This Schoolhouse In Goffs, CA Is A Testament To People
A painstakingly restored 1910’s schoolhouse along Route 66 is worth the detour.
The experience of driving along Route 66 is, at first, unassuming. It’s a largely blank stretch of road, after all. You’re flanked by same pale yellow desert dirt, and off-green patches of grass. Mountains in the distance never seem like they’re getting any closer or further away. Endless, hypnotically blue sky. You’re lucky if you see a cloud or two. It’s plainly beautiful, and peaceful, to drive along it.
But the legend of Route 66 has endured as long as it has for good reason. Seven-some decades ago, life and industry bustled all along the Route, to a degree that you’ve no doubt heard people narrativize as being truly special. (We’ve all seen Cars, right?)
And now, as civilization and highway traffic has moved away from Route 66, this road is dotted with allusions and hints at that great, powerful past. You pass by them as you drive.
Goffs, California is referred to as a ghost town. As you drive into the city limits you pass a sign that reads “GOFFS, CALIFORNIA. ESTABLISHED 1883. POPULATION: 23.” Moving through the remains of the city, you’re tempted to wonder where those 23 people could be hiding — or maybe how old the sign is.
Ghost towns are always compelling. Abandoned buildings are always the perfect mix of creepy and gorgeous. Structures like townhouses and an old general store stand barren, splintering under the sun, but they’re still imposing — their fortitude a testament to the history they represent. There’s a stagnant but powerful energy radiating off of everything — the promise of a place that, you assume, used to bustle with people, and trade, and noise. Your mind does somersaults imagining everything that happened back then — how people lived, and how things eventually fell apart.
One building is still standing in Goffs, and it looks properly maintained. In fact, it looks nearly new. It stands behind a fence with a gate and an awning. A set of wooden letters hang from the awning. They read, “STUDY THE PAST.”
A plaque near the entrance says “This new schoolhouse was a source of pride for the community.” You read about the history of Goffs and how it grew, with transplants from the Santa Fe area. This building, a mid-sized, three-room schoolhouse, was used to accommodate school for 1st-8th graders, as well as dances, church services, and community events.
That plaque and other resources scattered around the schoolhouse complete the rest of the picture: ownership changing hands between various people who either cared for it or didn’t, and a brief stint as a training center and army camp during World War II.
And finally, its eventual abandonment as Route 66 was realigned in 1931, cutting Goffs off from visitors and inhabitants. (Various realignments of the Route felling its jewel attractions is a tale enthusiasts and historians are unfortunately all-too-familiar with.)
In 1998, owners signed a $150,000 contract to restore the schoolhouse. Their singular goal: to return it to how it looked and felt in 1914.
And walking around the schoolhouse now is a lovely, romantic experience. Completely intentionally, things look stuck out of time. The recreation of period-accurate details is exhaustive, and 20 years on from its reconstruction, things still feel bright and sturdy.
Historical references and pictures decorate the walls. There’s a blackboard with chalk writing on it, and a little library. You can see how small the chairs and desks were, even for kids. It reminds of visiting somewhere like Jefferson’s Monticello and remarking to yourself, “they really used to fit in those small chairs like that?”
Outside, it’s even captivating to get glimpses of details like old abandoned rusty cars and signs and trash like soda cans with old-school labels. A windmill spins lazily in the distance. And all of it is just sitting there, patiently baking in the sun, unbothered.
It’s like seeing a black-and-white picture, newly colorized. Or like a time capsule that’s been dusted and wiped down and given a new glow to contrast the decades of history in its bones.
It’s striking, like most still-standing stops along Route 66, for how the schoolhouse stands out on its own, desolate and isolated, but proudly defiant of entropy and the changing world. And the schoolhouse’s restoration is a meaningful gesture especially as large swaths of the communities and attractions along Route 66 are being forgotten and left to wither away with no one to look over them or stand for them.
The most beautiful thing about Goffs Schoolhouse is the story it tells about people. The people that used to live there, and the people that cared enough about history, and legacy, and Route 66, to build it back up and keep it alive and thriving. And to help visitors to Goffs understand how people there lived.
Note: On your way out, be careful not to drive over any large dark objects you might think are rocks. Goffs is also, apparently, the desert tortoise capital of the world.
