A Prodigal Without a Home: The Strange Journey of Elmer McCurdy

From outlaw to roadside attraction — how one man’s posthumous fate echoes the struggles of the unhoused today, and what it means to find belonging.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the story of Elmer McCurdy—a man whose life and death took unexpected turns, leaving us with much to ponder.

Born in 1880, Elmer’s early life was marked by hardship. After serving in the U.S. Army and learning to use nitroglycerin, he turned to crime with disastrous results. His most infamous attempt was a botched train robbery in Oklahoma, where he destroyed the safe and most of the money inside. Fleeing with a small sum, he was tracked down days later and killed in a shootout.

In death, Elmer's journey became even stranger. His body was embalmed and displayed as a sideshow attraction, passed from carnival to carnival. Despite never setting foot in California during his life, his remains eventually ended up in a Long Beach funhouse, mistaken for a mannequin. In 1977, after more than 60 years on display, he was finally laid to rest in Oklahoma.

Elmer's story, while unique, echoes broader themes I encounter in my work at the Cecil Hotel. Many residents have faced lives of hardship, estrangement, and exploitation. Like Elmer, they've been overlooked or misunderstood, their humanity obscured by circumstances beyond their control. Much like the prodigal son in Luke 15, who squandered his inheritance and faced ruin, they too have experienced the consequences of separation from family and support. But unlike the biblical story, reconciliation isn’t always immediate or assured. The absence of a welcoming embrace can leave people even more vulnerable to exploitation and harm.

Yet, just as the father in the parable waited with open arms, believing in his son’s return, I believe that healing and restoration are always possible. At the Cecil, I witness daily acts of resilience and transformation. Individuals are rebuilding their lives, finding community, and reclaiming their dignity. It's a testament to the power of compassion and support in rewriting one's narrative.

If you're moved by these stories and wish to make a difference, consider joining the Friends of the Cecil or making a one-time donation. Your support helps provide essential resources and a sense of belonging to those striving for a fresh start.

In a similar spirit of remembrance and redemption, my friends from

Esotouric's Secret Los Angeles

will be sharing Elmer McCurdy’s story on April 15 with a special walking tour. I’ll be leading a brief memorial service as part of it, inviting his eternal soul to find the peace that eluded him in life. Perhaps now, after a century of wandering, Elmer has finally found his way home.