Margaret and Adrian: Carlos Castaneda’s Real Family

MY STRANGE DAY actually began in the middle of the night around 3 a.m. when I was awakened by the sound of breaking glass.

I lived in the Arizona desert at the time in an unincorporated urban interface community near Cave Creek called Tonto Hills. Normally it was very quiet out in the desert – there was virtually no traffic and the distance between homes was considerable. It was the kind of place where sound travels. So breaking glass at three in the morning had the impact of an explosion.

My first thought was that a deer had jumped through a downstairs window or the plate glass window of my nearest neighbor. I turned on a light and groggily started downstairs, first stopping at the bedroom nightstand to retrieve my Ruger Semi Auto 9mm – just in case.

A thorough search inside my house turned up nothing unusual. I stepped outside thinking I would see a light turned on if one of my neighbors had a problem. But all the other homes were dark.

I stood still and listened. It was a windless, perfectly quiet desert night disturbed only by the mating chirp of crickets and the occasional screech of a night hawk. The moonless sky was silver, loaded with some of the 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 stars that astronomers tell us make up one hundred billion galaxies. I was always awe-struck by the sky. Still am. Never understood why more people didn’t feel the same.

I went back to bed but had trouble sleeping, recounting the – not just breaking of glass – but pulverizing of glass.

I knew I wasn’t dreaming. But then, what was it?

Connecting to Carlos Castaneda’s Ex

A year had passed since interviewing literary sorcerer Carlos Castaneda at an inconspicuous Cuban restaurant in Los Angeles (see my blog Luminous Beings – My Lunch with Carlos Castaneda and Kylie). Time had also passed since my employer, the Arizona Republic, published a small article I had written on the death of Castaneda.

Shortly after the Castaneda obit ran I received a call from a woman in nearby Tempe who had read my Castaneda articles. Among other things, she said:

“I suppose you talked with Margaret?”

I told her I didn’t know who she was referring to.

“Why, Margaret Castaneda. She was married to Carlos Castaneda.”

The caller went on to say that Margaret Castaneda and her son C.J. Castaneda had lived for a while in her Tempe neighborhood near Marcos de Niza High School.

“You should talk to her,” the woman said. “You would find her very interesting.”

This of course was news to me that Castaneda had both a wife and a son – then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised since a major tenet of the Sorcerer’s Way was erasing personal history, which apparently is what Castaneda had done.

I located Margaret and C.J. (who was then known as Adrian Vashon). They were living in Atlanta, and that’s where I initially interviewed Margaret (over the phone) – despite her son’s displeasure with his mom talking to a journalist.

Shortly after my story on Margaret ran in the Arizona Republic, she and Adrian returned to the Phoenix area and lived in an upscale community near the Arrowhead Towne Center shopping mall in Peoria.

Margaret and I became friends, and over the next few years we often met for lunch with me driving my silver 350Z sports car over to her house in Peoria to pick her up.

“I know when you’re in the neighborhood,” Margaret said. “I can hear you coming.”

She was in her early 80s (10 years older than her famous ex-husband). Despite her age, Margaret’s mind was still sharp. And even though she had lived many years in Los Angeles and then Arizona, she still had the demure, southern accent of Charleston, West Virginia, where she grew up on a dairy farm, the eldest of six children with jet black hair and amazing gold-flecked blue eyes that became obscured by thick glasses, which she claims was the result of being a “sickly little bookworm.”

Margaret Runyan Castaneda met Carlos in 1955 – 13 years before the publication of Castaneda’s first book “The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge.” She met Castaneda when her dressmaker’s daughter delivered some garments to her apartment. The daughter brought a friend she introduced as “Carlos from South America.”

