask!

If you find yourself in the Toluca Lake/North Hollywood neighborhoods of Los Angeles with an hour to idle, then make your idle hands the devil's workshop/playground/et al. and work your way over to Idle Hour.  Our visit was so pleasant that when we checked the time, we realized that we had idled away many an hour and needed to hightail it toward home.  Until we meet again, I will keep searching for more giant barrels to indulge my endless appetite for crazy roadside restaurants.  So, join Mr. Tiny and Sharon Marilu - let's "Roll Out the Barrel" one more time!!!

"Beer Barrel Polka (Roll Out the Barrel)" - The Andrews Sisters

Idle Hour

4824 Vineland Ave

Los Angeles, CA

(818)980-5604

idlehourbar.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: Roll Out the BARREL

About as far away from Niagara Falls as one can get in the continental US, in terms of both geography and climate, there exists a hamburger stand in the form of a giant barrel.  Without even a hint of post-modern irony, the owner-operators of this Boron, CA institution have cleverly bestowed it with the name "Barrel."  And while there are other barrel-shaped eateries throughout California, we are still left to wonder, why here?  Why on the desolate, wind-swept main street of a town whose dwindling population is more concerned with the crumbling economy than architectural novelties would there be a great big barrel?  Our best guess is that it has something to do with 20 Mule Team Borax as does everything - and we mean everything - in this town.  Whatever the origin, we love it.  I mean, when you find a restaurant that not only replicates your body type but serves the food required to maintain it as such, you practically jump for joy!

Barrel - Boron, CA

The nice thing about jumping photos is that they are useful.  For example, this one reminds me
that my hunchback is coming in nicely and that it's about time for me to size-up my dungarees.
Plus, it gives our pal, Fabian, a chance to get back at me for mocking his regularly-scheduled
jumping photos.

For a number of reasons, we didn't partake in the haute cuisine offered at the Barrel.  For one, we had spent the drive nibbling on leftover snacks from Mary's latest plane ride.  Second, the snacks were repeating on us; the road to Boron is a veritable roller-coaster ride of hills, bumps, and sudden drops.  Third, as stated above, my jeans were at maximum capacity and there just wasn't any room for even one more hamburger.  Most importantly though, the Barrel is "cash only" and we were fresh out of greenbacks.  Scrounging through the wacky wagon for change, we were able to dig up just enough for one refreshing lemonade (sorry, Mary).  If the two Yelp reviews (both from the same man) and expertly-rendered window painting are any indication of the quality at the Barrel, then diners can certainly expect to be well fed.

Yes, the Barrel serves the usual suspects - burgers, dogs, onion rings, fries, tacos, and pop.
 But if their slogan isn't, "Stay afloat with our mustard boat" or "Taste our balls," then
they really ought to consider the possibility of going with a new advertising firm (can
someone please identify those two items in the lower potion of the photo on the left???).

What's not to love about an A-rating, a spotless kitchen, a defunct
drive-thru window (?), and the charm of homemade, plywood seating?!!

The very best part about the Barrel is that it is a legitimate twofer; immediately across the street, in an empty lot, lives a trio of large-scale, folk art, desert tortoises.  As if the townsfolk were expecting them to make a run for it, the tortoises are corralled between a split-rail fence and a cinderblock wall.  Thanks to years of gymnastics training, we were able to make it over said fence and frolic in the land of the giants.

Mary was trying to look cool, like she tamed the tortoises.
Mr. Tiny on the other hand went for a less subtle approach...

Now, if you ask Mary, she will likely play this off as her pretending to be a
turtle on its back or one of those Chinese acrobats.  The fact is that she
wanted a photo that looked like she was supporting the Barrel with her
hands and feet.  Consequently, I have a whole series of these photos in
which I convinced her that she was almost getting the perfect shot (not
even close) but we needed to take just one more.  I really just wanted
to see if the local population of fire ants was as fierce as we were told...

It might seem disingenuous to feature a restaurant on a Chow Time Post at which we have not properly supped but our love for vernacular architecture is reason enough for us to say, "Roll out the Barrel!!!"  Plus, the odds are that if you're in Boron, you'll be patronizing the only game in town; it's like shooting fish in a...something.  By the way, when you're deep in the heart of the Mojave Desert, don't ever order the fish - even if it is from a barrel.

