Around the time W. Storrs Lee’s The Great California Deserts hit store bookshelves in 1963, the American frontier appeared to be finally closing. That is, for those desolate federally held lands of the Mojave Desert and other undervalued areas across the country that Uncle Sam had been giving away in recent years. “Disposal” of public land was the official objective of a “baby” homestead act that had become extraordinarily popular during the previous decade.
Lee opens the chapter with the detailed description of a sardonic professional auctioneer at work in a packed Los Angeles auditorium, prodding anxious bidders to slap down $500 or more for a measly patch of desert—complete with no water, electricity, mineral rights or even shade—let alone a parcel seen in person. The event had taken place on March 18, 1957, after the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) had decided to dispose of thousands of acres of unwanted public land assets via auction instead of the original requirement calling for the construction of a small habitable “jackrabbit” homestead that allowed the lessee to eventually acquire the tract outright—few strings attached. These “land grab” auctions would continue over several years until public interest had finally petered out.
“What am I offered for this parcel, ladies and gentlemen?” he trumpeted with a hint of sarcasm. “What am I offered? Five acres, and all sand. Uncle Sam appraises it at ten dollars. But I don’t wanna cheat you. Cactus and rattlesnakes go with it, but no water. It’s crawling with rattlers. No oil, no gold; government hangs onto the mineral rights. Cactus and greasewood are all you’ll ever harvest on it. Five acres of the saddest-looking desert north of the Mexican Border. Forty miles from nowhere. Cost you a fortune to bring in water. What am I bid? Ten dollars an acre, says the government. Who wants to lead off with—?”
“Five hundred dollars!” screamed a lady in the middle of the jam-packed hall.
Nobody laughed.
“Five hundred?” gasped the auctioneer. “Remember it’s cash on the barrel. The lady says five—”
“Five fifty,” interrupted a gentleman in the rear in a wilted blue sports shirt.
“Six hundred,” roared a solid-looking citizen in the front row. The auctioneer shook his head in bewilderment. “Understand what you’re bidding on, ladies and gentlemen,” he warned. “This ain’t suburban real estate. It’s desert wasteland. Nobody’s holding out on any information. You can spot it on your maps. No water nor promises of water. The rattlers and the cholla come free. It’s not worth—”
“Six hundred and fifty,” broke in the woman who had first mentioned five. And there was desperate determination in her voice. She knew what she was buying. “Sold! Sold to the lady for six hundred and fifty dollars,” barked the auctioneer abruptly, as if he were afraid someone might jump the figure still higher. “Step up with the cash, lady. Next parcel.”
“They’re crazy,” the auctioneer confided to his clerk in an almost inaudible aside.[1]
Lee stated that land purchased through these pop-up auctions often sold for 500 percent of its actual appraised value.
The parcels offered for auction had resulted from the Small Tract Act of 1938, a federal government program established that year to authorize the lease of up to five acres of public land for recreational purpose or use as a home, cabin, camp, health, convalescent, or business site to “able-bodied” U.S. citizens. The only requirement was to improve their claim by constructing a small dwelling within three to five years of the lease, after which they could file for a patent (the federal government’s form of a deed). The applicants would receive their patent after purchasing the parcel for the appraised price (average $10 to $20 an acre) at the regional land office. This highly popular mid-century homestead movement reflects the quintessential American desire to claim territory and own a piece of the land even if the property in question is virtually “worthless” from an economic and governmental perspective.
This “strange land grab” was the subject of my second book, Jackrabbit Homestead: Tracing the Small Tract Act in the Southern California Landscape, 1938 – 2008. It was one of the reasons I had decided to move out to Joshua Tree less than two years after the book was published. Yet I did not purchase one of the many claim shacks dotting the more remote areas of the Morongo Basin where this movement was most popular. Instead, I chose a modest 1986 ranch-style three-bedroom home with truly spectacular views on 2.5 acres south of State Highway 62 in the town of Joshua Tree.
