1922
"THE
PHANTOM OF
THE HOLLYWOOD
BOWL"
1922
Dedicated
To All The Musicians
Who Never Made It To
The Hollywood Bowl
*
CHAPTER ONE
TONIGHT
Conductor Gottfried Von Stuka
WAGNER OVERTURES
LES PRELUDES-LISZT
SCHUBERT'S UNFINISHED
*
Coming Soon
"All City High School Music Competition"
All Styles - Students Enter Now!
*
August 1st -Violinist Margo Townsend
*
The laughter, chatter and hubbub of the Bowl crowd began a gradual diminuendo
as the stage lights flickered on and off signifying the momentary start of the
evening concert.
Wearing his lucky "Jimi Hendrix Lives" button
pinned on the top of his uniform pocket - and in such a manner he could flip
it inside if Bowl Director, Lawrence Chadwick Jr. came along - Dude Dorsey,
Hollywood High senior and Bowl usher, helped seat late arrivals with his usual
smile and pleasant manner. His girlfriend, Justine Sands, also a Hollywood High
senior and Bowl usher, seated patrons in the next section. As they walked in
and out of the aisles their paths crossed.
"Madhouse tonight," sighed Justine.
"Sure is," answered Dude. "Have you
signed your group up for the Bowl competition yet?"
"I signed up today. How about you?"
"Not yet. There's no point in signing up unless
we can find a place to rehearse. The guys are meeting me here in a little while
to talk things over."
"I thought you were rehearsing at your place."
"We were, but my parents put an end to that."
"Too bad. You'll find a place. I know you will."
Finally, unpopular Bowl music conductor, Gottfried
Von Stuka, six foot eight, gaunt, straight shoulder length gray hair, dressed
in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, made his dramatic entrance. He walked across
the stage with his usual air of pomposity and without the slightest acknowledgement
of the audience. As he did, his elbows bounced in and out from his body creating
the illusion of a prehistoric bird flying in search of prey. This trait led
to his many detractors calling him "the Vulture." His expression was
that of a man either in pain or ready to pounce upon someone, and his smile
varied only between condescending and lecherous.
Nonetheless, he was considered the premier musical
conductor in the United States. Although many Bowl patrons disliked him, they
applauded politely out of respect for his talent. He stood before the audience,
bowed, clicked his heels, turned and mounted the podium facing the orchestra.
As usual, Von Stuka looked down and smiled lecherously at beautiful Margo Townsend,
first violinist in the orchestra, who, also as usual, tried to ignore him. Margo
had told him numerous times not to smile at her on stage, especially, in that
manner, and that she had no interest in him whatsoever. Nevertheless, Von Stuka
persisted, actually enjoying her irritation. Unfortunately, Margo found herself
in a dilemma because Von Stuka would conduct her debut concert later in the
season and he could very well sabotage it if he were totally provoked.
Most of the stragglers now seated, Dude and Justine
sat in an empty section of seats and watched as Von Stuka, now facing the orchestra,
held his left arm, whose hand clutched his baton, down next to his body and
snapped his right arm out at a forty-five-degree angle.
"There's that Nazi salute again!" groaned
Dude.
"Oh, Dude! He's just getting the orchestra's attention,
that's all," exclaimed Justine, rolling her eyes. "It's from the Austrian
school of conducting." Although Gottfried held out his right arm for only
a few seconds, some veterans of the "big war" had started a petition
calling for his resignation because of what they perceived as a Nazi-style salute.
Gottfried, one of the few left-handed conductors in
the world, then snapped down his right arm, shot up his left with the baton
and the Overture to the Third Act of Wagner's "Lohengrin" began. The
electrifying music filled the air and all thoughts and memories of the "big
war" ceased. However, this seemed a bit ironic to those in the audience
who knew Lohengrin was Adolf Hitler's favorite opera.
"Are we getting together later tonight?"
whispered Dude.
"No. I have to get home and study. I have a history
test tomorrow."
"You and history. I think you're obsessed with
it."
"I'm not obsessed. I just find California history
interesting. And, if I don't get to play in the L.A. Philharmonic orchestra
when I get out of college, I want to be a history teacher."
