It was a chilly Thursday morning in Jerome, Arizona, around 10:00 am. The temperature upon my arrival had to have been no higher than low 40s. I parked my car down the way, and approached the town on foot. The air was damp, foreshadowing the rainfall on the forecast, and the early-morning fog hid the top of each building so appropriately. The buildings around me were charming and immersed in such rich history, you could tell. To the ear, the scene was quiet. I was essentially alone with only the locals it seemed, but even they were scarce to be seen–something out of a movie. Took a few photos of the town's desolation while I could. I then approach the first building I see open, a cafe that sat at the split of the main road. My hands were practically frozen at this point. The warmth embraced me as I opened the door and walked in.
"Hello there, welcome in!'
Chad, I presumed the owner, welcomes me in. "Take a seat wherever you'd like." A simple-looking gent, but I could just tell he came with a story. I proceed to order an americano and their "Really Good" oatmeal–I mean I do love a good oatmeal, but really good? I had to give it a go.
There's a couple across from me, sitting towards the front of the cafe. Their husky peers as me with such perception. "Phones down, forks up!", as Chad presents their breakfast dishes–I swear, him saying that resonated so much with me. What a cunning little proverb.
We nerd over both working in the industry, as I pay my bill. Right as I was about to leave, Chad pulls a bottle off the shelf behind him–"Got this from some friends. Let's give it a try." It was an unopened bottle of Spanish vermouth; he pours us a taste. Little did he know that I've been on the search for a great Spanish vermouth since last having some back in California. Such a special treat, my friend.
10/10 experience. Also, the oatmeal–something grandma would make for you growing up as child. Warming nostalgia with every bite; absolute perfection.
The Flatiron, 416 Main Street
With warmed hands, and a warm belly, I take foot up the winding hills of Jerome.
The town is such a photographers dream! Aged building facades, decaying history, vibrant colors, and enough funk for originality–there were photo ops in every direction. Click...click....
Click...
Came across this interesting plaque.
Drip...drip...raindrops began falling on my head. I found shelter in what was one of the coolest shop in town, hands down.
Nelly Bly Kaleidoscopes, 136 Main Street
Fun fact: Nelly Bly Kaleidoscopes is the world's largest dealer of kaleidoscopes, showcasing kaleidoscopes from artist all around the world! I do wish I would've gotten a few photos of the shop, as well as the next few shops I escaped into while it was raining, but for the sake of not wanting to get my camera wet, it remained tucked under my hoodie.
Betty from Retro Roadrunner was the great-auntie I never had, but wish I had. Her retro home-turned-antique shop was a flashback to the 1940s. Pay her a visit. She's such a classic charm, a true relic of Jerome, and apparently is the only shop owner in town who still lives on the premise of her shop. My stomach growls were overcoming our friendly conversation, and I think she began to notice. Although Haunted Hamburger was on my itinerary for lunch, sweet miss Betty pitched Bordello's across the way. I'm happy I took her advice.
Little did I know I was about to indulge in the only remaining brothel in town.
Bordello/bôrˈdelō/ (noun) : a brothel, Italian origin
They had some of the funkiest names for their burgers: The Girl Next Door, The Belgian Jenny, The Cuban Mary, and The Madam Pearl, to name a few–an ode to the prostitutes and madams that once roamed Jerome. The name of the restaurant was perfectly fitted.
As I did at Flatiron cafe, I found myself taking a seat at a window table–I just can't seem to help myself wanting to observe the action of outside, peoplewatching folks moving from their point A to point B. I naturally create stories in my head in real-time.
"I'll take the Nora 'Butter' Brown w/ the rebel fries, and that red rye IPA".
Sarah was a charm, as she took my order. "Let me warn you, one of those IPAs might just put you on your..." "Excuse me miss, may I get a side of horseradish?" She smiles, and attends the table waving their request across from me.
Bordello's brings something so unique. The funky decor mixed with the timeless essence was oddly a sight for these sore eyes. I found mine wandering in every direction–a Ouija board placed on the wall behind the mini bar, the mini bar decked in hanging cut-out hearts and neon-red lights; a strange, small red-framed alter hung on one wall w/ a red cross centered within it; local art, historic photos, and even a License For Prostitution dated back to 1899 could be seen hanging on the main wall. And to top that all, the burger was as dirty as a whore (jk, completely delicious); the rebel fries, you need to ask about those; that red rye IPA...might as well call it the red eye, for it left me feeling so sky high, disoriented, and cross-eyed, coming in at a generous 8.5% abv. Drink responsibly my friends.
