Arizona Highways. February, 1990

              TRT 40.3:A64119901 02
COPY 2
Snow: measuring depth and
density. RICHARD WFSIDN
Arcbeology: valued help from
amateurs. SEAN BRADY
(LEFf) Rock formations
are set aglow in the last
minutes of sunlight.
For a special portfolio on
the Vermilion Cliffs
Wilderness, turn to page 22.
JACK W. DYKINGA
(FRONT COVER) Snow
transforms Lomaki Ruin
in Wupatki National
Monument north of
Flagstaff San Francisco
Peaks rise in background
RICHARD WESTON
A
HI SSTATE DOCU
MENTS COLLECTION
Vol. 66, No.2
CONTENTS
4
High Country Snow Survey
Text by Lawrence W Cheek
Photographs by Richard Weston
Maintaining optimum vJater levels in desert reservoirs
requires sophisticated instruments-and sturdy skis.
11
Sixteenth and Last In a Series:
The Cactus Derby
by BiO Ahrendt
The year is 1914, and the winner of the United
States' most challenging race is Barney Oldfield.
14
The Avocational Archeologist
Text by Louise Gacioch
Photographs by Sean Brady
The work is hard for this growing corps of volunteers­"
but what it does for the sou!!"
20
Requiem for a Town
Text by Marion Donaldson
Photograph by Rodney Boyd
Former residents of Christmas, Arizona, gather to
remember the community they once called home.
22
Portfolio: light, Shadow, and Form
Text and Photographs by Jack W Dykinga
"For years I've wanted to photograph the
Vermilion Cliffs, but such was not to be. Until now."
32
Arizona's Titan Missile Museum
by George Ridge
Less than a decade ago, this underground fortress stood
global guard duty. Today it is a relic of the Cold War.
38
The Drawings of Frank Uoyd Wright
by Christopher Geoffrey McPherson
On public display at the Phoenix Art Museum are 302 of
the architect's original drawings, sketches, and designs.
2
Editor's Page
3
Letters
46
Arizoniques
Portfolio: images by a prize­winningphotographer.
jAO<W. DYKlNGA
Tltan-2: a visit to a deacti­vated
missile site. RANDY PRENI1CE
• 1"11 ............. "
48
Bookshelf
Points of interest
featured in this issue
Arizona Highways 1
EDITOR'S
p A G E
./ r
Perspective of the Carlson house, designed in 1950. Pencil and colored pencil on tracingpaper, 32 by 36 inches.
FOR1YYEARSAGO Frank Uoyd Wright designed a simple,
handsome, and comfortable home for a friend who
under ordinary circumstances could not have
afforded to commission the services of the famous
architect. The house was planned to fit a relatively small
subdivision lot in Phoenix, and material and construction
costs were carefully held to a modest level. The client:
Raymond Carlson, the legendary, longtime editor of
Arizona Highways.
InJanuary of this year, the Phoenix Art Museum unveiled
a fascinating exhibition: "Frank Uoyd Wright Drawings:
Masterworks from the Frank Uoyd Wright Archives." In
this issue Arizona Highways is pleased to present a
sampling of the drawings, sketches, and designs that were
loaned by the Wright archives for the show, along with
Christopher Geoffrey McPherson's account of how this
unusual exhibition came about.
One of the drawings on display, reproduced above, is
a perspective of the Raymond Carlson house. Construction
was completed in 1951, and the house was occupied by
Carlson and his wife, Helen (better known to friends as
Zilch), until Helen's death in the late 1960s. The house
was sold in the early '70s, although Carlson lived on in
a retirement home until 1983.
Subsequent owners had made several changes in the
house when, in 1986, it was acquired by Christian Petersen.
The present owner engaged architect Charles Schiffner,
who had studied at the Wright school at Taliesin West,
and he and Petersen undertook a careful restoration. In
the process the home was returned to its original
appearance, including its distinctive color scheme of gray
and turqUOise blue.
The Carlson-Petersen house became the subject of an
article in the February 1989 issue of Phoenix Home &
2 February 1990
Garden. last fall the restoration won a special award in
the biennial Western Home Awards program sponsored
by Sunset and the American Institute of Architects.
The Phoenix Art Museum exhibition of Wright draw­ings
will continue through April 8. The museum is located
at 1625 N. Central Ave. (Central at McDowell Road), and
is open from 10:00 AM. to 5:00 P.M. Tuesday through
Saturday; lO:OO AM. to 9:00 P.M. on Wednesday; and 1:00
to 5:00 P.M. on Sunday. It is closed on Monday and major
holidays. There is an admission fee except on Wednesday,
when everyone is admitted free of charge. For information
concerning guided tours, telephone (602) 257-1222.