Between 1938 and 1977—when the Small Tract Act had begun and effectively ended—Uncle Sam issued a total of 59,481 patents for 232,473 acres of publicly held land across the U.S. but primarily within the western states.[2] The General Land Office received 141,536 lease applications during this same period, suggesting that nearly two-thirds of people applying had not “proved up” their leases. In California alone, 27,880 patents had been issued for 124,487 acres of public land—primarily within San Bernardino County’s portion of the Mojave Desert—considered to be the epicenter of this public land to private ownership land-transfer giveaway.[3] In all, the Feds received a total of $19,271,336 for its “disposal” of our collectively owned public lands.[4]
Folks with the blood of pioneers—or of poets—running strong in their veins, will regard the task as a grand adventure. I know Los Angeles people who spent most of their weekends for months building a stone cabin on their claim. And what fun they had doing it! Two days every week they drove out and mixed mortar and hauled rocks, and stone by stone the little cabin took form. It isn’t a perfect construction job—but it is theirs. They planned it themselves and built it with their own hands—and in terms of spiritual values it is worth more than a mansion in a ritzy subdivision. —Desert Magazine, 1947[5]
Undeniably, these contemporary homesteaders differed from the earlier homesteading pioneers. They sought land primarily for recreational use and escape during weekend desert excursions. Those laying claim to small tracts throughout the Mojave Desert arrived from the Los Angeles metropolitan area seeking solitude, repose and isolation from traffic jams and other distractions of modern urban life. The trend mainly attracted working-class folks, but people of all walks of life and economic backgrounds participated. The act allowed many who had only previously rented properties to purchase real estate. The requirements for five-acre homesteads did not necessitate that they live off the land like the original homestead laws required, freeing many to “prove up” their lease on a leisurely basis during weekend visits. Even Frank Sinatra got into the game. Public General Land Office (GLO) records show that Sinatra received his patent for a 2.5-acre parcel located in southwest Las Vegas on July 24, 1959. Sinatra’s property has changed hands many times over but has remained undeveloped. The last time the property sold, in 2001, it went for $150,000. On the other hand, Ronald Reagan filed for a small tract near Twentynine Palms but never proved up on his lease. No GLO patent record for the former president exists.
While some of these “measly” patches of desert are worth a very pretty penny today, others, located in less desirable parts of the Mojave Desert, haven’t appreciated much at all. Plus, there’s a downside to this public land giveaway in that it has contributed to countless derelict structures, desert sprawl, piecemeal development and checkerboard public/private ownership, making rights-of-way confusing. Consequently, property disputes are challenging to unravel. In 2020, San Bernardino County’s Land Use Services Building and Safety Division had to decide how to deal with the “recreational cabin” legacy in regards to code enforcement, structural improvements, and classification.
Some of the patented Small Tract parcels in the Morongo Basin had been purchased and upgraded by adventuresome artists, including Andrea Zittel, during the early 2000s. The trend continues full steam today. My 2009 book features several creatives, including Stephanie Smith, proprietor of a highly popular homesteader cabin vacation rental—a lovely green weathered shack in North Joshua Tree that receives 100,000 hits monthly on the Airbnb website.[6] According to data from AirDNA, there were 2,157 active vacation rentals in the greater Morongo Basin, including Joshua Tree, Landers, Morongo Valley, Twentynine Palms, Yucca Valley, and in Wonder Valley the fourth quarter of 2019.[7]
Of course, many of these Instagrammable vacation rentals and must-have Cabin Porn hideouts are central to the hipster tourist’s “high desert experience” and are the subject of numerous high-profile newspaper and magazine features in the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, Sunset and Dwell magazines, among others. As of late, with COVID-19 forcing those with the financial means to reevaluate their quarantine living quarters, some are opting to purchase ridiculously priced jackrabbit cabin properties. For instance, a tiny 221-square-foot pink 1953 cinderblock jackrabbit homestead on five acres in the very desirable Joshua Tree Highlands near the national park entrance was listed in July 2020 for $350,000 and is under contract. This potential sale provides an extreme example of how some of these Small Tract cabins have appreciated over time.
