Arizona Highways, October 1986

              OCTOBER 1986 VOL . 62, NO. 10
ARIZON~
HIGHWAYS
THE GREATEST SURPRISE for many people traveling
through Arizona for the first time is the variety of our
state's physical geography. The desert expanses, both
the saguaro-accented lowlands and the distinctively sculp­tured
profiles of the high desert, seem to be well known
worldwide. But most strangers are quite unprepared for
the beauty and extent of our forested highlands.
Yet Arizona's mountains and all that goes with them -
cool summer breezes, trout fishing, a timber industry,
spectacu lar autumn color, winter sports - are major com­ponents
in the amazing mosaic of this much -blessed land.
Now comes October, time again to demonstrate to our
readers that we Southwesterners, too, know the pleasure
of watching the foliage of deciduous trees change from
soft summer green to golden yell ow, bright red, flaming
orange, and rich brown. Two features this month salute
this magical transformation. From the submissions of
many contributors, Peter Ensenberger has assembled a
spec ial portfolio he ca lls ''The Season of the Photogra ­pher.
" And Joseph E. Brown guides us along the ever ­seductive
Coronado Trail at this special time o f year.
The rest of the magazine underlines the contrasts that
typify our state. Vistas of the San Bernardino Ranch hint at
the scale of the southeastern Arizona grasslands; a visit to
Lake Mead reminds us of the rocky slopes and rugged
canyons of the high desert.
Always appreciative of important milestones, we
acknowledge anniversaries of two institutions that have
contributed in important and quite different ways to the
quality of life of our people: the Charl es Cook Theological
School and the Lake Mead National Recreation Area.
Then, just for fun , we browse through a most unusual
bookstore ; brag about the nation's finest public shooting
range ; listen to a transplanted Kentuc kian tell how she is
adapting to this new and very different environment . And
Bob Farrell brings us his usual intriguing mix o f informa ­tion
and entertainment in Arizoniques.
There's something for everyone in the wonderland that
is Arizona. We hope this issue of Arizona Highways makes
that point . - Merrill Windsor
(FRONT COVER) Indian summer comes to th e Navajo
Indian Reservation, turning the cottonwood trees from
green to gold below White House Ruins at Canyon de
Chelly National Monument. TOM ALGIRE
( INSIDE FRONT COVER) As autumn takes hold of Arizona's
White Mountains, th e high country's forest floor
gradually becomes obscured by a multicolored carpet of
fallen leaves. G ILL KENNY
Arizona Highwayse (SSN 0004-1521) is published monthly by the Arizona Department of Trans­portation.
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San Bernardino Ranch. Autumn in Arizona.
Lake Mead remembered Range at Black C a11110 11 . c 0 N T E N T s
SAN BERNARDINO RANCH . .......... ..... ..... 2
SINGING WIND RANCH BOOKSTORE . . . . . . . . . . 12
AUTUMN ON THE CORONADO TRAIL. . . . . . . . . . 14
THE SEASON OF THE PHOTOGRAPHER ....... . 20
ARIZONA'S UNIQUE THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL . . . 28
A KENTUCKIAN LOOKS AT ARIZONA ...... .... 30
LAKE MEAD NATIONAL RECREATION AREA .... 34
BLACK CANYON SHOOTING RANGE ... ..... ... 38
DEPARTMENTS
ARIZONIQUES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
BOOKSHELF . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
LE1TIRS ............. ..... ................... 48
Second class postage paid at Phoenix, Arizona. Postmaster: Send address changes to Arizona
Highways, 2039 West Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009. CCopyright 1986 by the Arizona Department
of Transportation . Reproduct ion iri whole or in part without permission is prohibited . The magazine is
not responsibile for unsolicited materials provided for editorial consideration.
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2/Arizona Highways
BY CATRIEN ROSS LAETZ
San ~ernanlino
S torm clouds lift to reveal the wide
sweep of the San Bernardino Valley. As far
as the eye can scan, mile upon mile of
rolling grasslands tumble and merge into
the distant purple of the surrounding
hills. Fresh after summer rains, dense can­opies
of mesquite mingle with desert
scrub in a spreading tangle of green. The
landscape seems endless.
But if the expanse of country enthralls,
the sense of history is equally panoramic.
From my vantage point on the Mesa de
la Avanzada, "Mesa of the Advance
Guard," I survey a vista that for thousands
of years has greeted a succession of way­farers.
Centuries before the first white
explorers discovered the land now called
Arizona, this fertile valley served as a
major corridor for migrating Indians. In
time, the grasses and streams attracted
wandering Athabaskan peoples, the
Apaches, who would prove so trouble­some
to Anglo-American pioneers. Next
to arrive were the Spanish, in an imperial
procession of conquistadores, missionar­ies,
soldiers, colonists.
Indeed, the list of those who are be­lieved
to have traveled through the San
Bernardino Valley reads like a who's who
of Arizona history, so inextricably linked
is this land with the state's early explora­tion
and settlement.
Did Cabeza de Vaca and his three com­panions
traverse the San Bernardino in
1536? Some historians think so. And how
about Coronado in his 1540-41 expe­dition
to the "Seven Cities of Cibola"?
That, too, was probable.
Father Eusebio Kino, that tireless Jesuit
missionary, is said to have reached the val­ley
in 1694 during one of his expeditions
throughout New Spain. Certainly Captain
Juan Bautista de Anza, who founded San
Francisco, headquartered here in 1773.
The valley's strategic position prompted
the Marques de Rubi, Spain's representa­tive,
to advise construction of the San Ber­nardino
garrison in 1775 that operated as
a presidia until 1780. In 1846 the famous
Mormon Battalion passed through. And
1849 brought a continuous flood of pio­neers
and prospectors who traveled the
anch
In 1884john Slaughter(ABOVE), former
Texas Ranger and soon-to-be sheriff of
Cochise County, bought the vast verdant
valley in southeastern Arizona known as
the San Bernardino Ranch.
ARIZONA HISTORICAL SOCIElY
Over the next thirty years, he developed
the fertile grassland into the
quintessential southwestern cattle ranch.
Today, thanks to preservation efforts, the
Slaughter Ranch compound (LEFT, AND
FOLLOWING PANEL) has been returned to
its turn-of-the-century grandeur.
JACK OYKINGA/CATRIEN ROSS LAEIZ
southern route in search of the goldfields
and promise of California.
And then came Texas John Slaughter.
Of all the historic personages asso­ciated
with this southeastern region of
Arizona, it is John Horton Slaughter
whose name remains synonymous with
the San Bernardino. Confederate soldier,
Texas Ranger, cattleman, Slaughter was a
man of his times who embodied the fron­tier
spirit that helped settle the West.
Born in Louisiana in 1841, Slaughter
was three months old when his family
moved to Texas. During a lifetime that
bridged both the pioneer and modern
eras of the growing Southwest, Slaughter
garnered a reputation as a fearless gun­slinger
able to hold his own against any
man. He also was remembered as a mas­ter
tracker of anyone he judged a criminal.
Not a large man, Slaughter made up
with skill and caution what he lacked in
physical size. He stood about five feet six
inches tall, but his accuracy with the
double-barreled shotgun and six-gun in ­creased
his stature considerably. What's
more, those eyes his wife Viola described
as brown and "bright, with much laughter
in them," could fix a man with a steely
glint that brooked no argument. "Hit the
road," was Slaughter's typical response to
outlaws and other shady characters. As
sheriff of Cochise County, he upheld
order with the threat, "get out of Cochise
County or get killed." Most of the outlaws,
who knew Slaughter as a man of his word,
wisely chose to get out.
When Slaughter first moved to Arizona,
it was under somewhat dubious circum­stances.
In New Mexico, he was accused
of murder, although he maintained he
killed the man in self-defense, and for a
time he headed a list of undesirables
whom the governor of New Mexico Terri­tory
itched to see arrested.
Whatever the circumstances, Slaugh­ter's
past deeds were soon exonerated. In
1886 Tombstone Democrats, seeking a
man of courage and tenacity, convinced
Slaughter to pursue election as sheriff.
Until then, Slaughter had enjoyed a rather
easygoing relationship with a number of
outlaws; but once elected, he readily ac­cepted
his new responsibilities as keeper
of the peace in a town where, five years
earlier, Wyatt Earp and his men won their
famous shoot-out near the O.K. Corral.
Indeed, in his two terms as sheriff- he
was reelected in 1888-Slaughter did a
remarkable job of ridding the 6200 square
miles of Cochise County of lawless ele­ments.
At one time, the Tombstone jail
was so filled with his prisoners it was
labeled "Hotel de Slaughter."
By the time his second term ended in
1891, Slaughter had become an Arizona
legend, a man of significant prestige who
Arizona Highways/3
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had secured his own niche in frontier
history. But enough was enough. Al­though
his party asked him to run for a
third term, Slaughter refused, moving his
family permanently back to the San Ber­nardino
Ranch he had purchased seven
years earlier. He was to live there for the
next thirty years.
Slaughter bought a ninety-nine-year
lease on the San Bernardino in 1884, later
relinquishing that lease for clear title to a
portion of an old Mexican land grant.
Prior to 1884, he had ranched in Sulphur
Springs Valley and on the San Pedro River,
but now he sought a larger spread. What
he found at San Bernardino was a ranch­er's
dream. The broad oval valley, watered
by perennial springs, nurtured the growth
of tender grama grass that reached as high
as a man's shoulders.
The 65,000 acres purchased by Slaugh­ter,
spanning the international border,
were part of an original land grant autho­rized
when New Spain became the Repub­lic
of Mexico. The grantee was Lieutenant
Ignacio Perez, a military son of a promi­nent
Sonoran family. In 1822 Perez paid
ninety pesos plus fees for close to 100,000
acres, most of which lay in what is still
northeast Sonora, Mexico, and the rest in
what would become Cochise County,
Arizona. The grant encompassed the en­tire
width of the San Bernardino Valley,
from the Perilla and Pedregosa mountains
in the west to the Peloncillo and Guada-
A remarkable collection of photographs
and other memorabilia from Arizona's
territorial days documents the lives and
times of Viola and john Slaughter and
the San Bernardino Ranch. (LEIT TO
RIGHT) A shotgun similar to the one
Slaughter used (his shotgun, revolver,
handcuffs, and other belongings were
donated to the Arizona Historical
Society). The Slaughters' foster
daughter, Apache May, posing among
harvested pumpkins. Viola and john
Slaughter, circa 1893. Cool shade
abounds on the ample porch
surrounding the San Bernardino's
archetypal territorial ranch house.
lupe ranges in the east. North to south,
the grant ran from the watershed of the
San Simon Valley all the way to Pitaicachi
Peak in Mexico's Sierra Madre.
Perez did not enjoy his prize very long,
however. By the 1830s, Apache depreda­tions
forced him to desert his land and
hacienda.
After the U.S. war with Mexico ( 1846-
48), the Gadsden Purchase of 1853 left
more than two-thirds of the land grant in
Mexico. With California and the South­west
opened to Anglos and a silver strike
in Tombstone, a stream of travelers began
to arrive in southeastern Arizona and the
influx continued throughout the decade
of the 1880s.
When Slaughter br~mght his young wife
to her new home, the land grant had been
abandoned for some fifty years. The
former ranch and presidia, just south of
the then unfenced international border,
lay in ruins.
Because he had business in Tomb­stone,
sixty-five miles away, Slaughter
could not move to the ranch immediately,
but his wife's parents, the Howells, did
live there. Their house, along with all
other buildings on the ranch, was com­pletely
destroyed in the great Sonoran earth­quake
of 1887.
Undeterred, Slaughter selected a low
rise at the foot of the Mesa de la Avanzada
as the site of his new ranch house. Con­struction
began in 1893 and resulted in
the spacious adobe structure that still
stands today. In fact, thanks to a painstak­ing
preservation effort, the entire Slaugh­ter
Ranch compound has been restored to
its turn-of-the-century distinction.
Once again enclosed by a white picket
fence, the house commands a broad view
of the valley. It is a view that never ceased
to please Slaughter, who liked to sit on his
front porch and gaze out over his land far
into Mexico.
San ~ernardino
~anch
Arizona Highways/ 7
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San ~ernardino
ci@nch
(LEFT) Authenticity: the fruit of the restorers' labors. At
San Bernardino, workers scraped layer after layer of
paint from the walls to find each room's original
color, and interviewed old-timers to restore the
original floor plan.
Although ranching has always been hard work, there
was time for play on the San Bernardino. (CLOCKWISE,
FROM FAR RIGHI') john Slaughter enjoying one of his
favorite pastimes-being with children. A summer
picnic with residents of the ranch. The children cool­ing
off at one of several artesian wells that watered
the lush grasslands. joe Lee May, responsible for cook­ing
for as many as 500 ranch employees and guests.
Underwritten by the Johnson Historical
Museum of the Southwest, a private or­ganization
in Sun City dedicated to pres­ervation
of Old West history, the Slaughter
ranch house project is a testament to the
restorer's art.
