Just a few miles past Death Valley's eastern boundary, delineated by the California/Nevada border, lies the ghost town of Rhyolite, Nevada. Springing to life at the beginning of the twentieth century it was spawned of mines, gold and hope - perhaps foolish, perhaps not - of a better life in a new territory. No small town, Rhyolite boasted nearly 10,000 people in its heyday. In addition to the usual train depot, churches, stores, saloons and lodging houses, Rhyolite had 8 doctors, 2 dentists, a stock exchange and an opera. The largest ghost town in the Death Valley area, many ruins remain and it is easy to imagine the vitality, ambition and faith in the future which was present for a few short years.
Stark contrast lies outside the western boundary of Death Valley; over the Panamint mountains and into Owens Valley. Manzanar Japanese War Relocation Center, active from 1942-1945, opened as a National Historical Site only in 2004. The former Assembly Hall and School for the camp houses the beautifully done displays and is one of few buildings still standing. Except for a guard tower. Its brief and painful life speaks of fear, angiush and national shame yet also resilience.
Serendipitously, last fall my book club read Farewell to Manzanar, an early and moving account of one family forced into the internment camp. Words from the book rose into clear pictures among the hardscrabble, dusty and now vacant landscape. From any angle, the guard tower is a startling reminder that no person inside, mostly American citizens, was here by choice. The graveyard, also the site of a lovely memorial, stands as concrete permanence in opposition to the windswept desolation alternately revealing and hiding the scars of a national mistake.
A visit to Manzanar leaves a lasting impression of sadness and despair, not merely for the internees, but for our country. Perhaps its very existence as an official national site provides the glimmer of hope and the path ahead for learning from the past.
