The Green Door

1973

E’kwa’shem

It was a sun-drenched September 11th early evening on the Island. A bright blood orange harvest moon was rising over the eastern ocean horizon as the September sun nestled into its evening slumber on the western Pacific side of the Santa Catalina island.

At the Toyon Bay Beach parking lot, a gathering of the last Tongva teens to be born on the island sat crowded in a 1973 Plymouth Baracuda 340 and a Pontiac Trans AM 455 SD. 

Both cars had their doors open with their radios synchronized to the same FM radio station for maximum volume. 

Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” blared, and reefer smoke circulated the air.

Over the music, Mike began reading aloud from his school report due on Monday along with Tim, Gabriel, and Jackie in the Cuda 340.

“E’kwa’shem.”

“I am one of the last nine Tongva to be born on the island.

"When the Europeans first arrived here, in August of 1542, the rumors of their arrival had been circulating for more than 50 years. 

Word had traveled about the atrocities, the massacres, the disease, the guns--endless stories of torture and destruction followed in the wake of their arrival. 

The tropical island of Pimu, (now Santa Catalina Island, California) was populated by a 3000-person, well-organized Tongva civilization. 

The Tongva people are known as the ones who can move the trees. Through dance, drum and ecstatic prayer, they were able to use the collective energy of their bodies to conjure an electromagnetic body frequency field that traveled deep into the earth. This is what made the Tongva capable of moving trees and other large objects.

The island of Pimu was the economic capital of all the mainland. 

They navigated back and forth between the islands to the mainland using tomols. 

These canoes were cut and carved from redwood logs that they floated down the coast. The tomols were held together by yop, a glue-like substance made from pine pitch and tar and along with cords made of plant materials and animal sinew.

The tomols ranged from eight to thirty feet long, held three to ten people, and were rowed by two to four Tongva.

Sharkskin was used for sanding, red ochre for staining, and abalone for inlay and decorative embellishment. 

This gave the tomols the appearance of a large, scaled fish floating above the ocean waters. 

The tomols were a beauty to behold, iridescent in the sun. With the aid of this transportation/sailing craft, the Tongva were able to navigate the Pacific waters fast and swiftly and with much skill.

The island Tongva people were magnificently beautiful skinned-toned people. Their skin was three shades of grandeur: composed of three different species of humans. 

Black with curly and wavy hair, bronze with straight hair, and red-haired fair-toned humans. 

The color of their eyes also colors varied from blue to green to bronze —and changed when their faces met the sun. 

Different from the mainland population, the island Tongvas were known to be much bigger in stature, much taller in height, and they grew facial hair. A genetic result from having lived among The Bearded Giants. 

To the Tongvas, The Bearded Giants were the gods. The creators, the great sky beings from the three sister stars, and guardians of the burial grounds. Some reached the height of nine feet, and, were said to have had wide grey eyes and small pointed nostrils.

They taught the Tongva agriculture, astronomy, architecture, commerce, and a form of shamanism. They traveled through time and space with the aid of a transportation craft known as The Green Door.  

The Bearded Giants had left some time ago, in 1242, 300 years prior to 1542, and they entrusted the Tongva with the care of the burial grounds and management of The Green Door. 

And with this, the island Tongva people had known what to do, for the rumors about the new arrivals from across the ocean had been circulating for 50 years.

The rumors of The bearded men, traveling on large tomols, riding on large deer with large sticks aflame, and the eight foretelling omens at the city of Tenochtitlan had received that had signaled the end of the Aztec reign.

The Tongva had been told that it was best to treat these new arrivals as if they were gods, and in that way at least there would be a chance to preserve the culture, a small chance for survival. 

The Tongva gathered at the main temple, nestled in a tree-covered mountainside. Young and old, all the Tongva gathered.

“What if we fight these invaders?” A young man asked his father. After much thought, his father responded, “We would meet the same fate as the Aztecs and the city of Tenochtitlan. We must learn from this mistake.”

 

A vote was taken, and all voted in favor of the action of this plan. 

“We must preserve our burial grounds at all cost,” an elderly woman exclaimed, hitting her fist into the palm of her hand.  She was the oldest among them and had lived her whole life on the island, experiencing in bits and pieces the power of The Green Door and the way the earth shifted under her feet when she went to the burial grounds to honor her ancestors.