At this time in her life, Margaret had done considerably more living than Carlos, and, she was better educated. Castaneda was still uncertain of his future. He had talked about being everything from an artist to professional gambler. In reality, he was working odd jobs: cab driver, grocery stock clerk, a liquor delivery man … Whereas Margaret, a cousin of writer Damon Runyon, had already been married twice, first to a poet and then a real estate tycoon with questionable connections. She had also been engaged several time to unusual men, including pulp novelist Louis L’Amour.

Men were physically attracted to Margaret. Despite her thick glasses, she was tall and lithe with large breasts.

Castaneda was attracted to her mind and energy. He called her Margarita or Mayaya.

Margaret was very interested in New Age topics such as astrology, numerology and parapsychology. But she was also well versed in philosophy, religion and literature. She was especially adept at Buddhism. Her favorite authors were Aldous Huxley and Herman Hesse.

Margaret told me that while she didn’t find Castaneda attractive, she was immediately drawn to his thoughts and his charisma. After five years of dating, they were married in 1960. A year later, Margaret had a son, C.J., although Carlos was not the biological father. According to Margaret, Carlos could not have children, but he wanted her to have a child. So he arranged for a Mormon businessman friend of his named Adrian Gerritsen to impregnate her.

As with every chapter of Castaneda’s life, the events leading up to the birth of Carlton Jeremy (C.J.) Castaneda were – odd.

Unbeknownst to Margaret, Carlos cajoled Adrian Gerritsen to become Margaret’s lover, which he did quite easily since Margaret was smitten by the handsome and well-built Gerritsen. She became pregnant and subsequently divorced Carlos in Mexico.

But Gerritsen – who was married – disappeared and Carlos re-entered the picture as C.J.’s legal father, putting his own name as father on C.J.’s birth certificate.

The way Margaret told it, Carlos was a doting father, and he couldn’t have been happier to have Margaret’s tow-head son in his life. He also told here that the quickie divorce in Mexico had been a charade and that he wanted to adopt C.J. – which he did.

Carlos called C.J. Cho-cho. C.J. called Carlos Kiki. They were inseparable. Carlos took C.J. to the movies, the beach, the mountains, even to his classes at UCLA. Carlos frequently carried the little blond boy on his shoulder and walked him hand in hand to school. Castaneda even mentions C.J. in “Tales of Power” as the little boy with the blond head.

The attachment went on for many years until Margaret announced she was leaving Los Angeles for the Phoenix area where she had better job opportunities.

Carlos was not happy, but he paid child support and continued visiting Margaret and her son, often treating them to dinner at his favorite Phoenix restaurant, John’s Green Gables at 24^th Street and Thomas. Margaret said it wasn’t the food so much that he liked as the waitresses who dressed in high heels and wench costumes.

Finally, in the mid-70s, Carlos and Margaret got a real divorce. Castaneda attended C.J.’s graduation from Marcos Di Niza High School in Tempe – then disappeared from their lives.

According to Margaret, C.J. was heartbroken that Castaneda stayed in L.A. and basically cut off all ties with her and C.J. despite her son’s repeated attempts to communicate with his Kiki.

The last time Margaret saw Carlos was in 1993 when Castaneda was giving a talk in Santa Monica to promote his “The Art of Dreaming” book. She said she cried when she saw him. His hair had turned white and he was frail. But he was still the same charismatic Carlos as he put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.

“He then stood back and looked at me in a curious way,” Margaret said.

She asked him to sign his new book for her. He said he couldn’t because his hand was too tired. With that he blew her a kiss and drove away.

Breaking Glass: An Otherworldly Explanation

A couple of years before I met Margaret, she had published a book of her own, “A Magical Journey with Carlos Castaneda,” memoirs that Castaneda’s Cleargreen company tried to prevent being published, according to Margaret.

In her book, as well as during our private conversations, Margaret was often conflicted about Castaneda.

According to Margaret’s memoir, Carlos had been deceptive since the beginning of their relationship, telling her, for instance, that he was born in Brazil, the son of a professor. Legal documents would later show that he was born in Peru and was the son of a goldsmith. Basically, he left a trail of murkiness as to his true identity.

