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Lowell Tuttle
I wonder about Texas back in those days.
I read this in the Chronicle this morning. I had no idea this place existed...
Three indoor pools of hot mineral water from the depths of the earth were the hotel’s big attraction.
SAN ANTONIO — One of my favorite just-for-fun novels is Jack Finney’s “Time and Again,” published in 1970 and now something of a cult classic.
It’s the story of a young advertising illustrator who, with the aid of a top-secret government task force known as the Project, travels back to Manhattan in the 1880s by visiting a suite at the Dakota, the iconic apartment building overlooking Central Park.
My “time and again” reverie bubbled up a few days ago, not in New York, but on the banks of the San Antonio River, beside the beguiling ruins of the Hot Wells Hotel and Spa south of downtown. A century ago, Hot Wells lured business tycoons, Hollywood luminaries and health and fitness devotees who swore by the healing properties of hot sulfur water that for eons had bubbled up near the east bank of the river.
That magnificent resort burned in 1925 and never recovered its opulence, despite staying in business in one form or another for several more decades. Today, though, after nearly a century of neglect, a modest, albeit imaginative reuse of the property is drawing visitors back.
The Hot Wells story begins in 1892, with the discovery of an artesian sulfur spring on the grounds of what was then the Southwestern Lunatic Asylum. (The asylum’s successor, San Antonio State Hospital, is just down the street.) Local entrepreneurs leased land nearby, anticipating development of spas and resorts rivaling similar enterprises in Mineral Wells, Marlin and other Texas towns located near mineral-rich springs.
In 1902, Otto Koehler, president and founder of Pearl Brewery, built the Hot Wells Hotel and Spa beside the river. A frequent visitor to Germany, Koehler envisioned a lavish European resort. With 80 rooms featuring hot and cold running water, steam heat, toilets, electric lights and telephones — rates $3 per day and up, according to a 1909 ad in the San Antonio Express — his hotel was one of the largest and most elegant in the Southwest.
Newspaper ads promised perfect weather year-round, perfect for golf and tennis on the grounds, although the main attraction was, of course, the spa. The octagonal bathhouse featured three 34-foot by 90-foot pools, one for “ladies,” one for “gents” (faded signs are still visible), as well as one for those with “skin diseases.”
Guests could reserve one of the 45 private bathrooms that featured tile floors, marble cubicles and tubs made from solid porcelain. The mineral water, smelling of sulfur, bubbled up from the ground at 104 degrees.
Given a time-travel choice, I think I’d choose the year 1910 to visit Hot Wells.
My transtemporal trek begins, let’s say, in Alamo Plaza, where the intoxicating aroma of hot, steaming chili con carne and tamales tended by the “Chili Queens” is olfactory evidence that I’ve landed in another century. I fish a nickel out of my pocket and catch a crowded trolley headed south on Presa. Twenty minutes later I’m walking across beautifully manicured grounds toward the entrance of the sprawling structure. Paying my $3 nightly rate at the front desk, I read about the nearby menagerie featuring a bear and mountain lion donated by Judge Roy Bean. I have my pick of concerts, dances and public lectures. Deciding to take a stroll among tall pecan trees, I notice men and women streaming toward the nearby race track. I join the throng, eager to witness my first ostrich race.
Standing near the rail, watching jockeys struggling to maneuver the long-legged, long-necked birds into the starting gate, I happen to notice the attractive woman standing next to me. Of a certain age, she’s wearing a slim, gray dress trimmed with red bows. Reddish-blond hair in ringlets spills out from a sort of headband decorated with ostrich plumes.
She turns her blue eyes toward me, smiles, and asks in a delightful French accent if I will place a bet for her with the Hot Wells Jockey Club bookie. She’s gotten a tip on a bird named Ozzie.
I suddenly realize that the attractive gambler at my side is Sarah Bernhardt. The world’s most famous actress is in San Antonio on a farewell tour of North America. She may be in her mid-60s, but you can’t tell it by me; the year before she was convincing in her role as the 19-year-old Joan of Arc. I have read that she sometimes sleeps in a coffin, at home in Paris and while traveling. I don’t ask.
In a neck-and-neck race, Ozzie comes through, and Miss Bernhardt’s winnings pay for our sumptuous dinner that evening, me in my tux, my companion in a green velvet gown that complements the color of her hair. Between courses we dance to the sounds of a first-class orchestra. The next morning I enjoy a hot soak in the “gents” pool, emerging lobster-red but rejuvenated.
Afterward, my new friend escorts me across a swinging foot bridge over the river to Star Film Ranch, the first movie studio located in Texas from outside the state. French producer Gaston Melies and director William F. Haddock are making “The Immortal Alamo,” the first film version of the famous battle. The movie-makers are thrilled to see the legendary actress and beg her to stay for the morning shoot. I tell her I have to take the trolley back to the real Alamo. “Au revoir,” she says, smiling. “‘Til we meet again.”
Sarah Bernhardt was far from the only celebrity to frequent Hot Wells. Clara Bow, Will Rogers, Charlie Chaplin, Cecil B. De Mille and Rudolph Valentino dropped by. So did Teddy Roosevelt during his Rough Rider days. E.H. Harri-man, president of the Southern Pacific Railroad, constructed a spur from the main railroad line to the resort, giving his private car access.
Alas, the legend has lasted much longer than the hotel itself. After the 1925 fire — Koehler was no longer the owner — the property struggled along, first as a tourist court and later as a motel and woebegone little trailer park. The Flame Room, a bar and grill in the former bathhouse lobby, was a longtime Southside hot spot. Literally. It went up in flames three times until closing for good in 1977. The old well was capped in 2013.
It’s a wonder the ruins weren’t razed, although as Cindy Taylor, the recently retired executive director of Hot Wells Conservancy, told me, “San Antonio being San Antonio, the city found in its own way a way to save it.”
More than 20 years ago, local developer James Lifshutz acquired the property from Bexar County and set about trying to restore something of the magic of the place where his father swam as a child in the 1930s. He also donated four acres to the county, and in April 2019, the remains of the Hot Wells Hotel and Spa became Hot Wells of Bexar County, a new public park. These days walkers or cyclists along the Mission Reach of the San Antonio River, or kayakers in the river itself, come upon what resembles at first glance some kind of Roman ruin.
If they care to linger near the old tan-brick walls and columns and the empty pools (now fenced off), they can take out a free membership in the newly opened Hot Wells Camp. Membership allows them to soak their feet in a pair of shallow pools of 102-degree water, maybe while enjoying a cold beer. The water comes from an 1,800-foot well Lifshutz drilled. After the soak, a camp member might relax in a hammock on the shady grounds or sit at a picnic table and enjoy a light snack with a glass of wine. For a more immersive experience, so to speak, members can book one of two private bathing areas or reserve both rooms and the landscaped garden for private events.
Local artist Justin Parr, who has worked to bring Hot Wells back to life since 2012, anticipates concerts, movie nights, lectures and art exhibits, just as in the old days. He says that more and more tourists and picnickers are rediscovering Hot Wells. “It’s gorgeous at night,” he says.
Hot Wells has always been a hot spot for ghost hunters, Parr tells me. Wouldn’t it be great if an elegant lady who occasionally slept in a coffin deigned to make an encore appearance? djholley10@gmail.comTwitter: holleynews
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