Arizona Highways, April 1977

              APRIL 1977 • ONE DOLLA·R
(Front cover) One of the many high point s of
the Yaqui Indian Easter Ceremony is the
procession of Judas and the Fa riseo. Dating
back 360 years, the pag eant celebrates the
passion of Christ and the battle between
the forces of good and evil.
(Inside front cover) In traditional Yaqui East er
Ceremonial mask and dress, a Pa scola Dancer,
representing the son of the devil, executes an
intricate figure to the music of drum and flute .
Photographs by Tom Ives
Chapayekas, their masks and special garb
styled to suit the weare r and the times , are
made new for each ce remony .
From the Editor: The matter of photographing Arizona's Indians is a complex
and sometimes frustrating experience. Readers frequently see photographs of
Indians in these pages and feel they, as tourists or visitors, can also photograph
these same subjects.
That is not always the case. For example, the photographs appearing in this
issue of Yaqui ceremonies were done with full permission of Yaqui leaders. The
leaders were consulted in advance, and special permission obtained to do the
photography.
The Hopi Tribe , on the other hand, has very strict rules prohibiting photog­raphy.
And Navajo Tribal officials require a special permit for photographers
doing commercial work . As a tourist, you may photograph Navajo people without
the permit, but if your photographic efforts are aimed for publication, or some
other commercial venture, then a permit is required.
In other words, each tribe has its own regulations concerning photography.
Most of these regulations have tome about because of abuse heaped upon Indian
subjects by tourists and other photographers, some doing work for publication.
We take pride in the fact that our regular photographers who deal with the
Indian have a good reputation and rapport with their subjects. Our photographers
have earned this respect from the various tribes because they, in turn, respected
their rights of privacy, and have special regard for Indian religious ceremonies .
We hope you, as a visitor to Arizona's Indian lands, will inquire about photo­graphic
restrictions and treat your subjects with honor and respect.
Next Month: The May edition is devoted to Lake Powell Country. Three articles
will concentrate on the lake and the surrounding country. It's a spectacular region,
and you'll see photographically the most majestic scenery found anywhere in
the world.
Tom C. Coop er
ARIZON~ HIGHWAYS
APRIL 1977 VOL. 53 , NO. 4
James E. Stevens,
Director of Publications
Tom C. Cooper, Editor
Wesley Holden, Associate Editor
Richard G . Stahl, Assistant Editor
Marvin Beck, Ci rculation Manager
Raul H . Castro, Gov ernor of Arizona
In This Issue
2 The Yaqui Today­A
People in Transition
The Yaqui's ages old ceremonies are
now being evaluated in a cold, new
political light.
10 Sun Country Culture
Southwestern Architecture and culture
blend in Arizona's unique adult
community colleges.
16 In the Niche of Time
A color photo essay in praise of one of
Arizona's special mountain landmarks .
34 Jim Reynolds: Artist of the Year
Painting the Western scene with
realism and imagination.
3 7 The Vulture Mine Revisited
Rich , wild and trag ic, the Vulture
legend lives on.
42 The Bighorn of the Kofas
Symbol of the wild, the de ser t bighorn
sheep is still king of the mountain.
~:::~:ent of ~ ! j
Transportation
Wi lliam A. Ordway , Director ' -
Oscar T. Lyon , Jr., State Enginee r
Board Members
Len W. Mattice, Chairman, Pima
William A . "Bill " Erdmann, Vice Chairman ,
Casa Grande
John S. Housto n , M ember , Yuma
Robe rt M. Bra cke r , Member, Noga le s
Armand P . Ortega, Member, Sanders
E. J. " Charlie"McCarthy, Member, Kingman
Ralph A. Watkins, Jr , Member, Wickenburg
Arizona Highways is published monthly by
th e Arizona Department of Transportation .
Address: Arizona Highways, 2039 W. Lewis Ave.,
Phoenix, AZ 85009. $8.00 per year in U.S. and
possessions. $9.00 Ca nada, Mexico a nd
P.U.A.S. cou ntri es, and $ 10 .00 elsewhe re; sing le
copies one dollar each. Seco nd Class Postage
paid at Ph oe ni x, Arizona, under Act of March 3,
1879. Copy right © 1976 by the Arizona Depart­ment
of T ran sportation.
A ll ow five weeks for a change of address . Send
in the old as well as the new address including
ZIP code. Telephone (602) 258 - 6641 .
The editors will not be responsible for unso­licited
manuscripts, photographs, artwork, or
other materials sent for editorial considerati on.
1
The Yaqui Today:
A People in Transition
A figure stands alone supported by a
forked stick spine. He stares out of his
oversize head - painted face, long ears,
horns, and long painted nose . This is
his moment of peace and triumph. He
has been paraded around and around
throughout a crowd of people on the
outskirts of a dusty compound and
finally attached to his station. He has
been elaborately prepared with both
fear and loving care, painted and deco­rat,
ed with symbolic objects . He wears a
scarf and necklace. He carries a wooden
sword in his belt. One of the fetishes
attached to him may be a negligent
child's teddy bear. He is the symbol of
evil, created by man "devils" in their
own image and carried by them in
triumphal procession around the Yaqui
Pascua village in Tucson. He is
enthroned at the opposite end of the
compound from the church and faces it.
Directly to his left and just a few feet
away is a white cross shadowing him
with his imminent fate. All of his fol­lowers
who have venerated him will
turn against him, throw his symbols
with frenzied violence at his feet, and
l:mrn him at the stake. (Yaqui Easter
Ceremonial by Phyliss Bolastrero, Ari­zona
Highways, March, 1971.)
The modern Yaqui Easter Ceremo­nial,
of which the above is but a small
part, actually had its beginnings around
1617, when Jesuit missionaries pushed
into the Yaqui country of northern
Mexico. That was 360 years ago.
Today, the Yaqui are evaluating this
and many other Yaqui traditions in a
cold, new political light. And it's creat­ing
a cultural crisis.
Anselmo Valencia, Chairman · of the
Pasqua Yaqui Association and acknowl-
2
by Karen Fisher
Photographs by Torn Ives
edged cultural leader of the tribe, pre­dicted
several years ago that Yaqui
traditions would, by this time, be for­gotten.
Surprisingly, though, many of
the young people of the tribe take seri­ously
the responsibility of continuing
the traditions.
It is not as though the tide has turned .
Each year some Yaquis still say it will
be the last of the ceremonies, while
others insist that the . customs of the
tribe will indeed be maintained.
The emphasis has shifted, however,
from the Church and the plaza to the
community center, where the tribal
administration has its offices, where
food stamps are doled out, where jobs
in Arizona are listed on microfilm,
where there are family counselors.
Young people here are aware of
changes coming about and of differ­ences
of opinion concerning what is
more important - cultural integrity or
economic pride. They have seen the
formation of the Yaqui Construction
Company on which are pinned the
hopes of the community for both.
It would be difficult to exaggerate
the depth of meaning the fiestas and
rituals have to the Yaqui people, or the
total dedication men, women and chil­dren
have to their particular ceremonial
roles. The survival of their cultural
integrity depends upon their being a
tightly-knit group. In a world made
increasingly homogeneous - by ecume­nism,
by mass communication, by
mobility - this is a challenge.
Old Pascua, earliest village of the
Yaqui near Tucson, for example, once
out from the city, is now up against
an industrial park on one side, ~ strip
of motels on another, and it shares the
diminishing natural landscape with sev­eral
encampments of mobile homes.
In the early 1960s, some of the people
who had become dissatisfied with the
deteriorating condition of Old Pascua
sought new land upon which to reestab­lish
the community. The site they chose
was federal property, and they
approached Arizona Congressman
Morris K. Udall for his advice and
assistance. Mr. Udall introduced a bill
in Congress to provide for the transfer
of the land to the Pascua Yaquis. The
Indians formed the Pascua Yaqui Asso­ciation,
Inc ., to receive the deed .
The tract obtained in August, 1974,
is flat desert, located between the south
end of the Tucson Mountain range and
Black Mountain, about a mile south of
Valencia Road. The plan submitted to
the Pima County Planning and Zoning
Commission included a church building
and central plaza, large spaces set aside
for recreation, and plots for 200 homes.
There are more than ninety homes
there now; there is a Community Center
with a large, modern kitchen; there are
baseball diamonds to accommodate five
teams. And, most important to many of
the people, there is - at last - a com­fortable
church, with a floor that can
be removed for ceremonial dancing, and
a wide door that rolls up, leaving a side
of the structure open to the plaza.
On the day of the church dedication,
urgent political business was being con­ducted
next door in the Community
Center, which put New Pascua's future
right on the line.
A Task Force from the House of Rep­resentatives'
Interior and Insular Com­mittee
was holding a hearing relative to
the tribe's eligibility for federal aid. In
The Easter Ceremonial, one of the old t raditions
being re-evaluated today by the Yaqui, takes
place at Pascua near Tucson, during the three
holy days preceding Easter Sunday . A unique
reenactment of the passion of Christ, the
solemn and impressive ceremony depicts the
events leading up to the crucifixion and the
resurrection. But while the Yaqui are Catholic,
the i r passion play is based on their own inter­pretation
of the Easter Story. What has
developed is a rich combination of Catholic
ritual and tribal tradition : an age-old story
played against a backdrop of the battle between
the forces of good and the forces of evil.
(Right) On Easter Sunday, a procession of
members of the Church Society, flag bearers
and acolytes bring Christ into the church . It is
a symbolic event in which the resurrection as
well as the victory of good over evil is
represented.
(Below) The zoom lens captures the vigorous
spirit of the Deer Dancer, one of the oldest
dances in the Yaqui tradition. In a matchless
blend of dance and costume, the Deer Dancer
honors the spirits of all animals, birds, fish
and insects.
Drummers and a flutist provide the music for the Pascola Dancers, who
represent the forces of good in the Easter ceremony. They perform a number
of ritual functions, among which is throwing flowers at the Fariseos, the evil
ones, at the climax of the pageant on Holy Saturday.
a precarious move to keep their heads
above troubled financial waters, the
members of the Association, in an open
vote, had decided to again approach
Congressman Udall, this time to ask for
his help in gaining recognition as an
American Indian tribe.
Cultural, geographic, and political
boundaries do not always coincide.
They are further confused in a territory
that has belonged, in turns, to the
United State·s, Spain and Mexico. The
Yaquis who live here feel "American."
Their willingness to be proper citizens
was shown as early as 1924 when they
sent a letter of appreciation to the Tuc­son
newspaper:
This is our flag. it is Red, White and
Blue. The Blue contains the Military
of the poor soldors. and the White
contains the peace of the peopol. and
the Red contains the fiesta of the
eight little cities of the tribe. and in
our country the flag has no stars. But
Pascola Dancers perform unmasked to the music of a violin and harp.
Members of the Chapayeka Society carry the
bier of Christ to the church , a simulation of the
resurrection to come.
if the law of the U.S .A. want to put
some stars on our flag they can put
it on our flag. Because we .are in the
state of America. So we want the
stars of haven: So we sign our names.
During World War II the Yaquis
assisted in scrap metal collection and
enlisted in the armed services, some­thing
they were not allowed to do dur­ing
World War I, when they were refu-gees
from Mexico. ·
On Holy Saturday morning at Pascua, the Maestros, the lay priests of the
Yaquis, prepare to sing The Litany and The Gloria , from the Catholic Easter
service.
Oh, Creator Sun
To serve our people,
To grasp the universe
Of all walks of life.
At birth I tasted
the Earth with my
mouth.
To respect this ground
so dear. Hold her so
close. And not dare
let her go.
A fire burns within
me.
