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| Eagle Mountain, California — Our Home in the Desert. |
I grew up in Eagle Mountain, California, a town carved into the desert by Kaiser Steel. It wasn’t just a place on a map — it was a purpose-built world. Kaiser owned the mine, Kaiser owned the houses and the market and the parks. When you lived in Eagle Mountain, your life was tied to the mine, just like everyone else's.
Our high school opened its doors in 1962, and the first class graduated in 1963. My mom was just a year behind them, graduating in 1964. I graduated in 1982, walking across the quad under the open desert sky, surrounded by the familiar faces that had been part of my world since childhood.
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| EMHS Band |
We were isolated out there, tucked against the barren hills of Southern California. There were no nearby cities to escape to, no outside world to drift into after school. We had each other — and only each other. Our dads all worked for the same company. Our moms ran the same errands and attended the same community events. Our lives overlapped in every way imaginable. It created a bond that you can't replicate by living in the suburbs or even a small town today. Eagle Mountain was ours, and we were Eagle Mountain.
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| Little League Baseball was a big part of our lives |
In 1983, it ended. When Kaiser closed the mine, the entire town had to leave. Overnight, Eagle Mountain went from a living community to a memory. Homes were boarded up. The ball fields fell silent. The desert began its slow, inevitable reclaiming of the place we once called home.
But we — the people who grew up there — have kept something alive. Every year, we gather in for a reunion. Sometimes there are other reunions scattered in different places, but Laughlin is the usual gathering place. We come to laugh about the old days, to remember the things only we remember, to see in each other the faces we knew as kids, even if the years have softened them.
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| Even the pandemic couldn't stop us |
Today I heard that someone a couple of years ahead of me passed away. News like this is not new — it’s part of life now — but it still hits hard. Every time it happens, I find myself thinking about the future. Someday, there will only be one of us left. One last Eagle Mountain kid, holding all the memories by themselves without even realizing it.
And then, one day, even they will be gone. And the town, the friendships, the sun-drenched afternoons, the smell of the desert after rain — all of it will exist only in the stories told and forgotten. The desert will continue its quiet work, covering the empty streets and faded playgrounds, as if none of us had ever been there.
So true
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