Meanwhile, the Frank Uoyd Wright Foundation is
sponsoring a series of other special events that will
continue throughout 1990 and 1991 with the theme
Taliesin West: Frank Lloyd Wright'sArizonaLegacy. These
include tours of the late architect's home and school of
architecture at Cactus Road and lO8th Street Scottsdale'
longer (half-day) "behind the scenes" tours; and work:
shops, lectures, seminars, and musical performances. For
specific information, write to Taliesin West, Scottsdale, AZ
85261; or telephone (602) 860-88lO.
In other Highways articles this month, Larry Cheek
explains how the experts anticipate and then manage the
levels of central Arizona reservoirs when runoff from
rainfall and snowmelt flows down from the highlands;
artist Bill Ahrendt takes us back to the Cactus Derby of
1914; Louise Gacioch tells us what an "avocational arche­ologist"
does; Marion Donaldson stirs memories of a town
now gone; Jack Dykinga captures some of the special
moods of the Vermilion Cliffs country; and George Ridge
invites us to visit the nation's only Titan missile museum.
On their behalf, welcome! - Merrill Windsor
FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT DRAWINGS" COPYRIGHT 1990 BY THE F L WRIGHT FOUNDATION
DEJA VU
As a World War II aerial gunner,
I spent more than a year in flight
training in the Southwest, most of
which was in Arizona. I'm a victim
of deja vu and nostalgia every time
I open your beautiful magazine. The
photography and artwork are superb.
Art Lennon
Boston, MA
TIlE BEST MAGAZINE IN
TIlE SECOND-BEST STATE?
Congratulations for producing,
issue after issue, the best magazine
in the U.SA, in the second best state.
Being number one and number two
at the same time is tough to beat.
The number one state, in pure
visual splendor, scenic wonders,
breathtaking views, and variety of
terrain is Utah. Arizona is an incred­ibly
beautiful state, but when I
compare Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches,
Lake Powell, Canyonlands, and
Capitol Reef against the Grand
Canyon, Oak Creek Canyon, Lake
Havasu, Sunset Crater, Canyon de
Chelly, Petrified Forest, and Meteor
Crater- USing my somewhat subjec­tive
criteria-Utah is the clear
winner. Tied for a distant third place
are Wyoming and California.
NOTICE
The annual general member­ship
meeting of The Friends of
Arizona Highways Magazine
Foundation is scheduled for
9:30 AM. Saturday, February 24,
1990, at the Arizona Hall of
Fame Museum, 1lOl W. Wash­ington
St., Phoenix. Arizona
Highways subscribers are auto­matically
members of The
Friends.
Andrew Masich
President
LETTERS
YOURS SINCERELY
I have read and marvelled at your
wonderful magazine for years, and
all your readers seem to think
Arizona is the most scenic state in
the Union. In the interest of bal­anced
reporting, I thought you'd be
interested in my views.
Roland Althoff
Toronto, Ontario
Canada
EVERYDAY PEOPLE
As a native Wickenburger living
in Italy and a lifelong reader of
Arizona Highways, I had to write and
let you know how pleased I was to
see [the February 1989) issue. I'm
not referring to the masterful pho­tography
and layout that every issue
provides, but the coverage of the
Navajo code-talkers, the Cocopahs,
and the varsity rodeo. In times given
to fast-lane living, it's' good to see
Highways telling stories about
everyday people who live in that
comer of the world. I hope you will
as ever keep away from the glamour
and aim for the pure beauty of the
place and its people!
Glenn Michael Alessi
Parma, Italy
SIREN SONG
Twenty-five years ago, I met a
delightful American couple touring
my country in the South Pacific. A
friendship ensued, and soon came
a subscription to Arizona Highways,
which continues to this day.
As a result of the scenic delights
[the magazine offers), I was lured
to visit your country. The highlight
of my first trip was a flight from Los
Angeles over the Grand Canyon,
followed by a coach journey around
the South Rim. Truly a wonderful
experience, enjoyed afresh each
time the Canyon is featured in your
excellent magazine.
]. Wright
Hawke's Bay, New Zealand
Friends' Travel
Telephone the Friends of
Arizona Highways Travel Desk,
(602) 271-5904, for information
about our auxiliary's Scenic
Tours and Photo Adventures.