A middle-aged Master Healer of the Tongva, with his tussled red hair, that had gone gray with age, sprang from a sitting position to make his point clear. “Let us take this poison and turn it into our medicine”.   

Someone chimed in agreement with the Master Healer. 

A Young girl of sixteen, Xochitl who had spent much of her life at the Master healer’s feet learning the ways of the island Shamanism, sat rocking. The voices made her tremble. Xochitl came from a healing family who knew the power of the Island’s plants and animals, songs, and dances. 

Xochitl knew how the leaves of the trees changed with the seasons, which plant was medicine, which plant was poison. She had grown up listening to the songs of the birds, and the whirring of the insects. Xochitl even knew of the power of the Green Door.

For one fall night, unable to sleep, she slipped into the woods to walk under the moon’s light. A humming called to her, and when she reached the place where the door stood, its green color glistening, she had reached out to touch it. Just as she did, the orange-crowned warbler bird flew across the opening, and she withdrew her arm from the door, just as the bird disappeared into it. 

The young girl had once seen and felt the power of The Green Door. So she understood that it needed to be protected and asked quietly, “What of  The Green Door?”.

Someone responded, “It’s best to be silent. Treat them like the bearded giants. In that way, through our collective acts of kindness and through our silence, we may preserve our culture and the existence of the Green Door.” 

Anxiety rose in the crowd. Some wept. All gasped for air.  And all committed to silence. 

And with that, with a history on the island of over 10 thousand years, overnight the Tongva people would be forever changed.

Upon their arrival, the Europeans were overheard repeating, “Es un Paraiso.” “Que Bello Este Paraiso.” 

Their thirst to drink the intoxicating local beverage pulque, insatiable. In awe of the beauty of the island Tongva people, some Europeans would choose to never leave.”

Tim flicked his cigarette butt out the driver's side of the 340 Cuda’s window. His feet propped up on the door, laid back.

Tim turned to look at Mike sitting in the passenger side, “Look, they told us not to mess with this stuff. E’kwa’shem. We are still here, remember silence.” He said.

“It’s a pretty good story, it’s compelling enough. It’s kinda sad when you think about it,” said Jackie from the back seat.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s engaging enough but how about a good scary story,” asked Gabriel laughing sitting next to Jackie. 

“Ok, ok, ok. I got it, the next part is scary,” said Mike.

“Smoke on the water” continued its play on the FM radio.

Mike continued reading aloud:

“The island was sold to Wriggley Jr owner of the chewing gum empire in 1901 but there were so many burial grounds and so many bones. So they opened a weird and strange museum.”

Mike cleared his throat.

“Step right up, step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Step right in.” He bellowed. “Here you will witness and experience the skeletal remains of the nine-foot- Giants of the Americas with their giant skulls, giant hands, and giant feet displayed to amaze you, and leave you awestruck.”

Mike fidgeted with his notes, and regained composure then continued.

“The Catalina Island Indian Museum, an 80- ft- shack erected of wood, was the brainchild of the entrepreneur and non-archeologist Ralph Gidden a tenant, housed on the island. It opened its doors to an excited crowd in April 1924. The bones of the dead Tongva people adorned the walls of the museum and were meticulously displayed, and densely packed. Raw human calcified remains, festooned and displayed as if a trophy for all to admire. And a very faint stench of death filtered through the air, a faint smell of sour rot. Thousands of Tongva bodies. Women and infants were not spared. Along with the skeletal remains of nine-foot humanoids. 

Ralph Gidden’s museum of macabre madness was located in the main town of Avalon on the island and would suddenly, mysteriously, shutter its doors closed in 1943.

 

The U.S. Government became aware that nine-foot humanoid- remains were being displayed at the Catalina Island Indian Museum. Like other skull and bone native museums that littered throughout the country that were filled with the skulls and bones of native peoples; the bones were confiscated, made to disappear from existence, and wiped away as native folklore and stories of the long and forgotten buried past.”

Everyone was silent when Mike finished.

“Mike, we’re here because you were going to tell us about your dream,”  mentioned Jackie.