“Much of the Castaneda mystique is based on the fact that even his closest friends weren’t sure who he was,” Margaret said.

Like many others, she did not believe there was a real Don Juan Matus. She believed Don Juan was anyone with whom he had a conversation, like the Dialogues of Plato.

“Carlos’ books,” she said, “are the result of him having conversations with himself.”

That reminded me of my lunch with Castaneda when he kept moving in and out of personalities during our interview. Was one of those personalities Don Juan?

Margaret also believed that much of what appeared in Castaneda’s books were based on conversations and the like that happened in their relationship. She showed me a photo that they took into a mirror showing a body with a flash of light for a head. Margaret felt this photo inspired the cover for “A Separate Reality” where a man with a luminous head is ascending into the sky.

She also believed, despite Carlos’s numerous trips to the desert, that he came up with the name of his teacher Don Juan Matus because of his enjoyment of Mateus wine.

Yet, despite the evidence of a more pragmatic basis to Castaneda’s books and his inability to tell the truth in his personal life, Margaret still believed there was indeed a non-ordinary, mystic quality to her ex-husband.

Castaneda had died a year earlier. I asked her if she still felt his presence.

“Yes, I do,” she said.

“How do you know he’s around?”

“I hear glass breaking when there is no glass breaking.”

For a moment I think I stopped breathing. The incident where I heard the shattering of glass in the desert had occurred only a couple of weeks earlier.

Margaret asked me if I was OK.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” she said, playfully.

I told her about the pulverizing of glass in the middle of the night at my house. She was fascinated and wanted details.

After I told her everything about it, she shook her head, then looked at me through those Coke bottle glasses. For a moment she said nothing, then:

“Sounds like our Carlos. He’s tracking you.”

She was very serious.

In the course of our friendship, Margaret often revealed other details about Castaneda and their life together. She said when he was younger, Castaneda especially enjoyed photography. One day while I was visiting, she went into her room and returned with a photo that Castaneda had taken. It was a black and white blow up of a southwestern adobe style house.

As soon as I saw the photo, a flood of images ran through me – all the oddities from the non-ordinary ravens and voices whispering in the wind (see When Ravens Come Calling ) to the sound of breaking glass.

Castaneda’s adobe house photo taken in his youth looked exactly like the one I had designed and built in the Upper Sonoran Desert some 60 years later.

I told Margaret as much. She gave it some thought, then angled her head in a peculiar way, and said:

“I don’t really know what’s going on here, Thomas. But there’s definitely some sort of paranormal connection with you and Carlos.”

Occasionally Margaret revealed very personal details. I have not talked or written about them all these years out of respect to Margaret and Adrian. However, given the mass dissing of Castaneda over the past couple of decades, I feel that at least one detail needs to be discussed.

Much has been written about Castaneda’s propensity for women. Amy Wallace’s book “Sorcerer’s Apprentice: My Life with Carlos Castaneda” was particularly damaging. Wallace, daughter of novelist Irving Wallace, wrote that Castaneda controlled his young female followers through sexual excess claiming he had a magical penis.

Margaret said that would have been impossible because Carlos had a severely truncated penis, the result of an injury he sustained in a war – or so he told her. It doesn’t appear Castaneda was ever in a war.

“We never had sexual intercourse,” Margaret said.

She believed they were kindred spirits whose time together helped turn Carlos into a countercultural phenomenon.

Castaneda himself claimed he practiced celibacy.

I also suspect a fair amount of criticism arose from professional jealousy, especially among social scientists who were somewhat stunned that such an odd creature as Castaneda could compose such inciteful, beautiful writing – call it the Amadeus effect.

Bottom line, there are many things about Castaneda we can never be sure about it. He seemed to enjoy tossing out incongruous information, especially regarding his personal history, which made it all the murkier.