Scenic Tour, March 5-6. Winter
Visitors Special: a two-day visit
to Mohave County's ghost towns
and the Colorado River low­lands,
guided by veteran pho­tographer
Carlos Elmer.
Photo Adventure, April 5-8.
PhotOjournalist Christine Keith
leads an all-women's group on
a challenging hike to the cas­cading
waterfalls and turquoise
pools of Havasu Canyon.
ARIZON~
H I G H WAY S®
FEBRUARY 1990 VOL. 66, NO. 2
Publisher-Hugh Harelson
Editor-Merrill Windsor
Managing Editor-Richard G. Stahl
Art Director-Gary Bennett
Picture Editor-Peter Ensenberger
Associate Art Director-Christine Mitchell
Associate Editor-ViCky Hay
Business Director-Robert M. Steele
Circutation Director-
Sharon Vogelsang
Production Director-Cindy Mackey
Marteting Director-Colleen Hornung
Fulfillment Director-Lawrence E. Husband
Data Processing Manager-Richard Simpson
Related Products
Managing Editor-Wesley Holden
Associate Editor-Robert J. Farrell
Associate Art Director-Lynne M Hamilton
Governor of Arizona-Rose Mofford
Director,
Department of Transportation­Charles
L. Miller
Arizona Transportation Board
Chairman: Jim Patterson. Chandler;
Members: Larry Chavez. Phoenix;
Donald Denton. Parker. Andrew M. Federhar.
Tucson; Harold Gietz. Safford; Verne D.
Seidel. Jr .. Flagstaff; James A Soto. Nogales
Aflzona Highways8 (ISSN 0004-152 1) is published monthly by the Arizona Department of
Transportation. Subscription price $16 a year in the U.S., 519.25 elsewhere, single copies $1 .95 eaCh,
$2.25 each outside U.S. Send subSCript ion correspondence and change of address information to
Arizona Highways. 2039 W. LeWIS Ave .. Phoenix, AZ 85009 or telephone (602) 258-'000 or, tOil-free
with in Arizona, 1 (800) 543-5432. Second class postage paid at Phoenix, AZ. Postmaster: Send address
changes to Arizona Highways, 2039 W. l ewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009. ~Copy r i ght 1990 by the Anzona
Department of Transportation. Reproduction in whole or In part without permission is prohIbited. The
magazine is not responsible for unsolicited materials prOVIded lor editOrial consideratIon.
Arizona Highways 3
s u R v E y
BY LAWRENCE W. CHEEK
How the experts manage reservoir storage while preventing floods
It's early March, and Phoenix is savoring
one of those spring days that Cleveland
would kill for: 750 or so, and not a cloud
between here and California. On the
evening news, the weatherman is predict­ing
that a warm, wet, late winter storm
will cross the northern half of Arizona in
a couple of days, but only a handful of
the metropolitan area's two million peo­ple
give it a moment's thought.
That handful work either for the u.s.
Department of Agriculture's Soil Conser­vation
Service or the Salt River Project, a
water and electrical utility; and what they
do within the next two days will not only
save Phoenix from a devastating flood this
week but also help keep the area's lawns,
parks, and citrus groves from scorching
when]une's annual drought arrives.
Exchanging data through computer
links and telephone conversations, the
specialists sort through the facts. The six
reservoirs north and east of Phoenix are
holding a combined 1.9 million acre-feet
of water, 95 percent of capacity. The snow­pack
in the mountains beyond the dams
is deeper than normal, and it's also
unusually dense. When the rain hits it, this
pack will melt like ice cream under a warm
shower and send more water careening
down the Salt and Verde rivers than the
reservoirs can hold. When that happens,
the water will be released through the
dams and down into the normally dry Salt
River bed in Phoenix. The best-case
scenario: a vast amount of wasted water.
The wo~st : a flood in Phoenix.
But that's if the dams' managers are
caught flat-footed. Instead, this happens:
several days before the storm arrives, SRP
hydrologists forecast the runoff and
predict how much water may have to be
released from the reservoirs. As the storm
develops, workers closely monitor the
flow and adjust releases to insure that the
smallest quantity of water necessary ' is
released to the river below the dams.
Phoenix residents hardly notice. A trickle
meanders through town in the riverbed,
but it doesn't endanger bridges or threaten
to slop over the banks. And the reservoirs
will stay close to 100 percent capacity to
nurse the city through the summer.