Overall, I couldn't have asked for a better lunch experience while in town.
I had overheard Sarah sharing some ghostly encounters experienced in the shop with the table across from me. Apparently, the shop owners find the activity playful and are not phased by it. I mean, I would imagine with the level of activity said to haunt Jerome, one would think it an odd day if there wasn't any activity. One ghost doesn't favor horseradish apparently, I was told.
9.5/10, only because they didn't have horseradish.
The Bordello of Jerome, 412 Main Street
...right next door the Flatiron
Something in this town wanted to tell me more. It was in the walls of these buildings where the true history remained, and frankly, in those walls was where it was going to remain. The locals could only share so much from their own experiences; the plaques on the walls said only so much. I just felt so enticed by this place, and couldn't help want to know exactly what occurred during the peak of this quaint, copper mining town.
The rain was here to stay for the day. I had to calculate my next moves accordingly.
I decided it was time to circle back to my car down hill, and make my last stop of the day: the famous Jerome Grand Hotel.
It was a haunting sight from the distance, perched at the top of the winding snake road, overlooking all of Jerome in its majesty.
Jerome Grand Hotel once stood as United Verde Hospital, when it was founded in 1926, and ran as one of the state's most modern and successful facilities. Now, as mining operations began shutting down, and medical services became available in neighboring towns, operation of the hospital ceased, and the hospital closed its doors in 1950. The halls of the hospital remained quiet for the next 44 years.
The building reopened as Jerome Grand Hotel in 1996. Larry Altherr of the Dodge Mining Corp remains the owner.
What attracts many, of course, is the hotel's profound presence. However, for others, its the souls that still wander the halls at nightfall, and the sheer possibility of experiencing a ghoulish encounter while visiting. Paranormal accounts are endless: coughs, labored breathing, and voices coming from vacant rooms; phantom scents of flowers, cigar smoke, whiskey, and baby powder; TV sets and lights turning on or unplugged, and electronics such as phones and cameras found dead center underneath beds; doors opening and closing; the sight of a child playing, laughing, or crying on the 3rd floor, and even reported seen at the foot of guest's beds! Claude Harvey, the hotel's maintenance man, makes his presence known frequently as well–Harvey was said to have been murdered, found pinned underneath the hotel's infamous Otis elevator. Apparitions of a lady in a gown, as well as one in a nurse's outfit and another in a lab coat with a clipboard in hand have all been seen roaming the halls. A phantom cat has also been seen and heard hissing, scratching, or meowing at doors and walls; some employees and guests have noted feeling the cat brush against their legs or snuggling in bed with them. Most common is seeing a visual imprint of what would be from the cat on the hotel beds. During its days of operation, the hospital experienced an estimated 9,000 deaths, although that number remains unconfirmed due to records being inaccessible upon Altherr's acquiring of the building. It comes as no surprise past souls still find this place home.
Curious for more? Check out this website dedicated to documenting guests' encounters with the paranormal.
The lobby and the restaurant, Asylum, are the only part of the hotel accessible to the public, but after reading upon the history and ghoulish experiences, I might just find myself back here staying as a hotel guest.
Jerome Grand Hotel, 200 Hill Street
Dare to be spooked.
Jerome in its mysterious beauty could be seen from the parking lot of the Grand Hotel. Right below I noticed Jerome Town Hall. I scurried into my car before getting too wet from the remaining rainfall, and decide to call my time in Jerome over, for now.
If I could define this place in one word it would be: mystifying.
From the small population of 464 and the unique locals running shop, to the ruins that once brought in alive energy, to the corners yet undiscovered, and of course, to those that might forever wander the spirit plane, Jerome remains a relic of a time once before. The stories from those still sharing them will keep the richness of this place forever alive.
As I proceed out of town, down the snake-like road, I am welcomed back to what felt like reality again with an arching rainbow bending across my frontal view, as the rain over Jerome diminishes behind me.
Jerome, Arizona, circa 1876
Elevation: 5,066'
Population: 464