"I don't see how you can think that far ahead."
"It's simple. I use my brain."
"Funny," smirked Dude.
"Talk about obsessed. How about you and those
heavy metal geeks you worship?"
"Geeks! They were Gods!" exclaimed Dude indignantly.
Justine shook her head and rolled her eyes once more. Dude looked at his wristwatch.
"Listen. I have to meet the guys by the concession stands. Keep an eye
on my aisle, will you?"
"Sure. Why is the band meeting at the concession
stands?"
"Well, we can't talk in here, that's for sure.
Besides, they all got the hots for a chick who works at one of the stands. You
know how girl crazy they are." Dude left and walked to the concession area
where his school buddies and members of his band: Aki, Carlos and Derek, sat
giggling, throwing things at each other and waving at a pretty counter girl.
"So, what's the deal?" asked Aki as Dude
sat down. "Are we going to enter the competition or not?"
"Well, first we need to find a place to rehearse,"
answered Dude.
"I thought we were rehearsing at your place?"
replied Derek in surprise.
"My parents said we can't rehearse at my place
anymore." The boys grimaced and moaned loudly.
"Why not?" whined Carlos. "You've got
the perfect place! A humongous apartment over that gigantic garage-workshop
in back of your parents' house. What's the problem, man? We don't play that
loud."
"Really? Then how come you play with earplugs
when we rehearse?" asked Dude. "Look. The neighbors really have been
complaining a lot lately. I just haven't said anything to you guys about it.
Not only that, my parents said our music makes them hostile and causes them
to argue. They're afraid if we continue rehearsing there our music could lead
them to a divorce."
"Just listening to our music? That's outrageous!"
blurted Aki.
"That's no more outrageous than your mother telling
us we can't rehearse at your house because our music aggravates the arthritis
in her toes so she can't do the hula," answered Dude. "I mean, like,
give me a break."
"Hey! So we're from Hawaii!" exclaimed Aki.
"There's gotta be a conspiracy among our parents,"
said Derek.
"Well, there goes a recording contract, three
thousand bucks each and the new set of drums I wanted to buy," whined Carlos.
"And the new digital piano I wanted to buy,"
added Derek.
The boys suddenly jumped as a Bowl security car, with
its red light blinking, screeched to stop a few feet away. Captain Clarence
Vinegar, Bowl security chief, quickly got out of his car and stomped toward
the boys with an agitated expression on his face. An imposing figure, six foot
four and 250 pounds, Captain Vinegar manifested a "listen to what I say
or else I'll bust your head open" demeanor-someone to whom you'd just never
say no. Apprehension was written on the boys' faces.
"Dude, the computer that monitors the stage isn't
working again. I want you to come and check it out, okay?"
"Sure thing, Captain," replied Dude - knowing
he really didn't have a choice. "We have to talk more," Dude told
the band. "If you're not here when I get back, I'll meet you inside the
Bowl. Sit with Justine in the usual place, away from the people. Later."
Then Dude and the captain got in the security car and drove off.
As Dude got out of the car at the security parking lot, he grimaced at the sound
of the cars and trucks screeching by on the Hollywood Freeway close by and the
clanking of the old generators next to the security building. "Geez! It
sure is a lot noisier here than it used to be," shouted Dude. "You
can't even hear the music being played in the Bowl."
"Yeah. Those damn generators are getting ready
to blow but I can't get money from tightwad Chadwick to buy new ones. As far
as hearing music from the Bowl, I'm not crazy about that longhaired stuff anyhow.
Hell, I'd almost rather listen to that heavy metal static your band plays."
Used to the captain's gruff and insensitive manner,
Dude forced a patronizing smile, "Gee, thanks, captain."
Inside the security room, officers Louie Salazar and
Joe Nims, night supervisors under Captain Vinegar, greeted Dude. They had known
Dude since he first became an usher four years earlier. The other security officers
were all out on patrol.
"How's it going, Dude?" asked Salazar.
"Fine, Officer Salazar. How's the soccer game
going?"
"I'm out of action. I got kicked in the leg last
Sunday and it's going to take a few weeks to heal. It's rough when you only
play once a week."
"Well, I hope it gets better soon."
"Thanks, Dude."
"How's your band coming along?" asked Nims.
Before Dude could answer, Vinegar grimaced and growled
at the officers, "Hey, this ain't no social gathering. Get back to work."
The officers, also used to Vinegar's temperament, just nodded to Dude and went
back about their business.
Dude sat at the computer that controlled the five stage
monitors and turned off the power switch. He unscrewed the cover of the CPU
and had a quick look.
"What do you think it is?" asked Vinegar.
"It looks like a loose connection, Captain. That
doesn't happen very often. The fan seems a little noisy and…it's really
dusty inside. I'll blow it out and test for a few other things while I'm at
it. I don't think it'll take more than twenty minutes." Dude opened a toolbox
next to the computer, took out a soldering iron and plugged it in.
"Great! You're a lifesaver, Dude. Since I can't
see what's going on over in the stage area, I'd better get over there and make
sure everything is copasetic. Be back in twenty."
"Okay, Captain."
After the captain left, Salazar walked over to Dude.
"I'm always amazed at your knowledge of computers, Dude. How the hell did
you learn so much at such an early age?"
"My father bought me a computer when I was ten
years old so I could play games on it. I beat it up pretty good in the beginning
and it broke down a lot. The owner of a computer shop near my house on Melrose
took pity on me. He said if I helped him around the shop on Saturdays, he'd
show me how to repair my computer. I agreed and I just kept working at the shop
all the way through middle school while he kept teaching me how to repair computers.
By the time I was fifteen, I could fix most any computer. Incidentally, that's
where I first met Captain Vinegar. He used to bring his computer into the shop
for repairs. In fact, I even worked on it a couple of times."
"I never knew that!" exclaimed Nims in surprise.
"Me neither," said Salazar. "I wondered
why he let someone as young as you work on all this high-tech equipment. No
offense, Dude."
"None taken. Yeah, the captain and I have known
each other a while. In fact, he's the one who suggested that I become an usher
at the Bowl when I got to high school."
"Out of curiosity, what does your father do?"
asked Nims.
"He started off playing jazz saxophone and wound
up with a music store here in Hollywood."
"That's great that you're both into music."
"Yeah, but we argue a lot. He hates heavy metal
and I just don't understand jazz. Well, I'd better get back to work on this
computer." Dude picked up the soldering iron and the officers went back
to work.
§
"How's it going, Dude?" asked Vinegar upon his return.
"It's all fixed, Captain," said Dude as he
unplugged the soldering iron and began to screw the case back onto the tower.
"I really appreciate you helping me out, Dude.
Now I don't have to call the computer company and go through a big song and
dance about the repair bill with our illustrious," Vinegar grimaced, "and
may I add, spacey director of the Bowl-the one and only Lawrence Chadwick Jr."
Dude knew of the bad blood between the two and didn't
give the captain's words a second thought. "Glad
I could be of help, Captain," said Dude as he turned on the computer.
Vinegar breathed a sigh of relief when he looked at the monitors and saw Von
Stuka conducting the orchestra. "Will you look at the Vulture waving his
wings at the orchestra. What a creep! Now don't forget, Dude, if you ever need
anything you just let me know, okay? And thanks a lot."
"Okay, Captain."
Security back to normal, Vinegar drove Dude back to
the Bowl.
Back inside the Bowl, Dude rejoined Justine and his
band in a secluded section as they watched Von Stuka browbeat the orchestra.
"The Vulture looks pretty wild tonight, doesn't
he?" said Dude.
"Yeah. Look at him swing those arms. He looks
like he's gonna take off," replied Carlos.
The boys continued to poke fun at Von Stuka.
"Somebody told me the Vulture is a magician,"
remarked Derek.
"He is, and he's really good," replied Justine.
"My parents took me to see him once at the Magic Mirage. He does some real
wild illusions. He makes things appear and then disappear. He's great."
"How often does he do his thing at the Mirage?"
asked Derek.
"Just once in a while. Usually when the Bowl season
is over or if he wants to try a new illusion and has the time."
"Well, I wish he'd do some magic on himself and
make himself disappear," said Dude. "He's a creep."
The boys nodded. Justine casually remarked, "I
wish I could play on the stage of the Bowl just once.
You know, to get the feel of it, just in case I'm lucky enough to get into the
finals."
No one paid much attention to Justine's remark. However
after a bit Carlos turned. "What did you just say, Justine?"
"I said I wish I could play on the stage of the
Bowl just one time to get the feel of it - in case I make the finals."
Carlos snapped his fingers. "Hey, guys. I just
figured out where the band can rehearse."
"Where's that?" asked Derek.
Carlos pointed to the stage. "Right here on the
stage of the Bowl."
Everyone slowly turned and looked at Carlos and shook
their heads in disbelief. Aki and Derek reached over and punched him playfully
on the arm.
"Is that supposed to be a joke or something?"
asked Dude.
"I'm not trying to be funny! Look, no one's here
after a concert and there certainly isn't anyone here when there isn't a concert."
"No one except Captain Vinegar and his security
officers," snapped Dude. "Can you imagine what'd happen if security
caught us on the stage at night?"
"Well, we'll just have to figure out a way to
outfox Captain Vinegar, or Captain Long in the daytime," replied Carlos.
"Look, Dude, you're the computer whiz and you know everything about the
security schedule here. You can figure something out; I know you can. Face it,
if we don't find a place to rehearse we might as well forget about the competition.
Besides, you're the fearless one. You're always doing something we don't have
the guts to do."
"Man…you make it sound like there's nothing
to it! Just get on a computer and it'll all happen. Hey, what you're suggesting
is impossible. Not only the technical part but also the physical part. For example,
you forget we go to school in the daytime. I mean, we do have to eat and sleep
sometime."
"We'll just have to work that out," said
Carlos.
"While you're at it, work this out, Carlos: What
are you going to do if you wind up in jail?" asked Justine.
"Don't be such a downer, Justine," replied
Carlos. "After all, this was your idea. If I get caught I'll just tell
the police that it was your idea."
"Don't give me that doubletalk, Carlos. If you
get caught it's all your fault. What am I talking about? You aren't going to
do it, anyhow."
"Oh, oh!" exclaimed Dude. "I just thought
of something, Justine. I wonder if we're eligible to enter the competition because
we work here at the Bowl?"
"They didn't say anything to me about that when
I signed up today."
"Did they know you worked at the Bowl?"
"They didn't ask."
"What's the big deal?" said Carlos. "If
they won't let you enter, just quit your jobs."
"No way. I like working at the Bowl," replied
Justine.
"Me, too," echoed Dude. "Tell you what.
I'm going to go talk to Director Chadwick tomorrow and find out for sure."
"I'm sure it's okay, Dude," said Justine.
"It wouldn't be fair if we were left out."
"Well, I'm still gonna go see Chadwick. I don't
want to find out later that I'm not eligible. By the way, we're goin' for some
pizza at the Leaning Tower after the concert. Sure you don't wanna go?"
"Like I said, I have to study for a history test
tomorrow."
"I just don't see how you get off on California
history," said Dude, shaking his head.
"California history? Ewww!" grimaced Carlos.
"Aren't you guys even a little curious about what
went on in California or around here before Hollywood was Hollywood or before
the Bowl even existed? Like, when the Spaniards and the Indians were here?"
"Gee, that really sounds interesting, Justine,"
said Derek, with a straight face, who then stuck his finger into his mouth and
mimicked throwing up. The boys giggled.
"Don't you guys have any interest in anything
beside heavy metal music?" said Justine. "There must be something."
"Yeah. Sex!" said a wide-eyed Aki. "Can
you fix me up with Johanna Borg, the cello player in your group? She's really
hot." The other boys nodded, giggled and moaned in agreement.
"Better yet, can you fix me up with your mentor, Margo Townsend?" said Derek. "Talk about hot! What a body!
She's the best looking chick around."
"Margo Townsend is not a chick!" snapped
Justine. "She's the concertmaster of the Los Angeles Philharmonic!"
Justine then looked to the stage and listened. "Hey, you guys. The Schubert
Symphony is going to be over in about five minutes. Dude, we'd better get back
to our stations."
Aki, Carlos and Derek said their goodbyes and left
for the Leaning Tower.
"Well, Justine, enjoy your evening with the Spaniards
and Indians," said Dude with a touch of sarcasm. Justine gave Dude a pouty
look and then hit him lightly on the shoulder. Dude smiled as they walked toward
their aisles.
As Dude walked, he looked up and scrutinized the security
cameras around the Bowl.
As Justine walked, she reflected on her history test
for the next day and looked pensively at the hills around the Bowl….
CHAPTER
TWO
Nopalera-Early Spanish California-1769
The summer sunset painted the sky in beautiful stained glass images as the caravan
of notable trailblazers slowly trekked through a dusty arroyo toward the summit
of a hill. Two priests struggled up the dry riverbed trying to keep up with
the column of colorfully attired conquistadors on horseback. One priest limped
from a scorpion bite on his leg and held onto a large staff with a crucifix
on top. The other priest helped as best he could, occasionally wiping the ailing
priest's brow. To add to their strife, the native insects that thrived on the
green prickly pear nopal cactus in the area buzzed and attacked the "invaders"
without mercy.
Indian porters chanted as they carried the Spaniards'
provisions while mules and donkeys followed, driven by the muleteers.
The conquistadors finally reached the summit of the
hill where the path opened onto a large plateau overlooking a valley of unbelievable
beauty. Their leader, General Don Gaspar de Portola, raised his hand high, bringing
the caravan to a halt. The soldiers dismounted and the Indians began to set
up camp.
The general dismounted from his handsome Andalusian
and looked it over, adjusting the bridle and easing some straps on the saddle.
When the two beleaguered priests arrived the three men walked to the edge of
the precipice and viewed the spectacle before them in reverence.
Large oak, sycamore and black cottonwood trees could
be seen everywhere. Colored sagebrush, chaparral and wildflowers shone brightly,
while green shrubs, grasses and prickly pear nopal cactus added another shade
of beauty to the valley. Birds soared and butterflies danced majestically to
the music of the dragonflies, bees and a chorus of other singing insects in
the brush.
"It is a beautiful site," sighed General
de Portola. "It reminds me somewhat of Andalusia in the summertime."
"It even has a touch of Majorca, the home of Father
Crespi and myself," said Father Serra.
"Another Garden of Eden molded by the Almighty,"
added Father Crespi.
Father Serra made the sign of the cross and knelt to
pray. General Portola and his men followed while the Indians watched, curiously.
Father Serra blessed the valley and then prayed aloud. "Thank you, O Lord,
for our safe journey from Sonora. I beseech your guidance as we set forth to
build the missions that will bring your word, the word of Christianity, to all."
As the Spaniards prayed, two Indians standing nearby
urinated off the edge of the plateau. They laughed when a flock of birds fluttered
up from somewhere beneath and swarmed them and the Spaniards before flying away.
Father Serra ignored the birds and continued to pray.
However, General Portola stood up and drew his sword. "This is sacrilege!
I will show these uncivilized Indians how to behave like civilized men when
we pray to the Lord. I beg your sanction, Padre."
"Do not be angry with them, my son," said
Father Serra, holding the general's arm. "They mean no disrespect. They
have their ways. The Almighty has given us the responsibility to watch, help
and most of all teach them, not hurt them."
Reluctantly, General Portola put his sword back in
its scabbard. "You have the compassion of a saint, Padre, and I, unfortunately,
have the compassion of a bull."
"Perhaps that is why you are the soldier and I
the priest."
"But they must be taught the ways of Christianity,"
interjected Father Crespi.
"I know that, but isn't that why we are here,
my brother? Since you are the scribe, make note that when we teach them Christianity,
we also teach them the virtue of modesty."
"As you wish," answered Father Crespi in
resignation.
Father Serra made the sign of the cross and struggled
to his feet. "I have never felt so close to God as I do in this beautiful
paradise. I feel as if He is here with me at this very moment." Father
Serra looked to the heavens serenely as the setting sun shone majestically upon
his face and with outstretched arms beseeched, "Show me a sign, heavenly
Father! Show me a sign!"
Suddenly the horses whinnied and shifted nervously.
As the soldiers tried to calm the horses, a low rumbling could be heard in the
distance. "It's a miracle! It's a miracle!" shouted some of the soldiers.
"The Almighty has heard the padre and has answered." However, the
awe quickly turned to panic as the rumbling became louder and louder and the
ground shook and swayed and an earthquake of gigantic proportions came upon
them. The terrified horses bolted and ran wildly in all directions. Unable to
keep their balance, many of the men fell to the ground. A large crevice in the
ground split open with a terrifying screech a few feet from where Father Serra
stood.
"It is the entrance to hell and Lucifer's challenge
to Christianity once again!" shouted Father Crespi, pulling Father Serra
away to safety. Father Serra looked at the upheaval in disbelief. Some conquistadors
struggled to their feet and darted helter-skelter away from the crevice, while
others crawled or rolled away from an eternal rest in Hades. Many shouted, "Mercy,"
forgetting their code of valor.
Frightened, the superstitious Indians huddled together
in silence waiting for the outrage of their gods to stop….
BIG EAR VALLEY
Laughter and music echoed through the dining room of the Spanish hacienda as
Don Luis Moreno, a former captain in the army, his spirited wife, Maria Sandoval
Moreno, and their beautiful daughter, Angelica, entertained Father Serra and
his entourage with a sumptuous feast.
"Do you not miss the excitement and adventure
of battle since leaving the service of His Majesty, Don Luis?" asked General
Portola.
"There are times," answered Don Luis, with
a faraway look in his eyes.
"He may miss the adventure of battle, but he has
more than his share of excitement with all the earthquakes we've had lately,"
said Maria.
"Please! Let us not talk of earthquakes,"
said Father Serra with a sigh and a troubled look upon his face. "I shall
never forget yesterday's earthquake as long as I live."
"I hope that is a long time, Padre," said
Don Luis, as he stood and proposed a toast. "To Father Serra, Father Crespi
and all the brave conquistadors led by General de Portola, who valiantly risk
their lives to expand and civilize our new lands for the glory of God, Spain
and mankind. And, of course, to our noble King, Charles III." Everyone
raised their glasses and drank.
After the toast, Father Serra struggled to his feet.
"Thank you for those gracious words, Don Luis. And thank you and your charming
family for your generous hospitality."
"It is an honor, Padre."
"Now I have something for you, Don Luis. Before
I left Spain, King Charles summoned me and instructed that I deliver this document
to you with his profound gratitude." Father Serra handed Don Luis an envelope
with the royal seal stamped upon it.
All watched with curiosity as Don Luis broke the royal
seal and opened the envelope. He looked over the document quickly and then read
it aloud. "For service in the conquest of Upper California, I, King Charles
the III of Spain, hereby bequeath this land grant of five thousand acres for
the area known as Nopalera to former General in His Majesty's army, Don Luis
Moreno, and to his heirs in perpetuity." All applauded and congratulated
Don Luis on his good fortune as the gathering took on a more festive mood.
Spry, but aging General Portola danced with Don Luis'
daughter, Angelica, as a group of young conquistadors stood in a corner and
watched with envy. Father Serra and Father Crespi chatted with Don Luis and
his wife at the dinner table.
"I'm curious, Don Luis. Why didn't your renowned
nephew, *Fausto de Macoris join us for dinner?" asked Father Serra.
"I was hoping he would play the violin for us,"
added Father Crespi. "I saw his concert in Madrid. He was magnificent."
"That heathen is not welcome at my table!"
growled Don Luis. "My sister neglected to inform me that my nephew is a
heretic. Had she, I would not have invited him to visit."
Maria quickly blessed herself and whispered nervously,
"He is the reincarnation of El Diablo. His hideous saber-scarred face is
the most evil face I have ever seen, and his eyes..." Maria put her hand
over her heart, took a deep breath and blessed herself again. "His eyes
look right through me. I would ask you both to perform an exorcism on him, but
I don't think it would work. Thank God he leaves next week for Genoa to visit
his compatriot, Niccolo Paganini."
Bewildered, Father Serra looked at Father Crespi. "I've
heard nothing of this, have you?"
"I've heard rumors, but nothing from the church
hierarchy."
"I'm sure you will in time," said Don Luis
ominously.
Vivacious Angelica and out-of-breath General Portola
returned to the table. The somber mood changed to gaiety once again as General
Portola announced, "Señor and Señora Moreno, I formally ask
for your daughter's hand in marriage before all of my soldiers do. She is not
only beautiful, but also very perceptive. She said that she found me very intelligent,
manly and handsome."
Maria smiled. "You are indeed all those, General,
but you are also married with eight children and twenty grandchildren."
The general looked at Maria in mock revelation. "Why,
you're absolutely right! It's been so long since I've been home to Madrid, I'd
completely forgotten about them. I must write and let them know I'm still alive
so they don't forget me or I them." He took Angelica's hand and kissed
it and then lamented, "I am sorry, my dearest Angelica, but the wedding
is off."
Angelica looked at the general sadly. "My heart
will be broken forever." All smiled at the charade.
The gaiety continued until the sound of Indian drums and chants filled the room.
All looked at Don Luis with concern. "Nothing
to fear, my friends. Come, follow me and behold a wondrous sight." All
followed Don Luis outside to a nearby knoll that looked down into a large valley.
Below, a large campfire shot hot cinders through the air like miniature comets
as Indians with painted faces, dressed in eagle and multicolored feathered headdresses,
deerskin pants and moccasins, performed their primitive sacred chants and dances.
"The chanting and the music sound so clear!"
exclaimed Father Serra. "It's as though we were sitting at their campfire
below. It is quite amazing. Is there a name for this valley?"
"The Indians call it Big Ear Valley," answered
Don Luis.
"A most fitting name. However, I must confess,
these Indians look quite savage. Are they dangerous?"
"Oh no, Padre. They are just the local Cahueng-na
Indians from the nearby village of Cahueng-na and their Gabrielino- Shoshone
cousins from the neighboring village of Yang-na, who live by the river south
of here. They are simply performing ceremonial rituals to their deceased who
rest in their sacred burial grounds further back in the valley." Don Luis
went on to explain that the Indians worshipped Big Ear Valley because of its
magic acoustics and that they professed to speak to, and hear, their departed
ancestors from anywhere in the valley. He added that he had promised never to
traverse or desecrate the Indians' burial grounds or to interfere with their
sacred rites and that he had kept his word.
"But they must learn the ways of Christianity,"
said Father Crespi.
"True, but until you build a mission or a school
here, it is best, and safer, to leave things as they are," answered Don
Luis.
"I agree," interjected Father Serra, raising
his hand to keep the overzealous Father Crespi from carrying the banner of the
Lord at so late an hour. "And now my dear friends, it is time for me to
rest. I've had a long day, and I must get some sleep since we leave for Monterey
early in the morning."
"You can't leave in your present condition!"
exclaimed Maria. "The scorpion bite upon your leg will never heal if you
don't stay off of it. You must rest for at least a few more days."
"I've been trying to tell him that, but he will
not listen!" exclaimed Father Crespi.
"And your insistence that you do penance by walking
instead of riding a horse or donkey must cease," scolded General Portola.
"Now I order that you ride and not walk anymore until your leg is healed!
You are very fortunate the scorpion that bit you was not poisonous; still your
leg is extremely swollen."
Father Serra smiled. "It is nice to have friends
such as all of you. We will talk more in the morning." Holding his ears
Father Serra grimaced. "But now I must get away from those incessant drums.
Good night. May the Lord be with you." Father Serra blessed everyone and
hobbled away aided by Father Crespi, as all turned their attention back to the
ritual below.
The Indians had now reached a frenzied state. The guests,
wishing to view the ritual closer, asked Don Luis to lead them further down
the valley.
As they walked, a full moon began to rise over Coyote
Rock near the Indians. Slowly, a tall, skeletal man with long dangling hair
holding a violin came into view. When completely silhouetted in the full moon,
the man wildly swung his bow and began playing loud, distorted, spine-tingling
cadences, screeching animal sounds and eerie bizarre melodies as his emaciated
body contorted grotesquely. Enraged, the Indians stopped their ritual. As the
macabre image played his chilling and unearthly sounds, the Santa Ana winds
awakened as though he had invoked them.
Furious, the Indians renewed their ceremony in spite
of the intruder they called "the heathen from the land without trees."
The violin music and Indian chants echoed eerily throughout Big Ear Valley as
the campfire and the moon reflected ghost-like images of the Indians and the
skeletal man on the nearby hills.
"Who is that playing the violin?" whispered
General Portola.
"It is my cousin, Fausto de Macoris," whispered
Angelica. All watched with a sense of uneasiness. Angelica gasped and grabbed
the general's arm as coyotes howled in the distance.
As Fausto continued his chaotic playing, the Santa
Ana winds intensified. The tumbleweeds leapt and pirouetted wildly like the
Whirling Dervish as they danced to the satanic cacophony of the skeletal man,
the primitive music of the Indian chants, the howling of the wolves and the
Santa Anas, which now sang through the valley with vibrant overtones and enharmonic
dissonance like a colossal choir in a nightmarish dream.
The Indians scurried to tie down their teepees and
belongings as sparks from the campfire now flew high through the air, igniting
small brush fires throughout the valley. A rogue spark landed on the dense and
dry underbrush up the hillside near the Spaniards. The spark became a flame
and within seconds a fire raged. The Spaniards looked on in horror as an inferno
burned rapidly toward them. Frantic, they ran to escape the wrath of the fire.
Suddenly, as fast as the fire burned uphill, the unpredictable Santa Anas changed
their direction, forcing the fire sideward.
Still silhouetted by the full moon, Fausto's crazed,
demonic violin playing intensified as the burning inferno heightened, the howling
Santa Anas blew faster and the wailing coyotes and his own heinous laughter
filled the air in majestic Big Ear Valley.
A few days after Father Serra's departure another gigantic earthquake struck Nopalera and demolished and buried much of the Moreno hacienda. Don Luis and his family survived. However, Fausto de Macoris could not be found and was assumed buried deep under the rubble in the wine cellar. Don Luis planted an oak seedling over his demolished hacienda as a memento. Not wishing to rebuild over his nephew, Don Luis built a new hacienda on a hill overlooking Big Ear Valley. Thankful for the sparing of her life, Angelica dedicated her life to the Lord and became a nun.
17 81
The city of Los Angeles, "El Pueblo del la Reina de Los Angeles" -"The Town of the Queen of the Angels" - was founded on what had formerly been the site of the aboriginal village of Yang-na, the neighboring village of the Cahueng-na Indians. Eventually the Spaniards modified the name to Cahuenga.
1828
Mexico declared its independence from Spain. Don Luis' land grant was dissolved and his land divided into small rancheros. He retained one hundred and twenty acres of the original grant and lived out his last few years in tranquility with Maria in his hacienda overlooking Big Ear Valley. On occasion, the couple visited their daughter, Sister Angelica, at the San Fernando Mission.
1886
The oak seedling planted by Don Luis Moreno more than a hundred years before
now stood tall and majestic, towering high above the sage, chaparral and nopal
cactus that still grew wildly around it. Birds soared and butterflies still
danced majestically to the music of the dragonflies, bees and a chorus of other
singing insects in the brush.
As a mild Santa Ana wind blew, the colorful autumn
leaves of the majestic oak waved to its neighbor, the Moreno hacienda high on
the hill above the valley. Suddenly, the giant oak shook as a mild earthquake
rolled across the valley - a reminder to all things of its awesome perpetual
presence. Calm returned and the colorful leaves of the giant oak danced, shimmered
and sparkled radiantly, like a painting of a summer afternoon by Van Gogh....
*
© Original Copyright
1999 by Mark Traversino - Library of Congress
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, except
by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed
in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
Revised 2007 - For Sale 10-1-06
HOLLYWOOD TOWER PUBLICATIONS
ISBN: 097632671X
*
Dedicated
To All The Musicians
Who Never Made It To
The Hollywood Bowl
________________________
ORDER BOOKS
www.Amazon.com
Also Available Now By Mark Traversino
"THE BINGHAM PENITENTIARY
ALL-STAR
COUNTRY BAND"
*
Hollywood Tower Publications
hollywoodtower@earthlink.net
*