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Begun in 1982 and completed in 1985,
the restoration was accomplished using
Slaughter family photographs (of which
there are a surprisingly large number),
archeological and historical surveys, and
the skillful direction of Gerald Doyle,
a Phoenix historical architect. How do
you tell, for example, what the original
interior wall colors were? For Doyle the
answer lay in scraping away layer after
layer of wallpaper and paint until he
reached the lime plaster. Only then could
he know that the color immediately cov­ering
the plaster was original. Similar
procedures were used in determining
floor restoration.
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Unfortunately, no interior photographs
were available, but the floor plan was
based on interviews with people familiar
with the house, as well as Doyle's exami­nation
of the structure and foundations.
For its time, the ranch house was of
an unusually gracious and open design.
Up to that point, Arizona's territorial
architecture had been mostly patterned
along Spanish-Mexican lines. But the
Slaughter Ranch introduced a decidedly
Anglo-American flavor that may have been
influenced by Slaughter's own southern
background.
The main house consisted of six rooms
on either side of a wide hallway, with a
pantry, kitchen, bathroom, and cowboy
dining room. The gathering area was a
large living-dining room with a built-in
china cabinet Slaughter ordered through a
Sears, Roebuck catalog. Sears also pro­vided
the window in the far right corner
of the room. Beneath the hipped roof
with its imported redwood shingles was a
porch extending the length of the south
side. The turned columns of the porch
today are exact replicas of those in use in
Slaughter's time.
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As my footsteps sound through the
silent house, I think of the people who
once called these rooms their own: John
and Viola Slaughter; Grandma Howell; the
family friend Edith Stowe; Bat, Slaughter's
black servant; the grandchildren, foster
children, and countless guests.
What kind of life did they experience,
and what conditions did they have to
conquer?
Despite the wealth of natural water,
those days at the San Bernardino must
often have been hard. After all, on a work­ing
ranch there are constantly chores to
be done and mouths to be fed. During
its heyday, as many as 500 people lived
and worked at the ranch, including about
200 Chinese vegetable farmers.
Yet we know there were playtimes, too.
The Slaughters loved picnics and would
frequently ride into the nearby foothills
for an evening's fun and a moonlight
serenade. And the large pond, installed
by Slaughter as an irrigation reservoir,
was a summer swimming pool for all the
ranch children.
pound contained several other interesting
buildings. Follow the cinder path to the
car shed. The gun-toting sheriff moved
into the twentieth century with ease. He is
known to have owned at least six cars,
including '.l 1912 Cadillac. The car shed
holds a fully restored 1915 Model T Ford.
Curiously, however, he never learned
to drive.
North of the car shed is a large granary.
Adjacent are the cook's room and com­missary.
Slaughter Ranch cooks were usu­ally
Chinese, the best known among them
the temperamental Joe Lee May, who
allowed no one in his kitchen save Viola
and her mother. The commissary stocked
necessary supplies for this self-contained
community.
On the west side of the compound are
two stone structures: the washhouse and
the icehouse. The washhouse was used to
iron clothes; the icehouse, to store 300-
pound blocks of ice hauled forty-five
miles from Bisbee by freight wagon. Out­standing
in the memories of ranch visitors
were the large bowls of ice cream Viola
would bring from the icehouse as a chil­dren's
treat when chores were done.
Arizona Highways/9
Life in the borderlands. (CLOCKWISE , FROM
RIGHI') The US. Army set up camp on the
San Bernardino in response to the
Mexican revolution-and to the delight
of the young ladies at the ranch. john
Slaughter aboard what is thought to be a
1907 Winton, at Bernardino Station on
the El Paso & Southwestern Railroad. A
ranch employee, Mrs. Gabilondo, with a
deer in the yard at Cajon Bonito, part of
the ranch holdings in Mexico.
Concerned about the education of the
ranch children, John and Viola operated a
school - Slaughter School District No.
28 - from 1902 to 1911. The building no
longer remains, but it probably st ood
ac ross the pond from the main ran c h
house, near a grove of cottonwood trees.
Ranch ruins today include the Howell
House, about 330 feet north of the inter ­national
boundary fence . Then there is
the Mormon House Ruin, located south ­east
of the main ranch buildings. Thought
to be the home of a Slaughter employee,
the adobe structure straddled the border
so that two wives could be legally
housed - one in the United States and
one in Mexico. Other points of interest
are the corrals, the cemetery, and what is
left of the U.S . military encampment esta ­blished
here in response to the Mexican
revolution . Located on top of Mesa de la
Avanzada , the Slaughter Ranch Outpost
was an auxiliary of Camp Harry]. Jones
during its twenty-three year existence,
1910 to 1933.
A closer look at Slaughter reveals a man
of intriguing versatiliry and scope. In his
lifetime, Slaughter witnessed the aboli­tion
of slavery, the opening up of Arizona ,
the end of Apache hostilities, and the
gradual taming of a territory.
Always at home in the saddle, Slaughter
was just as comfortable in the boardroom.
As one of the directors of the Interna­tional
I.and and Improvement Company,
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San~ernardino
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At its most prosperous, the Slaughter
Ranch bustled with people and produce.
Daily baking needs included thirty-four
loaves of bread, as well as biscuits, corn'
bread, rolls, pies, cakes, and cookies. The
garden included a vineyard and a straw­berry
patch, and there were orchards with
figs, apricots , and apples. Meat and milk
came from the ranch cattle, but butter
came in wooden tubs from town .
And there were always children at the
ranch. The Slaughters took in several
!l! orphans. One of Slaughter's favorites was
~ the Apache child known as Apache May,
~ or "Patchy," whom Slaughter brought
~ home one day after a reprisal raid against
a hostile camp. The girl lived with the
Slaughters until she died from burns
~ received in an accident when she was
t} about six years old.
Sl That the ranch household ran as 5 smoothly as it did is a testament to the
~ management skills of Slaughter's second
~ wife, Viola. Slaughter married his first
~ wife , Eliza Adeline Harris (called Addie) ,
2 in 1871; they had four children, of whom
'-"=-- --"""""'----.!.W ~ two died in childhood. In 1878 Addie
he was one of the founders of the smelter
town of Douglas in 1901. He deftly han ­dled
real estate and banking concerns.
From 1892 to 1920, he added to his San
Bernardino acreage, developing artesian
wells and cultivating some 500 acres of
farmland.
He reentered public service when in
1906 voters elected him as Cochise Coun­ty
representative to the 24th Territorial
Assembly in Phoenix.
The San Bernardino was probably the
first private home in this part of the Ari ­zona
Territory to have a telephone. In
1896 Slaughter acquired the Army Signal
Corps line that had been strung from
Tombstone to the ranch. When he left the
ranch in 1921, telephone service ended
and was not reestablished until 1983.
"You get a sense of a very remarkable
man," observes Harvey Finks, volunteer
treasurer of the Johnson Historical Mu ­seum
of the Southwest, who has logged
thousands of hours in the ranch restora­tion
project. "But he was never a careless
man. He lived during very difficult times
and knew what he had to do to stand up
for what was right. At the same time, he
always believed he would die peacefully
in his bed, with his boots off. "
The courage that marked Slaughter's
tenure as sheriff did not wane with age. As
the story goes, in the fall of 1915, Slaughter
saw Pancho Villa's army pillaging his
ranch below the border. Now seventy­four
years old, he saddled up to confront
the intruders . Pancho Villa should have
known better. When Slaughter returned,
he carried twenty-dollar gold pieces in his
saddlebags in payment for the damage.
died of smallpox. When Slaughter mar­ried
Viola in 1879, she was more than
happy to be mother to his two children.
She and Slaughter spent forty -three years
together.
With the murder of his longtime friend
Jess Fisher in an attempted robbery at the
ranch in 1921 , Slaughter decided to move
into Douglas. Less than a year later , on
February 16 , 1922, the eighty-one-year-old
Slaughter died as he had predicted: quiet­ly
in his sleep. Viola lived for another
nineteen years , until April 1, 1941.
Five years before she died, Viola Slaugh ­ter
sold the San Bernardino Ranch to a
family friend , Marion Williams. His family
held title until 1968, when the place was
bought by Paul and Helen Ramsower, the
last private owners. They, in turn, sold the
ranch to The Nature Conservancy in 1980.
The historic significance of the Slaugh ­ter
Ranch was recognized on August 7,
1964 , when a preserve of about 180 acres,
including the ranch buildings, was en­tered
on the National Register of Historic
Places as the San Bernardino Ranch Na ­tional
Historic landmark. In 1982 the
Johnson Historical Museum of the South ­west
and the U.S . Fish and Wildlife Service
agreed to purchase the Slaughter home­site.
Of this the Johnson Museum took
title to about 131 acres. Already it has
spent more than three -quarters of a mil­lion
dollars on the property- and the
restoration work goes on.
The rest of the acreage is now known as
the San Bernardino National Wildlife Re ­fuge
, operated by the U.S. Fish and Wild ­life
Service. This unspoiled area, so loved
by Slaughter, is a haven for mule deer,
javelina, and at least 216 species of birds.
Of particular interest are two species of
endangered fish , th e Yaqui topminnow
and the Yaqui chub , which refuge mana­ger
Ben Robertson is reestablishing in the
springs and ponds. In addition to the fish,
the large pond at the ran ch complex has
the distinction of claiming its own species
of snail, the San Bernardino snail.
Another exciting aspect of refuge man­agement
is the attempt to re-create the
cienegas, or marshes, that characterized
the area in Slaughter 's time. If the project
succeeds, the gra ssland , much drier and
less green today than it was a hundred
years ago , will gradually be returned to its
former lushness.
And so the Slaughter Ranch will remain
a symbol of pioneering history for genera ­tions
of Arizonans to enjoy and remember.
As I look over the grassy valley once
more, I recall words attributed to Viola
Slaughter during an interview at her Doug ­las
home in 1937:
"I shall never forget the first sight of the
ranch from Silver Creek - the valley
stretching out before us, down into Mex­ico,
rimmed and b o unded by mountains
all around. Nor shall I forget the thrill of
knowing that it was all ours, our future lay
within it. It was beautiful. I shall look
down over that valley several times be fore
I am 105 and recall all the happiness our
work, struggles, and play gave us at the
San Bernardino. "
Spoken by the wo man who stood along ­s
ide one of Arizona's most illustrious fig ­ures
, those words are a fitting tribute to an
era we will not expe rience again. An era
of exploration , expansion, and change; o f
outlaws ousted and cattlemen kings. An
era of th e man called Texas John Slaughter
and his ranch in th e lovely San Bernar­dino
Valle y. ~
Free-lan ce writer Catrie n Ross La etz, a native of
Scotland, teach es magazine writing at Arizona
State University. Her work has appeared i n th e New
Yo rk Daily New s and Sunday Wom an .
The author acknowledges with appreciation th e
extensive historical research of Dr. Reba B. Wells.
Thanks go also to Gerald A D oyle and Associates
and Archaeo logical Research Services, In c.
Selected Reading
The Southwest of john H Slaugh­ter,
1841-1922, by Erwin A Allen.
AH. Clark Co., Glendale,
California, 1965.
The Cochise Quarterly, Volume 15,
No. 4, Winter, 1985. Cochise
County Historical and Archeologi­cal
Society, Douglas, Arizona.
Arizona Ranch Houses, by Janet
Ann Stewart. Historical Monograph
Number 2, Arizona Historical
Society, Tucson, 1974.
Gateway to history-the entrance to john Slaughter's San Bernardino Ranch.
San Bernardino Ranch National Historic Landmark is sixteen miles due
east of Douglas, in Cochise County. From Douglas follow 15th Street
out of town - it becomes the Geronimo Trail. Stay on the Geronimo
Trail for a direct, easy drive to the ranch, which you will enter through a
white gate beneath a large Z representing John Slaughter's cattle brand.
Officially opened to the public in April, 1985, the San Bernardino Ranch
National Historic Landmark welcomes visitors every Saturday and Sunday, from
10 AM. to 4 P.M. It is open Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday by appointment only.
You are asked to leave a donation of two dollars per adult and fifty cents per
child under twelve years.
Visitors to the main ranch compound can also walk (driving is not allowed)
to Slaughter-related ruins nearby. These include the corrals, the cemetery, the
Howell House, and the Mormon House. For a broad view of the main house
and the valley, climb the wooden stairs up to the old military encampment just
northeast of the ranch, on the Mesa de la Avanzada . The perspective is well
worth the extra effort.
If you prefer a more sedentary approach, head for the ranch commissary to
watch up to six hours ofW..lt Disney's rendition of the life and times of Texas
John Slaughter. No additional donation is necessary.
As of now, the San Bernardino National Wildlife Refuge is closed to the
public because of inadequate visitor facilities. But there are plans to provide
a parking lot as well as nature and hiking trails. The deli­cate
ecology of the area dictates that no camping or motor
vehicles be allowed beyond the main ranch compound.
For an appointment at the ranch, call (602) 558 -2474.
Ask for Bob or Brooks Clark, the husband and wife care­takers.