California City’s Big Lie
California City was the postwar pipe dream of Czech-born Nathan K. Mendelsohn, a Columbia University-educated sociologist and professor interested in rural community development. After a stint with the Federal Government researching farm economies, Mendelsohn, known as Nat, moved to California when World War II had ended and began dabbling in suburban real estate development. After several successful years in the Golden State, he worked with developer M. Penn Phillips of Salton City fame to develop the town of Hesperia in the Victor Valley area, north of San Bernardino.
By 1958, Mendelsohn along with his partners had purchased their very own piece of desert for $6 million—82,000 acres, to be exact, located about 100 miles north of Los Angeles in southeastern Kern County. This southwestern Mojave Desert acreage was christened California City and marketed as a master-planned community where baby-booming Los Angeles could spread her wings and blossom. An “inexhaustible” million acre-feet of water per year that Mendelsohn’s hired civil engineer Olindo R. Angelillo had discovered would feed the growth. “Sufficient to serve a city of some 50,000 residents,” declared California City Development Company’s marketing literature. But the U.S. Geological Survey and others would negate these outlandish claims the following year. Still, the public wanted to believe.
Smith & Williams, a south Pasadena architecture firm, was hired to create the overall visual concept for this master-planned community that emphasized a modern, social-oriented design. Mendelsohn ambitiously proposed seven “satellite cities” with 30,000 people in each area plus a centralized city of 85,000 residents[8] that would soon eclipse Los Angeles’ monumental sprawl in size and population. Indeed, when California City was incorporated in 1965, it was noted to be the third-largest city in California—in terms of its sheer physical footprint, covering 203.63 square miles, and remains so to this day.
Paved roadways and other infrastructural necessities, including water, sewer and electrical lines, would crisscross the great desert expanse. Marketing materials touted schools, recreation facilities and other essential services along with a thriving retail and manufacturing business district, a civic center, an international airport and other urban amenities. The eighty-acre Wonderland Park (later renamed Central Park) centered in the main western section of the development was slated to be the gem of Mendelsohn’s master plan, featuring a cascading waterfall, a par-three golf course, an outdoor swimming pool, playing fields, tennis courts and other recreational perks, tucked around a twenty-acre artificial lake. The lake’s floating public pavilion featured distinctive geometric “parasol” architectural flourishes. This mid-century futuristic design motif was repeated in other buildings, including the California City Congregational Church and the city’s airport.
Galileo Park, located fifteen miles east of Central Park, was the community’s smaller, western-themed recreational area with equestrian facilities. A museum commemorating the region’s pioneer history was in the planning. Mendelsohn built an observation tower on a desert rise where he was said to daydream about his nascent city’s future while taking in the endless maze of newly graded roads in the open desert.
In celebration of Southern California’s car culture, streets were named Cadillac Boulevard, Chrysler Drive, Dodge Court, Chevy Drive and Buick Boulevard. Other streets were named Columbia, Rutgers, Stanford and Yale after renowned universities. There’s even one labeled Rommel—after Nazi Germany’s Desert Fox. Mendelsohn offered undeveloped land for one dollar an acre to attract manufacturing businesses if they set up shop and employed residents.[9] When the selling frenzy began in 1958, a family could purchase a lot with a newly constructed three-bedroom house for under $10,000. Empty lots went for as little as $990, for $90 down and $17.50 a month over five years.[10]
Although thousands of parcels were sold, by 1962, Mendelsohn had built only 175 homes. In 1969, the population had reached an unimpressive 1,700 residents, with 350 completed single-family residences.[11] Parcels were mainly sold to Southern Californians and far-flung buyers from Germany, the Philippines and other countries through bait-and-switch and other highly questionable hard-sell marketing practices. After signing up for a “free” Southern California vacation, some left as homeowners after falling victim to high-pressure on-site sales pitches. Others had purchased land, sight unseen, persuaded by the developer’s strategically placed magazine and newspaper advertisements. As of January 1969, Mendelsohn and his associates had pulled in $122 million from the 32,000 parcels they had sold to date.[12]
Mendelsohn’s success lay in the brilliant cottage industry he masterminded to lure thousands of wannabe real estate speculators into his company’s web by operating a worldwide real estate “training program.” Trainees were encouraged to invest in land to ensure seller leverage. What better way to hawk a worthless piece of desert than to show the “up” (an insider term for a buyer) that they, too, had a stake in upcoming California City? The ploy worked so remarkably well that it spawned one of the most egregious pyramid-like real estate schemes the West had ever seen. This scam would last, albeit transformed, for sixty years.
