Editor’s note: This is the first installment of a two-part series on the Temple of the People in Haylcon.
Cool tranquility washes over anyone who enters the Temple of the People.
Cradled between Oceano and Arroyo Grande in the town of Halcyon—a Greek word meaning calm—the white building detailed with sky blue and lined with pillars cuts a triangular figure amid agricultural fields and scattered businesses.
On May 7, it provides respite from the sun that’s already shining steadily at 10:30 a.m.
Inside, three rows of dark wooden chairs with deep blue seats face each other. A giant hand-built harp rests in one corner, a piano in another. The room’s apex holds an altar with a second altar at the triangle’s center, the heartbeat of the temple every Sunday morning.
Six elders in white and yellow robes tend to a table bearing two candlesticks, and a metal platter holds vials of liquid. One of them carries an incense burner similar to the swinging Catholic thurible. This is the Feast of Fulfillment, a communion service on the first Sunday of every month. The service was closed to the public until the early 1970s.
Slowly, temple members trickle into the building, and the congregation swells to a modest 14.
Within the hour, one of the temple acolytes offers a platter of glass communion cups to each attendee. The liquid within is colorless.
“The Catholics get wine, we get water,” Halcyon resident Karen White whispers while she waits her turn.
It’s blessed, holy water administered under the leadership of Guardian-in-Chief Rick London. The century-old tradition flourishes under the watchful eyes of spiritual masters and past temple leaders commemorated in black-and-white portraits along the walls of a space that nonmembers gained access to in the 1970s.
The Temple of the People sprung up as an offshoot of the Theosophical Society in America when some of its followers moved from Syracuse, New York, to San Luis Obispo County in 1903. Most local members currently live in the homes scattered across Halcyon, upholding the town’s original setup as an intentional theosophical settlement in the early 20th century.
Despite its long-standing existence, the Temple of the People is still shrouded in mystery. While the temple has 300 followers across the world—many of whom tune in through Zoom to attend the services—only 35 members live in SLO County, plus well-wishers like White who are active through its events.
Temple members aren’t shy, though they refrain from proselytizing. Fear of the unknown, according to them, fills the gaps for local outsiders with misconceptions of the temple as being a hotbed for witchcraft and eerie practices.
But members are adamant about consciously following the Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
They’re willing to shed light on their community and have but one condition if others want to know more: Just ask with an open mind.
London’s calling
London is the temple’s sixth guardian-in-chief, following a series of leaders who alternated between women and men, with the first being Francia LaDue, who also went by the name of Blue Star.
The excitement in London’s voice was palpable this summer. He was poised to head the annual Temple Convention on Aug. 5 for the first time as guardian-in-chief, which also coincided with the 100-year anniversary of the then-roofless building being consecrated.
It was constructed with the help of notable Los Angeles architect Theodore Eisen after LaDue’s death in 1922 with money she left behind and funds raised by Halcyon residents. It’s called the Blue Star Memorial Temple in honor of LaDue.
“The temple was finally finished in October of 1924, and there was less than a dollar left over of the $6,000 that was raised,” present Guardian-in-Chief London told the Sun on July 13. “It would be a miracle now if we could paint it for $6,000!”
London assumed the lead role from fifth Guardian-in-Chief Eleanor Shumway, who retired due to ill health, last December after he stepped down as CEO of United Way of San Luis Obispo County.
London and his family moved to Nipomo from New York in 1993. His son’s interest in the Halcyon Store introduced him to the community through a handful of temple pamphlets. In the summer of 1995—on the 23rd anniversary of his brother’s death—London attended his first service at the temple. Participating in the short Noon Healing Service had a profound impact on him.
“Over the years I’ve held onto a practice of finding a special way of annually remembering my brother’s life,” he wrote in his July temple talk “Recalibrating Compassionately.” “Seems like those first 20 minutes I spent in the Temple of the People had a significant impact on the recalibration of my life.”