There is a little-known key to making
this complicated feat of water manage­ment
work. It's called snow surveying, and
although it uses computers and radio
Signals deSigned to carom off meteor trails
in the ionosphere, it depends on a bunch
of men and women on cross-country skis
who, quite simply, love to be out work­ing-
and playing- in the snow.
It's a still, cool February morning on the
Mogollon Rim some 60 miles southeast
of Flagstaff. Bruce Gordon, a 39-year-old
range conservationist with the Soil Con­servation
Service,
parks the govern­ment-
issue pick­up
in a clearing
just off State Route
87. The elevation
here is 7,300 feet,
so there's a good
cover of snow.
Certainly enough
for skiing. We
clamp on our skis
and glide off to
one of the 38
government
"snow courses"
sprinkled around
the north-central
mountains and
plateaus of Ari ­zona.
It's about
half a mile from
where we left the
truck. When we
arrive, surprise!- there's the highway
again, and the snow course is only a
couple hundred feet away from it. We've
skied in a semicircle.
"Why didn't we just park there and walk
to it?"
"Well, it's a little hard to pull the truck
completely off the road here." Gordon
looks a trace sheepish. The truth is that
he'll seize any excuse to ski to work. So
will most of his colleagues.
Some of the work of snow surveying,
(OPPOSITE PAGE) A Soil Conservation
Service suroey team tests the depth and
mass of snow at Hart Prairie, near
Flagstaff RICHARD WESTON
(BELOW) Impounded runoff, largely
from melted snow, cascades out of
Roosevelt Dam spiOways. JERRY JACKA
Arizona Highways 5
in fact, is automated. In these mountains
there are 14 "SNOTEL" sites, which use
weight-sensitive snow pillows, depth
sensors, and radio transmitters to beam
out daily reports. The signals bounce off
a layer of ionized particles left by sand­grain-
size meteors disintegrating 50 to 75
miles above the earth. The method is said
to be more reliable than satellite telemetry,
because satellites periodically break down.
Meteors will keep falling into the atmo­sphere
forever. But two-legged snow
surveying has special advantages. The
electronic systems are more than 90
percent accurate, but they don't learn from
experience, and they have no intuition or
emotion about the outdoors.
"Sometimes we have to use snowmo­biles
to reach the more remote sites, but
frankly, I hate them because of the noise
and the fumes," Gordon says. "I've done
cross-country skiing for 15 years, and I'll
ski to a snow course anytime I can justify
it economically. I like the aerobic exercise;
I like the crisp, cold air on my face; I
like the sound of the skis on the snow."
Gordon's boss, District Conservationist
Jim Alam, encourages the surveyors to ski
6 February 1990
(LEF[) Manson
(Matt) Merritt, an
accomplished cross­country
skier,
measures snow depth.
RICI-IARD WESTON
( RIGHT) As much as 75
percent of the water
in the reserooirs of the
West comes from
melted snow. This is
Saguaro Lake on the
Salt River. JERRY JACKA
on the job; he figures that the more skill
they have, the better off they'll be if they're
caught in a blizzard.
Still on our skis, we unpack the kit of
snow surveying tools: a set of calibrated
tubes that can be fitted together for deep
snow, a scale, a thermometer, a pocket
calculator, and a pad of survey sheets.
Then we go to work, skiing to the first
of seven locations in this course, marked
by dots on trees. Gordon twists the tube
through the snow to the ground. He
removes it and checks the core for specks
of soil and dead leaves, indicating it went
all the way through the pack. We note
the depth of the snow to the nearest half­inch.
Then we hang the scale from a handy
ski pole (another good reason for skiing
in) and weigh the tube with the snow
inside. Then we repeat these measure­ments
at six more standard locations in
the course so we'll have a reliable average.
Why weigh the snow? Because knowing
just the depth of the pack is useless in
forecasting runoff. The hydrologists back
in sunny Phoenix also need to know its
denSity- that is, how much water a given
cubic foot of snow will become when it
melts. The tube and scale are designed
to give us that number with a few pecks
at the calculator. The ratio of the core's
length to its weight is the key.
N, the surveyors explain it, that old rule
of thumb we learned in science c1ass­that
10 inches of snow actually contain
one inch of water-is of no value at all.
Freshly fallen snow sometimes measures
10 percent denSity, but that depends on
the storm that produced it. Some storms
pack heavy, wet snow; some light,
powdery snow-the kind that makes
Arizona Highways 7
8 February 19,90
(LEFf) The Verde
River flows into Bartlett
Lake north of Phoenix.
