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By then, the town was pretty much finished off. In 1932, a kid playing with matches had ignited a blaze that burned down about 90 percent of the buildings. By the early 1940s, Bodie was deserted.
For the next two decades, tourists and scavengers swiped much of what the last residents had left behind. Not until 1962 did California step in to stop the bleeding, claiming the entire town as a state park. Rather than attempt to rebuild or remodel the remnants, park officials vowed to preserve the town “in a state of arrested decay” — which was undoubtedly cheaper, plus cooler, than erecting and maintaining some grotesque, Disneyesque tourist town.
Not until 2005 did this 52-year California resident finally give in to the temptation to take the Bodie turnoff from Highway 395 (and, truth be told, only at the urging of his new bride). That’s why you’re getting a California history lesson this month, instead of the usual nonsense. (That, and because Mr. Publisher stupidly offered to “print” whatever I wrote before I agreed to produce a monthly column for minimum wage.)
Actually, there is a connection to the American iron that you and I love. The concept for this column gradually formed as I walked among the big, heavy, cast-iron castoffs left behind by townsfolk and treasure hunters. Along with the expected mining equipment are primitive hydroelectric devices that played historic roles in the first-ever long-distance transmission of power over wires, in November 1892, between Bodie and Bridgeport, 13 miles away.
In particular, what got me thinking were the big, bold letters and numbers cast into these rusty, impressive parts: manufacturers’ names and cities and dates, as cast in the late 19th century. I got a spooky sense of the pride that American workers must have taken in their companies, in their jobs, in their towns, in a country envied worldwide for its ability to design and produce such mechanical marvels. I wondered how today’s industrial discards will hold up during the next hundred years. I wondered what percentage of the survivors will say “Made In China,” instead of proclaiming “Buffalo” or “San Francisco” or “Pittsfield, Mass.”?
The more photos I shot, the more melancholy I got; not unlike the way you feel when visiting an old pal in a graveyard. Nevertheless, this is a trip I highly recommend to people who appreciate old, American iron. You haven’t had so much entertainment for three bucks since C.J. Hart left Lions Drag Strip.
I hope you won’t put it off forever, like I nearly did. Time and wind and snow continue to claim structures and equipment erected nearly 150 years ago, in spite of the best efforts of the few rangers who work and live in this ghost town. Preservation efforts are dependent upon a combination of private donations (Bodie Historic State Park, Box 515, Bridgeport, CA 93517; 760-647-6445) and ever-dwindling public funds. Remote state parks aren’t much of a priority to the politicians presiding over what’s left of California history, so hurry. 
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