Of Old Yaqui life.
I am here for many reasons.
So let me free myself to the
eyes of all and be proud
to stand in the world Old and New
for Yaqui will not die.
- Yolanda Schutz
Native American status gains Indians
prestige but not much backing. For
example, a grant from the Office of Eco­nomic
Opportunity in 1966 provided
$99,000 to the Association for on-the­job
training of Yaqui men while they
built the first New Pascua homes, but
money for the materials had to be raised
by donations. Today, the village
Swords of the Chapayekas await the next
dance of the Easter pageant. Each member
of the society makes his own sword .
Elaborately prepared with fear and loving care , Judas is paraded around the
dusty compound before being enthroned as the ki ng or god of the evil forces.
5
(Left) The leader of the Matachini Dancers.
Their sometimes complicated movements are
executed to the music of violin and guitar.
(Below) Dancing to the last songs of The Gloria.
urgently needs a new sewer system, but
the Association has not been able to
qualify for a standard government loan.
Many agencies of the government are
sympathetic, but the current status of
the Yaqui tribe is so ambiguous that the
government cannot decide whether they
should be classified "urban" or " rural."
As American Indians, another type of
Indian designation, on the other hand,
their recently acquired land would
become a reservation held in trust, and
they would be eligible for the services
and assistance provided other American
Indians by the Bureau of Indian Affairs,
Department of the Interior, and the
Indian Health Service, Department of
Health, Education and Welfare.
Not all the Yaquis are happy about
the pending permanent relationship with
the federal government - independence
has always been a strong characteristic
of their tribe. The eleven-member tribal
board, however, representing all o.f the
Arizona Yaqui settlements, feels that it
is their only chance of halting disinte­gration
of community. Others believe
they are entitled to recognition, but fear
it may be a compromise, that their com­munity
will be changed. Another major
concern is the lack of support from
some of the established American
Indians.
Several tribes have endorsed the
Yaqui request; but there are those who
consider the Yaquis "wetbacks," and
they are unwilling to welcome yet
another group for fear it will cause the
shrinkage of each individual piece of
the American Indian "pie."
Many Yaquis also are troubled by the
fact that to become an American Indian
necessarily cuts the tie to Mexican rela­tives,
at a time when sqpport and unity
are most needed. It seems to them a
denial of their uniqueness and of the
past.
One of the dramatic needs of the peo­ple
at New Pascua is transportation.
Yet mobility also is a threat to solidar­ity,
in the sense that it offers so many
opportunities for social and cultural life
away from home. Even the ride to and
from work takes many hours a week
previously devoted to the community,
Another unanticipated influence that
has already taken its toll is the increas­ing
number of women who are working
to help with family finances.
Hope Estrella, wife of Tribal Council
member Justo Estrella, is one who still
manages to spend an enormous amount
of time and energy on ceremonial cook­ing,
even though she is employed at a
school cafeteria full-time.
Her children are almost grown, andi
she laments the fact that they are not
as interested in traditional activities as
she and her husband think they should
be. She notes also it is becoming increas­ingly
difficult to get women of the vil­lage
to volunteer their efforts toward
the many tortilla-making sessions, or
to the all-night vigils they must keep
during ceremonies, in order to feed the
men who are fulfilling their societal
obligations.
Mrs. Estrella's dedication goes
beyond a sense of duty, for she admits
to getting a deep personal satisfaction
in return for her many long hours in
the communal kitchen. Yet it must be
noted that such nurturing of one's
friends and neighbors is a large part of
true Yaqui life.
The ritual kinship system is as strong
as it ever was, and it seems to be at
least as successful, and exceedingly
more personal, a way to cope with
today's pressures as those institutions
and agencies that have been devised
a-culturally to serve society at large.
Compadres attend to one another's
Not all the Y aquis are happy
about the pending permanent
relationship with the federal
government - independence
has always been a strong
characteristic of their tribe.
needs from birth to death. They are con­cerned
with all personal crises. Every
family knows there are others who will
bring them food. When there is suffer­ing,
as in death, it is shared.
There is an atmosphere of common
good in the community, too. It shows
on the faces of the children as they roam
freely during fiestas, in the safety of
neighbors they know. It shows in the
relaxed looks of the parents, comfort­able
about bringing their children into
the familiar ceremonial fold.
There also is an attitude of benevo­lence
one toward the other in the vil­lage.
A gentleman offers to explain the
Easter story to a stranger. His wife is
singing with the cantoras. He says: "She
is an angel to me." A tiny girl wearing
an aqua dress with a bright white pina­fore
steps carefully over the dusty
ground toward a group of young men
engaged in earnest conversation. She
hands one of them - her father - a
can of cold soda, and all the talking
stops as he takes time to reach out with
his free hand and gently smooth the
braid on top of her head. A young mar­ried
couple who live and work in town
come back to New Pascua almost every
evening to help their mothers with their
younger brothers and sisters.
Yaqui ways are not always clear to
the bystander. The Association has
hardly had time to launch a public rela­tions
campaign. Misunderstandings
occur, such as that which arose when
well-meaning members of a marching
band, guests at the church dedication,
trooped onto the far end of the Plaza
during a matachini dance. They were
asked to leave the ceremonial arena.
Most of them went home, and not with­out
some grumbling.
Director of the Pascua Yaqui Associ­ation,
Raymond Ybarra, was seated at
a distance, aware of the festivities, but
resting in the background after a gruel­ing
question and answer session with
the Washington Task Force that began
early in the day. The meeting had been
open to the public, but in most cases
it was Ybarra who had been called upon
to respond.
Ybarra wiped his forehead as the sun
beat down on the Plaza and the dust
was kicked up by the marchers and
dancers, spectators and cars, and he
wondered out loud if they could all
endure the second day of hearings. The
inquiries seemed to bring out all the
negative aspects of their experience. It
seemed that all the possibilities for
encouragement had been limited. They
had gone from agency to agency. They
had met dead end after dead end.
Mi Ma
Grandma used to say
There was a Rio in Yaqui lands
Where Mo ' elm (small birds) and
Sewas (flowers)
Danced together to give thanks of
living
on this earth. And to gain happiness.
Grandma and I danced together once.
To give thanks of our happiness and
thanks of our living on earth together.
- Yolanda Schutz
In October, 1976, for the first time,
Yaqui men and women appeared in cos­tume
at a Tucson musical festival. The
men danced, the women had a food
booth and sang a song about their
grandmother. The participation of
Yaquis in a public, multi-cultural event
was a triumph over a former sense of
inferiority. Those against the idea
believe that social and religious cus­toms
are - if not sacred - at least pri­vate,
and should be practiced at home.
7
The pro cession of the Farise o in honor of Judas, on Saturday morning . The
masks , all of which are lab o riou sly and lovingly made by hand, will be burned
at the conclusion of th e Ea ster Ceremonial.
It has been the responsibility of
individuals in the societies to finance
celebrations. This is part of the Yaqui
commitment. The community received
a severe blow last summer when an
important annual event called Cristo
Rey was postponed several times and
finally cancelled due to a iack of funds.
Yaqui Indians do not have crafts for
sale, as do other Indian tribes - they
are not basketmakers or potters; it is
forbidden to sell ceremonial objects.
They do not think of themselves as
"artists" even though artistic efforts go
into all of the costumes and masks. In
fact these are burned during the Easter
ceremony.
So it is their total culture as expressed
in the ritual they share with others -
not as pageant, but as belief - that is
their contribution to American Indian
life .. Must they place it on the market
in order for it to survive?
Bamboo and Cottonwood
Carved by Yaqui hands
All day long,
Can bamboo or cottonwood feel or
know? How they both will
Play and dance all night long.
8
A mas k, flute, sword and drum.
In each and ev ery religious
moment of Yaqui Eastertime Year.
- Pascua.
There have always been storytellers
among the Yaquis. These individuals
have assumed traditional roles in vil­lage
life and become known to the
people.
Refugio Savala wrote songs - cor­ritbs
- which told of events, often tragic
ones, in Yaqui lives. He also passed
down the legends he learned as a child.
Savala came to Tucson as a child. As
soon as he was old enough he enrolled
in night school and learned the English
language. Later, he became a worker oh
the railroad and left Old Pascua for long
periods of time to travel by train, going
as far north as Mistietoe, Oregon. He
remembers Mistletoe particularly,
because that is where he was marooned
in the snow one Christmas Day, and
where he shared with his fellow workers
the Yaqui legend concerning the birth
of Christ.
University of Arizona scholars dis­covered
Savala in 1937. At that time,
anthropologists and linguists were just
beginning to observe Yaqui village life
in Arizona. They called upon Savala to
translate the legends and interpret the
ceremonies because he had the nature
and spirit of the poet.
This gentle storyteller has not been
able to participate in the revitalization
of the Yaqui community in New Pascua,
however, because he lives in a veterans'
convalescent home in Tucson. It is here
he has worked on his autobiographical
manuscript, which he calls "The Love
Song of Refugio Savala." And it is
here, also, that he has undertaken what
he deems to be the most important task
- the true purpose - of his life, the
translation into Yaqui of God's Holy
Word.
Savala works slowly, sitting at the
side of his hospital bed, with his Bible
on the rolling table. He reads a line,
then writes out the Yaqui words on a
piece of paper. This will be his gift to
his people.
Le gends collected from Old Pascuans
by University of Arizona anthropolo­gi
sts and folkloris ts are " traditional,"
for each embodies a centuries-old moral
lesson. They are " original" in the sense
that each storyteller has his own way
with words.
One of Savala's favorite s is "King
Lion and King Cricket," which he bills
as an account of the first aerial warfare
ever conducted. A cricket who thinks
he is king over the insect world is heard
boasting by a lion who is king of all
the beasts.
The lion challenges the cricket to an
all-out battle to determine who has top
status, but the cricket refuses. 'The lion
taunts the insect with insults until the
cricket agrees, and they go to prepare
their armies . The cricket returns with
a squadron of wasps who eat the hair
from the bodies of the jungle animals.
The angry beasts repeat their attack and
a replacement squadron of bees is sent
in by the cricket. They sting the bare
animals until they retreat. Savala is fond
of pointing out there was no bloodshed.
To the untuned ear this is simply a
pleasurable fable, perhaps a little more
exciting than most. But to those who are
sensitive to Yaqui problems, it becomes
an illustration of one way to resolve
the conflict between values (pacifism)
and pride (the right to be who we are)
when autonomy is challenged. And it
makes one painfully aware that to keep
their dignity a people must have their
own lives under control.
New Pascua was created to provide
a devout community whose members
care about one another with a continu­ous
social, cultural and religious life.
The Pascua Yaqui Association was cre­ated
to face King Lion. D D D
An an ge l in whit e . the youn g lady repr esents
th e forc es of good during th e Easter
Cere monials - and the enemy of the evil
Fariseos.
Resting , or wh'en dan ci ng to the harp and
violin , th e Pascola Dan ce rs place their masks in
the beh ind -th e-head position .
Danc e of th e Matac hini. The members of thi s
soci ety , who se services are dedicated to the
church , repre sent the g ood forces against the
evil o f th e Chapayeka . Th eir standard regalia is
a headdress of colored pap e r and stream e rs, a
gourd rattl e and the palma, a trident-shaped
frame decorated with feather s.
9
Sun Country Culture-
(Le ft) Yavapai College , cultural ce nt er of
Prescott, is architecturally su ited to its site,
surrounde d by hills and pine forests.
Specialties of the school i nc lu de art an d
Indian stud ies.