"Beer Barrel Polka (Roll Out the Barrel)" - Liberace

The Barrel
27115 20 Mule Team Rd
Boron, CA
(760)762-1115


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Hole in One: National Donut Day!!!

Pee-Wee Herman told me that it's National Donut Day.  Normally, I find it foolhardy and downright dangerous to jump on any sort of wagon, let alone a bandwagon.  But if that wagon train has Mr. Herman as trail boss and it's headed through a tunnel made of giant donuts, then you may certainly consider me a member of the band (I have experience with the cymbals)!

Pee-Wee dreams of donuts in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure

I too have dreamt about donuts but hardly ever eat them because the after effects are rarely worth the fleeting moments of deep-fried, sugar-laden ecstasy.  Yes, to me donuts are an instant regret.  However, just because they result in a total gut bomb doesn't mean I can't get with the program of donut-inspired programmatic architecture around Southern California.

The Donut Hole - El Monte, CA (est. 1968)

Here's a comedy lesson for you; no one thinks you're funny when you're entering a giant donut and you casually mention that this facility used to house a quick-serve proctology office...even if you repeat multiple times (more loudly the third time) under the assumption that the lack of laughter means that they didn't hear you.  They think it's even less funny when they're tucking into their donuts as the car passes through the donut-shaped exit whilst you continuously imitate the cacophony of sounds that so regularly emanated from your flatulent grandfather.  Lesson learned.

As with most things, I am a "top-shelf" kind of guy;
crullers, maple to be exact, are my favorite donuts.

Ironically, the fare at The Donut Hole is quite pedestrian.  Nevertheless, it is hard to even consider consuming donuts anywhere that doesn't allow one to drive-thru gigantic replicas of its eponymous foodstuffs.  It is probably fortunate that we live nowhere near a giant donut; it just means that the sighting of one on an adventure day is all the more special.

Dale's Donuts - Compton, CA

Randy's Donuts, in the west Los Angeles neighborhood of Inglewood, gets all of the acclaim but there are other, equally-significant, giant donuts operating around the southland.  Dale's Donuts in Compton is a mid-'50s relic of the Kindle's Donut empire, dutifully turning out baker's dozen after baker's dozen, without all of the Hollywood glitz and glamour reserved for Randy's.  With the back-breaking effort involved in maintaining a small business and preserving a landmark sign, we really shouldn't poke fun, but there are so many jokes to be made about donuts - most of them relegated to the much pooh-poohed category of "potty humor."

Comedy lesson number two:
Mary wasn't even slightly amused when I told her that she was going to
be the new face of the Harry's House of Hemorrhoid Pillows ad campaign!

As I have never advanced beyond the sand traps and water hazards of the putt-putt course, the only way I will ever get a "hole-in-one" is with Pee-Wee at the local donut shop.  In another instance of my fad-resistance, I have never had a bacon donut or a donut encrusted in Fruit-Loops.  Neither have I ever enjoyed a donut scented with lavender or bathed in bourbon.  Ever the donut traditionalist; it's taken me this long to even sample a Cronut (what in the heck was I waiting for??? Delicious!).  Whatever flavor you favor, pledge your allegiance to America's favorite pastry and celebrate National Donut Day!  Just don't do it with a lemon-jelly donut...does anyone really like those, really?!?!!

The Jelly Donuts on The Pee-Wee Herman Show

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Save My Sole: The Big Shoe Shoe Repair

Did you hear about the big fire at the old cobbler's shop?  One hundred soles were lost.  I'll bet some heel started it!  Thank goodness that in 1947, an entrepreneur of unmatched brilliance, Mr. Deschwanden by name, decided to hang the shingle of his shoe repair business on Bakersfield's bustling Chester Avenue.