Margaret on the other hand was pretty much an open book. She used to call me at the newspaper, sometimes several times a day. She was often frustrated. She did not feel her book on Carlos received the attention it deserved. She also wanted to publish another book, or maybe a screenplay. She wanted me to help her write these projects.  

Adrian seldom spoke – at least not to me. Blue-eyed with a dirty blond pompadour, he still had a body builder’s physique and the stunning good looks of a matinee idol. When I met him he had long since dropped his birth name of C.J. Castaneda for his biological father’s name of Adrian.

Adrian was very protective of Margaret, and, I’m guessing deeply resentful of Castaneda for abandoning he and his mother. Talking about Castaneda probably didn’t help. Castaneda discussions may have lowered his defense shields just enough to allow the predatorial nature of Castaneda’s universe to penetrate Adrian’s luminous egg with its waves of sadness.

Adrian was a hard worker, an entrepreneur with a genius I.Q. who may have pushed himself so hard in business in order to fill the void left by the strange little man who called him son for the first 18 years of his existence.

At various times Adrian worked as a real estate appraiser, inventor, and owner of a chain of drive-up coffee kiosks. His mother said he was also a pilot. His 2020 LinkedIn profile says he is an independent BEMER distributor and CEO/Founder at Genius Fundraising Solutions.

Despite pursuing a career in business, Adrian was not immune to Castaneda’s non-ordinary world. In a rare interview, Adrian told a writer that he had an unexpected visitor one night in 1998. During the night he became aware of a buzzing sound coming from his alarm clock. When he opened his eyes his adopted father, Carlos, was sitting in a chair in the corner of the bedroom glowing a spectral shade of blue.

Castaneda looked young again and happy the way he used to look just before lifting C.J. over his head and onto his shoulders.

Carlos smiled and winked. Then he was gone.

Castaneda’s spirit had visited Adrian the night he died.

He also showed his affection another way when Adrian received a notice from the probate court in Los Angeles that he was mentioned in Castaneda’s will. At the time, it was estimated that Castaneda’s estate was worth in excess of $20 million.

Adrian flew to L.A. only to discover that Castaneda’s will had been changed a few days before he died and that his entire estate and future rights to his work were bequeathed to an organization called The Eagle’s Trust, which consisted of Castaneda’s employees, including those who served as the officers of his company Cleargreen.

Adrian and Margaret were both outraged. Margaret claimed the partially obscured signature on the will was not her ex-husband’s. Adrian had information indicating that given the nature of Castaneda’s disease, he would have been brain-dead making it impossible to sign a new will.

The death certificate was also largely inaccurate, claiming that Castaneda had never been married and that he worked as a teacher for the Beverly Hills School District.

Castaneda’s attorney Debra Drooze insisted that Castaneda had indeed signed the new will and that she, a second attorney and a notary witnessed the signing.

Adrian challenged the validity of the will in probate court, but after nine months of legal wrangling, he withdrew the petition. He did, however, go on the record regarding those who benefited from the monetary value of the will.

“Those people latched onto him, stuck their claws in him and rode him for all he was worth,” Adrian said, referring to Cleargreen as a cultlike group that came to control Castaneda’s life.

Drooze denied there was any cult.

Carlos and Margaret – Together Again?

On Dec. 24, Christmas Eve 2011, Margaret Runyan Castaneda died of a heart attack at the age of 90. She died just shortly before what would have been Carlos Castaneda’s birthday on Christmas Day.

While it’s impossible to know what was rattling around in Carlos Castaneda’s head, especially during his final years with Tensegrity, one thing is for certain: Margaret never stopped loving Carlos.

In the article we ran about her in the Arizona Republic, staff artist Michael Novack depicted Margaret and Carlos in a wedding scene, joyously arm in arm, two luminous beings floating to the marriage altar.

Margaret loved that drawing. Teary-eyed, she said that’s how she wanted to remember Carlos. And:

“There will never be another like him.”

I believe the same could be said of Margaret.