Gill C. Kenny
West Campus of the Pima Community College
in Tu cso n. Here stru cture again is
co mpl imentary to a un iqu e si te, nestled in the
fo ot hills of the Tucso n Mountains, i n vie w of
th e Santa Cata linas. Comprehensive bilingual
programs are offe red here .
Gill C. Kenny
Ari zo n a'S Community Colleges
by Katherine W. Howden
On a typical Arizbna copper-colored
day parking lots jam up an:d hundreds
of classrooms fill across the state.
Classes for the old and young, retired
and working, residents and winter
visitors will meet on college campuses,
in borrowed and leased buildings, fire
stations, churches, libraries, public
schools and community centers -
wherever there is space to accommodate
nearly 120,000 community college
students .
Arizonans, it would appear from the
s tatistics, have a greater commitment to
hi gher education than citizens of any
other state. For more Arizonans are full­time
students per 1000 population than
in any other state of the Union.
Essentially, community colleges are
educational ins ti tu tions designed to
develop people according to individual
and regional needs, rather than to per­petuate
and protect intellectual tradi­tion
based on European ideals - the
time-honored mission of the univer­si
ties .
The community college is a 20th
century invention, created in response
to c hanging social and economic
dynamics, and intended to provide life­long
learning for adults, and to serve as
manpower training centers for 83 per
c ent of American citizens who work at
jobs requiring the specialized skills of
an advanced technological society.
At present, n ine counties in Arizona
support 14 community colleges on 22
c ampuses and approximately 400 off­campus
locations.
10
From the beginning in Arizona it was
clear that all the colleges within the sys­tem
must be dedicated to the same
objectives, but , in realizing common
goals, mus t be permitted relative auton­omy
to accommodate the needs of rural,
suburban and urban areas with differ­ing
demographics and industries. As a
result, each college has become a sensi­tive
barometer of its local environment,
measuring individual and collective
wants, which it attempts to satisfy with
appropriate courses of study recom­mended
by its district (county) board of
directors. Uniform standards through­out
the sys tem, guaranteeing accredita­tion,
are maintained by a governing
state board of directors.
What makes the community colleges
typically Arizonan, however, is the
extent to which the geographical, eco­nomic
and cultural features that deter­mine
Arizona life styles permeate the
community college curricula .
From the approximately 2 , 700
courses offered collectively by the col­leges
, those special to Arizona include
Indian languages and cultural studies,
bilingual studies, the history and arche­ology
of the Southwest, geology of Ari­zona,
wildlife management, lapidary
and jewelry-making, mining technolo­gies,
botany of the Southwest, desert
biology and animal science, of which
19 courses alone are devoted to Ari­zona's
favorite animal - the horse.
Since most of the state's inhabitants
reside in Maricopa County, the county
supports five community colleges and
leases hundreds of off-campus loca­tions,
to reach the more than one
million people concentrated in greater­Phoenix
or scattered over 9,000 sq. mi.
In Phoenix, two colleges lie within
the inner city and offer education to
urban students in contrasting styles.
Phoenix College, founded in 1920
and located on a gracious 52-acre cam­pus,
is the senior of the two, and well­known
for its rigorous academic
curriculum. The College has recently
received national attention for its
experimental individualized computer~
instruction service known as TICCIT, a
program unique to Phoenix College and
only one other community college in the
nation. As many as 128 students can be
instructed simultaneously with individ­ual
mini-computers programmed with
math and English courses, each compu­ter
consoie connected to a conventional
TV screen.
Among its community services,
Phoenix College offers a free series of
book reviews, concerts and films, and
operates a center for women to explore
new career options and receive counsel­ing,
and a mobile nursing unit that
carries instruction to nurses in conva­lescent
homes, to improve the standards
of patient care.
A few miles across town, housed on
seven floors of an old department store,
is one of the most energetic and enter­pri
s ing of community colleges, Mari­copa
Technical Community College .
NAVAJO
MOHAVE
COCONINO
APACHE
Whatever MTCC lacks in glamour it
more than compensates for with origi­nality
and dedication in providing a
flexible and relevant curriculum for its
largely ethnic student body.
MTCC also shares with Phoenix Col­lege
responsibility for community ser­vices,
and was the original headquarters
for '6-Dimensions," a federally funded
social service program offering educa­tion
to the elderly in six community
college districts.
Glendale, Scottsdale and Mesa -
three cities with populations between
60,000 and 100,000 - flank Phoenix, to
the northwest, east and southeast re­spectively,
and support community col­leges
to serve their own and satellite
communities. All three have handsome
campuses of 160 acres, and modern
buildings incorporating Indian and
Spanish features in their architecture.
Responding to the plight of migrant
workers in the Glendale area, Glendale
Community College trains ten students
each year as social work assistants for
employment as school aides to work
with migrants and their children.
Mesa Community College is located
in a rich farming community. It would
be hard to find another community col­lege
more integrated with its commu­nity
or with such unanimity of support
from faculty, students and local resi­dents.
Like Glendale Community Col­lege,
its list of scholarships sponsored
locally has to be measured in inches
rather than counted.
The Scottsdale campus sits on Indian
land, leased from the Salt River Pima­Maricopa
Indian Community, many of
12
Red tile roofs, generous overhanging eaves for shade, and a low building
profi le are the hal lmarks of the structures on the campus of Cochise College
in southeastern Arizona. Jim Plank
whose members attend the college, and
three of whom became, in the spring of
1976, the first from the Salt River Com­munity
to receive degrees.
Pima County, in southern Arizona,
while approximately the same size as
Maricopa, is more sparsely settled.
Three-fourths of its inhabitants live in
Tucson, the county's only large city
and the second largest in the state.
Unlike Phoenix, Tucson is not a web of
distinct urban centers, but an integral
community. This characteristic plus the
large concentration of inhabitants in
Tucson gives logic to the organization
of Pima's community college district as
a single college with branch campuses.
The 273-acre main campus, in the foot­hills
of the Tucson Mountains and com­manding
views of the Santa Catalinas,
is three miles west of the central busi­ness
district. Pima Community College has been
aggressively ensuring the success
of students once embarked on a
course of study. The college has, accord­ingly,
developed a superlative counsel­ing
program that involves professional
counselors as well as faculty ' trained
personnel to assist them.
Sandwiched between Maricopa and
Pima counties in south-central Arizona
is Pinal County - 5,000 square miles
divided geographically and economi­cally
into distinct regions. The western
half, principally desert valleys and irri­gated
land, is agricultural, while the
economy of the mountainous eastern
region is based on the mining industry.
Central Arizona College, the larger
of the county's two colleges, has one of
the most beautiful and typically Ari­zonan
college campuses, amid giant
saguaro, cholla, creosote, mesquite and
palo verde, at the base of Signal Peak.
The district headquarters at the college
also administers the Arizona College of
Technology, prison programs in the
State Prison at Florence, and a skill cen­ter
on the Gila River Indian Reservation
for manpower training.
The Gila River Career Center, as it
is called, is located at Sacaton and offers
a broad range of vocational programs
to all members of the general commu­nity,
but with priority assigned to mem­bers
on the tribal role of the Gila River
Indian Community.
Younger sister to Central is Arizona
College of Technology, located in the
mountain fastness near Aravaipa Can­yon
and commanding 360-degree views
of the Galiuro, Dripping Springs and
Tortilla mountains. The College 'was
built with the support of local mine
owners to develop a certificate program
in mining and mine-related technolo­gies.
The campus also is rich in unexca­vated
Indian sites and full of historic
legends and lore from the time Coro­nado
passed through in 1538.
Cochise County, in southeastern Ari­zona,
abounds in geological and anthro­p
o lo gica l history and pre-history,
which has led to strong programs in
these fields at the county's college,
Cochise College, located in Douglas,
near the Mexican border.
Cochise has performed a singular role
in promoting good relations with
America's friendly neighbor to the
• •
Sun-warmed spaciousness with plenty of greenery to enhance the modern
arch itectu re are keynotes of the 160-acre Glendale Community College
campus, on the northwest shoulder of Phoenix. Don and Betty Froggett
south, by acting as a non-political advi­sor
and mediator between local and
Mexican small-business interests. Bi­lingual
programs and seminars have
helped local entrepreneurs learn Span­ish
commercial expressions and facts
about monetary exchange, advertising
and promotion techniques, to the advan­tage
of businessmen and consumer
alike, on both sides of the border.
An historic community college,
founded in 1888 by Mormon pioneers
and deeded to Graham County in 1933,
is located in Thatcher. There, in a bu­colic
valley watered by the Gila River,
Eastern Arizona College courts the past
and the future beneath the shifting
shadows of Mt. Graham, one of Ari­zona's
most spectacular mountains, ris­ing
to 11,000 feet.
Agricultural courses attract both the
neophyte and old hand in a peaceful
farming and ranching community. Like
Cochise, the area is rich in history and
the remains of ancient civilizations.
Yuma has been one of Arizona's most
thriving cities, ever since its days as a
booming trading post on the westward
migratory route to California, during
the Gold Rush. Originally known as
Colorado City, Yuma today is a sprawl­ing
complex on the western border of
the state, known as the sunniest place
in America. It is home to a resident
population of 34,000, many thousands
of winter visitors, and Arizona West­ern
College - the county's community
college, which sits atop a mesa to the
east of the city, commanding views of
the Kofa and Chocolate mountains in
the distance, and of the well-tilled fer-tile
fields in the beautiful valley below.
The county's economy is based on
farming, cattle feeding, tourism and
government - industries, all of which
are reflected in the design of Arizona
Western's broad curriculum. Courses
are carried to every corner of the
10,000-square-mile county, many to
employees at the Yuma Proving
Grounds, a large U.S . Government
installation, via its bilingual, national­network
radio station operating 365
days a year North of Yuma, along the Colorado
River and stretching from Lake
Mead to the Utah border, is
Mohave County, the second largest in
Arizona. Though largely desert, it boasts
over 1,000 miles of shoreline, the Lon­don
Bridge and a piece of the Grand
Canyon. With a county population
density of 2.8 people per square mile,
for an area of more than 13,000 square
miles, the problem of providing educa­tional
services can only be daunting.
Three community college centers
were opened in 1971 in Lake Havasu
City, Bullhead City and Kingman.
Mohave Community College is a haven
for hundreds of active winter visitors
and retired citizens who receive fee­waivers
once they have passed sixty­two
years of age. One recent student
in a creative writing course was ninety­seven
years old and may well have been
the oldest student in the West.
At Peach Springs, on the Hualapai
Indian Reservation, 187 students
enrolled in the spring of 1976 for gen­eral
education and vocational courses,
a surprisingly large proportion of the
870 residents, when only 380 were of
college age. A full-time director for the
Hualapai-Havasupai Adult Education
Program is stationed at the headquar­ters
at Peach Springs and coordinates
programs for both Mohave and Yava­pai
Community Colleges.
Prescott, in Yavapai County, had the
first public school in Arizona Territory,
the first organized rodeo - ever - any­where,
on July 4, 1888, and was the
training site for Teddy Roosevelt's
Rough Riders . It is also the home of
the county's community college, Yava­pai
College, which is the cultural cen­ter
of the town, although it sits on the
fringe, surrounded by rolling hills and
pine forests, in full view of Tom's Butte.
It is one of Yavapai's amazing
achievements that, along with educat­ing
its own citizenry, it has managed
to provide more than one hundred off­campus
courses to residents of Coco­nino
County, which does not have a
community college. That means cover­ing
a territory of more than 26,000
square miles, an area approximately the
size of Ireland or twice the size of Mas­sachusetts
and Connecticut combined.
For retired residents Yavayai has a
college division known as Retirement
College, with a full syllabus of courses,
free of charge to men over sixty-five
and women over sixty-two, designed
with their special interests in mind and
conducted during daylight hours.
