‘Death Valley Scotty’ Truly Had the Golden Touch

In Grapevine Canyon, a region of Death Valley often called the land of mirages, sits Scotty’s Castle, a scenic gem and a testament to the man who helped bring fame and tourism to this scorched area of the 3.3-million-square-mile Death Valley National Park.

The man who became identified with the lowest, hottest spot in the Western Hemisphere was born Walter Edward Scott in Kentucky in 1872. He spent his boyhood on the harness-racing circuit and other adventures before joining up with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show as a trick rider.

In 1902, using his flair for showmanship and a few gold nuggets from Colorado, he claimed to have hit the mother lode in Death Valley. That generated some press coverage. Soon, he snookered a wealthy New York banker into giving him a $4,000 grubstake in exchange for almost a quarter of his profits. The banker was also unlucky; when he became disillusioned with Scotty, he filed suit--and lost. Scotty was a talented gold digger, all right--but he mined people, not the earth. With the banker’s money in his pocket, he bragged about his secret gold mine and tore $100 bills in half to make change. He bought rounds of drinks for gullible listeners in bars from Barstow to Los Angeles.

Word of his supposedly fabulous find reached mining promoter E. Burton Gaylord, who offered to be a silent partner. Gaylord, a huckster himself who sold shares in phony gold mines, bankrolled Scotty to make him living proof of Death Valley’s bounty.

Scotty had no problem dreaming up scams and being the front man to get people to invest. Nor did he have trouble spending other people’s money. He paid thousands of dollars to ladies of the evening, whom he said needed it more than anyone, and he bought diamonds to ornament the shoes of his mule, Slim. In July 1905, Scotty walked into the Los Angeles Times city room wearing his trademark 10-gallon hat, cowboy boots and red tie and announced his discovery of the biggest gold mine ever.

The city editor showed him the door. Shrugging his shoulders, Scotty stepped into the bar across the street, tossed a $20 gold piece at the bartender and ordered a round of drinks for everyone.

He boasted loudly with his usual guff about Indian fights and a big bonanza gold mine. But it was his talk of chartering a special three-car train for $5,500 (with Gaylord’s money) to beat the speed record from Los Angeles to Chicago that caused Times executive Harry Chandler and editorial writer Walker Jones, sitting in a booth nearby, to prick up their ears.

Convinced that Scotty’s publicity stunt would make good copy, Chandler ordered the paper to cover Scotty’s two-day train trip, making him a national legend.

On July 9, Scotty fought his way through the crowd at Los Angeles’ Santa Fe depot before hopping aboard to join his wife, Josephine. As the train whistle sounded, Scotty rolled up his sleeves, grabbed the shovel from the fireman and began shoveling coal into the glowing red firebox.

The entire nation followed the “Coyote Special.” As the train sped along the 2,265-mile journey, bulletins were flashed from the railroad to the press. Cheering crowds lined the tracks.

When the train arrived at Chicago’s Dearborn Station on July 11 at 11:45 a.m., two days later, it had covered the entire distance in 44 hours, 54 minutes, breaking the old record by nearly eight hours. The record would stand unmatched for more than 30 years, until the advent of diesel locomotives.

Newspapers loved Scotty for decades. They never seemed to tire of creating new titles for him, including “Sphinx of the American Desert” and “King of the Desert Mine.”

Gaylord’s money ran out while Scotty was in Chicago, but it didn’t take Scotty long to recruit a replacement. The indefatigable Scotty conned and charmed Chicago businessman and millionaire Albert Johnson into bankrolling his still unseen gold mine.

Unlike Scotty’s first benefactor, however, Johnson came west in 1909 to see his investment. Scotty met him at the Santa Fe station in Los Angeles with a pack of mules, planning to tire out the city slicker and send him packing.

But Johnson fell in love with Death Valley. The dry heat was good for his asthma, and horseback riding soothed an old back injury. Instead of shooting Scotty for selling him shares in a nonexistent mine, the millionaire formed an improbable friendship with the con man.

In the 1920s, with Scotty’s help, Johnson found a suitable site, nourished by underground springs, and built an elaborate 18-room, $2-million Spanish hacienda.

Scotty spread the word that his secret gold mine was financing the project. “I’m building myself a castle so I can sit back and laugh at the world,” he said. It became known as Scotty’s Castle.

Johnson and his wife, Bessie, a popular radio evangelist, went along with the myth while Scotty enjoyed his extravagant lifestyle. Johnson would later say that Scotty repaid him with laughter and friendship.

Building the castle took nine years--after which the Johnsons spent much of their time in the West.

In Death Valley, meanwhile, Scotty used his elaborate quarters to entertain such visitors as Errol Flynn, Will Rogers, William Randolph Hearst, John Barrymore and Carrie Jacobs-Bond, composer of such syrupy standards as “I Love You Truly.” Oddly enough, Scotty himself slept in lesser accommodations down the road in his cabin.

Scotty spent Johnson’s money with flair and always with an eye for headlines.

On one of his frequent trips to Los Angeles, he paid a man $100 to give up a second-floor downtown hotel room. Scotty opened the window and started throwing dollar bills, triggering a traffic jam. He was arrested on charges of disturbing the peace, but he didn’t hold a grudge. When the cops released him, he took several reporters, the arresting officers and the police chief to heavyweight boxing champion Jim Jeffries’ bar on Main Street and bought them all several rounds of drinks.

That wasn’t his last encounter with the law. In the 1920s, Scotty walked into a Nevada bank and saw the bank’s president, his friend, signing a stack of uncut sheets of $20 bills. (Back then, bank presidents were required to sign each bill before putting it into circulation.)

Scotty persuaded his friend to sell him five uncut sheets at face value for $2,500. With his sheets of uncut 20s in his pocket, he caught a train for Los Angeles and joined an on-board poker game. Ordering a round of drinks, he took out his pocketknife and cut off a $20. Handing it to the porter, he told him to keep the change. When the whiskey was gone, he repeated his little show.

When the train stopped for lunch at the Harvey House in San Bernardino, one of the poker players called the U.S. marshals and told them of the counterfeiter. Two marshals and a Treasury inspector were waiting for Scotty in Los Angeles with handcuffs.

After the fiasco was straightened out the next day, the man who lived by the motto “always leave ‘em wondering” bought drinks for everyone. The next morning, the newspapers headlined: “Scotty’s Back in Town.”

The myth began to unravel in 1941, when one of his original backers, the luckless banker, sued him for a quarter of his gold-mine profits. Scotty, then 69, admitted in court that his honestly won riches had never existed.

Johnson testified that he had lent Scotty more than $200,000, funded Scotty’s son’s education and paid Scotty’s wife’s alimony.

“Scotty just likes to spend money. And I like to see him spend it,” Johnson said with a smile.

Johnson remained Scotty’s friend to the end. When Johnson died in 1948, he bequeathed Scotty’s Castle to the Gospel Foundation of California, which he and his wife had founded, but he gave Scotty the option to continue living in it. Scotty did, holding court there until his death in 1954.

The castle, named for the man who lived in it rather than the man who built it, was sold in 1970 to the National Park Service for $850,000. Today, it attracts 70,000 tourists a year.

When Scotty died at age 81, he was buried next to his dog, Windy, on the hill behind the castle under an imposing wooden cross. A bronze plaque quotes him: “I got four things to live by: Don’t say nothing that will hurt anybody. Don’t give advice--nobody will take it anyway. Don’t complain. Don’t explain.”

Death Valley Scotty lived by his own advice.