Accurate runoff
estimates help the Salt
River Project control
reservoir levels and
prevent floods.
JERRY JACKA
(RlGHT) RonaldJones
andJames Alam weigh
a calibrated tube and
core. RlCHARD WESTON
skiers smile. But a snowpack is a dynamic
substance. It's constantly changing as it
ages. Even if the temperature remains
below freezing, some moisture in the
snow crystals will "sublimate," shifting
from a solid to a vapor state. Thus the
air in the pack becomes more humid. At
a certain level of humidity, the moisture
will recondense on the crystals, transform­ing
them from lacy, delicate sculptures
into bulbous globs. The air space is
reduced, and the pack becomes progres­sively
denser.
The decrepit pack we're measuring
today proves to be 33 to 39 percent water.
At the second Mogollon Rim snow course
we check, which lies at an elevation of
7,700 feet, the snow depth averages 30.9
inches. It will melt into 11 inches of water,
trickling (or raging, depending on the
weather) into the Verde River.
It takes about three hours to ski to these
two sites and take their measurements. It's
noon when we finish, and the temperature
has risen to a sun-splashed 28 OF. The clean,
thin air and the quiet isolation of the forest
are wonderfully invigorating. It doesn't
even seem cold.
"This is what it's like three-fourths of
the time," Gordon says. "But there always
comes a moment when you have to pay
for it. One day three years ago, we were
having problems with the snowmobile, so
we skied seven or eight miles to the Inner
Basin of the San Francisco Mountains. It
was about a 3,000-foot elevation gain, and
we were looking forward to a nice, fast
ski down. Then a blizzard hit, and we had
to hole up in a cabin overnight. By
morning there was a full three feet of fresh
powder, and the wind was howling like
crazy. We finally made it out, but we really
had to work very hard at it."
Explains Ron Jones, the SCS water
supply specialist who directs the Arizona
snow surveys: "We've had crews that were
hit pretty hard by storms, and I tell them
there's a limit to the risks they should take.
We need the information, but it's not
worth risking someone's life. We haven't
yet had a serious accident in the field. The
most hazardous part of the job is still the
drive to the site."
Snow surveying is hardly new. It began
in 1906 on Mount Rose in Nevada. Dr.
James Church, a University of Nevada
professor of Romance languages, devised
the technique of sticking a pipe into the
snow, then melting the sample to find out
how much water it contained. It wasn't
merely an academic exercise. In a spring
following a winter of heavy snowfall, Lake
Tahoe's level could rise enough to swamp
the cabins around the lake. Church's
surveys were used to forecast the rise so
that gates could be opened to let water
run out of the lake.
The U.S. government started the pro­gram
under the SCS in 1937, at the peak
of the "dust bowl" years. The emphasis
wasn't on protecting property, but on
conserving water. Throughout the western
Arizona Highways 9
(RIGJ-IT) On Mormon
Mountain, a snow
suroey team checks a
"SNOTEL" housing
equipment for the SCS
telemetry system.
RICHARD WESTON
(BEWW) Bartlett Dam,
completed in 1939,
has a normal high­water
elevation of
1, 798 feet.
JERRY JACKA
states, Jones explains, 70 to 75 percent
of the stream and river flow comes from
melted snow.
In Arizona the combined watersheds of
the Verde and Salt rivers sprawl over
13,000 square miles- an area larger than
Belgium. Snowmelt from these mountains
and plateaus has nourished agriculture
near the rivers for 2,000 years, since the
Hohokam and later the Sinagua tribes
developed irrigation.
In 1867 pioneer prospector and farmer
Jack Swilling organized an irrigation
company, dredged what he called an
"ancient acequia" (a Hohokam canal)
from the Salt River near what is now 40th
Street in Phoenix, and began cultivating
100 acres of barley, wheat, and corn. Other
10 February 1990
farms flourished, and Phoenix soon be­came
the state's agricultural hub.
The Salt River, though, was a capricious
provider-often its water arrived either in
torrents or trickles. In 1899 a scant half.
million acre-feet dribbled into town; in
1900 the flow was 10 times that. For
Phoenix to realize its potential, the river
had to be controlled. That was achieved
in 1911, when the United States Reclama­tion
Service completed Roosevelt Dam, 80
miles east of Phoenix. Six years later, the
Reclamation Service transferred operation
of the dam to the Salt River Valley Water
Users' Association. Soon, valley communi·
ties began enjoying the coupled benefits
of low-cost hydroelectric power and
irrigation.
