Desert Dreamers 15: The Wellness Gurus

In a certain film from the 1940s, Capt. Renault, played by Claude Rains, asks Rick, played by Humphrey Bogart, “What in heaven’s name brought you to Casablanca?” Rick responds, “My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters.” “The waters?” Renault asks. “What waters? We’re in the desert.” Says Rick, slyly, “I was misinformed.”

Had Casablanca been set in Palm Springs, that line would lack humor, never mind sarcasm. Roughly 6,000 miles west of that Moroccan city lies a rare desert phenomenon, a valley blessed with natural hot mineral water springs that have served generations of  Native Americans as well as settlers and visitors.

One of the best-known spring-fed spas in the area, Two Bunch Palms in Desert Hot Springs, is famed for its clay mud treatments, high-profile clientele, and sense of privacy. Established in 1940 by former Palm Springs hotelier Tom Lipps, it continues to rejuvenate those in search of peace and restoration.

For Palm Springs, the granddaddy of all the area’s havens is undoubtedly the Agua Caliente Hot Mineral Spring located at the northeast corner of Tahquitz Canyon Way and Indian Canyon Drive. Since time immemorial, the spring, known as Séc-he, has provided the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians with water for drinking, bathing, and healing. In 1884, settler John Guthrie McCallum built a home for his family near the spring, hoping the waters and climate would soothe his ailing son. A few years later, Welwood Murray opened his Palm Springs Hotel across the street on Indian Canyon Drive (formerly Indian Avenue), rightly thinking its purported powers would be a big draw.

In 1908, Dr. Harry Coffman and his wife, Nellie, arrived in town, she with hopes that the desert climate would ease her persistent cough. In short order, Nellie developed an interest in Crocker’s sanitarium, which suffered from unkempt quarters and accumulated trash. The couple bought the property, moved into Crocker’s home, replaced the tents with wooden bungalows, and opened Dr. Harry Coffman’s Desert Inn and Sanitorium. The nearby spring, with its 104-degree waters and high mineral content, soothed guests afflicted with tuberculosis, asthma, arthritis, and other ailments. At the inn, Henry tended to the sick and Nellie cooked the meals.

Clientele grew slowly but steadily, and healthy visitors began to outnumber the afflicted. Nellie got the bright idea of transitioning the sanitarium into a resort hotel for sturdier folk, and made it clear that invalids and guests with communicable diseases were not welcome. The place became simply The Desert Inn. Her husband, however, was not in favor of becoming a hotelier, and the two separated. Dr. Harry Coffman soon left town to practice medicine elsewhere.

As for Murray’s bathhouse at Séc-he, Palm Springs developer Samuel Banowit convinced the Agua Caliente Tribal Council that the tribe could make money on a resort situated above the hot spring. Architects William F. Cody, Donald Wexler, and Richard Harrison designed the state-of-the-art Palm Springs Spa and adjoining five-story hotel, opening in the early 1960s. Amenities included mineral baths, steam and sauna rooms, massage, therapeutic pools, a resident physician to supervise guests in the pools, exercise programs and fitness rooms for both men and women, a beauty salon, inhalation rooms, turbo-jet whirlpools, and a coffee shop.

In the ’90s, the tribe bought the hotel for $9 million and added a casino on a neighboring lot. The hotel was demolished in 2014 and replaced in 2023 with the Agua Caliente Cultural Plaza, home to the Agua Caliente Cultural Museum and The Spa at Séc-he. Time magazine recognized the destination spa as one of the “World’s Greatest Places of 2024.”

Although the sanitarium heyday has passed, folks from all corners of the world still come to enjoy the desert’s arid climate, warm sun, and mineral-rich waters. Many seek to reinvigorate mind or body, or to cure or alleviate what ails them. The road to wellness has tracked our history and will be our future. Here are five visionary leaders who showed us the way.

Doc Stork

Dr.  Jacob Kocher

(1876–1938)

Jacob John Kocher, the son of a Swiss immigrant watchmaker, was expected to become a successful jeweler like his father. So it must have been bitterly disappointing to the elder Kocher when his son became a doctor instead.

Born in 1876 in San Jose, California, Jacob graduated from Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia, and in short order became a physician at a quicksilver mine near his hometown. It was a demanding job that took a toll on his health, so in 1913, he and his wife, Clereta (known as “Reta”), traveled to Palm Springs to join his sister, who also had health issues and was a guest at Nellie Coffman’s Desert Inn. The next year, he returned to Palm Springs to establish his own private practice, renting out Dr. Florilla M. White’s Gate Cottage, where La Plaza sits today.

Word spread that a terrific doctor had arrived in town, and his reputation and clientele grew. Kocher would become one of the leading physicians in Palm Springs, delivering babies, performing surgeries, and generally looking after the well-being of the village’s residents and visitors. People referred to him as “the desert doctor,” and he earned the nickname “Doc Stork” as the area’s go-to (and perhaps only) obstetrician.