Indian studies, including Navajo,
Apache and Havasupai languages;
women's studies in history and the arts,
and diesel and mining courses are spe­cialties
of the college. However, few can
13
(Left) Phoenix College, founded in 1920, is a
blend of old and new styles of architecture,
uniquely suited to its site in the heart of this
thriving southwestern metropolis.
Gill C. Kenny
(Below) A 'light in the desert' theme of white
buildings contrasted with dark rocky hills at
the base of Signal Peak is the setting for
Central Arizona College in Coolidge. The
unique style is further complimented by desert
greenery: giant saguaro, cholla, mesquite and
· palo verde.
Gill C. Kenny
(Below, right) The wide open spaces of the
Scottsdale Community College, to the east of
Phoenix, enhance the Indian-inspired
architecture of the school, situated on land
leased from the Salt River Pima-Maricopa
Indian Community.
Gill C. Kenny
/
compete with the range of art courses
for which the college is duly noted.
A breathless drive across the Mingus
Mountains, spiraling down past the
ci'iffside ghost town of Jerome, leaving
you speechless before the spectacle of
encircling mountains rising rosy-red
beyond a broad valley, brings you to
the Verde Valley campus of Yavapai
College, forty miles from Prescott. The
attractive modern campus near Clark­dale
houses administrative offices for a
network of programs carried to Jerome,
Clarkdale, Cottonwood, Lake Monte­zuma,
Rimrock and Sedona. A wealth
of talent exists in these communities,
especially among retired residents who
can't bear being idle and relish teaching
as a new career.
East of Yavapai, in northeastern Ari­zona,
is a long, narrow county touching
the Utah border on the north and reach­ing
south beyond the median line across
the state. The Mogollon Rim divides
Navajo County roughly in half, into
arid desert country to the north and
rugged mountains heavily wooded with
pinon, juniper and ponderosa pine to
the south. Seventy per cent of the
county contains Indian reservations for
the Navajo, Hopis and Apache.
Much of the county is wild and
starkly beautiful. Straight as the crow
flies it is 225 miles from north to south;
but the irregularity of the terrain
requires driving 300 miles to cover the
same distance the crow flies . The larg­est
settlement has less than 9,000 peo­ple;
the entire county only 56,000. To
serve these residents, the county organ­ized
Northland Pioneer College as four
mini-centers in Holbrook, Winslow,
Show Low and Snowflake, without a
centralized campus. It would be dif­ferent
from Mohave County's opera­tion,
in that it would use as many mobile
facilities as possible to transport labs,
libraries and equipment from one loca­tion
to another. It is, after all, not a
county with an excess of revenues.
In its first semester, fall 1974, NPC
enrolled 2,010 students. This was
roughly three times the number pro­jected,
which required using a conglom­eration
of buildings once intended for
a civic center, business offices, gas sta­tion,
BIA dormitories and community
hospital. In only two years the college
has expanded to sixty-six buildings,
hardly elegant but functional and, at
times, historic.
An amazing array of courses is
offered at NPC, reflecting the county's
economic base of small businesses, tim­bering,
ranching and mining.
It's a nice irony that students consider
a community college education such a
bargain in terms of dollar-cost to them,
forgetting (if they ever consider) the
intangible costs to their instructors.
Sometimes dedication is a write-off.
But · then things happen to lift the
spirits, like the young woman whose
husband had been transferred to Alaska.
She tried to earn a degree from four
different colleges, but got lost in the
shuffle everywhere. Finally, last June,
she graduated from NPC with an Asso­ciate's
degree, and the first thing she
did, upon learning of her husband's
transfer, was to inquire if there was a
community college near their new post
in Alaska (yes, there is, Kodiak Com­munity
College).
Perhaps the community colleges are
doing something right, something valu­able
and imperishable for us all. D D
15
16
At the mounta in's tim berli ne, another season
begi ns to work its silent magic, amidst the
afte rbirth of a fi ery ori gin.
In the QJDrnwJrn of Time
by John Duncklee
Mountains, like people, have their own particular personalities
- each is unique, each different from any other. And so it is with
the San Francisco Peaks, near Flagstaff.
Ages past . . . a fiery birth. Molten, white-hot lava from deep
within the earth burst forth through tectonic fracture, searing,
cremating all life as it spread, radiating and heaping into conic
mountain mass with lofty summit towering 13,000 feet above the
level of the sea. Then it cooled. Rocks and boulders began to break
down into soil, a bed for life ... the niches.
Glaciers came to gouge ... freezing, deadly cold. Life nil
beneath the giant creeping ice monster, joined by the relentless,
dynamic gnawing forces of erosion, breaking the symmetry of crater
and cone ... new niches from which new life could begin, grow
and change through time.
Niches are the little places: hollows under rock overhangs
sheltered from the elements, crevices which have caught enough soil
to support tiny seeds or merely lichens and moss.
The niches harbor the delicate, the brave, the pioneers -
and the intimate personality of the mountain. Niches support the
miniature: the scarlet primrose blooming gayly in the shadows,
columbine laughing in the breeze, a tiny potentilla poking its
inflorescence toward the sun from between two rocks, the bent and
prostrate bristlecone pine; shuddering in the winter wind as it
whistles through the boulders above the tree line. Niches are
ubiquitous, ever present through the seasons. They make up the
mountain, whe_re life occurs.
The mountain dominates the landscape for many miles with
its singular beauty. No season is the same, as no two years are alike
on the mountain. And with the seasons come the many moods and
changes. All this happens in the niches. contin!,{ed page 33
David Muench
,I,
.I
.I' I
. -- . . ...... I
(Left) In full winter dress, the mountain sleeps,
unmindful of friendly trespassers.
Peter Bloomer
(Below) A giant slumbers, capped in winter's
frosty manti lla.
Peter Bloomer
(Right) Coldly aloof, the season 's last snow
caps Mt. Agassiz.
Peter Bloomer
(Left) With early spri ng the mountain awakens .
San Francisco Peaks and Sunset Crater
National Monument.
Ed Cooper
(Right) A family ,-0f tiny forest mushrooms , the
season's first new life on the mountain .
David Muench
(Below) A mountain niche harbors the delicate,
the brave , the pioneers.
Josef Muench
(Following panel) A mountain is an exclusive
experience. Carrying a late ·mantle of snow ,
the San Francisco Peaks rise prominently
amidst a stand of ponderosa pine.
Josef Muench
Summer's wild beauty, the delicate columbine.
GIii Kenny
DID YOU EVER
SING TO A MOUNTAIN?
Did you ever sing to a mountain,
did you ever reach for the sky?
Have you seen- columbine and
primrose,
have you been there to hear the
wind sigh?
Her summit is barren and windswept,
few trees are able to live.
When you see them all gnarled
and twisted,
a certain respect you must give.
Below, away from the summit,
spruce, fir and pine grow tall.
With patches of trembling aspen,
where fire once happened to fall.
They say she was once a volcano,
millions of years ago.
Now she stands there ever so proudly,
through seasons of wind, rain
and snow.
I have sung to the mountain,
and I have reached for the sky.
I feel her magnificent beauty.
I have been there and
heard the wind sigh .. , .
- John Duncklee
Summer is the climax of the year on San
Francisco Mountain.
Peter Bloomer
24
(Far left) An abu ndance of summer life carpets
an enchanted aspen grove.
David Muench
(Left) Sparkl ing drops of morning dew enhance
the beauty of the fragi le lupi ne.
John Running
(Below) A sunset silhouette, the close of
another perfect day.
George McCullough
27
(Left) Late summer nature patterns exist in
every flowering plant caressed by the soft
mountain wind.
Gill Kenny
(Below) Autumn on the mountain and aspen
green turns swiftly to yellow ... then gold.
David Muench
(Right) Bent and prostrate, the ancient
bristlecone pine prepares itself for another
clash with winter's winds.
David Muench
(Following panel) The mountain, in an autumnal
mood, begins its preparations for the long
winter sleep.
Trevor Stanley
Be nea t h na tu re's w i nte r bla nke t o f white , the
mou nt ain slee ps.
Peter Bloomer
NICHE OF TIME from page 16
Spring brings the thaw. The frozen ground oozes as the
temperature rises to the call of another season on the mo-untain.
Tiny sprigs of green begin to push their way toward the sun. Aspen,
oak and maple explode into patches of new green, awakening from
dormancy. Fresh shoots emerge from the bases of the grasses ...
life begins anew.
Summer is the climax of the year on San Francisco
Mountain; life is abundant ... full ... beautiful ... But summer
is so short-lived! The first freezing wind blows in too soon.
Aspen green turns to yell9w . . . then gold.
· Whisk! Overnight the autumn gold of aspen turns to winter
gray, as the first of the strong winds denudes the trees in
unison, strewing the ground below with a carpet of gold. The
mountain begins to sleep again. All this happens in the niches.
Tenure of one of these tiny crannies is at best temporary. The
venerable old bristlecone will live for 2000 years in of).e tiny spot,
contrasted with the one season interlude of a tiny alpine flower. The
next season the same spot may have a different tenant or it may
completely disappear with a brief earth tremor or a snow avalanche.
So it is that life in these little places is dynamic, ever
changing, as are the tiny niches themselves, from the life within
their bo-unds, and from outside influence beyond their control.
Once inan has experienced these tiny worlds his concept
of the mountain may change, so that when he beholds the
magnificent profile against the sky, he remembers what it is that,
in combination, makes the mountain perfect with perfect beings in
perfect balance.
Descriptions of mountains are always inadequate. Perhaps
it is the lack of words in man's languages, or perhaps that
mountains themselves defy description by man. People are
hopefully individuals. And mountains, like people, are individuals ,
too. So that one man's attempt to describe a particular mountain
is singular at its outset and singular at its conclusion.
A mountain is an exclusive experience for man, whether he
looks up to the mountain from a distant point on the landscape,
or lives on its slopes in an intimate relationship. He b~comes a real
part of the mountain. His moods reflect the mountain's moods, and
he becomes a part of the mountain and all its quiet little places. This
is infinite in itself. It is the ultimate experience. This, San
Francisco Mountain provides, and its beauty is an incentive for
patience on the part of man for Nature.
33
34
James E. Reynolds
'Tucson Artist
ofthelear
. . . .
. · .. . . . . .
.. , • ' .
.. . · .. . . . . ,.
. ' . . . . . . . . . .. . ·. · ..
· .. .. .
, ,
, , '
.. ... ·. ·. · .. · .. . · .· .
• ''It ••• ' • • •
• • • •• • • t ••• : : / •
Westerners often are accused of
being realists, a heritage of the frontier,
no doubt, when one faced life toe to toe
- and there was no backing up.
Today, seeing things as they are still
feels as natural to the Westerner as old
blue jeans. It's something that's carried
over into almost everything he does,
including painting.
And Jim Reynolds, who this year
reigns as the Tucson Festival Society's
artist of the year, is no exception.
Like other cowboy artists, Reynolds
paints the people of the West - old and
new, the animals of the range, and the
land itself. He's also devoted to authen­ticity,
with a fine collection of vc1.rious
styles of saddles, guns and clothes that
he uses as models in his paintings.
' Tm a fanatic about realism in every­thing,"
Reynolds says. "I don' t like fan­tasies
and fairy tales. I never did."
Yet his realism is something more
than hard-line detail. It has a quality
about it which injects his scenes with
freshness, stirring the viewer's imagina­tion.
Reynolds calls it impressionistic: giv­ing
the appearance of realism.
"I like when people who've purchased
a painting of mine, years ago, say they
still look at it and find something new
in it."