Today the Association and the Salt River
Agricultural Improvement and Power
District, operating as the Salt River Project,
control 1,276 miles of canals and ditches,
six reservoirs that double as recreational
lakes, and four hydroelectric generators.
The project's constituency has changed.
Once its water went almost exclUSively
to farmers; now about 60 percent serves
"urban needs"-households, parks, and
industry. The project supplies about half
the city of Phoenix and a quarter of the
metropolitan area. SRP pumps some
groundwater-as much as 40 percent of
its total in a dry year-but it's still fair
to say that the two small, inconsistent
rivers it harnesses are the arteries that have
given the nation's tenth largest city its life.
SRP also supplies electricity to about half
a million metropolitan customers.
By helping SRP regulate the reservoirs
more accurately, the snow surveyors are
in effect buying time for the sprawling
oasis. Without it, Phoenix and its suburbs
would have been hit with increasingly
frequent water shortages and rationing­in
between floods, probably. But since the
city is expanding and the watershed isn't,
thirsty times may be about to arrive anyway.
"The years 1978-88 have been an extra­ordinarily
wet period, and this has lulled
people into a false sense of security," says
John Keane, SRP's manager of surface
water resources. "We expected 1989 to
be drier [it was-Ed.] , and dry years, like
wet years, tend to come in groups. In
another year or two, you may see bans
on washing of cars, or other new con·
servation measures.
"If we keep growing, the Valley is going
to need either more water importation or
more conservation."
Up in frostbite country, the surveyors
occaSionally ponder the ways Phoenix
uses the snowmelt that eventually trickles
down to the Valley oasis-the grassy golf
fairways, the artificial lakes, the broad
lawns- and shake their heads. Most of
them have a strong conservationist bent,
and they're sure many Phoenicians don't
appreciate the value and the increasing
scarcity of their most critical resource.
The ironic truth is that Phoenix owes
its existence to snow. On a warm, sunny,
75 0 winter day, few people in the Valley
ever think of that. ~
Free·lance writer Lany Cheek has been a Tucson
Citizen journalist and editor of Tucson's City
Magazine.
Sixteenth and Last in a Series of
Historical Paintings by Bill Ahrendt
BARNEY OIDFIEID AND mE CAcrus DERBY
Xizonans' infatuation with the automobile was
assured a new vigor in the fall of 1914 when the
Cactus Derby, a grueling, hazardous road race then
in its sixth year, got off to a roaring start in Los Angeles.
The race to Phoenix across desert trails and through
rugged mountains was run partly to promote better roads.
Conducted each year from 1908 through 1917, the
Derby was without doubt the roughest race ever held
annually in the United States. And in this year of 1914,
some of the world's greatest drivers were competing.
Among the 20 starters were Louis Chevrolet, Olin Davis,
Louis Nikrent, and that barnstorming favorite, Barney
Oldfield. The prize? A diamond-studded medal, embossed
"Master Driver of the World."
Barney Oldfield was dead sure he could win the medal,
and he was determined to do so behind the wheel of
the same red and white Stutz he'd driven to fifth place
in that year's Indianapolis 500.
A cold predawn rain fell at Eastlake Park on November
9 when the 20 engines flamed to life. Rooster tails of
spray plumed behind the contenders as they roared away
on the first leg of the three-day run.
Needles, California, 301 miles from the starting line,
was the first overnight stop. The second day's dash to
Prescott, Arizona, covered 236 harrowing miles of desert
and mountains. Wind and icy rain plagued the way as
machines, drivers, and their mechanics strove to survive
muddy bogs, jagged rocks, and boulder-strewn gullies.
The storm continued to rage the final dawn of the race
as 11 survivors roared out onto the last, 134-mile lap to
Phoenix. Oldfield at this point held an edge over his
toughest opponents, Louis Nikrent and Olin Davis, both
previous winners of the Derby. But the worsening weather
and the threat of an unbridged crossing of storm-swollen
New River made the lead look slim.
Then Olin Davis' car sheered into a bank of mud,
breaking the drive chain. He was out of the running.
Nikrent was now Oldfield's chief pursuer.
When they reached the foaming torrent of New River,
Oldfield and his mechanic, George Hill, wrapped their
coats around the hood of the Stutz, picked a crossing
point, and roared for the distant bank. But the swirling
waters engulfed the machine, and the great engine
sputtered once, twice-then fell silent.
