Mourning a Legendary Piece of Phoenix History

January 26, 2024

One thing about me is I love Arizona history.

I wouldn't call myself a huge history buff in general, but there are certain things that interest me more than others. To me, the most interesting part about it has always been when I'm able to observe the remnants of history. That's what brings it to life for me -- so naturally, my favorite history to learn about is Arizona history, not only because of the love and connection I have for and to this place, but also because I'm physically surrounded by the remains of its history that can still be seen in the areas we live in today.

Generally speaking, learning about history can be either interesting or boring depending on the topic and how long ago it happened... but what I love most is when I'm able to stand in a certain area and see evidence of what used to be there, learn about who used to live there, think about what life was like in decades past, etc.

Going as far back as my childhood, this is something that has interested me to no end. I remember going for a walk with my mom, in the desert behind where I grew up, and stumbling onto a place we simply called "the ruins" (not to be confused with the Casa Grande Ruins, which is also in the area). It was more or less just a slab of concrete in the middle of the desert, partially covered by dirt and overgrown by weeds at this point; but upon closer inspection, it was obvious that it had once been the foundation of a very small house or similar building. We never saw evidence of a larger house nearby, despite the size of this foundation being incredibly tiny. However, it's possible, if the owners had a large ranch or something of that nature, that the main house was too far away for us to find it. Or perhaps they simply hadn't had much money or needed much space.

My mom and I visited this place several times, always looking for clues about the house and people who'd lived there. It appeared to have been only one room plus a bathroom; there was a visible opening in the concrete for a flange, proving there used to be a toilet there. I believe we could even see the shape of the toilet and likely a pedestal sink in that room, making it look like there had been no other flooring besides the concrete itself.

We would look at the layout of the foundation and imagine where their kitchen appliances had been, where they'd slept, etc. We unearthed several items from the area around the foundation that appeared to be from approximately the 1950's to 1970's, including a tin of horse wax, a film canister, and a ton of old pop tops from soda cans, the ones that I think they stopped using in the mid-70's. My parents moved to that area in 1991, so we knew it had been torn down at some point before that, but considering the age of the items we found, the evidence seemed to suggest it had been much longer ago. Imagining the people who'd lived there and how they must have lived -- and the fact that they'd been gone for so long but there was still evidence of their existence -- it fascinated me.

This fascination applies to any location I'm currently in. When I worked at a hospital in Billings, MT, I spent more time than I'd like to admit trying to figure out how the hospital's oldest building had changed since the photos on the walls were taken decades ago. I studied the photos, then studied the walls of the auditorium, then studied the photos some more, until I was finally able to determine where the original windows had been filled in, where the old entrance had been located, and exactly how the history I could view in old pictures connected to the building I was currently standing in.

But of course, I enjoy the history even more when it's connected to my beloved home state.

Similarly, as many of you know, I also love the paranormal. I wholeheartedly believe in ghosts and enjoy doing some ghost hunting and investigating in my free time. This also includes abandoned buildings, because while they are not always haunted by actual spirits, I feel like there's still energy of some sort in them, and the buildings themselves become "ghosts" if that makes sense.

Again, although I'm interested in the paranormal and abandoned places regardless of where I am, it's my own state's haunted locations that interest me the most. I actually used to run an entire website dedicated to Arizona's haunted places, but it became too much work to maintain it on my own, and eventually the web host took it down for inactivity. Reviving it is always in the back of my mind, but I would probably have to recruit some help before attempting such an undertaking.

I also have a third interest that can be somewhat related (though it doesn't have to be). For whatever reason, I'm obsessed with tunnels and things underground -- especially if they're places I'm not actually allowed to go, which is often the case when it comes to tunnels and basements.

I'm the type of person who, whenever I'm in an old/historical or reportedly haunted building, I have to try every doorknob I see when the staff isn't looking, just in case somebody happened to leave one unlocked.

I won't go as far as to say that I would trespass (though let's be honest, it's only because I don't want to get arrested -- and I won't confirm or deny that I've definitely attempted to sneak into some 'forbidden' areas before... particularly at a certain hotel with a sinister-looking secret on their roof...) but basically, if I'm not supposed to be somewhere, I want to be there. At least as it applies to haunted, abandoned, spooky, or underground places.

There was one place in my city that combined all three of these interests: evidence of Arizona's past, abandoned locations, and forbidden tunnels. It was called The Gold Spot -- or at least it had been called that at one time.

The Gold Spot was the stuff of legends, although most people didn't know it by name unless they were old enough to have been around back then. No one that I'd ever spoken to personally had been there or known its name, though if they were around prior to 1950, it wouldn't have been impossible.

Most people I spoke to didn't know any details about it, including name, location, years of operation, or honestly, if it had even existed; still, the tale of an underground bowling alley has been a Phoenix urban legend for the past few generations.

Of course, it wasn't really that difficult to find information about it by searching Google. I think it was more fun for most people not to search, though. Somehow, rumors had swirled and reached a large percentage of Phoenicians that this place might have once existed, but the average person didn't necessarily care enough to research it, or maybe just enjoyed the sense of mystery from not knowing.

But for me personally... I wanted to know. I wanted to know its history, but more importantly, find out exactly where it was located and go in search of it.