By 1969, Mendelsohn, who never actually lived in California City, pulled out, selling his company to Great Western United Corp., a Denver-based sugar and mining company, for $27.4 million in stock.[13] As a significant stockholder, Mendelsohn continued his influence through Great Western United’s land development subsidiary—Great Western Cities, Inc.—but would focus on its development ventures in Colorado and New Mexico until he finally left the firm in 1970 on unfriendly terms.
By then, Great Western Cities, Inc. was in hot water with several state agencies and the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) after investors complained that their nest eggs weren’t appreciating as Mendelsohn had promised. Moreover, only a tiny portion of the area had the services, utilities and paved roads promoted in the marketing materials and sales pitches. It didn’t help, either, that Ralph Nader’s Raiders exposed the deceit in their scathing 1971 Politics of Land. Robert C. Fellmeth, the lead author of the publication, referred to the scam as “The Big Lie.”
Fellmeth and his collaborators detailed a largely ignored 1969 report by the office of the California Deputy District Attorney, which illuminated the shady goings-on at the California City Development Company real estate sales division. Their investigation, which began sometime in the mid-1960s, was completed but not publicly distributed. A particularly scathing conclusion by the Attorney General of Mendelsohn’s real estate dealings is as follows:
His is no ordinary real estate sales scheme—Mendelsohn isn’t trying to sell “land” and the public isn’t really buying the “land.” They are engaged in a grand illusion of creating wealth. Mendelsohn has a dream and the buyers believe the developer’s dream is capable of providing them with a pot of gold. The art of creating gold from base metals has long eluded our grasp, but N.K. Mendelsohn has perfected the art of turning desert dust into gold—but only for himself.[14]
In 1972, the FTC issued Great Western Cities, Inc. a cease and desist order to stop the deception fed by its misleading advertising campaign but the company’s disingenuous marketing practices continued. Not until 1974, after the company had changed ownership in a hostile takeover by the controversial Texan Hunt Brothers (their family was the inspiration for the popular 1980s TV show Dallas), would the FTC finally crack down on Great Western United, Corp., along with its affiliates, in the largest refund ever won by the federal agency at the time. As a result, the Hunts were forced to pay 14,000 misled buyers a $4 million settlement, $16 million in community capital improvements misrepresented in marketing materials, along with $50,000 in legal costs for all three land development projects at California City, Colorado City, Colorado and Cochiti Lake, New Mexico. They were additionally instructed to provide a warning to potential investors that they should “consider the value of any of our land to be uncertain.”[15] Although it was determined the settlement resulted from the previous owner’s “deceptive land sales tactics and from violating the Truth in Lending Act,” it is unlikely that the Hunts were unaware of the seller’s shady business dealings when they acquired Great Western United Corp.[16] In the end, the Hunts made no substantial capital improvements with the divvied-up funds at any of the three locations. According to the Washington Post, nearly 50,000 people had purchased excessively overvalued properties, ranging in price from $2,000 to $5,000 a lot.[17]
Great Western United Corp. and its subsidiaries would go bankrupt ten years later in 1984—the same year that Mendelsohn died of a heart attack while golfing at a resort community he had founded in Texas. Shady real estate outfits would continue to sell overvalued land in California City throughout the late 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s—that the Kern County Assessor’s Office had determined was ten, twenty, and even fifty times its “fair market value.”[18] National Recreational Properties, Inc. hired CHIPS television star Erik Estrada in the early 2000s as its “infomercial” spokesperson. Estrada hawked properties near town while another company, Silver Saddle, sold highly inflated quarter-acre lots and larger parcels further east of the city.
