Ghosthunting Southern California. Sally Richards
are buried. It breaks my heart to read these comments.
In an odd move by the city, many of the seven hundred headstones were taken to the Mount Hope Cemetery (see Mount Hope Cemetery chapter), another of the city’s properties. Eighteen years later, after much public outcry about how the whole situation was handled, a handful of monuments were unearthed and cemented into the ground in Mount Hope’s gulley, where the city trolley slides (an area pretty much hidden if you’re just visiting) next to the monuments (and through the middle of the cemetery).
There was a long history of the city desiring to reclaim the cemetery property for other uses, including an action in 1942 that allowed the U.S. Navy to use it as a temporary observation point. In 1948, the city went about trying to prove that the property was abandoned by letting go of the caretaker and pressuring the Roman Catholic bishop to sign the papers of quitclaim, releasing itself from any responsibility or liability for the grounds. The city worked with Democratic Assemblyman Michael Wornum, a man who was “in the doghouse” with his constituents after a story broke in the press in 1988 criticizing him and his wife for building a $15,000 four-bedroom doghouse complete with a tiled bathtub and TV for their ten Salukis. He was clearly a man who cared for his dogs and would have liked to make dog runs of all the state’s property; he was infamous for his dog-friendly legislation. That’s a great thing (I have spoiled dogs; I get it)—unless your family burial plot with interred members going back more than a hundred years gets in the way of city “improvements.”
Wornum introduced legislation that allowed California city governments to take over any cemetery property and do anything they wished regarding the bodies buried on the property once it was declared abandoned. From there, it was a slippery slope. Literally. Much of the debris that used to be the cemetery was bulldozed down the hill that slopes down to Washington Street. People today are still finding pieces of broken tombstones there.
Wornum was unavailable for comment regarding the legislation that cleared many of San Diego’s historic cemeteries and hundreds of other cemeteries throughout the state, making them available for developers to build upon (see Hunter Steakhouse chapter). He passed away in 1995 of stomach cancer and, from what I can tell, was cremated, as I didn’t find any burial records. Imagine that—perhaps he’d seen the eventual future of all cemeteries once they were full and decided to opt out of the burial system altogether.
With all of this action disturbing the final resting spot of some of California’s early residents, I imagine the paranormal activity found in this park is a reaction to the massive and deliberate desecration of the graves still located in the heavily trafficked area.
“I vaguely remember the first time I heard about Pioneer Park,” says Leo Aréchiga, a lead investigator and case manager for Roadside Paranormal. “I believe it was a local KPBS show on interesting places in San Diego. I wasn’t paying too much attention to the TV until I heard, ‘Bodies still underground.’ My reaction was one of shock and amazement. It didn’t make sense. Endless questions swirled in my mind. Why would the city of San Diego build a park over a historic cemetery and leave the bodies? Who were the people buried there? My main question was Why? Cold hard cash, that’s why. Mission Hills, where the cemetery once stood, needed a park. Land isn’t cheap, especially if it has houses sitting on it. An old, decrepit cemetery is the next best thing. But the cost of removing and reburying the bodies and all the legal aspects that could arise from descendants were truly limitless. So the decision was made to leave all of the bodies there and simply build the park above it. Evil Genius. When I think about all those headstones—some the only record of birth and death, especially since deaths did not need to be officially recorded until 1905, I shake my head at the people behind this.
“Our team has investigated this site many times, and there’s no doubt that it feels like you’re being watched,” says Leo. “On one occasion, as I was doing an EVP session I told the spirits that I too speak Spanish, and if they chose, they could join me in a prayer. It’s a fact that many Spanish-speaking Catholics were buried here and thus not unreasonable to think one could answer. I slowly recited the Lord’s Prayer, and when I finished, I reviewed the file. In the dead space that followed my words I heard a low, faint answer, Gracias. It was a male disembodied voice that came from beyond to thank me. A cold chill ran through my body when I heard that one single word that told me so much about who or what remained at Pioneer Park.
“K-II and EMF meters signal the presence of random energy throughout the park,” Leo continues. “It’s as if the spirits of the deceased are wandering the old cemetery searching for the headstones that their loved ones, in their agonizing sorrow, placed as tribute to them. In every tragic case our team investigates, I ask myself, How would I feel about that? What would my reaction be? In the case of Pioneer Park, I’d be turning over in my grave.”
I’ve held a few Ghosts Happen meetings at the park that began with the group meeting—usually a talk about equipment or detection skills—and ending with an investigation in the park for several hours. This place has a lot of activity. I’ve seen many shadow people scurrying throughout the park and disappearing behind trees—even during the day. I’ve seen those I thought were among the living walk through the park who simply disappeared. I’ve noted odd low-light orbs bounce around slowly in the trees, photographed green lights shimmering in the park, and heard many audible disembodied voices that other people heard as well; some we recorded.
Sometimes the real activity comes from the humans inhabiting the park after nightfall. One particular evening around 10 p.m., my Meetup group had broken up into smaller groups. We were investigating an area with our equipment when a middle-aged woman walking through stopped to speak with us. She asked if we were looking for ghosts. We said we were. She told us about the beautiful cemetery that used to be there, and how she used to cut through it on her way home from school. She pointed to the grass and trees and explained what used to be here and there, including angel statues, and where the main path used to be. It was amazing to have the cemetery verbally re-created for us by someone who used such vivid description; it was clear that the neighbors once loved the cemetery. She asked the group to come to her mother’s house, as it was, she told us, quite haunted.
Although I was speaking to an adult, I asked if she wanted to call her mother first and ask if it was okay. I felt like I was back in junior high. But she assured us it would be all right, as she took care of her mother and was in charge of the household. She advised us that her mother was sleeping; we’d just have to be quiet. I felt a bit uncomfortable about going but thought the woman seemed quite in charge of things, and activity had slowed down at the park and it had gotten cold outside. At the very least it would be a good learning experience for those wondering how to handle such an investigation. I thought we’d just go with it.
We walked to the lovely home a few blocks away only to find the porch and home stacked floor-to-ceiling with antique furniture—chairs and bookcases stacked precariously on top of tables. A treasure picker’s dream, but not really practical for a large group to walk around in without nudging over something that would start a domino effect. A few of the group began sweeping the area with instruments. I was feeling more uncomfortable about being there and was about to get everyone out and say goodnight, when the woman’s mother, looking a bit like a specter in a white nightgown opened what I assume was a bedroom door and poked her head out with wide eyes. I smiled, waved, and got everyone out, leaving her daughter to explain the appearance of a dozen-odd people with strange equipment in her house.
“With a constant flow of skateboarders, screaming kids, and large periodic drum circles [even at night], the environment at Pioneer Park isn’t always cooperative to paranormal investigation,” says Jennifer Donohue, medium and investigator for Roadside Paranormal. “My most interesting experience there fell on a cool, overcast day when the park was nearly empty. We were taking readings by the line of headstones, and the K-II, Mel Meter, and Frank’s Box were quiet. I thought Sara [another team member] passed to my right and I turned to say something, but she wasn’t there. When I looked around, she was toward the end of the row of headstones, nowhere close to me. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement again, but saw nothing when I looked. This continued the rest of the afternoon.