This quality is much in evidence in
his painting of the year, titled Vamo­nos,
Muchachos. Says Reynolds, "It
could be a group of Pancho Villa's men
around the early 1900s. They're wear­ing
anything they could scrounge up.
. Some have wrapped their legs, and
somebody has swiped somebody's U.S .
hat."
The Festival Society will reproduce
this work in a fine-quality limited edi­tion
of 500 copies, which will be sig ned,
numbered and presented to those indi­viduals
or corporations who contribute
$100 or more to the Festival.
But while Reynolds certainly makes
a point of historical authenticity, he
doesn't use it as a cover-up for artistic
shortcomings. On the contrary, a Reyn­olds
painting is first, last and always a
work of art,says Don Hedgepeth, Direc­tor
of the J. Everts Haley History Cen­ter
in Midland, Texas.
"The fact that it is also of a western
scene, which appeals to those of us who
live in the West, is a secondary con­sideration.
Any painting that attains the
Vamonos Muchachos is the James E. Reynolds
painting chosen by the Tucson Festival Soc iety
for distribution this year . Private Collection
Jarvis Harriman
distinction of "fine art" must d~ so
primarily on its artisttc merit, and not
merely because of a fortunate choice of
subject matter.
"The level of artistic merit," adds
Hedgepeth, "can be measured by the
artist's command of the technical skills
of painting, together with the 'heart' of
the artist, his inspiration, being as much
an ingredient of the finished work as
the paint itself."
Hedgepeth says that had Reynolds
painted the New England seacoast or
the Florida Everglades instead of the
West, "he would still have been an
important artist.
"Fortunately, for those of us who
love the West, Jim was born a West­erner
and chose Arizona as his home.
Here, with abundant talent and a sensi­tive
eye for his wonderful Southwestern
surroundings, he will continue to pro­duce
paintings that are a prime factor
in the development of Western art, as
art, instead of just historical illustra­tion."
Even though much of his work
reflects his love of the Old West, he also
enjoys painting contemporary scenes,
such as working cattle ranches. Again,
they are real, yet not so dedicated to
detail that the viewer has nothing left
to imagine .
"This level of artistic accomplish­ment,"
Hedgepeth says, "is evident to
art critics, even if they know nothing
of Jim's western subject matter. This,"
he claims, "is the essential key to Rey­nold's
success; not only are his paint­ings
historically authentic, but, more
importantly, they are esthetically pleas­ing
and artistically mature.
"It is this artistic maturity that sets
Reynolds apart from the thundering
herds of Western artists."
Like many of his fellow Western
artists, Reynolds began as an illustrator
following art school, thereafter working
for 15 years in Hollywood movie stu­dios.
But he never really lost his taste
for the Western scene, continuing to
travel the highways and backroads,
sketching and painting for his own
pleasure.
Then, in 1960, his paintings began to
sell, and he made the transition to full­time
artist.
Today Reynolds and his wife, Caro­lyn,
live in the red rock country of
Sedona, in what was originally a small
adobe ranch house. But he has
remodeled and added to it in such a
way that it now appears much larger.
Within there's a Phippen bronze on
the cocktail table in the living room, and
other groups of Western art are every­where.
There are also dramatic views
from the windows, and both antique
furniture in the rooms and others made
by Reynolds, himself.
He has since won several major
Western art awards, has been the sub­ject
of numerous articles and books,
and was elected president for 1976 of
the Cowboy Artists of America.
As the Tucson Festival Artist of the
Year, Reynolds will now take a well­deserved
place beside such notables as
Paul Dyck, Olaf Wieghorst and Fred
Kabotie1 all of whom were previous
recipients of the coveted award. 0 0
35
36
BICH. WILD &. TBAGIC
VULTUI\E
MINE
l\EVIIITED
by Cynthia Nasta
The ru ins of Vulture camp, in the desert
southeast of Wi ckenburg. Enough remain s of
th e old gold mining camp to stir the imag ination
of any ghost town afi cionado.
Bob Bradshaw
Nestled in a range of dry desert hills
just 15 miles from Wickenburg, Ari­zona,
is the ghost mining camp of
Vulture and its fabled namesake, the
Vulture Mine.
Once the site of one of the most
fabulous gold strikes in Central Ari­zona,
today its bones lie scattered and
forelorn in the unyielding desert sun.
But like most good ghosts, the Vul­ture
has all the ingredients for the mak­ing
of a fascinating tale, from high
drama to tragic death. Even its famous
discoverer, Henry Wickenburg, became
part of its legendary intrigue.
A native of Austria, where he had
had a run-in with the law for illegally
selling coal, young Henry fled to
America and took his first job as a mule
team driver. Though there are several
versions of the Vulture's discovery,
Henry relayed his personal report in an
interview published in the Florida Press
of Wickenburg and reprinted in the
Arizona Miner, June 6, 1868.
In it he told how he and a companion
made the lonely, frustrating search
through the vast unexplored regions of
the Territory. They spent months of
endless walking and probing the hostile
hills in hopes of finding their fortunes .
Finally, the companion took ill and
decided to remain in camp, leaving the
young Austrian to scout alone. After
another futile expedition, a dispirited
and exhausted Henry stopped to rest.
As he looked around he noticed an
unusual outcropping caught by the rays
of the sun. He continued studying the
form until he realized it was streaked
with pure gold! Overwhelmed, he raced
back to camp. His skeptical partner
listened to the outlandish tale and then
announced, "As soon as I'm feelin' bet­ter,
I'm gittin' out of this god-forsaken
country."
Henry soon returned to the spot to
post his claim. Knowing he would be
unable to operate the mine by himself,
he spread the word that anyone could
work his claim as long as they paid him
$15 for every ton of ore removed.
37
A poig n ant still li f e of a lo ng ago yest erd ay,
w hen th e Vu lt ure was ha il ed as th e 'Comstock
of Ari zo na.' Co mmunity roo m i n th e assay
offi ce b uildin g .
Bob Bradshaw
So the story of Henry Wickenburg
and his fantastic discovery reverberated
throughout the Territory. And the
schemers and dreamers were on their
way!
But the promise of instant riches was
riddled with hazards. Miners were
plagued by the scarcity of water, iso­lation
from food and supply routes,
marauding gangs who preyed on gold
shipments, and Pinal and Tonto
Apaches who raided camps and stole
horses and livestock. An observer at the
Vulture expressed his fears in a local
paper: " No man feels safe half a mile
outside the settlement. Twenty-three of
my own personal acquaintances have
been killed, stripped and mangled by
the Indians during the past year."
At one point Apache harassment
reached such proportions that guards
were needed to protect the ore and sup­ply
teams using the lonely mine roads.
A Vulture superintendent even wrote
Gen. George H. Thomas pleading for
protection. Men had been killed, he said,
and if the government didn't help soon,
the mine would be forced to dose, a
move that would severely jeopardize the
economy of the area.
Even with protection at hand there
would always be the problem of obtain­ing
plentiful water and food supplies.
Most of the goods were hauled in from
Ehrenberg or Prescott, though Southern
California was the main source of sup­ply.
Pima Indians on the Gila River
raised a superior quality of wheat and
they, too, often traded with miners and
towns folk.
As for water, the Hassayampa River
provided the miners' lifeline. The
Indians had called it II smooth running
river" and each day Vulture pack mules,
horses, or oxen would laboriously haul
tons of rough ore ten miles east across
the desert to the arrastras - crude ore
crushing devices - on its banks. Each
day they would return with barrels
filled with thousands of gallons of water
to be used for mine operations.
Despite the grinding labor and bur­densome
costs the Vulture began pro­ducing
sizeable returns. By 1865 it had
over 400 arrastras and was yielding
$5000 weekly in gold. At the end of
i868 reports showed it had produced
$254,110 in less than a year. By 1870
the Vulture employed over 150 men
and was producing more than half of
all the gold in Arizona.
During its high yield years, in the
latter part of the 19th century, officials
estimated that the Vulture returned
between $6 and $16 million. It was no
wonder that Territorial Governor Rich­ard
McCormick had so boldly declared,
"It is one of the richest, most extensive
and remarkable deposits of gold quartz
upon the continent - the Comstock of
Arizona."
Unfortunately, Henry Wickenburg
never did see much of that fortune .
Through an ill-fated deal he sold four­fifths
of his interest in the Vulture for
$85,000 to Benjamin Phelps of New
York City. Wickenburg received
$20,000 down payment but spent that
money in a futile attempt to collect the
$65,000 still due. Disgusted with min­ing
he turned to farming the fertile
banks of the Hassayampa where an
even worse fate awaited.
In the meantime, extravagant predic­tions
for Vulture wealth were beginning
to pale in light of certain harsh realities:
operating costs were rising dramati­cally.
Hauling was now $8.00 a ton;
wood for fuel delivered to the mine cost
$8.00 a cord and milling was $2 .12. Out
of necessity, to keep profit margins
" It is o ne of th e richest, most
extensive and remarkable de­posits
of gold quartz upon
the continent - the Comstock
o f Arizona."
high, officials decided that only top
grade ore should be processed. Poorer
grades were piled in a dump said to con­tain
over 160,000 tons of gold quartz.
During one period , Vulture managers
even planned to import steam engines
from Scotland to help reduce hauling
costs.
Then in 1871 miners struck an
extremely rich vein. By October 14, Vul­ture
officials excitedly reported that the
mine was producing from $2000 to
$5000 in gold each day! With optimism
high they began plans for a railroad to
operate between the mine and mill. It
was a short-lived dream. Soon after,
miners hit water at the 310-foot level.
The Vulture faced economic disaster.
With several others, Mine Superin­tendent
B. Sexton sought new capital to
solve the problems and to keep the Vul­ture
solvent. But the effort was useless .
With the national economy of 1873 in
flux, the already heavily indebted mine
was forced to close.
During the next five years the Vul­ture'
s fate would dip and soar at the
same speed as its feathered namesake.
On one occasion a group of English
investors offered to purchase the mine
and finance the railroad idea. Another
group wanted to work the ore dumps .
Most of the ingenious schemes never
saw the light of day.
By 1878 George Treadwell, a mining
broker and director of the Commercial
Bank of San Francisco, had arranged
to have Eastern investors purchase vari­ous
Vulture claims. One of the principal
investment firms was Seymour, Hunt
and Company, a New York Stock
Exchange member. Seymour formed a
corporation named Central Arizona
Mining Company and ballyhooed their
glamorous new stock as a fantastic buy
at $100 par value.
The Vulture, said Seymour, would
bring in huge revenues, particularly
now that the Southern Pacific Company
was building a railroad across southern
Arizona, just 50 miles from the mine.
In addition, they promised an 80-stamp
mill and 15 miles of brand new water
pipe laid right to the Hassayampa.
James Cusenberry was placed in charge
as superintendent.
It was their first big mistake .
Like so many of his free spending
predecessors Cusenberry embarked on
lavish construction and improvement
projects. He built new living quarters
and offices. He added new equipment.
He ordered a "walking beam" engine
and great quantities of other machinery.
Apparently, he was quite unconcerned
with the cost or labor involved in his
schemes. The machinery, for example,
had to be hauled piece by piece from
California, first in deepwater vessels
from San Francisco to the Gulf of Cali­fornia,
then on sternwheelers up the
Colorado River and, finally, on huge
wagons 100 miles across the desert -
a journey of two months.
Although at the onset Central Ari­zona
Company was realizing about
$1000 a day, the nation's mining pub­lications
began to question the Vulture' s
business practices . With pressure
mounting Cusenberry was fired, only to
be replaced by others reportedly more
incompetent.
After a series of drastic fluctuations,
the mine faced s erious trouble, again.
