By INGRID McCLEARY
Friendly spirits are infinitely easier to embrace than scary ones. You can accept their existence more readily if they're not turning your hair gray. In any event, I figure it's prudent to be on friendly terms with them.
This seems to be the case with Johnny Johnson, our city's resident ghost, whose main haunting spot is Toys R Us. For those of you who haven't heard of Johnny, here's the scoop:
During the 1840s, Sunnyvale's founding father, Martin Murphy Jr., went on a major land-buying spree, eventually totaling 90,000 acres. He built the 20-room Bay View home site on 4,000 acres of it (now Murphy Park).
Johnny Johnson, a circuit preacher, worked as a ranch hand for the Murphys. Johnny loved Martin's eldest daughter, Elizabeth, from afar. But she married William Taaffe, a prominent San Francisco merchant, in 1863. Some people never get over an unrequited love.
In 1884, Johnny whacked his leg with an ax while chopping down trees in an orchard and bled to death. Some say he died so fast that he doesn't even know he's dead. No one noticed his specter gliding through the orchards; nor did it turn up later, when the orchards became the White Front parking lot. In 1970, Toys R Us was built near the spot where he died. Then people noticed. A few of his favorite pastimes include tossing balls, scooting skateboards around, touching women's hair and calling their names, and playing with the water faucets.
In 1978, renowned psychic Sylvia Brown was called upon to release the lost spirit, which research by the members in the séance group indicated was Martin Murphy Jr. That's who Sylvia thought she'd meet. But Johnny showed up instead. It wasn't until after talking with Johnny that the group went back and dug through the archives. There, they found the story of Johnny and Elizabeth.
For three years, Sylvia tried to tell Johnny he'd died, so he could "go to God." But Johnny didn't want to hear it. He's "waiting for Beth," who died before him, in 1875.
Johnny also told Sylvia to move or her feet would get wet. Records show that a well existed beneath the store. Perhaps Johnny thinks he's still on the farm. What does he think he's moving when he floats teddy bears around? Cherries? Horses?
Maybe it's not so odd that Johnny has trouble merging with today's reality. Things change fast. It was only 150 years ago when the Murphys became the first emigrant party to bring wagons over the Sierra Nevada. When Johnny died, Sunnyvale was still called Encinal; we're talking only four generations here. It boggles my mind that when Johnny began making ghostly appearances, there were still Sunnyvale residents in their late 80s who might have known him firsthand.
Fifteen years ago, my friend visited Toys R Us with her infant son. As she cruised down one aisle, a box dropped from the top shelf, landing next to her son's stroller. Nenette looked up; the shelves were in order, the boxes neatly stacked, yet another box dropped, this time nearly hitting her. She's convinced it was Johnny.
Her ancestors also made the westward trek, just like the Murphys did in 1844. Had Johnny recognized a kindred soul in Nenette? Had he simply wanted to say hello?
Who knows, but on Halloween night, when ghosts, both real and costumed, roam the streets, these are the things that occupy your thoughts.
This article appeared in the Sunnyvale Sun, Wed., December 6, 1995.
©1995 Metro Publishing Inc. All rights reserved.