Kocher enlisted the help of  Lee Arenas and other Indigenous neighbors to build the first pharmacy in Palm Springs, which he called the Mortar and Pestle. Housed in an adobe building on the east side of Palm Canyon Drive, directly across from the main entrance of The Desert Inn, the drugstore opened for business Nov. 21, 1917. A variety of tourists, settlers, and tribal residents signed the guest book. Reta managed the store for many years.

In the 1920s, Kocher made a career pivot to real estate and insurance, calling upon his brother, architect A. Lawrence Kocher, and Lawrence’s business partner, Albert Frey, to drive out from New York and design his office. The 1934 Kocher-Samson Building was the first  modernist  international-style structure in Palm Springs — and the impetus that led Frey to stay, playing a formative role in the modernism movement.

Kids who had been delivered by Kocher reunited in 1936 to honor the doctor and his legacy at a “Stork Party.” Among them was Ted McKinney, the first non-Cahuilla baby born in the village. Many chose to stay in the desert, the place they first called home.

The Youth Advocate

Lou Kuehner

(1928–2016)

Louis “Lou” Carl Kuehner was one of those rare individuals devoted to helping others, which he did from age 13 through the rest of his life. After working with inner-city kids in his hometown of St. Louis, his sister, who was living in Santa Monica, suggested he give California a try. He took her advice, and, in 1954, he fell in love with Palm Springs and landed a job as a busboy and waiter at The Desert Inn.

A stint as a lifeguard and swimming instructor at Shadow Mountain Resort & Club in Palm Desert gave him the chance to do what he loved most — creating recreational programs for young people. In 1964, he founded Leisure Loft, an organization in Rancho Mirage whose goal was to develop children into productive teenagers. Activities included dances, arts and crafts courses, fishing trips, camping, and hiking.

One of Kuehner’s goals was to help the kids develop abilities that would serve them well later in life. Youngsters 16 years and older learned how to handle domestic chores, yard work, and personal grooming, as well as arts, such as music and handicrafts, to prepare for a life of increased autonomy.

“All my life, I was lucky that I really enjoyed what I was doing,” Kuehner reflected in a 2015 interview with the Historical Society of Palm Desert. “I wasn’t making much money, but I loved what I was doing. I looked forward to getting up every morning, and staying up late at night thinking of creative things to do.”

The Movement Maven

Sheila Cluff

(1936–2020)

When it came to health and fitness, Sheila Cluff didn’t just open a spa resort — or, rather, two spa resorts. She led by example, teaching weekly fitness classes, promoting a healthful diet and frequent exercise, writing several books on the subject, and taking her vitamins. “I will eat what I know will nurture the body like grains, fruits, vegetables and a little chicken and fish 80 percent of  the time,” Cluff  told The Desert Sun in July 2002. “Then, for the other 20 percent of the time, I will allow myself bread and cheese. They aren’t necessarily great for nurturing my body, but they are emotionally enjoyable.”

Her attention to mind and body began early, performing as an amateur pairs figure skater before turning professional at 16. Her time on the ice inspired her to create and promote cardiovascular dance routines for school-age girls. A native of Canada, she eventually migrated to California and had a weekday exercise show on a Los Angeles television network.

In 1977, Cluff converted a Spanish-style hotel in the peaceful burg of Ojai into a health resort. She insisted it be more than a routine weight-loss retreat  or luxury spa. Casual attire and an easygoing mood prevailed, and guests had a variety of ways to nurture themselves: hikes, swimming, massage, lectures on health, low-fat gourmet meals, fitness classes. It was an immediate hit. Two years later, she was ready to open another one.

“Palm Springs had all of the elements of the right place for a health and fitness resort,” said Cluff. She took over a property on North Indian Canyon Drive that was built in 1936 and originally owned by reputed mobster Al Wertheimer. After World War II, it became the esteemed Howard Manor. Cluff and her husband, Don, opened the newest fitness spa in Palm Springs on Aug. 12, 1979. The Palms, as it was called, was modeled after her successful Ojai business and included access to nearby golf, tennis, and horseback riding.

“Something magical happens here,” Cluff said of the hideaway now known as The Colony Palms. “My clients claim stress just disappears the minute they step onto the desert. … It’s the healing properties of our climate — the uplifting brightness and warmth of the sun, the cool breezes, the swaying palms — that create an instant mood of  rhythm and relaxation.”

The Faith Healer

Avak Hagopian

(1927–1987)

“I think I can cure the younger Arakelian,” self-described faith healer Avak Hagopian was quoted as saying in a May 1947 issue of Time magazine. Then 20, the young man claimed to have received a vision from God four years earlier while he was working in Tehran, Iran, as a goldsmith, according to some accounts, or as a mechanic, according to others. Hagopian believed that, with a mere touch of his fingers, he could cure several ailments, including ulcers, paralysis, and even cancer. (Time also mentioned that Hagopian “had been tried for charlatanry — and won acquittal by curing the throbbing pain in his judge’s head.”)

