In a bedroom tucked up as far as you can go against the mountain at the end of Arenas Road, Rose Gray Dougan lay dying. She could feel the cool shadows slide down Mount San Jacinto at night. From her perch she could look right into Tahquitz Canyon, lair of a Cahuilla spirit who masqueraded as a fireball. Far from her aristocratic beginnings, Rose was now close to the elemental. Exactly where she always wanted to be.
If you had a chance to look around her Palm Springs home, you might have seen clues to her life as an advocate of Native American arts, pioneering aviator and adventurer: A photo of Rose in the cockpit when she was a student of the Wright Brothers. Rose with her Russian noblewoman lover, Verra Von Blumenthal, and the adobe castle they built north of Santa Fe. Rose and another star-powered partner, Florilla White–one of the famous Palm Springs White sisters.
On her dresser you might notice the Cahuilla baskets on display. Rose and Florilla traversed the desert from Morongo to Anza, meeting Cahuilla Indian basket weavers and promoting their work. A self-described “rabid crank on the subject of liberty for the Indians”, Rose fought for fair pay and prestige for Native artisans both in Santa Fe and Palm Springs. In other accomplishments, she was the force behind the first animal shelter in Palm Springs as well as the earliest low-income housing.
If ever there is a Palm Springs LGBTQ Hall of Fame, Rose Dougan (1882-1960) will surely require her own wing. For now, though, I only know her name because of a passing comment by Cathedral City historian Denise Cross. “Flying Rose is about as marvelous as it gets,” said Denise, who bestowed the “Flying Rose” nickname. “She and Verra are women with a cause. They are great women of American history.”
Looking deeper, I found this great woman to be uncommonly elusive. She guarded her privacy to protect her wealth. There are only a couple of photographs of her in existence. She once said she preferred to be “altogether unnoticed—and so altogether at peace.” I might have given up on Rose altogether but then I read an essay by New York historian Brigitte Dale arguing that stories of women of color and LGBTQ women often are lost for just this reason: scant evidence. (Dale was discussing the Apple TV show Dickinson, specifically.) “Embrace historical fuzziness,” Dale urged. “Put these stories front and center.” Armed with the permission to speculate, I forged on.