Spirited Times at the Verdugo Hills Cemetery

Jen hopped into her car and began thumbing through her collection of CDs, mumbling aloud as she went – “The Faint, Joy Division, The Cure.” She popped open the yellow Sony Discman prominently Velcroed to the dashboard and loaded it. By the time the downbeat of “Just Like Heaven” filled the car, she was off.

She’d recently received a driver’s license and both she and her best friend Tory had finally escaped the bubble of La Crescenta, where both had spent the entirety of their young lives. Jen had worked hard to be able to purchase her grandmother’s ’95 Honda Civic and ever since the two friends had been on a mission of exploration. At this point in time, in the early 2000s, they had discovered the back roads of Tujunga and there they came upon the unique hilltop graveyard, the Verdugo Hills Cemetery.

Pulling up to the curb, Tory opened the door and jumped in.

“I’ve got it,” she said and held up a book for Jen to see. On the cover in bold letters it read, “Book of Spirit Communications.” The two had no ill intent but were both very curious about just what might be out there.

They parked high on Grenoble Street in Tujunga and made their way down a long dark path to the cemetery’s rear gate. A rusty chain swung low between two bent posts, which were all that guarded these hallowed grounds. They stepped over and entered. They found a comfortable place and then Tory opened the book and began reading from its pages. Though these incantations continued for quite some time nothing stirred.

They moved on and found themselves traipsing through a thickly wooded area on the cemetery’s perimeter. There, from the outstretched branch of an ancient burled oak, hung an old swing. Jen took a seat and Tory settled nearby. As they sat there chatting, the swing suddenly propelled forward, as if pushed gently from behind.

The two departed quickly, rather frightened by the experience; however, within days they returned to the swing. With open and warm hearts, they abandoned the book and just spoke kindly.

“Who are you?” they said. “We’d like to meet you.”

It was then that a spirit revealed itself. Never was the spirit visible nor was a word ever spoken – and yet both words and visions were conveyed. It required a focusing in the fog to recognize a tall thin old man, hunched and dressed in vintage clothing with an old timey hat. They learned his name was Frank and that the Verdugo Hills Cemetery was very important to him.

Both Jen and Tory would return many times after these initial encounters. Practically without fail Frank would join them, always providing a sense of protection and safety to both girls.

Fast forward to 2021: As the caretaker of the cemetery, I was on-site working when a woman entered and waved. I greeted her and learned that this was Victoria – Tory of decades ago. She shared the previous story with me and, while intrigued, I quickly forgot about it. Though I believe I have an open mind, I’m a skeptic at heart.

A short time later I was reading some history about a cemetery resident, Hiram Hatch, who was an important leader in Tujunga’s pioneer days. Originally from Jackson, Michigan he had been a hero of the Civil War fighting for the Union. He became a successful businessman and then warden of the largest walled prison in the world before coming west. He arrived here in 1913 and became a leader of the Little Lands colony, what was to become Tujunga. When I read the next line, I stopped.

“Hiram Francis Hatch was known to all as Frank!”

I’ve since learned that Frank lost his young sister Ann and later his young daughter Lula Mae. I’m now coming around to this warm, kind, protective spirit being that of Hiram “Frank” Hatch.