Central Ari z on a Company directors
tried to calm investors' nerves by
explaining that the mine had suffered
a five mile washout of pipe and a bad
cave-in. But it was hopeless. By 1883
the Vulture saw its final year of high
yie lds , and, though it produced some
$ 210 , 000 , backer s g ot nothing .
39
In 1887 Colorado's silver mining king
H. A. W. Tabor, took an interest in the
Vulture. An experienced investor and
speculator, he sought to lure a group of
European industrialists, known as the
Kaiser Gold Mining Company, into put­ting
the mine back on a paying basis.
To obtain a profes~ional on-site inspec­tion
, they sent their own engineer,
James Morrish of Cornwall, England.
After months of effort Morrish told the
Kaiser people to save their money. "The
Vulture," 'he said, " is ravaged by
thievery, inefficiency, and a severe lack
of reserves." Undoubtedly, he had
observed not only the embezzling by
upper level bosses, but the large scale
pilfering by miners who took off with
thousands of dollars worth of gold nug­gets
in pants legs, lunch buckets and
saddlebags.
Faced once again with insolvency,
Tabor leased the mine a,nd was then
relieved of it by the Territory of
Arizona for nonpayment of taxes .
Through clever maneuvering he
regained title and iri 1896 offered It for
sale on the Londop market for
$1,800,000. The Vulture had no takers
and was sold at a sheriff's sale in 1897.
When the mine recaptured some of
its former glory it.was for a brief period
prior to World War I. After the war,
United Verde Extepsion,Rawhide Doug­las,
and Ernest Dickie and John C. Lin­coln
would try their luck. But none was
ever very successful. World War II
intervened and Government Order
L-208, fixing the price o{ gold, closed
down the mine for good.
Throughout its existence the Vulture
had captured the imagination - and
dollars - of free wheeling speculators
and fast dealing businessmen hoping
for a quick profit. But it was really the
hundreds of common laborers who were
the . backbone of the mine' s fantastic
wealth.
A number of structu res like these are still jntact at the Vulture, qfferin g a
fascinating insight into what the life and times of the early hard rock miners
were really li ke.
Bob Bradshaw
40
. .,.... r-- ··- ~ _.r- - ---. __., '-:""' - \.,-,\ ......... . -;"' - . - .
-·- _.. -~J-- - - - ._,_ - --:­--:-
,....... .- ~ -;'
The Mexican miners-men like Ortiz,
Gonzales, Arriola - comprised the bulk
of the labor force for mines in this area.
Often looked upon as the odd strangers
with swarthy complexions and unintel­ligible
language, they were relegated to
the most menial chores, such as coal
stoking and wood cutting. At the Vul­ture
one diarist noted, "Mexican miners
can be had from $30 to $50 per month
with room and board; American miners
command from $40 to $60 with board.
Naturally, as the fortunes of the mine
diminished, many of these lower eche­lon
workers looked for jobs elsewhere.
Some became hay cutters to supply the
needs of hundreds of dray animals. A
few, like Miguel Peralta, fared better.
He operated a freight company out of
Wickenburg and later became a pros­pering
Phoenix businessmap.
In spite of discrimination which
forbade their owning or developing
Th e Vulture Mine, a pen and ink drawing by John T. Fitzgerald , starkly and
dramatically captures the li feless emptiness of th e once gold-rich ghost that
had estimatedly produced around $15 mill ion in its time .
properties, the Mexican left his mark.
Wickenburg newspapers of the day
often commented on the noticeable
Mexican atmosphere of the town and
told of the many baptisms, weddings,
picnics and dias de santos or saints
days, as they were called.
Chinese coolie labor also was part of
the Vulture mining camp scene. The
Chinese rnost often did domestic chores
and served miners' meals, although they
too performed much of the backbreak­ing
digging and building.
In 1890 dozens of nameless Chinese
laborers drowned when the Walnut
Grove dam burst and the waters it had
held raged through river camps and fer­tile
farmlands along the Hassayampa.
It was this terrible disaster that not
only destroyed more than 90 lives and
countless homes and animals but dealt
a cruel blow to old Henry Wickenburg.
The farm and pasturelands he had so
patiently cultivated were inundated
with rock and debris. Wickenburg never
fully recovered from the shock of that
flood and in 1905, at the age of 85, he
put a gun to his head.
Despite the hardships and staggering
problems that beset the small mining
community, many individuals fought
the odds and went on to become some
of Arizona's leading personalities .
Michael and Joseph Goldwater had
operated a store, hotel and feedlot in
the area. They were instrumental in sav­ing
the Vulture from default by supply­ing
much needed credit.
Jack Swilling, a partner of Henry
Wickenburg, had developed the Swill­ing
Irrigation Canal Company, which
was one of the prime factors in the
founding of Phoenix. Swilling had early
recognized the need for hay at the mine
and surrounding military posts and had
collected $10,000 and 15 men to explore
the valley to the southeast. Swilling's
exploitation of ancient Indian canals
paid off handsomely and made Valley
agriculture viable.
Bryan P. D. " Darrell" Duppa, another
Vulture emigre, made his name famous
by baptizing the little farm community
" Phoenix." George H. N. Luhrs was a
blacksmith and wheelwright who later
moved his trade to the Valley and
became a leading citizen of Phoenix.
Socially, life at the Vulture during
the 1920s and '30s was very much pat­terned
after any small town: picnics,
weddings, special neighborhood get­togethers.
The mess hall offered meals
to the men on shifts and also served
the community as a small general store:
A one-room cabin was schoolhouse and
ari 87,000 gallon water tank became the
town swimming hole for miners' chil­dren.
Medical care had to be obtained
in the big city of Wickenburg, as were
supplies and a Sunday brand of religion.
Most Vulture residents lived in simple
frame dwellings, and many raised small
animals or tended gardens to supple­ment
their heeds.
It wasn't until the Great Depression
that the character of the community
noticeably changed. People recall hun­dreds
of transient individuals and fam­ilies
who put up temporary shelters
and tents along roadways - waiting,
hoping that some type of work would
become available. Others just s.taked
a claim and waited patiently for their
luck to turn.
But they were left with only the
brilliant Arizona sunset - about all
the gold that's left at the old Vulture.
DOD
Editor's Note: V ulture Mine is about a
11/ 2 hour drive f rom Pho enix . Take
either U.S. 60 (Grand Ave.) or Inter­state
17 to Bell Road. Sign for th e V ul­tu
re is on the main road about 4 miles
from the cen ter of Wick enburg. Open
S ept. 15-May 11, 9 to 5 p.m. 7 days a
week ; May 16-Sept. 14, 9 to 5 p.m.,
Thu rsday thru Suriday. Picnic tables,
barb ec ue, cam ping, trail er parking
available. Inquire about gold panning.
A dmission.
41
Pro ud, defi ant symbol of the wild , free spirit
of the land , dese rt bighorn sheep roam the
ru gged, craggy land of the Kofa Mountain
range in western Arizona.
The Bighorn of the Kofas
Text and Photographs by Willis Peterson
Dawn had come over the Kofa
Mountains - imperceptibly filtering,
changing that gray mood of heaven into
a sky softly flushing with color. Vast
canyons flooded with mauve and pink
in a quickening cast of glowing light.
· Suddenly, cradled in that panoply of
color and form, movement occurred. Tlle
brightening sunrise revealed in the dis­tance
a bighorn ewe standing in stark
silhouette, with a tiny lamb laying
beside her.
The ewe's nervousness betrayed the
anxiety of new motherhood. She
browsed at a few dried grasses. Then,
startled, she raced away, up over a pre­carious
slant of rock.
In a few minutes she turned and
slowly trailed down to her lamb. At
every plant rustle, at every bird chirp,
she would quiver and start.
She bent down and licked her infant's
face and sides.
Struggling upon its dainty hoofs, the
lamb rose to nurse. She broke away.
The lamb followed, three steps to her
one. She stopped, looked over her
shoulder, went on.
In tandem they ambled off, she in
that stiff-legged gait peculiar to sheep,
and the lamb, in that faltering walk of
the newborn. Under a nearby overhang
they lay down again.
Then the sun rose still higher over
the desolate, jagged peaks and glori­ously
backlighted the scene, as old as
time - the miracle of life.
But while life was just in its begin­ning
for the lamb, the story of Arizona's
bighorn originates eons ago in Asia,
their primordial home. What caused
their forerunners to cross the land
bridge over the Bering Sea is a mystery,
42
but migrate they did, sometime during
the Pleistocene Age.
During the fluctuation of glacial
epochs, some sheep were forced onto a
relatively ice free area between the
present Brooks and other mountain
ranges in Alaska. The remainder of the
sheep, and certainly the more numer­ous,
were driven southward by moving
ice sheets.
For thousands of years the· original
stock was divided into two groups. Thus
evolved the thin horn, or the Dall sheep
of Alaska and the Yukon, with three
climatic races, and the mountain big­horn
of the Rockies, with five more
races.
Descending from the mountain
sheep, the desert races are somewhat
smaller and more tawny in pelage,
though the males exhibit massive horn
growth. They were first seen by the
white man in 1540, when Coronado's
entourage entered Arizona.
The expedition's scribe, Pedro de
Castenada, recounted in his diary, that
he and his soldiers first saw bighorn
after passing between the Pinaleno and
the Santa Teresa Mountains along the
Mexico-Arizona border. (Now, there is
a monument located on th~ site where
Coronado first crossed into Arizona.)
"I saw th em and followed them,"
wrote Castenada. "They were large
of body, had abundant long wool,
and v ery thick horns. When they
run th ey raise their heads and rest
th eir horns on their backs. They are
fl eet in the rough country, so we
could not overtake them, and had
to let them go."
The fact that the sheep were unusual
and unique to the Spanish is evident in
the rather odd description of the animal.
"The horn was a fathom long and as
thick as the base of a man's thigh.
From its shape it looked more like
the horn of a he-goat than any other
animal. It was worth seeing."
Later, travelers in Arizona recorded
that at a village near the confluence of
the Gila and San Pedro rivers, a huge
monument of sheep horns could be
seen, a fact verified by the Kino expe­d
it i 9 n of 1687-1710. Juan Mateo
Mange, Father Eusebio Francisco Kino's
official recorder, wrote,
" Hav ing travers ed four leagues, we
arrived at a town, Tuconimon ,
which is so named for a great heap
of horns like a hill, and from the
numbers that there are of the ani­mals
th ey make the common sub­sistence
of inhabitants."
The size of the mound would indicate
that the horns (estimated at over
100,000) had a certain cultural
significance for the Indians.
For the Pima-Papago and other desert
Indians the bighorn was their mainstay.
They depended upon this animal much
in the same manner as the Plains
Indians depended upon the buffalo. The
thousands of hunting pictographs left
by these hunters attest to the signifi­cant
encounters these early tribesmen
had with the sheep.
Pioneer tales also relate how plentiful
sheep were in Arizona. And indeed they
were, for the bighorn had adapted
remarkably well to the vicissitudes of
the deserts. But, incessant pressure by
market hunters began to eliminate the
bighorn in short order. Tucson restau­rants,
in fact, featured sheep meat on
their menus during the 1880s .
Competition with livestock further
reduced the bighorn. And the introduc­tion
of domestic sheep infected with
scabies almost doomed them. Com­pletely
without resistance to this new
malady, the bighorn died in appalling
numbers.
Today, the bighorn sheep are gone
from much of their original habitat,
except for a few places such as the Kofa
Game Range in the Kofa Mountains
west of Phoenix.
