Dateline>City of Angels

With Griffith Park’s recent fire, the tale of the Feliz Curse is as topical as ever. For about a century now, every time disaster strikes the park, the legend re-emerges. I first came across this infamous piece of ghostlore several years ago when I moved to Silverlake, not far from the park. Ever since, separating fact from fiction has become a personal obsession, taking me on a quest through numerous books, articles and Early California vital records. I first wrote/posted the following (lengthy) article on my original blog, Oct. 5, 2005…

THE DREAD FELIZ CURSE

by Michael Imlay

Possibly Los Angeles’ most historic ghost tale, the Feliz Curse was first popularized by Maj. Horace Bell, a colorful frontier author with a penchant for “embellishment.” Bell came to Los Angeles in 1852 and founded the Porcupine, a periodical dedicated to prickly social commentary. A mixture of history, satire and flamboyant storytelling, Bell’s writings lampooned the city’s elite while romanticizing the region’s Latin roots. His presentation of the Feliz Curse is no exception.

Clearly intending to skewer his contemporary nemesis, Col. Griffith J. Griffith, Bell relates the macabre story of Rancho Los Feliz, which Griffith acquired in 1882. A notorious land baron, Griffith planned to develop his 4,071-acre prize into profitable suburban tracts. In 1896 he stunned Los Angeles by instead donating almost all the land for a massive park bearing his name.

Wary Angelenos suspected the eccentric Griffith of ulterior motives — namely, cutting his tax losses from a bad investment. Bell, however, offers a more fanciful theory: Griffith was dodging a curse.

A Ranch to Die For

According to Bell, the Feliz Curse dates to 1863, when a smallpox epidemic overtook ranchero Don Antonio Feliz. A noble bachelor, Feliz had always shared his ranch with his sister Soledad and a young, devoted niece named Petranilla. Now, however, Petranilla was sent packing to the pueblo for safety. In her absence, Feliz received a deathbed visit from friend Don Antonio Coronel. But there was trickery afoot: Coronel produced a will making himself heir and coerced Feliz’ signature.

Upon her uncle’s death, Petranilla returned to find Coronel firmly ensconced in the family hacienda and everything topsy-turvy. Soledad and another relative were bequeathed a few trinket items. Don Antonio’s godson Juan Sanchez got a few horses. Petranilla got nothing. Miffed beyond belief, she unleashed a vexing tirade against Coronel, the land, and all future owners. No one, she prophesied, would ever profit from the ill-gotten spoils.

Then, to punctuate her curse, she dropped dead.

Almost immediately, the hex worked its voodoo. People around Coronel suffered violent deaths. Frightened, Coronel sold the ranch. Although he died in relative peace, “vile persons” scavenged his remaining estate. Also true to Petranilla’s word, the Feliz land proved worthless to subsequent owners. Cattle sickened and died, floods ravaged its meadows, and fires swept its timberlines. Eventually, Griffith purchased the ranch, but he too was tormented by a series of freakish events, including ghostly visits from Don Antonio Feliz and a host of demon cohorts.

Even after unloading the land, Griffith couldn’t shake the curse. Alcoholic delusion drove him to shoot and maim his wife in 1903, leading to a two-year stint in San Quentin. He returned to Los Angeles a pariah. In 1919, when liver disease finally did him in, few mourners attended his funeral.

Fact or Fiction?

Over the years the Feliz Curse has seen plenty of ink. One popular version portrays Petranilla as a 17-year-old blind girl.

The ghosts also vary. Some say the specter of Don Antonio Feliz continues to ride the park’s trails on moonlit nights. Others have him cackling maniacally atop a large rock overlooking his former ranch. Yet others maintain it’s Dona Petranilla who mounts her white stallion for midnight jaunts, or who suddenly materializes in an old adobe now serving as park headquarters. At times, even Griffith’s lonely spirit allegedly wanders about.

Of course, most historians believe the curse is utter nonsense. Some question whether Antonio Feliz or his niece ever existed at all. However, there’s actually some truth to the tale:

1. Griffith Park did once belong to a Don [Jose] Antonio Feliz, who himself inherited the land from his mother, Maria Verdugo de Feliz, in 1861. It’s highly probable he died in L.A.’s smallpox epidemic two years later.
2. The sneaky Don Coronel was actually a respected former Los Angeles acalde and Feliz attorney who handled several of the family’s real estate transactions. His role in helping Yankee courts settle land titles after 1850 made him controversial with some Californios.
3. Petranilla was also very real. From the story’s wording, it’s easy to assume her mother was Don Antonio’s sister Soledad. Not so. Born in 1843, she was the child of Juan Leon Feliz, Don Antonio’s brother. Early California records reveal she was orphaned at an early age. There’s plenty of proof her uncle took her in, but contrary to folklore, there’s no evidence she was blind. Plus she was 20-21 at the time of the curse, not 17.
4. More interesting, Petranilla was not the poor, solitary senorita the tale implies. Several years before her uncle’s death, she married Esteban Sanchez, whose family owned Rancho La Cienega. The couple appears to have resided at Rancho Los Feliz after their marriage. The Juan Sanchez of the legend was their son.
5. Petranilla did not swoon and die at Rancho Los Feliz. She passed away some 34 years later in her son’s home, not far from Olvera Street. Her cause of death? A heart ailment.
6. True to legend, Feliz heirs questioned the veracity of Don Antonio’s will — all the way to the California Supreme Court. They lost.
7. Most owners after Coronel did indeed find Rancho Los Feliz a bad investment.

My Personal Theory

Quite the man about town, Bell freely associated with many prominent Californios, including Feliz relatives. Perhaps he caught wind of some juicy gossip. Maybe Petranilla had once leveled a curse of some sort at Coronel, or at least held a nasty grudge. No doubt she bristled upon seeing owner after owner buy and trade away her family’s legacy. Like other Californios, perhaps she viewed the loss of the estate as a symbol of her culture’s displacement after the American Conquest. For all we know, she carried the bitter experience to her grave. Inspired by her story, Bell worked it into a whimsical attack on Griffith.

A far-fetched theory? Maybe. But in L.A., truth’s often stranger than fiction.