Once, in 2018, my work partner and I decided to do just that in our downtime -- we went looking for it, and we found it! That is, found evidence of it. Having been sealed off since 1950, it isn't like we could get inside. But I did find the glass tiles in the sidewalk that had once served as skylights. There was even a podium on site with a plaque dedicated to it, proving that we were indeed in the correct spot. There was only a parking lot there now, but it made me happy to find evidence of its existence and know that it was right under my feet. I even discovered that the city's claim of having filled in the skylights with concrete wasn't 100% true -- if I stomped on the glass tiles, some of them sounded like they'd been filled in, while others were obviously hollow underneath!

It was so cool to stand above it, knowing that, even though I couldn't access the bowling alley itself, it was there. It was all sealed off, but it was there! And although I knew it would take a lot of work (and definitely some sort of bribe whenever I found the right person to bribe), getting inside it somehow was my DREAM.

If you're not very familiar with Arizona, you may not be aware that basements are not very common here, likely due to the lack of tornadoes we experience. Some of the very old buildings downtown, like the oldest hotels that still stand, do have basements, but I think (and I could be wrong) most of them were probably built as tunnels rather than actual basements. Before air conditioning became a thing, people had to survive the Phoenix heat in other ways, and one way to cool down a building was through tunnels underneath. After air conditioning was common, the areas directly under the buildings were probably converted into part of the buildings themselves in the form of basement rooms -- although some of them remained connected to each other through the tunnels that continued to run underneath the streets, and how cool is that?!

The Gold Spot bowling alley, for whatever reason, existed in the basement of a radio equipment and sporting goods store. It did have a stairwell leading down to it, but I'm not sure if it was connected to the store above or only exited to the outdoors. There was also a tunnel entrance -- you could get to it from the hotel across the street by using a tunnel between basements! When the building above ground was demolished, they left the basement intact, but sealed off the stairwell and supposedly the tunnel entrance as well, covered it with a parking lot, and left it there to become the stuff of myths.

Despite my inability to get inside, it felt special to have that proof, to know the exact location and say I'd been there. It was a Phoenix legend and I was now a part of it. I'm glad I became a part of it while I still had a chance.

About a year ago, in January 2023, I was riding the light rail out to Mesa, past central Phoenix, when I caught a glimpse of a lot that had been torn up in the middle of downtown. The thing that made it noticeable was the fact that it was not only the pavement that was missing, but the entire ground level... leaving an exposed basement filled with piles of dirt and rubble that I think had once been the walls. My heart sank as I almost instantly recognized, based on location and the fact that basements are not very common in Phoenix, that I must be looking at a demolished Gold Spot.

I held onto some hope that the location could be slightly off. After all, I'd only looked up in time to catch a glimpse of it from a passing train a couple of blocks away, and I knew that there are tunnels running under more of the downtown area than most people are aware of. But somehow, in my heart, I knew.

A while later, when my work partner and I (the same one I'd discovered the spot with several years ago) had some downtime, I asked him to drive me past the location. Sadly, the former parking lot was now a construction site, and it was obvious that I had been right. I confirmed it through a local news website: after 72 years of being buried, the legendary Gold Spot had finally been unearthed -- and was being filled in with concrete to support a new high-rise retail and apartment building.

I want to make it clear that I don't mind the high-rise existing and I'm not against progress. As the city grows (and we are one of the fastest-growing cities in America, especially in terms of population), it's necessary to change things up to accommodate -- and this parking lot was in a prime downtown location. It only makes sense to want something more useful than a one-story parking lot on that corner.

But at the same time, I can't even tell you how sad it makes me to know that The Gold Spot is gone forever. Realizing it was gone made me feel a surprisingly profound sense of loss, even though I obviously knew the improbability of ever actually getting to see the inside. Still, it had been a dream to hold onto -- and imagine how impressive it would have been if I'd actually managed it somehow! Now my dream of someday, somehow, finding a way inside had been permanently shattered -- but to make matters even worse, they had unearthed it so unceremoniously, without me having any knowledge of what was going on. It was exposed to the public for a very short time, but I hadn't been aware of it, and I don't think it was advertised in any way. If I'd been the one in charge of such a thing, I would have advertised it and held a ceremony, allowing anyone who was interested in the history of the site to view it and take part.

If I'd been there on that day, I could have at least seen it for myself, seen the walls intact and the painting of words and symbols that still existed on the concrete beams inside, the only remaining proof that it had in fact been a space used for bowling. The best I got was a glimpse from the train after it was already demolished and there were no words or symbols left to view.

If I had a time machine and an ability to observe/experience the past without changing the present, I would go back to the 1920's when the bowling alley was in its heyday so I could see what it was like when it was actually in use. Then I would go back to the day they unearthed it in late 2022 so I could experience that too.

But I did probably get a lot more than future generations will, at least if the skylights and plaque were removed from the site as well -- and I'm thankful that I saw what I did of it. I'm lucky to be one of the people who knew about its existence at all and was able to find its location. Sadly, future Phoenicians may never get to experience that, and while the underground bowling alley of the past will probably remain an urban legend, there will be a lot less proof to be found for urban explorers like myself who want to witness the evidence in person.

Or maybe I'm not giving the owners of the new building enough credit -- perhaps a new plaque will be put up, or some other indication of the site's history and importance will remain for visitors to see.

If downtown apartments weren't so expensive and I didn't love my current place so much, maybe I would move into the new high-rise, just to be able to say that I live at the site of an urban legend. Sharing an address with the historic underground bowling alley and being a part of its history in such a way would be cool. I hope at least somebody who moves into the building in the future understands the significance.

tags: arizona, phoenix, history, abandoned places, urban exploring