She christened the old community center The Amargosa Opera House. Marta and Tom returned to New York, tied up their loose ends, and returned on August 9, 1967, Marta’s 43rd birthday. The building seemed to be saying, ‘Take me. “As I peered through that tiny hole,” Marta Becket later wrote, “I had the distinct feeling that I was looking at the other half of my life. At the foot of a sunbeam, a doll’s head with blue glass eyes stared back at her. Warped wooden benches sat empty, waiting. Sunlight fell through pieces of ruined roof and illuminated a small stage. She peered through a tiny hole in the back door.
While her husband Tom repaired the tire, Marta wandered over to the theater. It also had a derelict community theater.
The square was dominated by an rundown hotel and the abandoned workers’ flats of a defunct borax mining company.īut it had a gas station, thank goodness. They limped into Death Valley Junction, population 20. The nearest settlement was thirty miles away. In Death Valley, their aptly-named Covered Wagon travel trailer blew a tire. In 1967, Marta Becket, a former Broadway dancer, headed out West with her husband on a one-woman tour.
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