The Big Shoe Shoe Repair - Bakersfield, CA

For as much roadside excitement as we enjoy in California by way of googie coffee shops and fanciful playgrounds, we suffer from a distinct lack of thematic architecture (or maybe I just want more).  With the exception of the occasional giant tamale/orange/donut and muffler man, most of our novelty structures are naught but history.  So where do the last remaining muffler men go when they've worn down the heels on their big, crepe-soled shoes?  They go to The Big Shoe Shoe Repair, of course!!!

It was at this moment that I was despairing over my choice of footwear - if only I had the
foresight to have donned my white bucks.  You know how I love to team with the theme!

My casual shoes notwithstanding, I'm glad that the original architect of this wood-framed shoe decided to go with a classic style.  I'm not so sure that a sneaker would have gained as much traction in this - or any - community.  I mean, who wants to visit an athlete's foot?!?!!

Before we visited the Big Shoe, I thought I had big feet.  Finding out that a
fifty-foot length of rope makes up the shoelace certainly put me in my place.
I rather enjoyed the rarity of feeling dainty...

Naturally, we would never go all the way to visit a giant shoe without taking a peek inside.  Tongue-tied, the proprietor and patrons weren't that keen on having us snap their photo, so we backed out of the tiny shop.  I'm not sure what I was expecting, but the interior of the "big" shoe was exceptionally small.  To further our disillusionment, it also seems that the nursery rhyme is all a lie, nary an old woman nor her passel of ill-behaved children in sight.  We were waiting for the other shoe to drop but based on the proportions of this shoe, we thought better of it.  The nice thing was that it smelled as fresh as a daisy - a leather, adhesive, and shoe-polish daisy.

Do you have any thematic architecture in your neighborhood?  If you were a well-heeled old woman, would you live in a shoe?  If we lived in Bakersfield, it probably goes without saying that all of our shoe repair business would go to The Big Shoe because that's how all mama's children wanna rock!

"All Mama's Children" - Carl Perkins

We're not sure where our next adventure will be; all we know is that it will have some pretty big shoes to fill (a pretty big shoe to fill?)!!!


The Big Shoe Shoe Repair
931 Chester Ave
Bakersfield, CA
(661)864-1002


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Chow Time: Brolly Hut

As the wacky wagon took us on one of our meandering drives to nowhere - via Torrance, CA landmarks Alpine Village and King's Hawaiian Bakery (and a few fortuitously-placed thrift stores) - I bemoaned our utter exhaustion of local wacky tacky resources.  I wondered aloud how much longer I could keep our adventures going without dedicating myself full-time to creating and documenting wacky tacky the world over (file that under: "My perfect and perfectly-unattainable life").

Then like one of those proverbial "Pennies from Heaven," just waiting for my umbrella (and my frown) to be turned upside down, came Brolly Hut (est. 1968).  The imagery may seem convoluted but, in this instance, it definitely makes solid sense to me that Brolly Hut is both the umbrella and the pennies...

Brolly Hut - Inglewood, CA

Not to be confused with its disinherited second-cousin by marriage in Hawthorne, CA, Brolly Hut is an anomaly even among Southern California's proud heritage of vernacular architecture, not so much for its form - after all, Seal Beach had The Parasol - rather for its name.  While visiting Australia I heard a few references to a "brolly;" following context clues I finally figured out that brolly meant umbrella (I'm always a little slow on the uptake).  Upon my return, I kept affecting my newfound down-under dialect around my aunt, an Australian transplant.  The moment I realized that she clearly had no idea to what I was referring was the last time I ever employed the use of the term "brolly."  I'm not sure if there are regional nicknames for an umbrella throughout America, but in California an umbrella is an umbrella.  I mean, who actually says "brolly" anyway?

It doesn't matter, Mr. Tiny always comes prepared with his own jolly brolly!!

As Mary was quick to note, we started our day with nothing but directionless angst and ended it eating inside a giant umbrella!  There are many interesting buildings around town in which to have an adequate meal where only the ghostly shadows of a once wildly-wacky tacky heritage remain.  The beautiful thing about Brolly Hut is that, instead of engaging in a systematic stripping away of character or allowing dereliction and decay, it maintains all of the original charm that informs diners how Brolly Hut got its name; without some of the simple but significant details, it would be so easy for folks to forget what makes Brolly Hut so special.

