Dateline>City of Angels

A few years back, while researching an article on downtown haunts for a local newspaper, I canvassed the El Pueblo Monument for ghost tales. I wasn’t disappointed. According to numerous sources, many of the old landmarks there teem with spirits – including, possibly, L.A.’s first firehouse.

I say “possibly” because my initial investigations at the station met with mixed results.

“There are no ghosts here; this was always a happy place!” retorted an elderly male docent in response to my questioning.

The young lady who worked with him didn’t seem so sure. She admitted to hearing odd noises upstairs, but had told herself it was only the wind. “I don’t really like to believe in ghosts. There are a lot of cracks in the walls and windows up there,” she explained – all the while casting a wary eye toward her stern-looking senior counterpart.

Obviously, there was more to this story. Like any good reporter, I went snooping.

I soon learned that the firehouse wasn’t always “the happy place” the older gentleman believed it to be. By the time the station was built in 1884, L.A.’s Plaza had already seen its heyday, and was slipping headlong into decay. Nevertheless, the city chose to headquarter its first paid engine company there, replacing the volunteer firefighters that had served Los Angeles since 1869. In the close confines of the modest brick two-story, firemen were quartered upstairs, with horses and engine occupying stalls and a turntable below. Not exactly a first-class arrangement by today’s standards, but in 19th Century L.A., the operation was viewed as fairly cutting-edge.

Within a few short years, however, the City Council found itself in a legal dispute over the property’s ownership. The courts decided against the city, forcing it into a costly lease. When the lease expired in 1897, officials opted to relocate the fire department. Over the next six decades, the building deteriorated along with its surrounding environs, passing through phases as a flophouse, cigar store, market, saloon, and allegedly a bordello before the state finally purchased it in 1954. It reopened as a museum in 1960.

With a history like that, I reasoned, how could there not be a ghost or two lingering about?

Sure enough, I struck paydirt further down Olvera Street, where two female docents were much more willing to reveal the Pueblo’s darker side. Veteran tour guides, both were intimately familiar with the firehouse.

The first told me her husband, also a former museum volunteer, was spooked several times by ghostly footfalls emanating from the second-story hallway. “I know my husband heard them,” she insisted. “Something used to walk that floor.”

The second docent agreed, saying she had encountered it personally.

Several years ago, with the tour buses gone and dusk falling, she entered the fire station to visit an upstairs restroom reserved for staff. Almost as soon as she closed the door behind her, she heard slow, methodical pacing in the narrow hallway. “I’ll be out in a moment,” she called. Instantly, the door knob began jiggling. Thinking someone desperately needed the bathroom, she immediately opened the door – only to find herself staring down a dim, lonely hallway. She rushed downstairs and outside to rejoin her waiting friend, who assured her that no one else had passed in or out of the building.

For good measure, they conducted a thorough search. The place was quite empty.

So who is the apparently troubled spirit that haunts this supposedly happy place? Popular legend says it’s the city’s first fire chief, but no one really knows. He’s never been seen; only heard.

Then again, it may only be the wind…

Plaza Fire Station No. 1
El Pueblo de Los Angeles Historical Monument
200 N. Main Street, L.A. 90012