Treasure Hunting is a Family Affair

On the one hand, it’s overwhelming to think Fred and I now own the Mizpah Hotel. The Mizpah of Nevada state historical landmark fame. Of 1900s silver rush fame. Of wild west, shoot-’em-up frontier town fame. But who’s counting? In for a penny, in for a pound.

The truth is, we’re tickled that we can walk into this grand old hotel and look in every drawer and every filing cabinet and not feel the least bit guilty, because they’re ours after all. So even though it feels like poking around in somebody else’s life and stuff, it’s ours now, kit and caboodle, treasures and baggage.

My husband and our 13 year old son, Henry, had the privilege of experiencing the excitement of ownership first. Although if I’m truthful, for Henry it was more like glorified detention. Not that he didn’t have fun, it’s just that he was suspended from school that week after trying to set a football on fire. If you’re wondering, no, footballs don’t burn.

When they arrived in Tonopah, Fred took the keys and set Henry loose inside to explore. Or rather, he locked our son in and went to run errands of his own. In all fairness to Henry, it’s not that Fred didn’t trust him to stay put—or out of trouble, despite his football burning ways. Our son could have treasure-hunted for hours on end without getting bored. There was just that much to discover. The folks in town that day were so excited to see life and movement in the building that they would have overwhelmed our 13 year old with questions, job inquiries and congratulations.

When I asked Henry about how he felt being locked in a haunted hotel by himself he was nonplussed. I mean, totally, completely breezy and calm. He said, “Mom, I hate to break it to you because I know you think ghosts are cool, but the hotel isn’t haunted. No one bothered me the whole time I was in there.”

And after being locked in for nearly three hours there would have been plenty of time to be “bothered.” Instead, he found loads of neat old junk like vintage signs, antique bottle caps, and some great old match books.

Our eldest son Ramsey visited later that week and said, “This is first time I have ever been jealous of you and Dad. This place is so cool.” He also found an ancient-looking scrap of paper that said, “Your son is at it again. Prison was a gift. Get him out of here.” There was no signature, but it was a timely reminder that of all the bone-headed things your kid can do, attempted football burning isn’t so bad.