For historical information about the ranch, call the
Johnson Historical Museum of the Southwest at (602) 933 -
4333 and ask for Harvey Finks . The address is P.O. Box
1897, Sun City, AZ 85372.
• Phoen ix
• Tucson
Douglas ••
Sa n Bern ardino Ranch
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Arizona Highway s/ JI
A working cattle ranch is not a typical
location for a literary event, but the Sing­ing
Wind Ranch of Winifred Bundy and
the late Robert Bundy is remarkably dif­ferent
from other cattle operations. Two
rooms of the ranch house also constitute
the Singing Wind Bookshop.
The shop is not necessarily a literary
salon - the Bundy cows and horses and
chickens are too omnipresent- yet book
autographing parties have been held there
for many Arizona writers, including
Lawrence Clark Powell, Sister Bourne,
C. L. Sonnichsen, Byrd Baylor, and the late
Don Schellie.
Singing Wind Ranch is three miles north
of Interstate Route lO's exit 304, which is
Ocotillo Road. Ocotillo changes to dirt
before it reaches the turnoff for the ranch,
and after the turnoff there is another half­mile
on a narrower dirt road to the cattle­guard
and entrance. It is clear that visitors
.. - - --~
to the Singing Wind Bookshop are not
motivated by a need for convenience.
"I have customers who come by horse;
kids walk out from Benson; sometimes a
tour group will arrive by bus, and I get
mail orders from all over the world," Mrs.
Bundy said.
She is an unusual cowpoke. She has a
degree in English and history and advanced
degrees in history and library science. A
small woman with striking blue eyes and
a complexion nearly the color of copper,
she is as comfortable discussing the ele­ments
of style of various authors as she is
employing a rope and branding iron.
Author Powell ( When Water Flows and
others), Mrs. Bundy's mentor at the Uni­versity
of Arizona School of Library Science,
encouraged her to open her bookstore
when she graduated in 1979. It was a
happy solution to a nagging problem: she
wanted to deal with books and writers,
Win Bundy of the Singing Wind
Bookshop: " ... kind of an extension
service for libraries . . . . "
, ·- - -- - -- - --....- ~-
i5 z
::::i
ro
0 w
f-but
she did not want to leave the ranch.
The bookstore, which started as two
metal shelves in an alcove between the
living room and kitchen, was launched
with "dog money." She explained:
"We were taking care of two big Ger­man
shepherds for some people who had
gone to England .... They were monstrous
animals. The people were gone for more
than six months. The dogs chased our
horse, Cindy, all over the place, until one
day - I knew it was going to happen - ol'
Cindy kicked one of their eyes out.
"Well, when these people came back,
we charged them for the food and some
of our veterinary bills, and it came to
about $600. That's how I started my
bookshop."
Gradually the two shelves of books were
expanded to two rooms that now contain
nearly 100,000 volumes.
Mrs. Bundy is particularly interested in
;.- ·-~ ---.._
books dealing with the Southwest and
American Indians, but she also deals in
rare and out-of-print books and new works
that may not be found easily in ordinary
stores.
'Tm also kind of an extension service
for libraries," she said. "Libraries miss a
lot because they just don't have the time
to go through everything-for example,
books published by small presses, places
where there are only a few of something
printed. I go out on a limb and buy some
of these things, and some turn out to be
very, very good, and some are pretty bad.
"In addition to the Indian and South­west
books, I also keep a full line of
books on printing and bookmaking, and I
go in-depth on certain authors - for
example, I carry all of the works of John
McPhee. I also carry a lot of books on
minorities and Africans and blacks, and
we probably have the biggest collection
- -----
in this category of any place outside Los
Angeles-and I know what I'm talking
about when I say that."
She interrupted the conversation to
check on a batch of chocolate chip cook­ies
baking in the oven. Mrs. Bundy also is
an indefatigable gardener and cook
Recently, fifty-six children from Sierra Vista
schools, winners of creative writing awards,
were taken to Singing Wind Bookshop to
meet author Frances Gillmor, a retired
English professor and folklorist at ·the
University of Arizona. Dr. Gillmor, a
spellbinding storyteller, filled the chi l­dren
with vivid tales of the Southwest.
Mrs. Bundy filled them with other things:
"a huge sheet cake, three platters of cook­ies,
and lemonade." ~
As a f eatu.re writer f or The Arizona Republ ic, Sam
Negri explores most of southern Arizona. He also
bas p ublished articles in The New York Times, The
New York Quar terly, and the Yale Alumni Magazine .
- . ----.....-. -
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Illustration by Ken Jacobsen -
I I 1J1 ,( ,_ _ _
i.=utumn
on the
Coronado
Trail
Most visitors are gone,
fall color is due.
It's the best time
to explore this
118-mile desert-to­mountain
highway ...
BY JOSEPH E. BROWN
Coronado Trail -------------------------------------------------------N ature heralds the debut of autumn
in a hundred subtle ways along
Arizona's historic Coronado Trail.
The eye quickly notes the most obvious
transformation from the verdant days of
summer - the changing shades of forest
colors. Here , dazzling and intoxicating,
are the yellows and golds of the high
country's towering aspens, breathtaking
in their primeval beauty, their delicately
balanced leaves quaking in even the
slightest of zephyrs. Here, too , are the
deep rich reds of the oaks , the eye­catching
multihued splash of the syca­mores
and cottonwoods.
But there are other clues. Instinctively,
hibernating animals scurry about in ear ­nest
now that summer has gone. They're
searching for snug winter hideaways.
Only time will measure how sufficiently
they've worked during the season of abun­dance
to provision their storehouses for
the cold months ahead. High overhead
flocks of migrants from the north wing
southward toward winter homes of their
own. Closer to the ground, a golden eagle
alights at the crown of a stately ponderosa
pine, imperiously surveys all about him,
then just as regally flies away.
Daylight hours shrink day by day as the
sun retreats to the southern hemisphere,
and there's a bracing tingle in the air that
excites mind and spirit. Some years ,
there's a snow flurry or two as early as
mid-September; rare is any fall morning at
higher altitudes without frost in the mea­dow
o r ice on the pond.
With vacations over and another school
year around the corner, most tourists
desert the Coronado Trail after labor Day,
leaving only a handful of permanent resi ­dents
to button up against that inevitable
first blizzard of the new winter. Yet what
those visitors miss by leaving at summer's
end is perhaps the most glorious seasonal
spectade of all in this narrow 118 -mlle ­long,
desert-to-alpine section of eastern
Arizona.
From the mines of Morenci to the pines
of Alpine to the rolling prairies of Eagar
and Springerville, autumn is Nature at her
resplendent best, a sensual feast that once
savored is not soon forgotten.
By broad definition, the Coronado Trail
extends most of the length of Greenlee
County and into a portion of Apache
County. Most of it also lies within Apa'che ­Sitgreaves
National Forest; so we can
hope its virtually pristine wilderness will
remain unmarred for future generations
to enjoy.
The main artery of the Trail is twisting
U.S . Route 666, from Clifton on the south
to Springerville on the north. The road
carries the motorist nearly a mile upward
from the copper mining district of
Clifton -Morenci to elevations of some
9000 feet. Mostly it winds through scenic
16/ Arizona Highways
high country, and it's a road tailored for
leisurely poking about. In fact, you can't
hurry along Route 666 without risking
bruises or worse. It's not without reason
that some have called it the "white­knuckle
road ."
According to a study by the Arizona
Department of Transportation, a motorist
on Route 666 will meet an oncoming ve ­hicle
- on the average, year-round-only
once every nineteen minutes. That makes
the road the least traveled of any federal
highway. And when you 're negotiating the
460 curves between Morenci and the
summit south of Alpine , you 'll be glad
you 're not amidst a lot of competition .
Elevations along the road are marked
here and there by signs posted by the
state or the U.S . Forest Service. The latter
identify stands of trees growing at road-
)
E
NATIONAL
H , Maple Pk
side , and they give the visitor a good idea
of which plants are common at any given
altitude.
If you already know your trees , you'll
recognize about how high you are with ­out
elevation signs or an altimeter. In the
Lower Sonoran zone (to about 3500 feet
elevation), for instance , grow the familiar
saguaro, mesquite, sagebrush, catclaw,
and paloverde ass ociated with Arizona 's
desert. As you wind progressively higher,
the conifers take over: juniper , piii.on ,
ponderosa pine (the world 's largest stand
of these trees extends through this area),
Douglas fir , and spruce. Look for the color
of the deciduous trees , intermixed with
the evergreens , on hillsides and along
watercourses from 4000 feet on up to
aspen country that sometimes approaches
timberline.
A wide variety of mammals and birds is
native to this region. Unlike the immov­able
trees, the animals wander occasion­ally
through several life zones. Not long
ago, for instance, my wife and I were sur­prised
to see a roadrunner - which Holly ­wood
cartoons had convinced me is a
lowland desert creature - sprinting along
a road in KP. Cienega campground nes­tled
among the pines between Blue Peak
and Hannagan Meadow.
Another time, traffic stopped dead still
just west of Morenci to allow a huge black
bear to saunter leisurely across the road.
These animals are classified as high­altitude
residents but, noting the size of
this one, we weren't about to argue. Old
Coronado Trail hands will tell you a black
bear seen in autumn at lower elevations
means a particularly harsh winter is
around the corner.
What the road signs do not tell you ,
here and in most parts of rural Arizona, is
a community's population ; you learn only
the date of founding and the elevation.
This matters little along the Coronado
Trail, since the towns are few : Clifton,
Morenci , Alpine, Nutrioso , and the neigh­bors
Eagar and Springerville. In fact , there
isn 't enough population along the entire
Trail to mention, and for many that ac ­counts
for much of the appeal of this
region. (When I once asked an Alpine
old-timer the population of his town, he
replied with undisguised annoyance, " It 's
sufficient, son; it 's sufficient. " )
Four centuries earlier, Francisco Vas ­quez
de Coronado found even fewer
Q From the old mining communities v of Clifton and Morenci in the
south, US. Route 666 winds northward
through forested mountains dressed in
their autumnal best.
( RIGHT ) The White Mountains from
Greens Peak in Greenlee County.
WAYNE DAVIS
--------- --- -- - souls when he led an expedition through
these mountains in search of the elusive
Seven Cities of Cibola. Taking leave from
his post as governor of Nueva Galicia in
western Mexico to explore the northern
reaches of New Spain, Coronado met with
armed resistance from the Indians and
found no gold. The rugged wilderness
described by Coronado's chronicler,
Pedro de Castaneda, remains today largely
as it was in 1540 - and for modern explor­ers,
it is a reward in itself.
Historians don't agree on the exact
route followed by Coronado. But Stewart
Q (BELOW) Named (though misspelled) v for Robert Hannegan, a nineteenth
century cattleman who once camped on
this site, Hannagan Meadow today offers
visitors a campground from which to
view the White Mountains' f al~ extrav­aganza.
JERRY JACKA
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Scattered remnants of life
on the frontier add a romanti{; air to
autumn treks in Apache-Sitgreaves
National Forest, just south of Hannagan
Meadow GILL KENNY
18/Arizona Highways
Coronado Trail
Udall, writing in Arizona Highways (see
"In Coronado's Footsteps," April, 1984),
supports the view that it was a few miles
east of present U.S. Route 666. Latter-day
prospectors arrived in 1846, but their bo­nanza
was as imaginary as Coronado's
seven cities. It wasn't until 1870 that the
real riches of the Coronado Trail were
discovered, and they weren't gold at all,
but copper.
Robert Metcalf was looking for neither
gold nor copper when he spied an out­cropping
of the latter in that year. Accom­panied
by his brother, he was tracking
a band of outlaws believed to be hiding
in Chase Canyon on the San Francisco
River. History doesn't record whether
Metcalf ever collared his villains, but of
the impact of his discovery of copper
there is no doubt.
Underground mining in Clifton and
Morenci gave way to open pit operations
when the Phelps Dodge Corporation
resumed production in 1937 after a
Depression-caused hiatus. Since then, the
open pit mine at Morenci has become the
world's second largest; when it merges
with the newer Metcalf pit just to the
- - -- ------- north, the combination will become the
largest.
It is estimated that almost 800 million
tons of ore will be removed from the
Morenci-Metcalf pit before the lode is
exhausted. In the peak year of 1955 -56
alone, 105,646,000 dollars' worth of cop­per
was mined in Greenlee County.
All has not been easy pickings for the
citizens of Clifton and Morenci, however. A
protracted copper strike, the closing of the
Morenci smelter for environmental reasons,
a disastrous flood on the San Francisco
River in October, 1983, and the teeter-totter
of copper prices have combined to make
life difficult. But Cliftonians and Moren­cians
are known as a rugged lot, and they
persevere. Certainly they have some of
Arizona's most gorgeous scenery near at
hand in consolation, and some engaging
historical anecdotes to tell to all who
come to listen.
The Morenci one sees today, however,
is not the Morenci of years past, a Wild
West outpost where shopkeepers once
made deliveries by pack burro and ladder,
and where children were tethered to
prevent them from falling on the rocks
below their cliff-hanging homes. Since
the pit opened in 1937, Morenci has been
rebuilding, and the old town is no more,
devoured by machines unearthing the
coppery riches below the footpaths and
donkey trails that formerly served
as streets.