I am always transfixed by beautiful/clever/outrageous light fixtures and
this bounty of beautiful brollies did not disappoint; they truly illuminated
the space even when they were not illuminated themselves.

Eating between the spokes of a giant umbrella is a treat but
Brolly Hut's clever use of space is the real sensation.  Diving into
pastrami burritos, Colossal Burgers, and onion rings (we saw one
person enjoying all of these things), guests belly up to one of the
dozen-or-so laminate tables that arc around the enclosed counter and
kitchen.  The terrazzo floor, the mosaic tile, and the orange, molded-
fiberglass stools are their own silent reminders of fine-dining circa 1968.

Brolly Hut has an A-rating and appears to run a tidy operation.
Mary and I are both trying to avoid extreme eating and remember
that food is almost incidental to the "Chow Time" experience;
she chose a chicken salad and I a rather tasty chicken sandwich -
not a french fry in sight (a personal triumph)!!!

Brolly Hut is also a spectacular vantage for immersive people watching.  There was the lady who came in for the $4.59 hamburger special - I know because she said it right out loud to herself - but returned to the order window three times to upgrade her order item by item; she ended up with the Colossal Pastrami Burger, a massive Coke, and a large order of onion rings.  Lest you think I'm singularly obsessed with food, I should explain that I am obsessed with all of the details, like her tri-tone wig and the one leg of her leatherette leggings worn scrunched up to the knee, and her mismatched earrings.  As we say,"That's the money outfit."  There was also the hobo who performed a particularly-moving monologue about the deliciousness of the pastrami burrito for the entire restaraunt, "It's the best thing they got.  It has my heart and I always come back for my heart..."  It was literally theater in the round!!!  Most people completely ignored this fellow's petitions for financial assistance; so taken with his performance, Mary made a generous contribution toward the burrito fund (one of the more-expensive items on the menu) - only the best for our brolly friends!

If you've got a hankering for some fast food, we recommend skipping the golden arches or that fraudulent hamburger "royalty."  If you're caught in a rainstorm of wacky tacky doubt, seek the shelter of Brolly Hut.  And be sure that your brolly is upside down!!!

"Pennies from Heaven" - Louis Prima

Brolly Hut
11205 Crenshaw Blvd
Inglewood, CA
(310)674-2344

brollyhut.com


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Magical Mystery Castle

"Stop."  "Beware of Dog."  "Danger, High Voltage."  There are many signs in our world that simply cannot, and should not, go unheeded.

"Mystery Castle."
This is definitely one of them.

And this one.

This one, not so much...
(Source)

There are physical signs that we see with our eyes and then there are signs of the more spiritual variety - signs that are less prohibitive and more a call to action.  What action would you take if you came down with tuberculosis?  Well, I guess the answer these days is relatively easy - seek prompt medical attention for an extensive course of antibiotics.  In the 1930's, the answer often involved a major change of scenery, especially for an arid, desert clime.  Diagnosed with TB in the early days of the Depression, Seattle-based Boyce Luther Gulley, saw a sign.  Leaving his wife and daughter behind in their secure, if all too humid, home town, Gulley set out for the breadth and breath offered by Phoenix, AZ.

Mystery Castle - Phoenix, AZ

Left with just his thoughts, a dearth of materials, and the inspiration of the mystical western winds, Gulley decided that his call to the desert was the opportunity to fulfill a promise he made to his daughter; he would build her a castle.  Gulley's castle, is essentially the sister castle to California's Nitt Witt Ridge.  Built of found objects, recycled materials, and a weird cement slurry that included a heaping helping of goat's milk, Gulley's dream castle took many years to build and ended up with eighteen rooms and thirteen fireplaces (a particular point of pride for the tour guides).  Upon its completion, and the owner's death, Gulley's wife and daughter were notified that the home was finally ready for them.

The Mystery Castle gained national fame when it was featured
on The January 26, 1948 cover of Life Magazine.  The article,
entitled "Life Visits a Mystery Castle" actually gave Boyce's
dream manse a name that stuck.  The young woman pictured,
is Mary Lou, the daughter for which Gulley built the home.

