Watch Out For Julia!

Sometimes you turn on the TV just for the noise. I remember sitting in the bedroom sorting through laundry. I was making a pile to be ironed. I hate ironing, and I do it rarely and not too well. Anyway, my ear caught a story about a gorgeous hotel in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The program was Unsolved Mysteries.

I listened to the fascinating tale of a wealthy Jewish-German family that immigrated to the US and established a thriving business there. They came in the 1880s. The home Mr. Staab built was called La Posada.

According to the story, Mrs. Staab went crazy after losing her child. Mr. Staab tried everything to help her, but eventually, he had to lock her in her bedroom suite. Reportedly, she committed suicide.

In subsequent years, many people saw or heard a woman who apparently was not there. Therefore, the Unsolved Mystery team created a program about it.

I was really taken by the story. We had a trip planned to New Mexico, and I definitely had to stop at La Posada on my list of must-dos.

I had it in my head that her soul couldn’t rest, and as another Jewish woman, perhaps I could tell her it was time for her to go on. I know that sounds crazy, but I honestly thought about that.

When we arrived in Santa Fe and located the hotel, which had the original mansion as its centerpiece, I walked right in and asked if I could see the room where Julia died. They didn’t flinch! The TV program reached many people who were doing the same thing as me.

A security guard escorted my husband and me to the room. As we passed several rooms with sheets being changed or bathrooms cleaned, many of the helpers, who all seemed to be Latino, said things to each other in Spanish. Of course, I understood them, and it did give me chills. Everything from, “Oh, she is here to see la Senora” to, “I hate to go in that room; it’s creepy.”

The guard unlocked the door, and we walked into a beautiful Victorian bedroom. They kept the window closed and the door locked. It was musty, and the air was heavy. I was blown away by the apparent wealth these people had; everything was beautiful.

I walked around while the two men talked. I felt nothing, and I was disappointed. I had to pee! I indicated that I was ready to leave but asked where the closest bathroom was. It was inside the suite. I asked my husband to please wait right there for me, but he and the guard, who were engrossed in a conversation, started walking out of the suite.

Here I was, and when you must go, well, any toilet in a storm! I pulled down my slacks and underwear and sat on the toilet. Straight ahead of me was a sink and vanity. As I sat there, the vanity door opened and then shut with a bang! I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. As I tried to reassemble my clothing, I yelled, “Julia, stop it!” I didn’t even wait to wash my hands. I ran out of the suite onto the staircase and said, “Let’s go! GO!!GO!!!

I couldn’t talk for a block away, at least! I was so upset with myself. I had the opportunity and I couldn’t deliver.

You can believe it or not, but that’s exactly what happened. I haven't heard anything about the hotel, the mansion, or the Staab family since then. I hope Julia eventually found her peace and has moved on. When I decided to write this blog, I looked up the story for the dates. The woman who wrote the book about Julia is a descendant of hers. She found out, tracing the Staab family, which was quite large, that many of them stayed in Germany. The descendants of those who did perished in the Holocaust.

It's a terrible tale of a fabulous family.