A couple of miles southeast of Morenci,
Clifton sits between towering canyon
walls on the banks of the San Francisco
River at an altitude of 3464 feet. Both
communities, wedded to copper, are well
worth a visit. Autumn is an especially
pleasant season here.
Gazing down at Morenci's huge open
pit gives one a better appreciation of
its size than ten books of statistics.
Those ore-haulers you see from the over­look
on U.S. Route 666 aren't Tinkertoys;
they're real full-scale trains, tooting and
chugging twenty-four hours a day as the
mine's bottom drops ever deeper into
Mother Earth.
Steeped in history, the Clifton-Morenci
district represents one of three very clearly
defined "economic zones" one finds
along the Coronado Trail.
Agriculture prevails at the extreme
Coronado Trail -- southern end. Autumn, of course, is
harvesttime.
The farms merge with the copper
industry at Clifton and Morenci. Farther
north, cattle ranching and logging pro­vide
the lion's share of payrolls in the
high country.
Flanking the Trail for most of its length
is the incomparable Apache-Sitgreaves
National Forest, 2,003,552 acres in all, rang­ing
in elevation from 5000 to 11,500 feet.
Here are found some of Arizona's most
beautiful wooded rivers and lakes, includ­ing
Blue River, Big Lake, Crescent Lake,
Chevelon Canyon Lake, Luna Lake, Greer
Lake, and Woods Canyon Lake.
Wildlife is abundant. Don't be sur­prised
if you have to yield the right of way
on Route 666 to elk, deer, antelope, tur­keys,
or squirrels, not to mention a cousin
of the huge black bear we saw. Not long
ago, I had to stop my car for eight white­tailed
deer which apparently knew all
about the road's least-traveled reputation.
Paving of the last six miles of Route 666
was completed in 1962. Much earlier, as
the last graded-though-unpaved link in
the nation's first ocean-to-ocean highway,
-- - the route was formally dedicated as the
Coronado Trail on June 19, 1926.
In 1971 Harold T. Shortridge, then a
court stenographer in Phoenix, recalled
witnessing that ceremony as a young boy.
"Many of the contractors and people who
had worked on the road were present. It
was entirely constructed using mules and
drags and dynamite." Understandably
proud of their achievement, the road
crewmen were somewhat perplexed
when Governor George W. P. Hunt de­clared
from a bunting-draped platform at
Hannagan Meadow: ''This is a wonderful
piece of work. Ifl didn't have the best car
and the best chauffeur in Arizona, I'd
never have made it." Commented Short­ridge
in his memoirs: "Nobody today
knows whether [Governor Hunt] was
saying that in a humorous way or not, but
it was not taken that way by some people."
With or without chauffeur, allow at least
three hours to drive from Morenci to Al ­pine.
Even that is crowding things a bit;
four hours is better, and since you have to
concentrate on the dozens of curves and
switchbacks, dawdling an entire day is bet­ter
still. There are many places you can
pull over to savor the scenery and photo­graph
plants, animals, and birds.
You'll find no food, lodging, or gaso­line
between Morenci and Hannagan
Meadow. The popular and venerable Bea­verhead
Lodge was sold and moved
nearly two years ago; so now there are no
services between Hannagan and Al­pine,
either.
From Alpine to Springerville, northern
outpost of the Trail, things get a little busi ­er.
But not much. In fall many cattle
ranches turn their bunkhouses over to
hunters (elk, bear, deer, turkey, and
mountain lion hunting are popular here).
With the steady if gradual population
growth, stores that once closed in winter
now remain open year-round. Too,
autumn visitors will find it's often still
warm enough for camping or picnicking,
both permitted almost everywhere in the
national forest. There are, in fact, more
than 800 developed camp and picnic
units here, along with 800 miles of hiking
and riding trails.
The natural experience along the Coro­nado
Trail can be enjoyed any time of year,
but it is its most rewarding in the fall.
Some insist, in fact, that nowhere else in
the West are the colors of the autumn
forest so pleasing to the eye, the sound of
the autumn breeze in the pines so sooth­ing
to the ear, the smell of damp autumn
earth so pungent to the nose.
And they may well be right. ~
Fonner editor of Sea and Pacific Skipper and
Oceans magazines, Joseph E. Brown is a free -lance
writer-photographer living in San Clemente, Calif or­nia.
His credits include Westways, Exxon USA, and
Chevron USA.
Arizona Highways/ 19
T e ritucit begins
with a chill breeze on a September
eve on the San Francisco Peaks, or
Mount Baldy, or the North Rim of the
Grand Canyon. Then, slowly,
autumn creeps down through the
life zones. With the proper mix of
moisture and sunlight the
transformation takes place.
Deciduous islands in the seas of
evergreen conifers are set ablaze
with warm hues of yellow,
orange, and red.
Arizona's diverse landscape makes
it a gradual process, extending the
colorful exhibit over weeks and
building to a crescendo in October.
The quaking aspens of the
highlands are the first to change,
spattering their bright golden
leaves against a palette of deep
blue sky. Then, farther down the
slopes, maple and oak, sumac and
sycamore join the show.
Eventually autumn reaches even
the low elevations, coloring the
cottonwoods along desert
watercourses.
This is the season of the
photographer-these precious
few days when Nature's fickle,
extravagant pigments are in
their prime.
- Peter Ensenberger
(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 20 AND 21 )
Reminiscent of an impressionist's canvas,
maple leaves dance in the cool winds
of Indian summer in the highlands
near Sedona. RANDY PRENTICE
(R IGHT) Aspen leaf
DON B.· STEVENSON
Maple leaf and water
drop lets. DICK CANBY
( FAR RIGHT) Maples
aglow in the Chirica ­hua
Mountains
of southeaster n
Arizona. BOTH BY
WIL!ARD CLAY
(OPPOS ITE PAGE ) The
magnificent escarp ­ment
called th e Mo ­go
llon Rim, angling
across northeastern
Arizona, stages an
autumn display visi­ble
to lowlanders f or
miles. LARRY ULR ICH
22/Arizona Highways
( PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 24 AND 25 )
Flagstaff's trademark: San
Francisco Peaks, Arizona's
highest, mantled by early snow.
LES MANEVITZ
(LEFT) October's candles: aspens
at Navajo National Monument.
GARY LADD
( BELOW, LEFT) Near Lake Powell, a
touch of autumn warms a
somber canyon. GARY LADD
( BELOW) Autumn winds and
aspen leaves. ANGIE BENNETT
( BOTTOM) Aspens in snow: North
Rim of the Grand Canyon.
TOM BEAN
( RIGHT ) A fall morning in Casner
Canyon, near Sedona.
RANDY PRENTICE
~
Arizona's Unique
Theological School for Native Americans
Celebrates its 75th Birthday
TEXT BY
ROSANNE KELLER
A unique Arizona institution, Charles
Cook Theological School - until recently
known as Cook Christian Training
1
School
- reaches a major landmark on cpctober
1, 1986. This learning center fo~l _Native
American adults has been a qui
1
et testi·
mony to the message of Christianity in
Arizona for seventy-five years. Hs i distinc­tive
educational program has enabled
Native Americans from ninety tribes
across the continent to become ministers
to their own people.
Many of the graduates of the school
have gone on to seminaries or universi­ties
and distinguished themselves in posi­tions
of leadership in both church and
community.
Located since 1965 on a twenty-acre
campus in Tempe, Cook School previ­ously
occupied a site opposite Phoenix
Indian School after moving to Phoenix
from Tucson in 1914.
The school's founder, Charles Henry
Cook, was a remarkable pioneer of Amer­ican
Indian education whose story fits
neatly into the colorful annals of the Old
West. A native of Germany and a Civil War
veteran of the Union Army, he was a
deeply religious visionary who made his
way from Chicago to Arizona Territory in
1870 intent on becoming a missionary to
the Pima Indians. Ignoring warnings
about the dangers involved, he traveled
for four months by train, stagecoach, ox
cart, and on foot. When at last he reached
the Indian Agency at Sacatort, he was
promptly hired to start a government
school for Pimas and Maricopas, and
began classes in January, 1871. Soon he
was launching a banking system and
improving farming techniques as well as
teaching school. On Sundays and when­ever
otherwise needed, he served as a lay
preacher.
28/Arizona Highways
Before a distinctively costumed figure of
Christ, Dr. Henry Fawcett, C9ok board
chairman, and Dr. Roe Lewis officiate at
the semester-end Communion service.
The new Arizonan conscientiously stud­ied
Pima language and customs, and real­ized
there was much to admire in the
native culture. Early missionaries often
did not recognize or value the rich spirit­uality
of Native Americans, a people for
whom the earth was sacred, for whom
"life" and "religion," in harmony with
nature, were synonymous. From the out·
set, Cook was sensitive to and apprecia­tive
of the Indians' wisdom and cosmic
understanding. This respect and his desire
to help preserve native cultural values as
the Indians were introduced to the white
man's education remained hallmarks of
his professional career.
In his limited spare time, Cook studied
for the ministry and was ordained by the
Presbyterian Church in 1881, thereupon
becoming a full -time missionary. Realiz-
PHOTOGRAPHS BY
GARY O'BRIEN
ing that the reservation was too vast to be
served adequately by one minister, he
started a Bible class in l)is home for five
prospective Indian preachers.
For years Cook urged Presbyterian offi­cials
to provide for more formal educa­tion
of native evangelists. Finally, on
October 1, 1911, a school to prepare
Indian church leaders was started in Tuc­son,
and was named the Cook Bible
School, later to become Cook Christian
Training School. Its first graduating class
comprised nine students, all of whom had
received their first instruction in Cook's
living room.
Charles Cook retired from the ministry
in 1913 and died on May 4, 1917. In his
more than forty years of work with the
Indians, he baptized more than a thou­sand
and established sixteen Pima, Mari­copa,
and Yavapai churches.
Observing the effectiveness of the edu­cational
program of Cook School, other
Protestant denominations began to refer
their Native American churchmen. In
1940 the school officially became inter­denominational
in its program and
sponsorship.
Over the years, Indians and Eskimos
from twenty-eight states and four Cana­dian
provinces, and representing a dozen
denominations, have attended the school.
President Cecil Corbett reports that sev­enty
percent of all ordained Native Amer­ican
clergy have been graduates or former
students of CCTS programs. Other gradu­ates
have become tribal governors, coun­cil
leaders, teachers, administrators, and
community officials as well as lay leaders
and youth workers in their churches. The
roll of high achievers mixes names like Lewis,
Foote, Snow, and Plummer with Winter
Chaser, Charging Eagle, Bull Bear, and
Noisy Hawk
Campus sculpture: Micheal Paul's Native American reaches skyward in a prayer f or peace.
Dr. Corbett, a Nez Perce born on a Cher­okee
reservation in North Carolina, is
another visionary in the school's long his­tory
of educational innovators that
included George Walker, George Smart,
and Alonzo Spang. Himself a Cook alum­nus,
he became president in 1968. He has
given the school flexible leadership to
meet the changing needs of the Christian
tribal people of contemporary America.
One insight he offers concerns Indian
self.awareness.
"These students share at least one thing
in common," he said. "Although they
don't think of themselves so much as
'Indians' as, rather, Navajo, Pima, or Sioux,
yet there is an identifiable, underlying
'Indianness' that distinguishes even the
modern Native American from the Anglo­European."
That difference requires a special
approach to teaching. For one thing, the
student steeped in oral tradition may not
see why such importance is placed on
written expression. So, along with general
education courses and classes in theol­ogy,
Scripture, and church history, the cur­riculum
is designed to help students find
their place in an Anglo-dominated society
that puts great emphasis on recorded
communication. Students are invited to
share their differing cultural values and
traditions, and to find ways to apply these
to their interpretation and presentation of
the Gospel message.
Because many would-be candidates
cannot leave jobs or other commitments
to come to Tempe as resident students,
Cook School has developed a compre­hensive
extension program. Enrollees are
able to study at home and attend work­shops
and seminars in their own com·
munities led by pastors and others trained
by the Cook staff as mentors. More than
1300 students have participated in this
program.
Those students who do take up resi ·
dence are generally old enough to have
families, and in most cases they bring
their families along. The campus affords
the necessary housing and the children
attend neighborhood schools. Campus
social life is family-oriented.
Cook students typically are returning to
an academic setting for the first time in
years, and their earlier education varies
greatly. But entrance examinations are not
part of the Cook method; students start at
their own level and go from there.
As American society begins to face
more squarely the need to define the
conscientious individual's proper role in
a troubled, technologically complex
world, there is increasing appreciation
that our Native Americans can help us
understand the discipline of living in har­mony
with nature. Charles Cook Theolog­ical
School, celebrating its seventy-fifth
anniversary, intends to continue to con­tribute
to that effort. ~
Dr. Cecil Corbett, president of Charles
Cook Theological School, pauses near
totem poles that mark the northwest
corner of the campus -symbolizing
native cultures of the Pacific Northwest.