But investigative journalists began to take notice. In her fascinating 2020 LAist podcast exposé California City, journalist Emily Guerin states that an estimated 73,000 investors have collectively lost hundreds of millions of dollars after purchasing California City’s overvalued land that began with Mendelsohn’s great visionary real estate scam.[19] But the saga doesn’t end here.
LandBanking+ in the Desert
There are no streets in California City named for Nat Mendelsohn. No buildings, landmarks, or bronze plaque commemorations. For the most part, Mendelsohn’s presence is all but erased from California City. Still, his legacy lingers in a contemporary version of his legendary real estate investment scheme, one that preys upon vulnerable ethnic communities and the elderly—many of whom speak English as a second language. It requires that unsophisticated investors bring family members and close friends into the twisted equation in their attempt to recoup their investment losses. It has looted the savings of “thousands of hard-working Californians [who have] invested their life savings in this scam” through “blatant misrepresentations” and “deliberate omission” of material information. These facts, and more, are stated in the California Department of Business Oversight (DBO) October 2019 press release illuminating the dark side of the American Dream—desert style.[20]
The DBO alleges that Thomas M. Maney of Lancaster, California, and other named defendants associated with Silver Saddle Ranch & Club, Inc., initiated a “scheme that targeted Filipino, Chinese and Spanish-speaking communities with high-pressure sales tactics and false promises,” violating state securities laws in the process.[21] The DBO’s press release states that Maney and his Silver Saddle associates ran the scam through supermarket raffles and social media posts. They baited potential investors with a “free” vacation offer at a Southern California dude ranch resort called Silver Saddle, which happens to be at the foot of Galileo Hill—the very place where Mendelsohn was said to daydream about his metropolis. Here, at California City’s “Second Community,” Maney and associates set a new investment trap.
In July 2020, I drove out with a friend to shoot some drone imagery of California City’s ghost grid atop Galileo Hill just before I learned about the sordid details of Silver Saddle Commercial Development and its associated entities through Guerin’s podcast. Upon reaching the Silver Saddle Ranch, it appeared shuttered but maintained. “No Trespass” notices were posted everywhere. Both of us found the place odd.
On the west side of the desert rise, there were about a dozen random two- and one-story tract homes. These houses looked utterly out of place along California City’s far eastern frontier—a hot and dusty seventeen miles from the town center. Many nearby lots were listed as “For Sale” with crude, hand-drawn signs. A commercial billboard, faded and cracked, announced itself as THE GALILEO COMMERCIAL PROPERTY OWNERS ASSOCIATION with “1020 acres of unsubdivided LandBanking Plus+ for future commercial or industrial development.” A red outline marked the boundaries of the future community on a map detail. The last bullet point stated, “approximately five square miles of low to high-density residential subdivisions with over 10,000 residential lots.” Another faded sign nearby boasted “underground power, city water & streets installed, city trash, school, medical, fire & police serviced.” I thought to myself, “yeah, right.”
Besides the few isolated houses surrounding the lonely ranch with its looming water tower and the curious wooden octagon structure loaded with cell-tower antennaes, the landscape was nearly devoid of human presence. The only sign of life was the geoglyph of dirt roads that radiated miles outward in the open desert. Indeed, this is an extraordinary place to site any suburban tract housing or commercial development.
As it turns out, Thomas Maney had been a signatory in the earlier FTC settlement involving Great Western Cities, Inc. Maney is listed as the vice-president and general counsel for the Hunt Brothers in signed legal documents. His signature appears just below W. Herbert Hunt’s in a document posted online by the California City podcast team.