Parts of the Kofas are unbelievably
rocky and rough. View points are fan­tastically
beautiful. Twisted, precipi­tous
walls of andesite and rhyolite, with
scattered breccia flows, accent a cata­clysmic
time when vulcanism changed
much of Arizona' s landscape. There are
deep canyons, too, with a variety of
microclimates, sustaining an amazing
variety of plants.
It was in such a place, concealed in
thick underbrush, that I was to witness
one of the rarest moments in my years
of wildlife observation. Here it is as I
recorded it in my journal.
44
"Three rams are angling down
toward my vantage point. The old
. one comes first. He has the aurora
of years. Two massive, horny
wreaths project a majesty that seems
scarcely real. He approaches the
cl e aring and is momentarily
obscured by lacelike branches of
palo verde. Th en he is in the saddle,
now standing clearly defined.
"The old ram draws himself up. I
can se e the sinews beneath his skin
draw taut, his muscles tighten, then
he relaxes. He drops the majestic
h ead, paws the ground slowly with
his f ront hoof th en changes to the
oth er hoof and fashions out a com­fo
r table bed.
"The other two rams come now.
Th ey all examin e one another, sniff,
and throw up their heads. They
shove one another, in jovial manner,
and then the younger one digs out
a bed. The third seems of more
n e rvous temperament.
"He go es to a clump of brush and
rubs his horns in its sticky abrasive­ness.
He charges another bush and
pushes downward again. Then he,
too, goes back to the others and
scrapes out a bed."
It was amazing to discover their
gentleness, thrilling to record their
regalness of form . But it was flabber­gasting
to witness the following
behavior.
"The rams seem more restless now.
The oldster gets up and nudges the
younger one. Then, in a flash, the
third ram leaps to his feet, and all
three stand and face one another.
" They flay outward, toward each
other, with th eir front hoofs, then
dr op back to the ground again.
" The three rams engage in this
ritualistic, ponderous ballet, then
shove each other with their heads .
Th ey come together with re sound­in
g cracks. Suddenly as it started the
contest ends . The rams resume their
amiable manner. They leave, the
oldster leading single file up the
canyon ."
Was it an exhibition of play or a test
of dominance? Though such unique dis­plays
of horned might usually herald
the mating season. Yet, some of it is
done just for practice or even in good
humor.
Single rams of ten select mesquite
trunks, branches, creosote bushes and
other brush with stiff, resilient growth
to use as butting posts, returning to
their favorite sites again and again to
test their mettle for hours on end.
The banding together of the sheep in
late summer tends to make family
groups, with about an equal ratio of
females to males . For now, the rams
who have stayed together for much of
the year mix with the females and
lambs.
This is the time when the ram' s good­natured
bachelor society comes to an
end.
This season demands a high metabo­lism
rate, and yet this is one of the
times in the desert when conditions
become the most stringent because of
heat and drought, though the latter may
be offset somewhat by late summer
monsoon rains.
But battles to the finish, as commonly
portrayed in adventure books, are quite
lacking in real life . The older ram is
usually deferred to by the younger
ones . Even when rams of equal age and
condition fight, one of the combatants
will usually back away and retreat
when he has enough. And chances are
that in an hour or s o after locking horns
both rams will be browsing side by
side in an amiable fashion.
Actually, those eloquent curls of
sculptured armament are quite remark­able,
as far as growth is concerned. New
horns, called buttons, begin to show on
the lamb during the third month. By
the first year, horns of rams and ewes
resemble each other, though close
examination reveals that the young
ram's horns are thicker at the base.
Each year the old sheath breaks from
its base and is shoved upward, while a
new ring and sheath form at the base
of the skull. As the horn grows out-ward,
it pushes last year's growth
ahead. Eventually, the curl is formed .
With thi s kind of growth pattern, the
horn can be used a s a reliable method
to gauge the age of sheep. Growth rings
show prominently, particularly in the
rams . As the age of the ram increases
the rings· become less discernable. A
full curl ram is usually 10 to 11 years
old. Like fingerprints, there are no two
identical sets of horns.
As can be imagined, a sheep's arma­ment
takes a tremendous beating
throughout the length of the animal's
life, and it is not uncommon to find
horn tips of old desert rams split, frayed
and blunted. "Brooming" it is often
called. And it may be due to desicca­tion,
as the condition seems to be more
pronounced in desert sheep than in the
Dall or even the Rocky Mountain
species.
Another negative aspect of this des­ert
existence would seem to be a scar­city
of browse. However, a surprising
variety of plant food does exist. This is
particularly true of the perennials, and
herbaceous plants. The annuals cannot
be depended upon every year, since
their life cycle hinges upon a delicate
balance of seasonal rain and tempera­ture,
and in many years these conditions
are not met. But, of the annuals, filaree
is one of the main forage plants.
Me squite is probably one of the next
most palatable browse plants, with
ironwood, palo verde, and cat's claw
adding variety to the diet, and provid­ing
highly nourishing pods and beans
later in the spring. Brittlebush, coffee­berry
and creosote bush also are
popular .
While foraging, sheep ramble con­stantly,
snatching a leaf here and a few
stems there. Fortunately, for the desert,
where the ecosystems are so delicately
balanced, this nipping of plants does
not materially affect plant recovery
because of the large area browsed.
Their eating habits do, to some
degree, however, control their life span,
though this may over-simplify the mat­ter.
The rate of wear upon the sheep's
teeth is directly proportional to the
quality of the feed and its abrasiveness.
Therefore, a bighorn consistently eating
optimum feed should live to an age of
14 or 15 years, while the average is
probably about 9 to 10. When their
teeth wear down, or are damaged or
broken, the sheep quickly succumb.
Old rams always seem to be grinning.
Teeth protrude in ludicrous fashion .
They remind one of a person with ill­fitting
dentures, peering, half embar­rassed,
yet smiling at the same time to
minimize the defect.
On the other hand, there is a magnifi­cence
exhibited in the stance of the
ram that is thrilling to behold, for here
he seems to epitomize the free spirit of
the wilderness. This spirit is all the
more vividly portrayed when he leaps
from crag to crag or bounds from rock
to rock in an oblique or zigzag fashion,
moving up the faces of precipices with
a surefootedness that is amazing to wit­ness.
Their feet, of course, are especially
designed for such locomotion. The soles
of their hoofs are rubber-like, resilient,
tough and able to absorb hard shocks.
This plus supreme coordination and tre­mendous
muscular power enables them
- despite the ram's 200 pound weight
- to bounce in a flow of rhythm. Even
when rocks give way beneath them the
bighorn can muster reserve strength to
overcome the added climbing difficulty.
In late March, lambing season begins
and continues through April. Nature' s
timing is perfect. This is the best season
for green forage, and particularly for
the ripening pods of the many legumi­nous
plan ts. After birth the young
lambs weigh about one to three pounds
and are so small they can easily walk
beneath their mothers .
Only rarely do desert ewes have
twins, though it is somewhat difficult
to tell at a distance, since all females
take turns baby-sitting other lambs. In
this homely chore, the ewe usually lies
down to watch her frolicking charges,
while a short distance away the other
mothers browse unconcerned .
As summer approaches, life begins
in earnest for the lambs. Gone are the
days of easy play. All effort must now
be concentrated on the search for food
and water.
Sheep go to water every one to four
days depending upon the heat. Their
gaunt appearance changes miraculously
as they "tank up ." In a very short time
their bodies fill out as their tissues
absorb water.
The bighorn appears to be similar to
the camel in these recuperative respects,
and similarly may lose up to 20 per
cent of its body weight by dehydra­tion.
In comparison, 10 or 12 per cent
loss of body weight is considered fatal
for man.
Many water holes in the Kofas are
scarcely more than seeps . Once drained,
it may take many hours to refill, even
days. But, in the recesses of its canyons
there are much deeper rain-filled
depressions . These deep holes, eroded
out of solid rock, are filled during peri­ods
of runoff and may hold water for
several weeks . Of course, with the
availability of high quality green feed
the herd spends less time at the water
holes .
Strangely enough, ewes provide the
herd with leadership. The rams are con­tent
to follow if they are with the band,
though much of the year they congre­gate
by themselves.
45
How the herd leader is chosen is a
mystery. Perhaps it is a combination of
self-reliance and experience that other
sheep seek. As the band travels, the
sheep usually maintain a strict march­ing
order, with the leader at the head
of the column, followed by the next
ablest, and so on. Each also shares the
tenor of the leader: should she be ner­vous,
all tend to be nervous, and vice
versa.
A herd, as a rule, is comprised of less
than a dozen members. Seen from a dis­tance
the individuals seem pitifully
minute in contrast to the great bulwark
of their Kofa Mountain home.
The sheep, now and then lost from
view as light and shadow continue in
ever changing patterns, remain as one
of nature's great symbols of freedom.
They have a definite value as an es­thetic
and integral part of creation, and
must be inviolate and protected.
DOD
(Left) Mute testimony to nature's often harsh
real ities, a pair of ancient, weathered horns,
scalloped and checkered by time, lie imbedded
in the sands of a lonely mountain stream.
(Below) Proud old men of the herd, their teeth
protruding like ill-fitting dentures, peer calmly
into the canyon depths of their Kofa
Mountain home.
by Donald M. Powell
Head, Special Collections,
The University of Arizona Library,
Tucson.
Geronimo: The Man, His Time, His
Place. By Angie Debo. μniversity of
Oklahoma Press, Norman, Oklahoma,
1976. 480 pp. $14.95.
If you were to read one book on
Geronimo, this would be it. Angie Debo
has produced a fine, reasoned and com­passionate
picture of the Indian whose
place in Southwestern history is
assured, but often for the wrong rea­sons.
Even today there are some to whom
Geronimo was the arch fiend incarnate.
That picture, however, has slowly
changed. S. M. Barrett's transcript of
Geronimo's autobiography (a project of
the Apache's old age) and recent books
by Odie Faulk and Alexander Adams,
and anthropological studies of Apache
culture have given us less biased and
emotional approaches to the Apache -
· white confrontation. In Debo's book,
however, Geronimo the man, is the cen­tral
figure, and his life is fully told from
childhood to his death, still a prisoner
at Fort Sill.
As he matured Geronimo advanced
toward leadership, as others did, by vir­tue
of courage, determination and intel­ligence.
He was a forceful leader, not
without fault, and he made mistakes.
He could be ruthless and unforgiving
in his hatreds, but his actions were
always governed by the Apache code of
ethics and beliefs, and were just and
right to the Apache way of thinking.
This way of thinking was, of course,
never understood by 19th century
Americans. Also the Americans never
understood that Geronimo was but one
leader of a number, each with its own
band that often acted independently.
Angie Debo's characterization of
Geronimo emphasizes a new aspect of
his personality. He was a devoted family
man with a deep love of the Southwest
land in which he was born. He had a
practical economic sense that was
clearly demonstrated in his years as a
prisoner, and he had a k~en and inquir­ing
intelligence. He was a whole man
with both faults and virtues. As Debo
says, a lesser man could not have writ­ten
his name so boldly in the history
of the Southwest.
The book is admirably structured,
giving due emphasis to all phases of
his career. Much of the early part of
Geronimo's life must be conjecture, the
author admits, but it is conjecture
solidly based on research in available
documents and on interviews with peo­ple
who remembered the man and the
years of captivity. It is particularly
strong on this last period, which is told
in some detail. Here Geronimo and the
Apaches are seen as a people who kept
their word, in contrast with the army
which emerges with a badly tarnished
record, to put it most charitably.
Edward Sheriff Curtis: Visions of a
Vanishing Race. By Florence Curtis
Graybill and Victor Boesen. T . Y.
Crowell, New York, 1976. 302 pp.