Micheal Paul and a f el!ow artist,
Chief Kitpou, carved the totems.
Arizona Highways/ 29
"One hundred and twenty thousand square
miles of the most contradictory, conf ounding,
curious piece of earth .... "
A I<ENTUCI<IAN LOOI<S AT
• r I z on A recent settler in the Valley of the Sun finds the human heart
has an amazing capacity to adapt ... and to love a new home .
C ontrary to popular belief, West
Virginia is a state in its own
right. It 's not th e western part
of Virginia or the southern sec­tion
of Pennsylvania . It 's a bona
fide state, and no t such a bad pl ace to
grow up. I can attest to this because I
s pent fourteen yea rs o f my life th ere. In
th e same breath, however, I must confess
th a t I never considered West Virginia my
tru e ho me.
My family moved there in 1962. It was
only about 200 miles from our native
Lo uisville , Kentucky, but it might as well
h ave been halfway across the world
b ecause, as the months turn ed to yea rs ,
th e trip s back "home" beca me m o re and
more infre que nt. Not so muc h because of
dist ance but rather inconvenience .
We we re returning from one of those
rare visits on on e sticky summer after ­noon
in 1967 when I spotted a sign
posted at th e state line welcoming us to
West Virginia. I leaned over the front seat
to my Dad , who was driving , and said,
more o ut of a sense of resignati o n th an
reli ef, "We 're a lm ost h ome ."
He turned toward me, only for an in ­stant,
and hi s re mark was brief, but it has
stayed with rn e ever since. "West Virginia
is where you live now," he said, "but your
home is Ke ntu c ky. Never forget you are
from Kentucky. "
Home is s uc h an odd word. It has so
many connotations, depending on whom
you say it to and where you are when you
say it. Up until several months ago, home
to me was a quiet, comfortable town­house
on a dead-end street in Lex ington,
Kentucky. Home was horse farms, Ken ­tucky
Wildcat basketball , Keeneland race
tra c k, and Columbia's Steak House.
Now the word "h ome" bears an entirely
different meaning. Gone are the graceful
rolling hills of central Kentucky, replaced
by - desert! The Sonoran Desert. One
hundred and twenty thousand square
miles of the most contradictory, con­founding,
curious piece o f earth I may
ever have an opportunity to experience.
When I first arrived in Phoenix , I was
TEXT BY BEVERLY K. BELL • DRAWINGS BY DUANE BRYERS
30/Arizona Highways
struck by the superficial appearances, by
the very contours and characteristics of
the land itself. My eyes were drawn to the
somber mountains with their choppy
ridges and sharp peaks jutting toward a
paralyzed blue sky. I was mesmerized by
city blocks framed by citrus trees. And the
simple fact that the desert was more than
sand dunes and cactus was a major
discovery.
Now time has passed, and I find myself
redirecting my attention from the land to
the people who live here. Each has a dif­ferent
story to tell: why she came , why he
stayed. But all share a common trait ­their
ability to adapt.
As one of my new friends recently
pointed out, most of the people here
come from someplace else. Like the pio­neers
of little more than a century ago,
they packed up their belongings, and,
with a bellyful of optimism, traveled
across a wide swath of country to Arizona.
They didn't expect the streets to be paved
with gold, but they were fairly confident
they would find ample milk and honey.
So, now it's my turn. To adapt to my
new home and reap the rewards. Granted,
it is like night and day compared to my
native Kentucky, but like the thousands
before me , I feel certain that Arizona will
reveal its generous nature also to me.
Let the harvest begin.
• DECEMBER 28 •
I have arrived in Arizona for the first
time this slightly humid, rainy night. Dur­ing
the entire twenty-minute drive from
Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport
to the hotel in Scottsdale, I peer out the
window, trying to make some sense of
this alien state I soon will claim as my
own. All I can see, all that I notice , are
those imposing black mountains looming
in the background like silent sentries
guarding the Golden Palace of the South­west.
My husband nudges me, whispering
so that the cab driver won't hear: "Your
eyes look as if they're going to pop out of
your head. "
He is right. I'm acting like some daz­zled
schoolgirl from Hicktown, U.S.A -
and I'm having a great time.
There seems to be such a rush to be ­come
acclimated to a strange place that
people forget it's fun to be impressed, to
be taken by surprise. So I'm in no hurry.
I'm excited by this boomtown, and yes,
perhaps even a little frightened by it. I had
no idea that moving to a new city could
stir the blood so.
• JANUARY 19 •
The telephone rang about one o'clock
in the afternoon. I picked up the receiver
to hear the familiar voice of a friend back
in Lexington . She was a native of North
Carolina but because of marriage and
chance had found herself transplanted to
Kentucky, a resident for more than three
years now.
She gave me all the news, then asked
the inevitable question .
"So have you found that great jo b yet?"
She had eased into it about as well as
anyone could.
"No , afraid not," I replied.
Always encouraging, she was quick to
respond·. "Well , hang in there. I know a
wonderful job is just waiting for you. The
important thing to remember is not to get
depressed."
'Tm no t," I assured her. "These things
take time. Anyway, it would be really diffi ­cult
to be depressed in this place. The sun
shines all the time ."
• FEBRUARY 10 •
I saw him again today. He is a rugged
man, the lines in his face carefully etched
by time and burden, like fine wood on an
antique headboard. He is an Indian and
stands about six feet four, but he appears
much taller because of his broad, square
shoulders.
Every time I stop by the post office, I
see him, standing behind the counter, fac ­ing
a line of customers. Accommodating,
but reserved. Polite, but distant.
Today he was there again , although this
time the lobby was empty. Not a soul
to be seen, except for him , sorting pack ­ages
into two large bins. I walked up to
his window.
"Where are all the pe ople toda y? " I
asked, searching for stamp mo ney in
my wallet.
" For a change , we're slow, " he sighed.
"That doesn't happen very o ft e n. It seems
like every day more and mo re people
come in here. I guess 'ca use more and
more people keep moving here . Most of
them from back east," he added. " Like my
wife; she came from Pennsylvania. "
I took the stamps he hand e d me and
smiled. "Well, if everyone is mov ing here,
maybe you and your wife should go back
to Pennsylvania." He looked at me as if I
had just made the most preposterous sug­gestion
he had ever heard. "No way," he
said, shaking his head. He then glanced
out the front window of th e building. I
followed his eyes and saw a blacktop park ­ing
lot and some newspap e r stands. It was
obvious he saw much mo re . "I love it
here," he said quietly. "The mo untains,
the wide open spaces. This is my home ,
where I belong ."
It occurred to me that I had seen his
expression before. In th e eyes o f my
father, in my husband 's, in my own refl ec ­tion.
I had always thought the love I feel
for Kentucky was so mehow uniqu e.
Something people fr o m other parts of th e
co untry could nev er understand, mu ch
less experience.
The postal clerk proved me wrong. I
saw the love in hi s eyes, and beca us e of it ,
Arizona looks different to me today.
"Most of th e people here in Arizona come from someplace else . ... "
Arizona H ighway,/31
" ... your eyes look as if they're going to pop out of your head.
• MARCH 29 •
Tucson is about 110 miles southeast of
our home in Phoenix. We've heard it's a
little less tame than the Valley of the Sun
and more reflective of the true desert
spirit; so we've decided to experience it
for ourselves.
All along Interstate Route 10 are miles
of creosote bushes, desert broom, and
mesquite trees. The land strikes me as
slightly melancholy, a sweet sadness re­flecting
its daily noble struggle for surviv­al.
Most of the brush is pale, stripped of
color by the sun's unyielding rays. Only a
few splashes of faded green relieve the
carpet of camel-colored earth leading to
the base of the next mountain.
In Tucson we make our way through
Gates Pass to the Arizona-Sonora Desert
Museum, pausing en route to drink in the
spectacular forty-mile view. The hillsides
are a forest of srurdy saguaros reaching ­stretching
- to a sun that taunts and tor­tures;
yet they remain steadfast.
The sky seems to be swallowing me. I
feel as if I could stare out over the crusty
earth, squint my eyes, and spot the tobacco
fields of Kentucky.
I look down into the valley of stone and
stubborn plant life. I can almost see the
salty cowboys on seasoned horses trotting
across the desert. This land did not sur­render
willingly to the paved road.
The wind is brisk; the air, crisp. Cactus
wrens fly overhead, darting from bush to
bush. I think of the game I used to play as
a little girl, and, just for a second, I am
queen of the mountain. My subjects are
every paloverde, every prickly pear, and
every thrasher nestling in every cholla in
sight. My palace is perched atop the Tuc­son
Mountains, my fortress against my
enemies.
A child whimpers on the overlook
32/Arizona Highways
behind me, no doubt chilled by the fickle
breeze. I hear footsteps.
"Are you ready to go?" my husband
asks, and the kingdom vanishes. I nod
reluctantly and walk past the toddler, now
safely cradled in his father's arms.
• MARCH 30 •
Her nameplate says naturalist. I wonder
what that means, exactly. What is natural
to one person is quite alien to the next. To
her, I am certain, the desert feels quite
comfortable, like a worn slipper, or an
old friend with whom you've shared a
lifetime of secrets.
The concierge at the hotel had ar­ranged
for her to escort me on a nature
walk. I was ignorant when it came to the
desert and hoped she could correct a few
misconceptions. It became obvious quick­ly
that this woman could provide a disser­tation
on the topic.
We walked along a dusty path at the
base of the Catalina Mountains northeast
of Tucson. She started with the basics.
"A desert usually receives ten inches of
rainfall or less in a year," she explained.
"Here we get two types of rains: the
summer storms, which are more intense
and come from the Gulf of Mexico, and
the winter rains, which tend to be gentle
and originate in the Pacific."
I listened intently for almost an hour
while she pointed out various plants and
birds, describing their reproduction cycles
and emphasizing their significance in the
delicate balance of nature. I took notes
and tried to absorb it all.
As we neared the end of the trail at the
hotel parking lot, her tone became more
serious. 'You know, it really gets to me
when people say 'a desert wasteland,"'
she said. I hadn't mentioned anything like
that, but I could understand her point. A
desert, yes. A wasteland, never.
Sweeping her arm in a semicircle as if it
were a magic wand, sh~ added, "How can
people see all of this and make a com­ment
like that?"
I had no answer.
• MAY23 •
At a very early age, I learned to respect
the land. Maybe it had to do with growing
up in Appalachia, where people are as
deeply rooted in the soil as the crops
themselves. In that part of the country, the
land is part of your identity, your family
name, the tradition that binds you to ear­lier
generations.
Perhaps it was that influence that fos­tered
my early fascination with the land,
but it also stemmed from something much
closer to home. Every spring, as predicta -
ble as the seasons themselves, my father
planted a modest garden in our backyard.
It wasn't large, but it always provided us a
generous supply of meaty tomatoes, sweet
corn, and tender green beans.
It was a ritual. First we would bury the
tiny seeds in old tin cake pans under lay­ers
of rich black soil. Next, Dad would
arouse the sleepy ground outside with a
poke of the pick and a nudge of the
shovel, preparing it like a guest's room
the week before company arrives.
Once the wobbly sprigs had peeked
out from under potting soil, they were
transplanted outdoors; and before we
knew it, we had endless summer suppers
of fresh vegetables. There was magic in
that soil, and I was careful to show a kind
regard for the field that fed me.
There is magic in the earth of Arizona,
too. Ask my postal clerk or the naturalist.
They see it in the springtime, when the
saguaro is crowned king of the cacti with
a coronet of gleaming white blooms. They
XK~NTt~AN~OO~ A
see it in the resilient shrubs and wild­flowers
as they triumph, year after year,
over desert heat and little rain. And they
see it at day's end when the sun dances on
Squaw Peak or majestic Camelback Moun­tain
in Phoenix, creating a symphony of
light and shadow, a patchwork of harmon­izing
hues: auburn, copper, mahogany,
chocolate.
• JUNE6 •
I am driving west on Camelback Road
toward Litchfield Park, a suburb of
Phoenix. Hypnotized by the rhythm of the
road and the sound of the engine, sud­denly
I am 2000 miles away, heading south
on U.S. Route 25 from Lexington, Ken­tucky.
Farms line the road; row after row
of corn, sturdy, promising stalks, some
five feet high.
But no, I'm not in Kentucky, I'm in
Arizona, in the desert, and the corn is not
2000 miles away, but a mere ten feet from
the right window of my car.
Adapting, always adapting. Does this
desert know no bounds?
• JUNE 26 •
Today I was introduced to a woman
originally from the Midwest. She now
works for a major corporation in down­town
Phoenix. She has lived here for about
four years, and as far as she is concerned,
Phoenix is home. We talked for several
minutes before she ventured a question.
"Did you know anyone here when you
moved to Arizona?" she asked.
"Not a soul," I answered.
" . . . in the springtime, when the saguaro is crowned king
of the cacti with a coronet of gleaming white blooms .... "
She took a sip of her diet drink, and
reflected. "I used to live in Los Angeles,
but I think the people here are more
accepting. Most of them come from some­place
else, and they know what it's like to
be new and not have any friends."
