Dateline>City of Angels

As the Big Orange Landmarks blog recently reminded us, L.A.’s 1928 Parkinson-designed City Hall is an architectural icon worth exploring inside and out. But if you ever do find yourself touring its hallowed halls, be on the lookout for a restless spirit said to be making his own ghostly rounds of the place.

For years paranormal websites like The Shadowlands have insisted that a well-tailored “aristocrat” from the 1700-1800s haunts the third-floor vestibule area, accosting people on city business and generally making a nuisance of himself. The unattributed reports also claim that security cameras have captured additional spooky activities on the upper floors late at night after everything’s locked up.

The problem? I’ve been checking here and there into this juicy piece of ghostlore for some time now. Civic officials, their staffs, city archivists, building engineers, public information officers, docents, security guards — no one at City Hall that I’ve contacted (either on or off the record) has ever heard of the phantasm, let alone seen it.

Near as I can tell, the Internet stories are merely embellished versions of a short blurb found in Dennis William Hauck’s Haunted Places, The National Directory, the first edition of which appeared in 1994. His entry reads…

“The ghost of a man wearing fancy clothing from the eighteenth century has disrupted council meetings here and harassed city managers in the restrooms.” [p. 53]

That’s it. No authoritative source is offered for the tale, nor is there any explanation as to why an 18th Century specter would want to be caught dead in our 20th Century halls of government.

Then again, City Hall’s magnificent rotunda, ornate corridors, priceless mosaics and period fixtures would attract anyone with fine taste. Plus, we should consider that the 28-story Beau Arts tower occupies the site of an 1851 town block and meeting center built by Don Juan Temple, a leading citizen of early Los Angeles.

Could this be our mystery guest? If so, aspiring ghost hunters might have more luck tracking him down at his old Rancho Los Cerritos summer hacienda near Signal Hill. After passing from the scene in 1866, Temple was buried in a small family plot on the 27,000-acre rancho. There he apparently rested in peace for about a century — until freeway construction forced relocation of his grave. Soon after, museum staff began disclosing frightening return appearances by the agitated Temple and his daughters, along with eerie footsteps, flickering lights and other malicious mischief throughout the old adobe.

In fact, in her book Curbside L.A., local historian Cecilia Rasmussen recounts an especially malevolent incident about that time in which a large library table was heaved up against then-museum curator Keith Foster during a séance. As if Temple’s angry spirit wasn’t enough, other visitors to the grounds also claimed to hear the sounds of phantom sheep roaming about.

Nonetheless, similar to City Hall, ghostly encounters with Temple at Rancho Cerritos are hardly a sure thing. In his 2007 Ghost Hunter’s Guide to Los Angeles, author Jeff Dwyer concedes that, whatever paranormal activity may have been alleged in the past, “Today, docents who work at the rancho museum dismiss the notion of a haunting.”