$35.00.
His true memorial is no marker in
a graveyard. It is a magnificent set of
20 quarto volumes of text and photo­graphs
and 20 accompanying portfolios
of separate plates, all recording in word
and picture the culture of the North
American Indians, from the Rio Grande
and the Gulf to Alaska, at a crucial time.
When photographer Curtis in his
early 30s turned his attention to photo­graphing
Indians he quickly realized
that the traditional cultures, the old
ways with roots perhaps centuries deep,
were fast changing or disappearing. He
resolved to make a record of them
before it was too late. The project con­sumed
the rest of his life, as he grew
from mature manhood to old age. The
first volume was published in 1907, the
last in 1930.
The work has its beginning when
Curtis accompanied the Harriman expe­dition
to Alaska in 1899 as official pho­tographer.
The following summer he
spent among the Blackfeet as guest of
George Bird Grinnell. There he wit­nessed
one of the last great gatherings
of the prairie tribes. I twas an experience
he never forgot - the broad undulating
Montana prairie stretching toward the
Rockies, carpeted with tepees. The same
summer he began photographing and
recording notes among the I;-fopi.
Curtis developed an unusual rapport
with the Indians; they trusted him and
revealed secrets of their beliefs and
ceremonials that few if any white men
before him had learned. Although he is
perhaps best remembered for his photo­graphs
- individual prints from the
portfolios bring stiff prices today - he
was also an accomplished, self-taught
ethnographer. His writings drew praise
from some of the outstanding ethnolo­gists
of his day, men such as Henry
Fairfield Osborn, Franz Boas, and
Frederick Webb Hodge, editor for the
entire series.
The biography by Curtis' daughter,
Florence Curtis Graybill, and Victor
Boesen concentrates on the great work,
the years - 30 of them - of field work
and writing. It is based on the daugh­ter's
knowledge and notes and on the
voluminous correspondence between
Curtis and his editor, Hodge and Curtis
and Harriet Leitch of the Seattle Public
Library. It is properly illustrated with
175 Curtis photographs and 96 in a spe­cial
portfolio section. Many of them
have not been published previously. It
is a belated but fitting tribute to the
man and his achievement.
The Dominguez-Escalante Journal.
Translated by Fray Angelico Chavez.
Edited by Ted. J. Warner. Brigham
Young University Press, Provo, Utah,
1976. 203 pp. $12.95.
This is a wholly new translation of
the journal kept by Fathers Dominguez
and Escalante, of their Journey in 1776,
northwest from Santa Fe into Utah -
and having failed to find a route to
Monterey- south to the Grand Canyon
country and back to Santa Fe. The expe­dition
is covered in Walter Briggs'
Without Noise of Arms (see Bookshelf
January, 1977) which notes this trans­lation
as forthcoming.
It corrects a number of errors in pre­vious
translations, and is based on the
copy of the journal in the Newberry
Library, which Chavez found to be in
the handwriting of Father Jose Palacio,
secretary to Dominguez. The inference
is that this was the first copy made from
the original, and is thus possibly the
most accurate.
Chavez is thoroughly familiar with
18th century Spanish and an ideal trans­lator,
able to put the idioms of the time
into colloquial, unstilted English. He and
his editor have supplied copious explan­atory
notes and the original text.
47
~
Sincerely
AGREES W ITH EDITO R
Editor:
I am not in the habit of writing letters
to editors, but this time I can' t hold
back-
Have just received ~y February ARI­ZONA
HIGHWAYS and the letter from
Michael and Cathy Schaller (conc ern­ing
our failure to m ention God
repeatedly in our Christmas edition -
Th e Editor) to you is beyond belief.
How anyone could deny themselves the
pleasure and beauty of this magazine
for such a narrow-minded, foolish
excuse is about as un-adult as you could
get.
There would be no market for your
magazi ne if all the various religions
looked to you for the proper time cover­age.
Consider the religions who don't
even believe in Christmas, or feel it was
some other date.
I feel sorry for the Schallers and
wonder what religion they profess. I
think they wouid have done well to
restrain their feelings . On the other
hand , they surely will have found out
some of the rest of us know our Bible
and haven' t lost track of the real pur­pose
of the ARIZONA HIGHWAYS MAGA­ZINE.
But, there is no use dwelling on that
- my purpose is to congratulate you
for your marvelous response. Just per­fect.
And indeed that Christmas edition
was the very finest ever p:ut out. I have
looked through it many times and I
have loaned it out. I have never been in
Arizona but my day will come, hope­fully
. In the meantime, I travel from
here with you.
Editor:
Mrs. M. Ellis
Long Beach, CA
BAD TYPING
Let me congratulate you for your
article on page 16 of the February, 1977,
is s ue of the excellent magazine ARIZONA
HIGHWAYS .
Please accept these felicitations on
two accounts:
Your magaz ine is first class. The
articles are always interesting and the
photos very beautiful. We have read it
for several years now, after an original
vacation through your beautiful, sunny
country, and we look forward to the
arrival of each month's issue.
48
But more than that, you have really
gone to a regular " tour de force" in
increasing the speed of sun rays bathing
your sta te and letting us poor outsiders
wait for more than eight minutes every
morning to get the benefit of its lig ht
and heat. I overcome my envy in the
evening, however, knowing that the
darkess is overcoming you eight min­utes
and 11.02 seconds before catching
up with u s.
Everything considered it would be
nice to know how you do that trick. It
can hardly be with mirrors. Please tell
me soon.
Robert E. Brandt
Delavan, Wt
You're so right, Bob. We pushed
astronomy back several hundred years
with that statement. Actually, I was
copying correct information from mate­rial
received from our good friends at
Kitt Pea k National Observatory in Tuc­son.
But in doing so, I read minutes, but
typed seconds.
As you pointed out, dividing the dis­tance
to th e sun (approximately 93
million miles) by the speed of light
(186,000 miles per second) you get
something like 8 1 h minutes.
Now, if I only had a better type­writer
. . .
Editor :
- The Editor
INDIANS
I teach at a preschool in Monroe ,
Wisconsin.
I am trying to teach these young
children that modern Indians are not
people who are naked to the wais t , beat
tom-toms and smoke a peace pipe.
I went through two years of ARIZONA
HIGHWAYS looking for pictures of mod­ern
Indians. Th ere are thousands in
Arizona who are educated, talented and
who are living in the sophisticated 20th
century.
But I could find few pictures of them
in your maga z ine. Shame! They're
there . I've met some in visiting Mesa ,
Arizona.
Show in some issue of your magaz ine
how well the Indians have made it
under terrible deprivations. We've
stolen everything from them and yet
they have survived.
KW. Watkins
Monroe, WI
You mi g ht check our S ep t e mb er is sue
for a story on the new Navajo Com­munit
y College (" Bridge to the Outer
World" - page 42) . You might also r ea d
th e s tory on Arizona's junior co ll ege
system in this issue, and th e participa­tion
of I ndians in these schools . And
watch for our July issue, devot ed exclu-sively
to th e Apache Ind ians living zn
Arizona. - The Editor
WATCH FO R SHALL O W WATER
Editor:
You did it! You got me into trouble -
with iny mother-in-law! She will never
believe me again.
When we returned from our June,
1976, trip to Phantom Ranch, she
asked us if we had enjoyed the pool
after our hot trip. I replied there was
no pool. Pond yes, pool - rto. Now your
Phantom Ranch article in the February,
1977, issue mentions a pool.
Come on fellas . ' Fes s up and save
me.
Joyce Clifton
Upland, CA
W e have come to your rescue. In fact,
th ere's no dan ger of anyone drowning
in the pool at Ph antom Ranch (at the
bottom of th e Grand Canyon), b e-cause
the pool iuas filled in with dirt in the
ear ly 1970s.
Author Jim Tallon r e m e mbe re d this
shortly after h e subm itted his story to
us . H e sent us a correcti on deletin g ref­ere
nce to the pool, but we lost it, and
th e issue ca m e off the presses with th e
err or. - Th e Editor
(Inside back cover) Th e Easter ce remonies of
th e Yaqui include the Deer Dancer, one o f th e
oldest traditional danc es of the tr ib e. His
performance is ded icated to the 'littl e broth er ,'
or saila , the deer .
(Back cover) A Chapayeka Danc er, in home­made
jav el ina hide mask, represenis the ev il
forces at the Yaqui Eas ter pageant, he ld
eac h yea r at Pa sc ua nea r Tuc so n.
Phot o gra ph s by To m Ives
35mm COLOR SLIDES
This issue: 35mm sl ides in 2" mounts , 1 to 15
slides, 40¢ each, 16 to 49 sli des, 35¢ each,
50 or more. 3 for $1.00. All ow three weeks for
delivery. Address: Slide Department, Arizona
Highways , 2039 West Lewis Avenue, Pho enix ,
Arizona 85009.
IYA-7 Yaqu i Easter Celebrants .. .• . ... . .. . . Gov. 1
IYA-8 Yaqui Easter Celebrants . . .•.. .... .. . Gov . 2
\YA-9 Yaqui Easter Celeb rant s .. . •.... •.... Gov. 3
IYA-10 Yaqui Easter Celebrants . ..•. . • . .. .. . Gov. 4
IYA-11 Yaqui Easter Ce l ebran ts ..... •... ..... . p. 3
IYA-12 Yaqui Easter Celebrants ... .. .. . ..... . p. 3
\YA-1 3 Yaqui Easter Celebrants . ...• • •.. •... •. p. 6
IYA-14 Yaqui Easter Celebrants . ....• ...• . . .•. p. 6
ED-31 Pi ma Community College ........ . . . .•• p. 11
ED -32 Phoenix Coll ege ....•... .• ............ p. 14
ED-33 Central Arizona Col lege ....••.... •. .• . p. 14
SF-74 Mountain Timberline, San Francisco Peaks p. 17
SF-75 Skier, SFP' s .... .....•.• .... • .....•. . . p . 18
SF-76 San Francisco Peaks .. ... . . ........... p . 18
SF-77 Mount Agassiz , SFP 's . .. ....••......• . p . 19
SF-78 SF P's and Sunset Crater .... . .••...... p. 20
F-56 Mushrooms in Coconino Nat"I Fores t .. .. p . 21
S F-79 Lichen on Vo l canic Rock SFP 's . .. ... . .. p. 21
S F- 80 Ponderosa Pine and SFP 's ..•• .. . ... p. 22-23
SF-81 Colum bine in S FP "s area ....... . .. . . . . p. 24
S F- 82 Summe r, SF P's .... ... ....... .. . •.. p. 24-2 5
SF-83 Aspen forest, SFP 's ... .. ... • .. •...• •. . p.- 26
SF-84 Dew on Lupine, S FP's . . •.. • ..• .. . . • . .. p. ~7
SF-85 Su nset , SFP"s . . . ... . ..... . .....• . .... P. 27
SF-86 Nature's patterns, S FP' s ... •. .. •. .... .. p. 28
SF-87 Autumn, SF P's . . .. ... . ..... . .•. • ..... p . 28
SF-88 Bristlecone Pine, S FP "s ..... ..•. •. .. . . p. 29
S F-89 Au t umn. SF P's ............. • ..•. . .. p. 30-31.
SF-90 Winter, S FP' s .•.. ... ... .. .. . . •....... p. 32
MN-52 Assay office, Vu lture Mine •.. .. .... . . , .. p. 38
SH-7 Desert Bighorn Sheep .. . .... ... . . . ... . p. 43
S H-8 Weathered horns of Bighorn Sheep ... ... p. 46
S H- 9 Bighorn Sheep .. .... . . .. . . . . .. .••.. .. p . 46