The Fire of June 23, 1932, stands as one of the most devastating events in the history of Bodie, California, the once-thriving gold-mining boomtown in the eastern Sierra Nevada mountains. By the early 1930s, Bodie had long passed its peak; what had been a bustling community of nearly 10,000 people in the late 1870s had dwindled to just a few hundred residents amid declining mining operations, economic hardship during the Great Depression, and earlier damage from a major fire in 1892. The town retained only a fraction of its original approximately 2,000 structures, but it still featured a Main Street lined with wooden buildings, saloons, hotels, stores, a bank, and a schoolhouse.
The Outbreak of the Fire
On June 23, 1932—the last day of school for the remaining children in Bodie—a small but fateful act ignited catastrophe. Nearly 3-year-old Bill Godward (often called “Billy” or later nicknamed “Bodie Bill”), the son of local residents, was disappointed after a school party served only red Jell-O instead of the ice cream he craved. In a moment of childish frustration and mischief, he left the school, went home (while his parents were away at work), obtained matches, and proceeded to a vacant wooden building or shed behind the Sawdust Corner saloon.
There, Bill started a small fire—likely out of boredom or play—that quickly spread due to the dry conditions, high winds typical of the high-desert environment, and the abundance of wooden structures packed closely together. The blaze erupted in the afternoon, with the camp fire bell soon ringing out an alarm across the town.
Resident accounts, such as one from Margaret Bennett in a surviving letter, describe the chaos: she had just hosted a birthday party for her daughter at the schoolhouse when the alarm sounded. She rushed to help salvage valuables (including moving important papers to a bank vault), loaded cars with belongings, and drove them to safety along Main Street as flames raged. Firefighting efforts were severely hampered; water pipes from the reservoir on Bodie Bluff were clogged with sediment, forcing residents to form bucket brigades from a nearby creek. Assistance arrived from about 40 men of the Bridgeport fire department, but the wind-driven fire spread rapidly.
Destruction and Immediate Aftermath
The fire consumed a massive portion of what remained of Bodie—estimates range from about 70 percent to as high as 95 percent of the standing buildings. It destroyed most of Main Street, including key commercial structures such as the bank, hotels, stores, and saloons. Only a small core of buildings survived, largely because the wind eventually shifted direction, sparing sections on the outskirts.
The loss was catastrophic for the already struggling community. With mining long in decline (and officially ending a decade later in 1942), the fire removed much of the remaining infrastructure and economic viability. Few residents stayed long-term afterward; many left, accelerating Bodie’s transition into a near-ghost town. Salvage efforts focused on saving personal belongings and whatever could be carried away, but the town never rebuilt significantly.
Long-Term Consequences and Legacy
The 1932 fire was the final major blow that defined Bodie’s appearance today. It left roughly 5–10 percent of the original structures standing—about 100 or so buildings, including the schoolhouse, Methodist church, firehouse, and various homes and businesses—frozen in a state of abandonment.
By the 1940s, Bodie was essentially deserted. In 1962, the California State Parks system acquired the site, designating it a State Historic Park and National Historic Landmark. It is preserved in a policy of “arrested decay,” meaning structures are stabilized but not restored, maintaining the authentic, weathered look left by the fire and decades of exposure. Today, Bodie attracts visitors as one of America’s best-preserved ghost towns, with the ruins serving as a poignant reminder of the boom-and-bust cycles of the American West.
The 1932 fire, sparked by a toddler’s innocent (if reckless) play, sealed the fate of a town already fading into history, ensuring that what visitors see now is a direct legacy of that June day.