Mike had forgotten about his dream. His response to having nightmares about The Green Door had frightened him, and he struggled to make sense of the dreams.

“Right. We were here at Toyon Bay, just like we are now drinking Hamm’s beers in a semi-circle. There were two very large ironwood trees that became animated by the wind. 

As the wind kicked up, the two very large trees began to morph into two people, one female, the other male. They were walking, and the female iron wood pointed to a stick on the ground. It turned into my Tohono O-odham flute.

“They whispered in clear voices, ‘Come with me…’

“In the dream, they told me to play my flute, and to play these three notes.” Mike stopped and unclothed the flute sitting on his lap, and played the three notes softly. 

A bit stoned from the reefer that they had all passed around, Jackie said, “I can barely hear you. Let’s take a walk.” 

Mike yelled at the others, “Hey…we’ll be right back.” 

Someone yelled back “Alright Mikey!" The two Tongva youth laughed. 

Mike and Jackie took a trail heading north toward Banning Beach. 

Mike stopped next to a large ironwood tree and played the three notes, just as he had in his dream only this time, with careful intent.

The air grew still and silent, Jackie noticed that the usually boisterous house sparrows were now quiet. 

Mike played the three notes again, and then there was an unusual humming sound that nauseated and turned his stomach.

Mike played it again, and before their eyes, appearing from what seemed to be a growing speck of sand that grew larger and larger until it became an oversized green door hovering three feet off the ground. 

Mike was stunned. His eyes wide and mouth agape. Jackie’s hands trembled and her breathing was constrained. Mike was well aware of the legend of the Green Door but to actually see it and be the one that causes its appearance his adrenal glands kicked into high gear, overwhelming him and clouding his ability to think clearly.

Jackie’s cold shaking hands reached out to a stunned Mike, and both started running back to the vehicle. Just three notes—these three notes, he thought as they ran back to the car.

Tim took a swig of his Hamm’s beer and let out a hardy belch. 

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Mike and Jackie running frantically towards the group. 

Their faces were pale, contorted, and stressed. 

Tim took a drag from his Marlboro red, tossed it to the ground, and stamped it out. He stood waiting for Mike and Jackie to reach him. 

Mike, in a panic and out of breath said, “I just opened the Green Door.”  Jackie, panting and doubled over, could not speak but nodded her head.

 

Tim was slightly shaken. “They told us not to mess with that stuff,” said Tim shaking his head. The other kids watched and sipped their beers. 

Tim’s eyes grew narrow. “Come on, let’s take a look at this shit.”

Tim took another smoke from the pack of Marlboro reds in his shirt pocket and lit it with his Zippo lighter in one swift stroke. 

As the nine Tongva teens approached the area, there was that unfamiliar hum in the air that caused nauseated and turned stomachs. 

They reached the large ironwood tree, and there hovering three feet off the ground, was a large, oversized green door, perfectly camouflaged between the ironwood, the black sage shrub, and the mahogany tree. 

Tim stuttered. “How, how did you?  …What did you...?” 

“I played these three notes.” Mike played the notes again, the orange-crowned warbler was frightened, and flew across the front of The Green Door just as it opened. 

Releasing a small chirp, the bird was sucked right through the door and disappeared into a black void of darkness.

The nine Tongva youth were seized by the force of the vacuum; it yanked the pack of Tim’s Marlboro reds from his shirt pocket and the cigarette in his mouth was sucked from his lips. 

Tim tried to catch the pack and was able to retrieve only one smoke as the other cigarettes tumbled out of the pack and sailed right through into The Green Door. 

Tim stared at the one smoke in his left hand and began running with the others following close behind. 

When they reached the two cars, the radio station played only static. 

Tim fired up the Cuda. Mike and Jackie jumped right in. Gabriel fired up the Trans and the other Tongva youth clamored into the car. Both vehicles sped out in a trail of smoke. 

Tim yelled at Mike who was sitting passenger seat. “They told us not to mess with this stuff.” 

Just as he spoke the radio clamored back to life, and Led Zeppelin’s “When the levee breaks” blared from the 340 Cuda’s speakers as the two vehicles raced back to the town of Avalon.

Story by Jackie O. Speares
Illustrations by Dylan Blake
(cc) 2022