Maney most likely acquired the Silver Saddle Ranch property during the mid-1980s through his business affiliation with Great Western Cities, Inc. The ranch resort was built during this period. In a 2017 news article, Maney comments that the Hunt Brothers had brought him in to “clean up the problems left behind.”[22] It is not clear when the current investment scheme was begun, but the DBO press release suggests it started in 2011. We can only speculate on what happened during the years leading up to 2011. Still, it appears from a Bakersfield Californian investigative story by Joe Mullin from October 2, 2005, that Maney and his representatives, through Silver Saddle, had been selling and reselling parcels in the Second Community the entire time.[23]
The 2019 DBO complaint details how Silver Saddle’s “LandBanking Plus+” or the alternative “The Galileo Project” offered a 1,000-acre parcel surrounding Galileo Hill apportioned into 4,000 fractionalized interests. No lots were available for outright sale. Investors paid up to 100 times the land’s actual value—with many investors spending up to $30,000 for their investment that included taxes, high closing costs, a pooled development fund plus recurring membership dues and other associated fees. Financing interest rates were as high as 15.9 percent. The complaint also states that investors’ money was “deliberately commingled” to avoid a paper trail and to divert funds elsewhere.
In documented interviews, Maney stated that he and his associates informed potential investors that “landbanking” at California City was a “long-term investment” requiring patience for eventual payout—but no sound financial facts exist to back his statements. Sadly, for those desperate investors who have attempted to terminate the deal, representatives of Silver Saddle threatened them with lawsuits and financial ruin. Guerin comments in Episode 5 of California City that up to “2,000 people have spent nearly $60 million on that dream in the past eight years alone.”[24] The question is: “where did all that money go?”
In October 2019, a San Diego Superior Court judge granted the DBO’s request for a temporary restraining order to stop any future land sales and froze Silver Saddle’s assets. A court-appointed receiver was assigned to sort out the mess. As of August 2020, the receiver is selling off Silver Saddle Ranch and Galileo Property’s assets. The ranch is listed at $1,874,500—a figure far less than some investors claim it is worth. Now that the potential buyer has agreed to cancel escrows associated with the properties, the sale of the ranch and land can proceed. Note that landbanking investors do not hold interest in the ranch property. Funds from the ranch sale will be divided among the pool of investors, but they’ll receive only pennies on the dollar.
Over time, Mendelsohn’s fantasy deceit would have all but faded if not for dedicated journalists like Joe Mullin and Emily Guerin, who have kept the scam in public view. Guerin traveled to California City in 2016 to report on the city’s excessive water use caused by a slew of water line breaks (400 occurrences in 2015 alone) in the 170 miles of aging pipeline that Mendelsohn had installed in the western developed sector of the city. While reporting, she began digging into Silver Saddle’s questionable landbanking scheme. As it turned out, the DBO had been doing so as well.
Today, California City’s elaborate ghost grid etched across the desert surface continues to beckon those fascinated with the bizarre development patterns unique to Southern California. Although 14,000 people reside in California City’s semi-developed western sector, the eastern sector remains haunted by developers’ schemes and landowners’ dreams. But, in town, some business owners and residents are working to improve the overall impression of Cal City—what the locals here call it.
When we visited Cal City in July 2020, during the height of COVID-19, we stopped for lunch at Raven’s Nest Café, located in a small shopping center complex. Having expected McDonald’s as our only culinary option, we were pleasantly surprised to find an independently owned bakery and coffee shop—especially as the food was excellent. While having lunch, we chatted with the owner, who had “I ❤︎ CAL CITY” t-shirts, mugs and other promotional items for sale. We realized that the café was not just a family-run business—it’s a much-needed community space for Cal City residents. The outlook was positive and I wish the owners continued prosperity. I hope that Cal City can transcend the negativity of the recent lawsuits and move past the decades of real estate scandals to ensure that it becomes the thriving desert community that Mendelsohn could not have imagined.
To remain abreast of the legal proceedings and outcomes involving the DBO’s Silver Saddle Ranch and the Galileo Project lawsuit click here. Read Charles Hood’s post Birdwatching in the Calfornia Deserts that complements this dispatch. Watch an archived live conversation hosted by The Autry Museum and 89.3 KPCC featuring KPCC/LAist senior reporter and “California City” podcast host Emily Guerin, Desert Oracle’s Ken Layne and Mojave Project director Kim Stringfellow, that initially aired on September 3. 2020.