A pause, and she continued: "The life ­style
is so much more relaxed, and there's
so much opportunity." Another pause. "I
think a lot of people come here looking
for something better. In most cases, they
find it."
I met with a real estate agent the other
day. When I entered his office, he offered
me something cold to drink, which I glad­ly
accepted. "This is my first summer
here," I told him, "and I've never drunk
so much water in all my life."
"It's not the best time of the year right
now," he conceded, "but the way I look at
it, it's the price we have to pay for living in
the desert. So we have two or three
months of hot weather? The rest of the
time, we have the most perfect range of
temperatures you could ask for. I think it's
a fair trade."
So do I.
• JULY4 •
I feel as if I've been on a journey these
last six months. Learning, absorbing, re ­acting.
This strange desert land has taught
me a valuable lesson about life, about
people, about change.
The good example is ever-present, for
although the sun is unforgiving at times
and the heat unyielding, Mother Nature
is undaunted. She accepts the conditions
and adapts. As a resident of this fair val ­ley,
perhaps I am expected to do the
same. To embrace the terms, good and
bad, and go on.
Shortly after I arrived in Phoenix, sev­eral
people told me to enjoy the winters
because summer would come, and I
would soon curse the sun and hate the
oppressive temperatures. They said I
would grow tired of dust storms, August
monsoons, and monotonous robin 's-egg
skies that herald yet another sunny day.
I don't think so. Like the real estate agent,
I think the deal is more than fair, the har­vest
more than bountiful.
Oh, I admit it. I still hear Kentucky call ­ing
me like a familiar church bell ringing
on a sleepy Sunday morning. The sound
is sweet and inviting, like a lullaby that
lingers long after you have left your
mother's arms. But for now, I am staying
here, learning that the human heart has
an amazing capacity to love a new home,
much like a new child.
Welcome to Arizona! ~
Beverly K Bell works in public relations in the
Phoenix area and writes for uarious Arizona
magazines. She dedicates this article to her recent()'
deceased father, "Wink" Kluesner, "who taught me
the meaning of home."
Arizona Highways/33
Lol~e Mead _Notional I A MEMOIR ~ecreot1on Area I A.
fas Lal-<1e Mead celebrares irs golden anniversary rhis monrh,
irs masrer planner rells how one of rhe narion's mosr-visired playgrounds gor irs srarr. ..
by George L. Collins
In the summer of 1935, the National
Park Service dispatched me to Boul­der
City, Nevada, the new govern­ment-
bui lt town near where a
gigantic water control and hydroelectric
project was nearing completion, the likes
of which had never before been seen in
the West- or anywhere else. My job was
to initiate a plan and program for the reser­voir
area. The Bureau of Reclamation, the
Interior Department felt, shouldn't have
to be bothered .with reservoir area man­agement.
We of the Park Service were the
recreation specialists; so we were told to
get with it.
::;;
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When I arrived, construction engineer
John Page of Reclamation welcomed me
and offered assistance, as did Frank "Boss"
Crow, local headman for Six Companies,
the consortium building the dam. Another
lending encouragement was Dr. Elwood
Mead, former commissioner of reclama­tion,
a wonderful and wise counselor in
the ways of government and politics. A
word from him went a long way. It was his
name that was given to the lake forming
behind the huge dam, a reservoir that
today draws people by the millions to this
corner of Mohave County, making it one
of the most heavily visited tourist areas in
the nation.
I got a room at the Boulder Dam Hotel
at 1305 Arizona Street- it has now been
restored- moved out the bed, and replaced
it with a cot and a borrowed drafting
table. Map and other supplies I drew from
the Bureau of Reclamation office.
A friend who owned a high-wing Stin­son
aircraft started almost immediately
flying me on reconnaissance of the lake
area and surroundings. Studying ground
from the air was an art we both practiced.
We flew over what would eventually be
the 550-mile lakeshore, checking out
potential locations for recreation sites,
which I marked on maps. Then, back at
my drafting table, I'd create rough layouts
and write descriptions with cost esti­mates.
We considered water, sewers,
waste disposal, communications, roads,
trails, campgrounds, buildings, plantings
(ABOVE) A rare photograph of Hoover Dam (then
called Boulder Dam) taken in 1941 during the
onl.y time in its fifty-one-year history that all the
outlets were open. ( RIGHT) Constructed while the
country was deep in the Great Depression, the proj­ect
kept 3500 laborers working day and night
under often hazardous conditions-chiseling out
Black Canyon and erecting" what is still considered
an engineering wonder. Ninety-six of the work­men
lost their lives. The dam was dedicated in
1935 by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who hailed
it as a "great achievement. "
34/ Arizona Highways
for shade - everything the public and the
Park Service would eventually need.
On September 30, 1935, President
Franklin Delano Roosevelt himself dedi -
cated the dam project, calling it "a great
achievement of American resourcefulness,
skill, and determination." He seemed to
enjoy himself thoroughly. The dam, built
in the depths of the Depression, cost more
than fifty-five million dollars. A total of
3500 workers had completed the job in
just five years.
Following the President to the podium,
Secretary of the Interi~)[ Harold Le Claire
Ickes announced the name would be
Boulder Dam - derived from the site
originally proposed, Boulder Canyon,
about eighteen miles up the Colorado
River from the actual construction site at
the head of Black Canyon. The name
"Boulder," though imprecise, was indeli­bly
imbedded in the nomenclature and
the literature of the day. It stood for both
Arizona and Nevada, the Colorado River,
and the Southwest. It rolled around nicely
on the tongue. Even the media liked it. It
lasted until 1947, when the dam was
(OPPOSITE PAGE) The scale of Hoover
Dam is difficult to comprehend. The
equivalent of forty-four stories tall
containing six and a half million tons
of concrete, the dam holds back the
Colorado River to form Lake Mead and
make possible the Lake Mead National
Recreation Area.
JOHN SENSER
Arizona Highways/35
-----------···------------ renamed for Herbert Hoover, under whose
administration construction began.
On dedication day, I along with several
National Park Service friends and other
associates circulated among the crowds
touring the facility. My most vivid recol ­lection
is of one hell of a lot of folks at a
swell picnic with practically no rest rooms.
When the recreation planning project
started, I had worked alone, receiving
technical advice and support, however,
36/Arizona Highways
from various Park Service and Reclama­tion
authorities. Then, one morning in
the early winter of 1935, help arrived at
last- an entire trainload of 200 Civilian
Conservation Corps boys. Most of those
young men had never dreamed of being
in a place of refinement like Boulder City.
Where to put them became an immediate
problem. But Frank Crow came to the
rescue with a loan of large dormitory
buildings. Also, he and the Bureau of Rec-lamation
supplied us with hand tools.
There was no heavy equipment.
In no time, crews were at the lake hard
at work, building boat ramps and a host of
other projects. The boys were well taken
care of, and the Army major in charge of
them, a fine young chap, was very pleased.
Later I was transferred to Santa Fe, New
Mexico, as district officer for the South­west,
from where I was able to watch over
the program and see it along. I am sure
our project helped demonstrate that link­ing
the Park Service and the Bureau of
Reclamation in a cooperative effort was
beneficial. The partnership is still work­ing
well at a number of reservoirs through­out
the West.
Today our project, which sometimes
seems to me to have been created in
another century, encompasses two long
lakes (Mead and Mohave) and their
environs in the Lake Mead National
Recreation Area: a superb attraction for
fishermen , swimmers, skiers, boaters,
campers, and a host of people simply
seeking relaxation under clear blue skies.
Looking back on my career with the
National Park Service, which was one long
series of special assignments, I consider
Lake Mead one of the most challenging
and stimulating of them all. ~
George Collins served thirty-three years with the
National Park Service, then continued as a
conservationist in the private sector as a partner in
Conservation Associates, a nonprofit independent
consulting group deuoted to helping public agencies
acquire lands f or parks and open space. Since 19 51
he has played an important part in the effort to
establish the Arctic International Wildlife Range in
Alaska and Canada.
Selected Reading
Lake Mead-Hoover Dam: The
Story behind the Scenery, by James
C Maxon. KC Publications, Las
Vegas, Nevada, 1981.
Auto Tourguide to the Lake Mead
National Recreation Area, by
Douglas B. Evans. Southwest Parks
and Monuments Association, Globe,
Arizona, 1971.
A Guide to the Desert Geology of
Lake Mead National Recreation
Area, by john Bezy. Southwest Parks
and Monuments Association, Globe,
Arizona, 1978.
(ABOVE) This 193 7 map plotted the routes of scenic air tours of the day over
the Grand Canyon and Lake Mead areas. Today the number of scenic flights
has increased tremendously and the aircraft have progressed well beyond the
Ford Trimotor (BELOW) typical of that era.
(LEFr) Much of the pristine high desert of the Lake Mead National Recreation
Area remains just as it was when George Collins flew reconnaissance over the
550 miles of anticipated shoreline in 1935.
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Arizona Highways/3 7
M ost travelers zipping north out
of Phoenix on Interstate Route
17 are unaware that the vol­canic
butte northwest of the
Carefree exit forms the back-drop
for an outstanding facility where
gunfire means recreation and friendly
competition, not angry confrontation.
This is Maricopa County Parks and Rec­reation
Department's Black Canyon Shoot­ing
Range - the finest public shooting
range in the nation and "world-class" in
every respect.
"I can't begin to list the shooters who
used Black Canyon for training in their
successful quests for national and world
records, but there have been as many
as from any public range in America,"
boasts Lloyd Van Sickle, a retired master
sergeant, championship marksman, and,
40/Arizona Highways
for sixteen years, the supervisor of the
1400-acre range.
Black Canyon also claims to be the
most heavily used public shooting range
in the country. Last year nearly half a
million people visited the sprawling range
and its picnic grounds. That figure in ­cludes
340,000 who came specifically to
shoot firearms for fun and competition,
(CLOCKWISE, FROM TOP) A member of
a personal security class gets the drop
on an invisible attacker in a mock
engagement on the practical pistol
range. National Guard personnel sight
in on the highpower rifle range. Record­holding
marksman john Wilder, peren­nial
member of the All-National Guard
rifle team, adjusts his M-14. Behind the
scenes, Guardsmen score targets for
fellow members of the Guard's marks­manship
team.
plus numerous military personnel and law
enforcement officers, who were testing
their mettle for more dangerous contests.
The Black Canyon Shooting Range,
named for a nearby canyon once used
during cattle drives, is the answer to a
target-shooter's dream. As a result, the
county-managed range was chosen for the
1970 World Shooting Championships,
next to the Olympics the most prestigious
event in competitive shooting. Says Van
Sickle, 'Tm forever amazed at the number
of people from around the world who
drive out to see the Black Canyon range
and shoot here. Much of this comes from
the World Shoot publicity.
"They travel from as far away as Aus­tralia,
with Europeans most common. Last
year a group of sporty French amateurs
flew in to challenge some of our local
fast-draw artists in a duel for fun. They did
well, but they were no match for our
western gunslingers."
But most traffic into the range brings
serious competitive shooters, hunters
"sighting in" their firearms, casual plink­ers
seeking a safe place to shoot, and
young people learning the basics of shoot­ing
and gun handling. In fact, firearms
safety instruction for young and old
alike is a primary re::lson for the range's
existence.
Others are attracted by the first-rate shot­gun
range and archery field course. And
many people come just to marvel at the
shooting skill of world-class competitors.
"Sure, we receive national and world­wide
attention, but we are most proud of
the fact that, in more than twenty-five
years of operation, the range has only had
one minor accident." Van Sickle beams at
that record.
The story of the Black Canyon range
goes back to the 1950s. Ben Avery, Ari­zona
Republic outdoor writer who master­minded
the project and turned a vision
into reality, sets the scene:
"Interest in competitive shooting be­gan
to boom after World War II, but the
Phoenix area had few facilities to offer.
People would set up makeshift ranges out
in the desert, but this, of course, often
proved dangerous."
Avery remembers only one local range -
other than indoor small-bore facilities ­and
it could barely handle ten shooters
at a time. "Waiting lines were the rule,
with shooters often giving up in disgust,"
he says.
Searching for a solution, Avery talked
with Glenn Taylor, then president of the
Arizona Rifle and Pistol Association and
a fellow newspaperman. They formu ­lated
a plan to create a "country club
for shooters."
"Always in our minds was the objective
to keep this a community range where
local fo lk could afford to shoot under
COMING YOUR WAY
IN
"To become a pilgrim is to embark
on an adventure as an act of faith.
It must, however, have a sacred place
as its goal." This age-old custom of
pilgrimage is perpetuated today in
southern Arizona. The attraction: the
Church of San Xavier del Bae, "the
White Dove of the Desert," recognized
as the finest surviving example of mis­sion
architecture. Arizona Highways
takes you there. In November.
T H E MONTHS
T
he Temple of the World. In
this year's holiday issue, our pho­tographers
capture the moving spiritual
qualities of the Grand Canyon in its
many glorious moods, from the spec­tacle
of dawn's first rays to the awe­inspiring
afterglow of twilight A celebra­tion
of a very special season,
in full color, with an introduction by
award-winning southwestern author
Frank Waters. In December.