Shortly after the Life article's publication, the Mystery Castle was open for daily tours given by Mary Lou who continued the practice until her death in 2010.  The castle continues to operate tours as an official "Phoenix Point of Pride" under the auspices of a trust/non-profit that maintains the facility.

Many of the windows, transoms, and sidelights were
made of glass, refrigerator-storage dishes that Mr.
Gulley was able to buy by the truckload for pennies
 on the dollar.

The kitchen

Operating without modern utilities until the 70's, 80's, and 90's (they were added over time), living in the Mystery Castle required a distinct level of dedication and a strength of character uncommon among most people faced with soaring temperatures and terminal illness.

Filled with artifacts, the Mystery Castle is part tourist attraction, part museum.
Included in the collection is this original suffragette china.  According to our
 tour guide, this service belonged to the wife of Arizona's first governor; she made
 good on her threat to serve every meal on these dishes until women got the vote.

The Gulley's home and its contents are the very spirit of wacky tacky.  As I mentioned, it was the home of a single, "art" loving, desert dweller.  Subsequently no efforts to change, move, or restore have been made, leaving the home exactly the way it looked at the time of her death.  There is almost too much wacky tacky that it distracts from the original structure.

An abundance of life-size dolls inhabit
the rooms of the Mystery Castle.
How does one even accomplish something like this?
Wouldn't you be afraid that at some point it would come to life
 and switch places with you, making you the life-size doll?

A not-so-subtle nod to the provenance of some the castle's
more broken-in furnishings, the House of Joy brothel.

An installation by Mary Lou Gulley.
It is amazing the accomplishments than can be made with a soft-bodied
ballerina doll, a shaky hand, and a permanent marker.

The best times of the tour were those when we caught a glimpse of Boyce Luther Gulley's original concept.  Seeing past the four-foot, chocolate bunny statues and the cat decoupages to the stone mosaics, the Mexican tile, the skylights, the repurposed train tracks, the dumb waiter, the cantilevered, spiral staircase, was the chance to see through Gulley's visionary eyes.  All of these "trash castles" have to built by someone who is equal parts genius and madman; it is that delicate balance that fosters the perfect environment for the finest in wacky tacky. 

It really is a southwest castle!

Amazing tile

At the time of construction, this lookout point on the second floor's patio, was said
 to frame the entirety of the Phoenix skyline.  Today, it captures but a small portion.

A wonderful, wire-wheel window.
Gulley drove his Stutz Bearcat all the way from Seattle to Phoenix and
 used many of the deconstructed vehicle's parts in the castle's construction.

Taking a page from the world-famous Winchester Mystery House,
the Mystery Castle is a mini-labyrinth of staircases, archways,
meandering pathways, and columns.

The chapel contains a Victorian-era organ that is said to
have once belonged to Phoenix's black widow (known
for marrying miners, poisoning them, and then keeping their
fortunes).  The legend surrounding the organ was too much
 for Mary Lou Gulley to resist.  

This was my favorite room.  Traditional, Native American rugs,
primitive stained glass, stone/adobe walls, beamed ceilings,
antique chandelier, and the skeleton of a saguaro cactus (around
which the room was built).

A beautiful round window surrounded by native
stone - another use of the refrigerator dishes.

Mary in "purgatory," the area of the house between the chapel and the cantina.

The coolest part of the tour was the trap door - guarded by a menacing, metal alligator.
Following his instructions, Gulley's wife and daughter waited until exactly two years
 after his 1945 death to brave the alligator.  Upon opening the door, they found two $500
 bills, the deed to the property, gold, and a Valentine's Day card that Mary Lou
 had given to her father when she was a child.

Every door at the Mystery Castle is like the famed trap door; there is a surprise and a treasure behind each one.  If you're ever in Phoenix, be sure to follow the sign and pay your respects to this living example of folk/outsider art, vernacular architecture, and human ingenuity.  What began as one man's sickbed promise tuned into a wacky tacky wonder for all to enjoy.

Mystery Castle

800 E Mystery Castle

Phoenix, AZ

(602)268-1581

*Tours are offered Thursday through Sunday at a cost of $10 per person.

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny