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From Primedia Publications
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Scotty's Castle
A rich man dreams of a Death Valley palace.

By Linda B Martin

Walter Scott (a.k.a. Scotty) dreamed of building his desert castle as a young boy.
Like a tantalizing mirage, Scotty's Castle rises above Death Valley's arid moonscape. This curious attraction, perched 3,000 feet atop Grapevine Canyon, offers travelers a welcome oasis in the California desert. A National Monument, it embodies our country's living history by preserving the spirit of the Western frontier.

In the truest sense, this incongruous structure is neither castle nor Scotty's. Built as the vacation retreat of Chicago finance magnate Albert Johnson and his wife, the complex was originally called "Death Valley Ranch." Why "Scotty's Castle?" The story is a native fairy tale where fact and fiction blend inextricably. In its themes—the taming of unexplored boundaries, the lure of gold, the fulfillment of personal dreams—it's a distinctively American saga.



Johnson's sprawling Moorish-style ranch would probably never have become reality without the flamboyant personality of "Death Valley Scotty." This charismatic cowboy, a familiar figure in his ten-gallon Stetson and customary red necktie, became a legend in the American West. Scotty's lifelong friendship with Johnson and his wife, Bessie, is linked forever to the history of the castle that bears his name.

Scotty expected—perhaps half hoped—that the grueling horseback trek would kill Johnson.
Born Walter Scott on September 20, 1872, Scotty was only 11 when he left his Cynthiana, Kentucky, home to join his brother on a Nevada ranch. The enterprising young Scotty supported himself with odd jobs, soon taking on work as a wrangler or horse herder. In 1884, he was first attracted to the wild Death Valley terrain. Working for a Mr. St. Clair, head of the original government survey party, Scotty received a dollar a day as "water boy and roustabout." Only 13 at the time, Scotty overheard St. Clair bragging, "When I make my pile, I'm coming back here and build a castle." Many years after its construction, Scotty boasted to his Death Valley neighbor, Eleanor Jordan Houston, "St. Clair didn't build it, but nobody can deny it's here."

The determined youth grew desert wise. In Mojave, he was a "call boy" who summoned the train crews to work from cafis and sporting houses. Soon, he signed on as a "swamper" or driver's assistant for one of the 20-mule teams that hauled borax across the rough, unyielding land. In l890, he was "discovered" by a Wyoming talent scout and hired as a trick rider and roper for "Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show." During the 12 years Scotty traveled the world with Cody's troupe, he hobnobbed with the rich and famous: "Swedish nightingale" Jenny Lind, British actress Lillie Langtry, multimillionaire Howard Hughes, Western artists Frederic Remington and Charles Russell, heads of state such as Kaiser Wilhelm, Queen Victoria, and Edward VII, then Prince of Wales.

In 1902, it was time for Scotty to move on. When Cody dismissed him for being late to rehearsal, the bankrupt Scotty again dreamed of his castle in the desert. This time, he turned to gold prospecting. A glib storyteller who could convince anyone the earth was square, Scotty managed to persuade several wealthy businessmen to invest in his Death Valley gold mine. Did such a mine ever exist? Despite accusations that he was a con artist, this "man of mystery" claimed to have found "plenty of gold." Backed by rich grubstakers, Scotty prospered. He patronized the finest hotels and salons of the frontier towns and went on fabled spending sprees, flinging $1,000 bills around "like throwing barley to quail." Scotty's most constant investor was Chicago banker Albert Johnson who, over several years, had sent thousands of dollars on faith.

Unforeseen "calamities," claimed Scotty, constantly prevented delivery of the promised gold. Johnson, though in delicate health since a near-fatal train wreck, decided in l906 to make a personal tour of Death Valley.

Scotty expected—perhaps half hoped—that the grueling horseback trek would kill Johnson. To their mutual surprise, the frail asthmatic banker flourished in the dry and sunny climate. An unusual bond formed between the two—Johnson, a respected, affluent, religious gentleman, and Scotty, an eccentric, fast-talking, rough-hewn cowboy—a friendship that would survive more than four decades and forever alter Death Valley's history.

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Linda B. Martin, a New York-based writer and photographer, specializes in travel articles and is co-author of two books on the photographic history of Long Island.
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