Well behind only moments ago, Nikrent, in his Page,
shot past his stalled competitor and plowed successfully
across the river as Oldfield looked on helplessly. Barney,
still ahead in terms of time, chomped his dead cigar and
hoped for a miracle. It was then he spotted the mule
team working the far bank. Both men hailed the teamster,
and in minutes the mules were hooked to the machine
and were dragging it free from the mud.
On the opposite bank at last, Oldfield dropped the
gear lever into second and let out the clutch. The motor
exploded into life. Slithering wildly over the muddy trail,
Barney lashed the last gasps of power from his machine.
But far ahead Nikrent was already crossing the finish line
at the Arizona State Fairgrounds. He was first to arrive,
but he could not yet claim victory because Oldfield still
had the clock on his side.
When the mud-spattered Stutz finally screamed onto
the grounds with time to spare, the band blared a welcome,
and the waiting crowd thundered "Oldfield! Oldfield!
Oldfield!" As the car came to a stop, Barney was smiling
broadly, the muddy stump of his long-extinguished cigar
still clamped in his jaw.
That evening George Purdy Bullard, attorney general
of Arizona, presented Oldfield with the diamond-studded
medal of victory. Barney had earned the title "Master Driver
of the World." -B. A
(FOLLOWING PANEL, PAGES 12 AND 13) With Olin Davis
out of the running, Louis Nikrent was Oldfield's chief
pursuer as they approached New River.
Arizona Highways 11
(ABOVE) Among the many
artifacts unearthed at the Elden
Pueblo dig near Flagstaff was
an incised bone awl
(BELOW, RIGHT) A tiny copper bell
discovered in the excavation of
a prehistoric Hohokam pit house
at Pinnacle Peak Village.
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Arizona
Archaeological Society volunteer
Evelyn Giuffre screens buckets
of earth removed from
homesites at Elden Pueblo in
search of more clues to the
life-style of the ancients who
inhabited the area.
14 February 1990
Joan Clark
crouches low
and chats sporad­The
Rise of the
Avocational
Archeologist
Text by Louise Gacioch
Photographs by Sean Brady
ically between periods of concentration while scraping the hard­packed
dirt floor of a thousand-year-old Hohokarn pit house.
"It can get tedious," she says to a visitor as dust rises from
the earth beneath her, "but there's always that feeling of suspense
that goes with working on a dig. You never know what your
trowel is going to turn up next."
What Clark is hoping to uncover on this sunny day in the
desert is a storage area beneath the floor, a small pit where
the prehistoric dwellers would have kept vessels of various sorts
as well as foodstuffs.
Clark is preSident of the Desert Foothills chapter of the Arizona
Archaeological Society, an 800-member nonprofessional group
of volunteers. The chapter has turned out this particular weekend
to help excavate a site at Pinnacle Peak Village in north Scottsdale
where the remains of upwards of20 prehistoric Hohokarn houses
were unearthed by backhoe. The most important part of the site-a triangle-shaped third
of an acre containing most of those houses-will be preserved, according to officials of the
Pinnacle Peak land Company. The company is expected to build modern-day houses nearby.
'Just think," says Jo Anne Miller, laboratory director for the excavation, "in 300 years the
houses now being built will have disappeared, and some archeologist digging on the site
will report that while excavating a residential area near Phoenix, he came upon something
much older and more important underneath."
Thousands of visitors have already observed this Hohokam village excavation during a
series of public education tours. Members of the society and Arizona State University's
anthropology department acted as guides, explaining excavation techniques and pointing
out some of the rare discoveries.
To flesh out the picture of what Hohokam life may have been like in the area, the group
produced displays of pottery and food and explained the use of cooking pits and metates,
stones on which the ancient peoples ground grains, especially maize.
Each cooking pit, visitors learned, is an important discovery because the baked clay along
its outer rim can reveal through arch eo magnetic dating the age of the hearth and consequently
the period when the village was inhabited.
It's possible this particular site might never have been investigated in time had it not
been for the help of volunteers. Patricia Gilman, ASU staff archeologist and supervisor of
the project at the time of the dig last spring, comments that about 40 "avocational archeologists"
spent 42 full days at work on the dig. "They have a lot of training and they love to use
it," she says. "They do it for their own satisfaction."
Volunteers from the state's growing number of
avocational archeologists may spend hours, days, or
weeks at an excavation, whisking away ages of
accumulated debris from relics of the distant past.
The work is hard on the hands, elbows, and knees.
But, says Ben Mixon, it does something for the soul.