California City’s Central Park and Silver Saddle are well-known birding sites in the western Mojave Desert. Each park has water features and landscaping attractive to migratory birds traveling along the Pacific Flyway. Naturalist Charles Hood, author of A Californian’s Guide to the Birds Among Us, is an avid birder based in the Antelope Valley. Hood frequents the California City locations and Edwards Air Force Base’s Piute Ponds, supplied with reclaimed water from a Los Angeles County wastewater treatment plant. Hood discusses the nuances of his obsession in this September 2020 post. Aerial drone footage and photography courtesy of Thomas Fjallstam. This article is co-published with KCET Artbound. Visit Artbound’s Mojave Project page here.
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FOOTNOTES (click to open/close)
[1] W. Storrs Lee, The Great California Deserts (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1963, 13-14
[2] “The Small Tract Act (Act of June 1, as amended) Guide Book for Managing Existing Small Tract Areas,” Bureau of Land Management, U.S. Department of the Interior, April 1980, 30.
[3] “The Small Tract Act Guide Book,” 17-23.
[4] “The Small Tract Act Guide Book,” 30. Most Small Tract patents were issued between 1952 and 1961 primarily as five-acre parcels. The peak number of patents issued in one year was in 1960, with 9,908 patents.
[5] Randall Henderson, “Just Between You and Me,” Desert Magazine, October 1947, 46.
[6] Stephanie Smith, phone interview with the author on June 16, 2020.
[7] Not every Morongo Basin Airbnb listing is a mid-century Small Tract cabin, but many jackrabbit homesteads are listed.
[8] Micaela Cortez Torres-Gil, “Preserving California City: An exploration into the city plan preservation of a mid-century, master-planned community” (Ph.D. diss., University of Southern California School of Architecture, 2015), 53.
[9] David Colker, “California City—A Dream in Progress: Mojave Desert: The space and the expectations have been there for 30 years. But reality has not caught up with the plan. America’s 11th largest city has only 6,500 residents,” Los Angeles Times, February 11, 1990.
[10] David Colker, “California City—A Dream in Progress.”
[11] Rosecrans Baldwin, “A California Dream,” Mental Floss, July 1, 2016.
[12] Robert C. Fellmeth, Politics of Land: Ralph Nader’s Study Group Report on Land Use in California (New York: Grossman Publishers, 1073), 320.
[13] David Colker, “California City—A Dream in Progress.”
[14] Robert C. Fellmeth, Politics of Land, 321-322.
[15] Carole Shifrin, “A Message to Buyers of Land,” The Washington Post, February 5, 1977.
[16] Carole Shifrin, “A Message to Buyers of Land.”
[17] Carole Shifrin, “A Message to Buyers of Land.”
[18] Joe Mullin, “Exploiting dreams for big profits,” The Bakersfield Californian, October 2, 2005.
[19] Emily Guerin, “California City Episode 4: Soldiers of the Sale” (podcast) LAist Studios, July 27, 2020.
[20] “Department of Business Oversight Sues to Stop $30 million Silver Saddle Ranch Investment Fraud,” State of California Dept. of Business Oversight, accessed August 28, 2020.
[21] “Department of Business Oversight Sues.”
[22] Chloe Nordquist, “California City: The city of broken promises, a bright future, and a whole lot of barren desert,” 23ABC News Bakersfield, February 17, 2017.
[23] Joe Mullin’s 2005 Bakersfield Californian article states how Silver Saddle would reacquire parcels it had previously sold via county land auctions after the buyer stopped paying property taxes, eventually forfeiting the holding to the county. According to Kern County Assessor records, Silver Saddle repurchased properties in this manner multiple times, often far below the parcel’s fair market value.
[24] Emily Guerin, “California City Episode 5: The Tragedy That Occurred” (podcast) LAist Studios, August 3, 2020.