Picking Oranges with Dynamite

I knew this guy who used to build forts in the city junk yard when he was a kid. He was a product of the World War II generation and, like most of his peers, was saturated with the anti communist sentiment that was so prominent in the American psyche. He was just six years old when his father died and, with his mother always having to work to support the family, was left pretty much to his own devices. He did most of the things that kids his age would do like hunting, fishing, and camping. He spent his elementary school years as a cadet in a military academy. One of his favorite recreational activities was playing army with his friends in the local citrus groves surrounding his neighborhood. They used to embed M80’s in oranges and toss them at each other marveling at the way the concussion of the exploding fruit would knock the oranges from the trees nearby.

He was a bright lad and as he got older he became bored with the public school system. He spent a lot of time playing hooky and going off camping in the woods for weeks at a time living off of what he could catch with a fishing pole or shoot with a rifle. During one of these outings he encountered a squad of army paratroopers doing practice maneuvers in a clearing. He was convinced that America was under attack and, having had some military training, determined that he would thwart the invaders. So with his rifle and pistol locked and loaded he confronted the soldiers. These men were completely caught off guard by the sight of this half starved twelve year old with a crazed look in his eyes coming out of the woods brandishing loaded weapons. The lone young hero kept these trained professionals at bay for about twenty minutes until he was convinced that they were friendly.

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One of the boy’s guiding influences was a kindly neighbor by the name of Odo Stade. He was a navigator for the Austro-Hungarian navy during World War I. He had a life altering episode one day while sailing in the Pacific. The ship’s crew decided to mutiny and set a course for California. There was no distinction between Baja and California on European navigation charts in 1915. The ship sailed to the coast of Baja and into the midst of Pancho Villa and his army. As the mutineers were disembarking, Villa and his men started shooting them. Stade was a highly intelligent individual who was fluent in many languages including French and Spanish. He put on a French strategist’s uniform that was stored aboard ship and convinced the rebels that he was traveling as an envoy. The notorious revolutionary had no strategist and recruited Stade who reluctantly agreed despite his lack of experience. He traveled with the Villa and his forces for eight years until the Mexican folk hero was assassinated. During the melee Odo was able to acquire the boots, saddle and revolver of the slain leader. He subsequently moved to Glendora, California and eventually became neighbor and mentor to the young man in our story. When the young man turned fifteen he received, as a birthday gift, the boots, saddle and revolver of Pancho Villa.

He barely graduated high school and when he was seventeen he decided to see the world. He started out hitchhiking from Glendora to Mexico. He traveled there for a while until he met up with some college students with a private plane and flew to New England. From there he was able to get a job aboard a cruise ship and travel across the Atlantic. Upon his arrival in Europe he gave up his job with the cruise line and went to Germany to visit relatives. He found work and lived there long enough to buy a motorcycle and save money for travel. He traveled through Eastern Europe and Russia and wound his way down through Greece and Italy. From the tip of Italy he found passage across the Mediterranean to Morocco. The first thing he did in Africa was stop for gas and directions. When he said he wanted to see the great pyramids the station attendant told him they were three thousand miles away. The dismayed traveler said, “But I thought they were in Africa.” To that the attendant replied, “They are, but Africa is a big place.”

With that the young adventurer began an incredible sojourn across the breadth of North Africa. Sometimes it’s as if people need to do things that seem foolhardy and dangerous just to have the satisfaction of doing it. It goes beyond survival and meeting one’s basic needs. It comes from the desire to embrace life and the wonder that it holds. This easy rider grabbed hold of the throttle of life and pushed it to red line encountering perils and adventures that could have been in fiction tales by Edgar Rice Burroughs. He did get to Egypt and see the pyramids, but on his journey he fought with Algerian revolutionaries, was wounded by a sniper, narrowly escaped having his throat slit by desert marauders, nearly died of dehydration and exhaustion in the African desert, and finally was thrown into an Egyptian jail for trying to stow away on a cargo ship in an attempt to get home.

This last episode took a miraculous turn. While being escorted through a village by his jailers the young man caught the attention of a Dutch sea captain who was sitting in a café. The captain inquired as to why the young man was under arrest and arranged to take him on as an indentured servant. This turn of events not only served to get the young man back home, but also extended his travels under more luxurious conditions. Before the ship made port in America it sailed to ports in Ceylon (Sri Lanka), Sumatra, Borneo and Java. This is not the end of the adventure. The erstwhile wanderer turned crew mate developed such a relationship with his seafaring benefactor that he elected to return for a four month tour each year for four years following. He became a beneficiary in the mariner’s will and when the Dutchman died the young man received a legacy that left him financially secure for the rest of his life.

He was not quite twenty when he returned home from his world voyage. As he entered his young adulthood, he decided that it was time to focus on more serious pursuits and establish a home for himself. He commenced building a castle. The first phase of construction was slow because he was virtually unfunded in the project. It was a few years before his benefactor passed away and he realized his inheritance. All told, it took twenty six years and the help of about fifteen hundred volunteers to complete Rubel Pharms Castle. The building of this monument is itself an adventure tale that has oft been told by other storytellers.

I was eleven years old when I first encountered Michael Clarke Rubel. The only construction on the castle by that time was the bottle house in the courtyard. I was able to witness construction during its beginnings and am privileged to know some of the foundation builders. Michael has left an indelible impact on my life and his approach to living has influenced my thinking forever. The times that I have spent around him and his castle are my best memories. I am fifty years old now and I live in the tree house at the wonderland that Mike built. The opportunities are endless to share stories like the ones I have shared here. I am so blessed to be a part of his legacy and am honored to participate in keeping his memory alive.

Dale Fulton