Krikor Arakelian, a Turkish-Armenian, came to California as a poor child and amassed a fortune through farming and wineries. When his son Vaughn was 9, the boy suffered an accident that resulted in head trauma and seemingly incurable epilepsy. After an exhaustive, expensive, and inconclusive search for proper treatment, his father decided to roll the dice and bring Avak Hagopian to Palm Springs to consult with his son. In the spring of 1947, Hagopian arrived in the desert — Christ-like in appearance, with long hair, a beard, and wearing a cape and cassock. He ignited in the town something on the order of  a pilgrimage. A revival meeting. A carnival.

Palm Springs was popular among folks seeking relief for health problems, and word spread of  the faith healer’s arrival. Traffic jams and long lines of people led to the Arakelian home at the intersection of  Via Miraleste and Tamarisk Road. Vendors of  many stripes took advantage of  this new market. Accommodations were scarce; visitors were sleeping in their cars or in tents until the police put a stop to it. An estimated 10,000 people came to see Avak Hagopian during his two-month residency. He met with about 60 people daily, to the disdain of  Vaughn’s father.

The media did their part in stoking hopes, reporting on putative success stories from people who had met with Hagopian. The Limelight newspaper, for example, reported a “miracle” that took place at the Arakelian home: A woman who had been paralyzed for 24 years was “cured” by Hagopian one night while the moon shone down on them. The paper went on to describe the kinds of stories being told around town: “I am walking straighter since Avak prayed for me.” “My paralyzed arm, dead to feeling for three years, is beginning to feel alive again.” “All pain has left my arthritic body.” And, “Look! I don’t have to wear my glasses anymore.” A September 1947 article in The Desert Sun even reported that Hagopian’s treatments “have brought marked improvement to Vaughn.” News clips about Hagopian always seem to include quotation marks around the words “faith healer,” “miracle,” and “cure.”

The situation got decidedly out of hand, and the entire point of the trip was lost. Hagopian needed to “heal” Vaughn, and so the two ran away from the circus and into seclusion at Arakelian’s ranch near Madera, California, just northwest of Fresno. Three months later, it was clear that Vaughn’s recovery remained elusive.

Hagopian moved on — along with his popularity — leaving his erstwhile patients with only a story.

The Mineral Maestro

L.W. Coffee

(1876–1957)

Although Palm Springs and Desert Hot Springs were both blessed with a seemingly unlimited supply of hot underground mineral water, Desert Hot Springs was still largely unspoiled land as Palm Springs was firmly establishing itself as a health and vacation destination.

Late 1913 saw the arrival of Cabot Yerxa, one of the first homesteaders in the area now known as Desert Hot Springs. He built a stone cabin for himself on a roughly four-block plot that would come to be known as Miracle Hill. He would claim discovery of the hot mineral water aquifer running under the property. It changed everything.

Enter Lawrence W. Coffee, a Los Angeles land developer, engineer, builder, and water expert who met with Yerxa, learned of the hot mineral springs, and began to dream. He wasted no time planning a new civic development, which he called Desert Hot Springs and envisioned as a community devoted to the health and wellness of people from all walks of life. In 1933, Coffee built an adobe office and got to work devising a blueprint of the new community.

In January 1940, Coffee began selling lots, the first ones going for the low, low price of $95, payable over three years. A newspaper ad boasted that “Desert Hot Springs is the only resort where you can buy property for your home or business and enjoy the benefits of Nature’s own curative water.” For land where mineral water flowed, Coffee stipulated in the contract that whoever buys the land must build something “beneficial to humanity.”

On July 12, 1941, Coffee invited the public to the opening of  his 120-foot hot mineral water bathhouse, which featured separate facilities for men and women, a swimming pool, a playground, and massage services. On that day, the population of Desert Hot Springs was 22. The number of people attending the opening approached 2,000. Word of mouth soon brought curious visitors to the bathhouse, and the town enjoyed an uptick in lots sold and homes built. Ads for the bathhouse advised guests to “Take Tanner Motor Livery to Desert Hot Springs.” In the ’40s, marketing materials for Desert Hot Springs property directed prospective purchasers to “Buy War Bonds First … Then Desert Hot Springs Property.”

For Coffee, the community was first, last, and always about health. “There will be many different types of baths, treatments, pools, convalescent establishments, and other specialties, as well as all kinds of businesses and homes,” Coffee told The Limelight, a local newspaper, in March 1949. He predicted growth “regardless of  the financial condition of  our country. … Desert Hot Springs does not depend on manufacturing or agriculture or any other necessary enterprises that other communities depend on. Desert Hot Springs is founded entirely on health.”

In 1947, the bathhouse was destroyed by fire;  its replacement employed nonflammable materials such as clay, brick, stucco, and concrete. Coffee’s new spa and bathhouse remained in operation for several years after his death in 1957. It was featured prominently in director Robert Altman’s film 3 Women (1977), in which actresses Shelley Duvall and Sissy Spacek played physical therapists. By that time, business had dwindled significantly, and, in August 1990, the southern wing of the spa was torn down. The remainder was demolished five months after that.