The Ghost of San Pablo: Tempe’s Lost Neighborhood

How a vibrant barrio was erased from the map — and why its memory still lingers in the shadow of Tempe Butte.

Sometimes, when we talk about ghosts, we mean the communities paved over, not the souls that linger. In the shadow of Tempe Butte, east of the Salt River, there once stood a neighborhood called San Pablo. Not on modern maps. Not in the shiny brochures for Arizona State University. But for nearly 80 years, a community thrived here.

San Pablo was more than just a cluster of adobe homes — it was a place where Mexican-American families, Native residents from the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community, and migrant workers built their lives side by side. Neighbors knew one another, shared traditions, and worked together to shape the early fabric of Tempe.

The Beginning

The land that became San Pablo was donated in 1872 by William Kirkland, with one condition: proceeds from its sale would fund Tempe’s first public building — Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church, completed in 1873. Families moved in, many working the nearby farms, digging irrigation canals, or running small shops and a saloon.

Locals called it by many names: East Tempe, Chihuahua, Sonora Town. But to the people who lived here, it was simply home.

The Silence

And then, piece by piece, the life of the neighborhood was cut short. The expansion of Arizona State University and city redevelopment projects replaced San Pablo’s homes and streets with dormitories, athletic facilities, and parking lots, slowly erasing it from the map.

Many displaced families relocated to Victory Acres — a working-class neighborhood just southeast of Tempe that became a haven for Mexican-American families pushed out by redevelopment. While Victory Acres provided new housing, it could never fully replace the closeness and shared history of San Pablo.

Today, most people walking through the area would never guess a community once thrived here. But San Pablo’s ghost endures—in the stories passed down, the photos tucked in family albums, and the few buildings that somehow survived the wrecking ball.

Why We Remember

San Pablo’s story is more than a footnote in Tempe’s history — it’s a reminder that communities can vanish without leaving a trace on the map, yet still live on in memory. By telling its story, we honor the people who built it, the traditions they carried, and the lives shaped in its dusty streets.

History like this doesn’t haunt because of ghosts — it haunts because it was taken. And every time we speak its name, we bring it back, if only for a moment.

Want to hear more of Tempe’s forgotten stories? Join us on The Millz Have Eyez tour, where we uncover the city’s hidden history, true crime, and lingering legends — from the shadow of the Butte to the ghosts that still whisper in the night.