London became a regular, gleaning from other members and Shumway. He witnessed highs like bonding with his then preteen son through Temple Builders gatherings—a kids-focused group that’s like Sunday school. Raised Jewish and married to a Catholic at the time, London said watching his son give a temple talk when he turned 14 made him feel like he was witnessing his son’s bar mitzvah or a confirmation.
“We celebrated Hannamas: Christmas and Hanukkah,” London recalled. “My son would say he’s a Cashew! He’s become Catholic in his adulthood, and I’m grateful he has a spiritual connection to the world.”
But London also witnessed lows. An enigma to most county residents outside of Halcyon, the temple and its members have raised suspicions.
Roughly 15 years ago, London was by Shumway’s side when a rogue rock flew through one of the sacred geometric windows, shattering it. Someone had hurled it at the temple before running away.
“We made a police report, as we always reported vandalism,” London said. “Within a week, Eleanor got a request from Arroyo Grande High School.”
The school was helping a handful of students with troublesome streaks assimilate better socially. When asked to name 10 things that scared them, the nearby temple was a frequent answer.
“The school asked Eleanor if she could show them the temple. The students thought we were doing witchcraft in the basement,” he said.
Shumway accommodated the request. After a tour of the temple basement strewn with decidedly less threatening paraphernalia like heaters, wheelchairs, and portable potties, she explained basic concepts of theosophy and temple teachings to the students.
“Every time I tell this story, I have a sense of wanting to cry,” London said. “One of the boys got up and apologized for throwing the rock.”
Practitioners of theosophy followed the spiritual thinking of Russian mystic Helena Blavatsky. She combined elements of Plato’s philosophy with Christian, Hindu, and Buddhist thought, namely that the purpose of human life is spiritual emancipation, and that through karma, the human soul undergoes reincarnation upon bodily death. Unfettered by any strict codes of ethics, theosophy values universal brotherhood and social improvement.
In 1898, Theosophical Society members LaDue and William Dower continued Blavatsky’s teachings by forming the Temple of the People as a spiritual practice. Dower, a doctor, established his medical practice in a three-story Victorian home they purchased in 1903 and named it the Halcyon Hotel and Sanatorium.
Confusion over the name is also common. London told the Sun that some residents near Halcyon were convinced that the Temple of the People was the same as the Peoples Temple cult led by American preacher Jim Jones between the 1950s and the 1970s. The latter gained international notoriety for orchestrating a mass murder-suicide of 918 people in a remote jungle commune in Jonestown, Guyana.
“People were thinking we were affiliated with them,” London said. “We are so vulnerable to be influenced. We are experts at taking things personally and making assumptions.”
Like temple leaders before him, London has a second name as guardian-in-chief: Yellow Star. The color has deep roots with his family history. London’s mother was a Holocaust survivor, and his father a second-generation Lithuanian Jew. Both sides of his family fled anti-Semitic persecution before finally making their way to the U.S.
“All of the Jews at the time had to wear a yellow Star of David. Yellow is a very sacred color in my mind, and it was made to look bad,” he said. “Yellow is a very interesting color, too, because it’s got a negative connotation to the point where cowards are yellow.”
But yellow is dual-natured for London. It’s positive too. He added that the ancient wisdom of theosophy holds colors in high esteem and sees all religion as an outgrowth of theosophical principles.
“I’m not trying to say theosophy is the only way to look at things, but we believe there are more similarities among them all than differences,” London said of religions.
Essentially, London wishes for the world to be more spiritual, and yellow represents a tethering to the inner peace he found in theosophy.
“Jesus talked about all you need is enough faith the size of a mustard seed, and mustard is yellow,” he said.
Reach Staff Writer Bulbul Rajagopal from the Sun’s sister paper, New Times, at brajagopal@newtimesslo.com. Look for the second installment in the series in the Sept. 14 issue of the Sun.
This article appears in Sep 7-17, 2023.