SHARE THE ARIZONA ADVENTURE: Start or give an Arizona Highways subscription.
Look for details in the 1986 Gift Catalog that accompanies this issue.
AHEAD
Water and the desert dweller:
new conservation methods,
technological advances, and arid­region
landscaping ... the exotic
beauty of a rare desert snowfall illumi­nated
in a special photographic port­folio
.. . and Arizona activities of interest
in a brand-new feature, a six-month
calendar of events. In January.
Express your holiday greetings with Arizona Highways Christmas cards. These beautiful cards
fe'dture full-color Arizona scenes with warm holiday messages sure to please family and friend~.
The cards measure 41/4 by 5V2 inches folded. And each box contains 20 cards with the same
photograph, plus 21 envelopes. $7.50 per box.
Winter at the Grand Canyon
Message: "Season's Greetings and
Best Wishes tor the New Year" #XMGA4
San Xavier del Bae Mission Near Tucson
Message: "Se-dSon 's Greetings"
#XMXB4
!\RIZONA HIGHWAYS
CLASSIC CHRISTMAS SEQIE0
Arizona Highways proudly introduces the first of its Classic
Christmas Series. A refreshing way to greet family, friends, and
business associates, these exquisite cards combine the beauty
of Arizona with a thoughtful message of good will.
The cards measure 5111 by Tl/a inches folded. And each box
contains 25 cards with the same photograph, plus 26 enve­lopes.
$19.95 per box.
(RIGHT) Winter Evening Comes to the San Frnncisco Peaks
Message: "Holiday Greetings and Good Wishes for the New Year" #CCSl'6
Winter Comes to the Desert Near Tucson
Message: "Best Wishes for Your Happiness
in the New Ye-.u·" #XMOT6
Desert Skv Before Dawn
(Constellation Orion)
Message: "Best Wishes tor Your
J-Jappines.s in the New Ye-.u·"
#XMOD6
Arizona Highways
Christmas cards
may be ordered through the
enclosed 1986 Gift Catalog
or by writing to Arizona
Higbu•ays, 2039 West Lewis
Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona
85009. Phone orders may be
r laced by calling (602) 258-
1000 or dialing toll -free
within Arizona 1-800-
543-5432
BISCUIT FLAT
supervised conditions," explains Avery.
"Even today the charge is only two
dollars, with youngsters under eighteen
admitted free. So we've honored that com­mitment."
Locating a site wasn't easy, but finally
they focused on a parcel of state land
twenty-eight miles north of Phoenix
called Biscuit Flat.
Ben explains how this piece of country
got its name: "It seems one of the old trail
bosses, who had a passion for Dutch oven
biscuits, liked to camp here on cattle
drives to Phoenix. On one trip, the camp
cook decided to whip up some extra bis­cuits
for trail lunches. Unfortunately the
packsack tore, and biscuits dribbled out
all across the desert. From then on, the
place was known as Biscuit Flat."
Avery helped convince the Arizona
Legislature to allow the Game and Fish
Department to take over the site for fire­arms
safety training. Today Arizona has an
enviable record of gun safety, partly
because some 5000 students annually
graduate from these classes.
Ground was broken for the range in
November, 1959. Finally, on a sunny
March morning in 1962, eighty-eight
42/Arizona Highways
competitive shooters lined up to watch
Governor Paul Fannin fire the first round
in the official dedication ceremony. Appro­priately,
the governor scored a bull's-eye.
Soon thereafter the range was turned
over to the Maricopa County Parks and
Recreation Department for management
as a park, along with a small fishing lake
(Biscuit Flat Tank), an overnight camp­ground,
and picnic facilities.
The first thing a visitor sees upon enter­ing
the range is the 100-unit campground.
Farther on, a dirt road meanders over to
the one-acre fishing hole, teeming with
midget bluegills. George Tallent, assistant
range supervisor, calls the wooded glen
his "Shangri-La."
"Few people know the lake is here, but
the wildlife do," says Tallent. "I never
walk around the froggy impoundment
without seeing Gambel's quail and many
desert songbird species - sometimes
even javelina and deer."
Strangely, the wildlife, which are pro­tected
inside the park, seem undisturbed
by the almost ceaseless gunfire. "In fact,
last spring I saw two mule deer, doe
and fawn, nonchalantly grazing behind
the protective burm on the high-power
(THIS PAGE: CLOCKWISE, FROM TOP, LEFT)
Trapshooting under Arizona's warm sun
and blue sky. Colonel]erry Gunter proudly
exhibits the fine engraving on his Belgian­made
Remington model 3200. Patsy Kelly
of Kingston,]amaica, has been an
enthusiastic trap and skeet shooter for
four years. The crew sets up the heavy
iron targets for another round of pistol
silhouette shooting.
(TOP, RIGHT) These competitive archers are
engaged in a "company fun shoot"
sponsored by American Telephone and
Telegraph Company.
(FAR RIGHT) A farmer Floridian and
prize-winning competitive bowman, joe
''Redman" Patterson today enjoys
nothing more than playing unofficial
host and caretaker for Black Canyon's
archery range.
rifle range while bullets thudded into
the burm on the opposite side," re­lates
Tallent.
Firearms safety classes are held on a
course next to the lake. West of the safety
course is a small-bore range that handles
100 shooters at a time.
Adjoining the small-bore range is the
main public shooting area for high-power
firearms. Behind it stands a large building
reserved for air-rifle enthusiasts. Don't
expect to see BB guns here. These shoot­ers
use super-accurate precision weapons,
many costing 800 dollars or more.
Next come two "running boar" courses.
Both are designed for international com­petition
in shooting animal targets that
zip through a narrow opening at five ­second
intervals. A high-power distance
range (1000 yards) flanks the running
boar units.
Shooting at metallic silhouettes repre­senting
chickens, pigs, turkeys, and big­horn
sheep has become one of the most
popular sports at ranges around the coun­try.
Such matches had their beginning in
Sonora, Mexico; so Arizonans became
early fans. Silhouette shooting is available
at Black Canyon for small-bore, high­power,
and even muzzleloading rifles,
and for revolvers and pistols as well.
Another Black Canyon handgun course
is designed for law enforcement training,
but lay citizens also use it on occasion for
home defense instruction. "A lady drove
out the other day with a brand new re­volver
she had purchased after a break-in
at her apartment. She wanted me to teach
her how to shoot and handle it correctly,"
reports Van Sickle.
A trap and skeet range and five miles
of archery field courses for hunters and
target shooters complete the lineup at
Black Canyon.
Beautiful weather and superb facilities
are major parts of the formula that makes
the range so popular. Both factors helped
influence the National Rifle Association
and International Shooting Union to
select Black Canyon as the site for the
1970 \\Orld championships.
"Thailand had just canceled out as the
host nation because of the Vietnam War,
and we were offered the chance to sub­stitute
with only two years to prepare,"
Avery recalls.
With community support, the range was
made ready, and the event came off with­out
a hitch. Some 600 shooters from fifty­four
nations participated, including several
from behind the Iron Curtain.
Major competitions continue. In April,
1986, National Guard units from all fifty
states sent their best riflemen to Black
Canyon. Each spring the range also spon­sors
a fair to build public understanding
of shooting sports.
Who knows what the future holds for
this remarkable range? If Lloyd Van Sickle
and Ben Avery have their way, the five­ring
Olympic pennant will fly one day
above Biscuit Flat. ~
An amd sportsman, Bob Whitaker is a Phoenix­based
free-lance writer who specializes in the
outdoors.
Arizona Highways/ 43
ARIZONIQUES
Something of an almanac , a sampler, a calendar, and a guide to places, events, and people unique to Arizona and the Southwest.
Jerome's Montana Hotel
BOOMTOWN LUXURY
In contrast to the dangerous, brutal
conditions in the mines, some aspects
of life in the frontier mining towns
could be surprisingly opulent. During
its heyday, from the mid-1880s to the
early 1920s, Jerome, the famed copper
boomtown in central Arizona, grew to
become the third-largest city in the
state. There William Clark, the U.S.
senator from Montana who owned
Jerome 's United Verde Mine , built the
luxurious 200-room Montana Hotel
with a dining room that could seat 400
people. Rooms rented for five dollars
a month, and the hotel was the pride
of the town until it burned in February
of 1915.
Jerome, now a ghost town turned
artist colony, still nestles into Cleopatra
Hill overlooking the scenic Verde Valley.
44/ Arizona Highways
HISTORY'S NEW HOME
The Arizona Historical Society has
been working for a bigger and better
museum in central Arizona for years,
having outgrown its present museum in
the historic Ellis Shackleford House on
North Central Avenue, Phoenix, almost
the day the doors opened. Now it
appears the dream museum will soon
become a reality.
late this year or early in 1987 , the
Society will break ground for a new
7.5- million -dollar museum building
on an eleven-acre site in Papago Park
donated by the City of Tempe.
The design of the building was
decided in national competition
funded by the National Endowment
for the Arts . The winning concept was
submitted by the Garfield- Hacker
Partnership of Portland, Oregon. The
75,000-square -foot museum building
and surrounding grounds will include
exhibit areas, classrooms, a restaurant,
a multimedia theater, an auditorium,
library, administration offices, and
outdoor amphitheater.
Two appropriations from the Arizona
Legislature totaling 1.5 million dollars,
the land donation by Tempe, and
generous contributions by various
individuals and organizations have
raised about half of the twelve million
dollars needed to complete the
museum complex in the next three
years . For further information on the
museum or where to send donations,
write to Andy Masich , Division Director,
Arizona Historical Society Museum ,
Central Arizona Division, 1242 North
Central Avenue, Phoenix, AZ 85004; or
telephone 255-4470 .
SALT RIVER NATURE
TRAIL: A REBIRTH
A new trail close to Ph oenix offers a
var iety of desert terrain for fall, winter,
and spring hikes. But it 's more than a
trail ; its history is a tale of destruction
and rebirth, and it serves as a shining
example of what volunteers and
government agencies can do when they
cooperate.
The Salt River below Saguaro lake is
heavily used by people of the metro­politan
Phoenix area. Some float the
Salt's cool waters in inner tubes and
some destroy the fragile desert riparian
ecology of the shoreline with all-terrain
vehicles. Not long ago, the shoreline in
the Phon D. Sutton Recreation Area on
Bush Highway, near the confluence of
the Salt and Verde rivers, was littered
with trash and crisscrossed with tire tracks .
Then, in a joint effort, the U.S . Forest
Service stepped in to fence the area,
and the Arizona State University Wildlife
Society built the Salt River Nature Trail ,
restoring the damaged terrain with
thousands of hours of volunteer labor
and with materials and equipment
furnished by the Tonto National Forest,
the Bureau of Reclamation , and the
Arizona Game and Fish Department.
The ASU Wildlife Society and the
Maricopa County Audubon Society
now maintain the area.
The result is a thing of beauty. You
now can take a leisurely walk through
pristine desert vegetation from riparian
habitat at the edge of the Salt River to
upland desert plants at elevations above
the high water line. Signs along the trail
explain the wide range of vegetation,
including exceptionally large saguaro
cacti and mesquite trees. You 'll also see
a variety of birds, including cactus
wrens, hummingbirds, and - a rare
treat in the desert- such waterbirds as
ducks, herons, and ospreys along the
river itself.
For more information on the Salt
River Nature Trail , contact the Tonto
National Forest , 252-5200.
A DIFFERENT ANGLE ON WATER
No, you weren't hallucinating if you
thought you saw an oil rig at the Grand
Canyon's South Rim last spring. And no,
oil has not been discovered there. What
happened was that the National Park
Service turned to the oil industry for
help in solving a long-standing problem
with the water supply system at Grand
Canyon Village.
There is plenty of water at the
Canyon, but the source is the Indian
Gardens pumping station 2800 feet
below the Rim. From there pipes
installed in the 1930s carried water up
the steep canyon walls to the Village,
but the exposed system was susceptible
to both freezing and rock slides.
Furthermore, the amount of water it
could carry was no longer adequate for
the community's growing needs.
Kl'JBAB
LIMESTONE
(JOO FI)
TOAOWEAP
FORMATION
(280Ft)
COCONINO
SANDSTONE
(600Ft)
SUPAJ
FORMATION
(950Ft)
REDWALL
UM EST ONE
(500Fl)
MUAV
LIMESTONE
(415A)
The National Park Service decide d to
drill a curved tunnel from the So uth
Rim to Indian Gardens. When offic ials
found conventional water-well -drilling
technology couldn't do the job, they
hired Grace, Sheursen and Moore, an
Oklahoma City petroleum engineering
group, to draw up plans for the angled
hole. Another company, Brinkerhoff­Signal,
then was brought in for the
actual drilling. The bore hole curves
3800 feet from true vertical for a total
distance of 5075 feet, emerging jus t a
few feet from the targeted site . The
hole was lined with casing and an
eight-and-five-eighths-inch waterlin e
was inserted. It now serves the South
Rim's residents and the yearly influx of
nearly thre e million visitors.
CALENDAR
October l through 12, Lake Havasu City.
London Bridge Days. This Colorado Ri ver
town ce lebrates a bit of England in
Arizona with a fair and carnival, English
costume cont ests, a Shakespeare costume
show, plus traditi onal Arizona activiti es:
water s ki shows, a square dance festival ,
cloggers, and a grand parade. Telephone
855 -4115 or 855 -1001.
October 3 through 5, Kingman. Andy
Devine Days. Kingman sa lutes its famo us
na tive son, the late ac to r, with a rodeo,
parade, gymnastics demonstration, and a
ten-kilometer run. Telephone 753 -2124.
October 5, rucson . Tucso n Blues Festival.
Nationally kn own arti sts and some of th e
state's finest talent perform a variety of
blues styles und er th e warm autumn sun
at the Reid Park band sh e ll. Telephone
791 -4079.
October 11 and 12, Camp Verde . Fort
Verde Days. Step back a centu ry or so to
when the U.S . Army protected Arizona
Territory fr om h os tile Indians and
celebrate the era with a parade , cavalry
drills, musi c, and Indian dancers.
Telephone 567-9294 .
October 17 through 19, Tombstone.
Helldorado Days. The "town too tough
to die" hosts a weekend of shoot-outs,
fast -draw contests, and a parade.
Telephone 457-2211.
October 17 through 19 , Phoen ix. Greek
Festival. Zorba won ' t be there, but you
sh ould be, for delicious Greek foods,
colo rfu l costum es, dancing, mus ic, and
more. Telephone 264 -7926.
October 24 through November 9, Phoe nix .
Arizona State Fair. In add iti on to
livestock shows, a huge midway fi ll ed
with rides, and three stages offering
continu o us entertainment, your fair
ticket will admit you to your ch oice of
fifteen performances by major
e ntertainers and two Phoenix Su ns
basketball games. Telephone 252 -677 1.
October 26 through November 2, Tuc son.
Seiko Tucson Match Play Championsh ip .
The nation 's best golfers go o ne o n one
in ten se competition. Telephone
791-4854.
For a more complete calendar, free
of charge, please write th e Arizona
Office of Tourism, Department CE,
1480 East Bethany H ome Road,
Phoenix, AZ 85014. Un less otherwise
noted, all telephone numbers are
within area code 602.
Edited by Robert] Farrell
Arizona Highways/45
BOOKSHELF
BY
THE STATE PARKS OF ARIZONA,
by John V. Young. University of New
Mexico Press, Albuquerque, New Mexi­co
87131. 1986 204 pages. $11.95, soft­cover;
plus $2. 00 postage and handling.
A rizona has twenty-two national
parks, monuments, recreation
areas, and historic sites, more than
any other state in the Union. Consider­ing
this magnificent offering, one
would think that a state parks system
would go unseen and unsung. Such is
not the case. Because of discriminat­ing
selection and development, the
state parks of Arizona host nearly two
million visitors a year.
The enabling legislation to create a
state parks system for Arizona was
passed in 1957, and the first state park
designated was the Tubae Presidio, a
BUDGE RUFFNER
a native, it is symbolic, for it, too,
came to Arizona to become part of it.
John V. Young, author of The State
Parks of Arizona, has done an exem­plary
job of work in compiling this
invaluable guide. Indexed and illus­trated
with current photographs, it
will prove a useful tool of travel for
both the resident and the tourist.
Aside from the facilities offered in or
near each park, Young includes a
brief history of the area and colorful
personalities of the past identified
with the local scene.
The three-hundred-acre Lost Dutch­man
State Park, set in the foothills of
the fabled Superstition Mountains,
assures Jacob Walz and his " lost"
mine of a continuing immortality,
centerpiece of Arizona history. Tubae was the first Euro­pean
community in what is now Arizona, the site of the
first Spanish land grant, the location of the first public
school, and it was here that the first newspaper in the
territory was published. Each of the twenty-one state
parks in Arizona is classified as recreational or historic.
Together they offer both the sportsman and the week­end
scholar a wide choice of rewarding remissions from
a forty-hour week and the anxieties that go with an
asphalt society. Arizona parks represent a four-century
span of history as well as the dramatic range of climate
zones that exists in the state. They are as diverse as the
state itself, from the ancient petroglyphs of Painted Rock
State Historic Park to the transplanted London Bridge at
lake Havasu State Park While the bridge is obviously not
nourished almost daily by writers de­voted
more to romance than research. Other Arizona
characters, more substantive but less celebrated, parade
through the pages of the book: William Boyce Thomp­son,
philanthropist and amateur botanist, Juan Bautista
de Anza, Spanish explorer, Charles D. Poston, "Father of
Arizona," and Old Bill Williams, a restless mountain man
of the mid-nineteenth century who gave his name to an
Arizona town, mountain, and river. Old Bill loved soli ­tude
and believed in evolution, which today seem equal­ly
difficult to come by.
John Young's The State Parks of Arizona goes more
than the extra mile beyond ordinary guidebooks. It is a
crash course in both the natural and social history of the
state. It is a quality publication at a modest price. To my
mind, that makes it a rare find.
THE ROLL AWAY SALOON: COW­BOY
TALES OF THE ARIZONA
STRIP, by Roland W Rider as told to
Deirdre Murray Paulsen. Utah State
University Press, Logan, Utah
84322. 1985. 114 pages. $9.95,
softcover; plus $1. 75 postage and
handling.
Those comfortable companions,
the Grand Canyon, the Colorado
River, and the Arizona Strip, have
since 1540 been the homeland of
both true and tall tales. When the
two kinds are intermingled, they
create a little cream to pour on
dehydrated history. We call this
folklore.
Roland W Rider was born in the
little town of Kanab, Utah, near the
eastern edge of the Arizona Strip, in
1890. During his ninety-three years
of life he made his living in many
46/Arizona Highways
ways, but he will be remembered
as a master storyteller. Rider's grand­daughter,
Deirdre Murray Paulsen,
listened to his stories, taped them,
and took notes. The Roll Away
Saloon is the result. Roland Rider's
life, wanderings, and recollections
about the Colorado River country
have left us an engaging selection of
yarns on western life and lore.
GUUJBLE COYOTE/ UNA'IHU:
A BILINGUAL COLLECTION OF
HOPI COYOTE STORIES, by
Ekkehart Malotki. University of
Arizona Press, 1615 East Speedway
Boulevard, Tucson, Arizona 85719.
1986 180 pages. $35, hardcover;
$19.95, softcover; plus $1. 00 postage
and handling.
The Hopi people living on their
mesas in northern Arizona are
masterful mimics and satirists. In this
volume, Ekkehart Malotki, an asso­ciate
professor of modern languages
at Northern Arizona University in
Flagstaff, has collected with the
assistance of Michael Lomatuwayma
twelve Hopi coyote stories, rendered
here in both Hopi and English.
The coyote is a prominent char­acter
in much Indian folklore. In this
delightful collection, the Hopis use
him to reflect the flaws and foibles of
humankind. The book has special
value, for it preserves some of both
the lore and the language of Hopi
tradition.
(RIGHT) Cottonwood trees bask in a
mid-November wash of misty autumn
sunlight. Lake Powel4 Glen Canyon
National Recreation Area. GARY LADD
D LOOKING FORWARD
After receiv ing this fabu lous maga ­zine
for ten years now, my family and
I want to thank you for a ll th e won ­derfu
l issues and beautiful ca lendars
we've received. We enjoyed them all!
We 're looking forward to the next ten
years.
O laf Langer
Kob lenz, Germany
PHOTOGRAPHY
CONTf:ST
Nikon Inc. will support the Arizona
lfighways Amateur Photography Con­test
by donating two 35mm cameras
as first place prizes.
The cameras are N2000 models
introduced a year ago that feature a
built-in motor drive and automatic
film loading and film speed indexing.
Equipped with f/1.8 Nikkor lenses, the
cameras will be awarded to first place
winners in the two contest categories:
Open (for everyone) and Youth (ages
19 and younger). Grand prize in the
contest is a Hasselblad camera.
Other prizes for each category:
second place-$200 worth of pho­tography
processing and $125 worth
of Kodak Kodachrome film; third
prize-$100 worth of photography
processing and a copy of Josef
Muench's book, Pro Techniques of
Landscape PhotDgraphy. provided by
HP Books of Tucson. The photo pro­cessing
is donated by Image Craft of
Phoenix and Jones Photo of Tucson. A
number of honorable mention prizes
also will be awarded.
Winning photographs will be pub­lished
in Arizona lflghways next
spring.
October 1 is the deadline for sub­mitting
entries, which are limited to
scenic color photography taken within
Arizona and one image per entrant
Submissions must be 8- by 10-inch
color prints flush mounted on illustra­tion
board.
Entries should be sent to Photo
Contest, Arizona ltighways, P. 0. Box
6106, Phoenix, AZ 85005.
48/Arizona Highways
LETTERS
YOURS SINCERELY
D A PLATEFUL OF LOVE
I love t he state of Arizona; it is par­adise
on earth, and we p lan to retire
there as soon as we can. For Christ ­mas
last year, my husband gave me
the above license plate which ex­presses
our feelings exactly.
Toni A Pearlman
D TALLTALES
Bethel, CT
I reall y enjoyed Mr. Dedera's tall
ta les in the June issu e. I have heard
the reason the Litt le Co lorado River is
dry in late spring around Winslow is
because the wind blows all the water
out of it and up onto the adjacent
hills. Ranchers built stock tanks to
catch the water as it flows back to ­ward
the river, giving the cattle a
p lace to drink
lnl SU CCESSFUL
U SUBSCRIPTION
G. Foster
Wins low, AZ
The gift subscription for Julie Waltz
was so s uccessful that we are getting
married, and she is moving here. Can
you cancel her subscription as of]uly
1, and extend mine by the remaining
number of mo nths?
Robert Kembel
Tucson, AZ
FROZEN FOLLOWER
Living as far north as I do, I anx -
iously awa it eac h issue of Arizona
Highways with the abundance of
color-saturated and sunsoaked pic­tures
. This seems to offer me some
relief in dealing with and living in an
average icy minus-five degrees for six
long winter months, not to mention
the two months during w inter w hen
the sun does not rise at all. Al th ough I
have not yet been so fort unate as to
physica ll y visit your beautiful and
majestic state, as your frozen fo ll ower
I feel that in many ways I have been
t o Arizona through your great
magazin e .
Dan A Anderson
Barrow, AK
ARIZON~
H I G H WA Y S®
OCTOBER 1986 VOL. 62, NO 10
Publisher- Hugh Harelson
Editor-Merrill Windsor
Managing Editor- Ri cha rd G. Stahl
Art Director- Gary Bennett
Picture Editor- Peter En senberge r
Associate Art Director- Lorna Holmes
Associate Editor- Robert J . Farr ell
Senior Contributing EdHors­Geo
rge Collins, Esther Henderson ,
Ray Manley, Josef Muench, Earl Petroff,
Clara Lee Tanner.
Contributing EdHors-
Bill Ahrendt , John Annerino , Jo Baeza, Joe
Beeler, Bob Bradshaw, Duane Bryers , Don
Campbell, Willard C lay, Ed Coope r, Paul Dean ,
Don Dedera, Dick Dietr ich, Jack Dykinga , Carlos
Elmer. Bernard L. Fontana, Jeff Gnass. Barry
G oldwater, Pam Hait, Jerry Jac ka , Christ ine
Keith, Gill Kenny, Peter Kresan, Gary Ladd , Alan
Manley, Herb and Dorothy Mclaughlin, J . Peter
Mortimer, David Muench, Charles Niehuis,
Marguerite Noble. Willis Peterson , Lawrenc e
Clark Powell, Allen C. Reed , Budge Ruffner, Jerry
Sieve, Joe Stocker, Jim Tallon. Larry Toschik,
Marshall Trimble, Lee Wells, Maggie Wi lson .
Business Director-Jim Delzell
Operat ions Director-Palle Josefsen
Circulation and Marketing Director­Sharon
Vogelsang
Managing EdHor , Related Products­Wesley
Holden
Production Manager-Diana Pollock
Governor of Arizona- Bru c e Babb itt
Director,
Depar tment of Transportation­Charles
L. M iller
Arizona Transportation Board
Chairm an: Arthur C. Atonna. Douglas; Members:
Hal F. Butler, Show Low; And rew M. Federhar.
Tuc son; Ted Valdez, Sr ., Phoenix; Sondra Eisberg,
Prescott; James Patterson, C handler; Ha rold
Gietz , Safford .
(INSIDE BACK COVER) A stroll through a
stand of quaking aspen on a road
paved with gold near Flagstaff is
an idyllic way to spend an autumn
afternoon for man and beast.
PETER KRESAN
(BACK COVE R) One of life's special
p leasures: good friends, good food,
and a spectacular view. Here the
setting is Kendrick Park and the
backdrop is the San Francisco Peaks
on a crisp fall day LES MANEVIlZ