"It's difficult to describe," declares Mixon, a
Arizona Highways 15
16 February 1990
____________________________ AvocationalArcheologist
58-year-old veteran of more than 20 years
of effort at dig sites around Arizona. "But
sometimes when you're down on your
knees scraping away, you feel like the
prehistoric occupants are right there with
you. It's also amazing and sobering to
realize that I may be the first to touch
something since it was held by another
person much like me a thousand or two
thousand years ago.
"We learn so much about others and
ourselves through archeology," he con­tinues.
"Ancient peoples made many of
today's advances and amenities possible.
They did the homework for things we take
for granted."
Mixon, a tool and die maker, finds
himself particularly fascinated with
ancient tools. Such artifacts, he believes,
"help us to develop an understanding
about what people could do and accom­plish
in a SOCiety."
A member of the Southwest Archaeo­logical
Team (SWAT), Mixon points
out that a host of tools used
in the distant past are remark-able
for their ingenuity. For ex­ample,
stone axheads discovered
at Hohokam sites were heat­treated
for durability, just as most
tools are tempered today for the
same reason.
Those prehistoric people also
created a leveling device-com­plete
with a plumb bob-to deter­mine
the angle of a slope, or grade,
when planning their canal systems.
A similar device does the same job for
surveyors today.
The Hohokam canal systems were
especially impressive. In December of
1867,Jack Swilling and others reclaimed
sections of ancient canals in the Salt River
Valley to create an irrigation system that
allowed Phoenix to blossom as a fertile
community. Several parts of today's net­work
of concrete-lined canals follow the
same gradients as those of the Hohokam
channels of long ago.
The 65 members of SWAT throughout
the state specialize in salvage archeology,
rescuing from construction projects arti­facts,
remnants of structures, and other bits
and pieces of anthropological information
that otherwise would have been lost
beneath roads, dams, and large buildings.
Charles Gilbert is a long-time member
of the Arizona Archaeological Society,
which he says has doubled its member­ship
in the last 10 years. Like other
(OPPOSITE PAGE)
Volunteer archeologists
begin the long-term
program of stabilizing
the Elden Pueblo site.
(LEFT) Joan Clark,
president of the Desert
Foothills chapter of the
Arizona Archaeological
Society, brushes the
floor of a thousand­year-
old Hohokam pit
house at the Pinnacle
Peak dig . .
(BEWW) The Pinnacle
Peak excavation yielded
Hohokam arrowheads
and an ancient
ceramic scoop with
linear design.
volunteer organizations involved in
archeological work, the group provides its
members an average of 10 study courses,
including note-taking, surveying, laying
out of field sites, excavation, and the
history of early civilizations.
Another group that has grown rapidly
and whose members for the most part are
avocationalists is the Arizona Archaeo­logical
and Historical Society, which was
organized under the auspices of the
Arizona State Museum in Tucson. It has
a roster of 700 members.
Says William D. Hohmann, immediate
past preSident: "We offer an alternative
Arizona Highways 17
AvocationalArcheologist ___________________________ _
(RIGHT AND BELOW) A grooved
axhead, miniature wide­mouthed
jar, and bird effigy
censer made of vesicular basalt
were among artifacts found
during the Pinnacle Peak project.
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Excavating
and rebuilding Elden Pueblo
provided a hands-on
educational project for the
volunteers who undertook the
arduous tasks of measuring,
labeling, and sifting through
the layers of earth and debris
that had covered the site for
centuries.
to 'independent investigation' " - to use
a charitable term for modern-day grave
robbing or pot hunting.
"Fortunately, in Arizona," he adds,
"there's a growing sense of propriety
about leaving sites alone. But that's not
true in all parts of the country."
There also are some very stiff antiqui­ties
laws on Arizona's books to dissuade
thieves from stealing Indian artifacts.
Salvage archeology's growth and pres­ent
importance can be traced to the
National Historic Preservation Act of 1966.
It requires agencies to determine whether
historical sites may exist beneath or near
federally funded construction work or
near projects proposed on federal lands.
The process, called mitigation, calls for
18 February 1990
surveying ,
excavating,
and mapping
the areas af-fected
and cat­aloging
the re­sulting
informa­tion
and artifacts .
Only when these tasks
are accomplished can con­struction
begin at a site.
"Excavation of this kind is an expen­sive
proposition," Gilbert says. "If the
agencies can get avocationalists for free,
it's good for them and good for us."
There was a time not long ago when
the union between profeSSional ar­cheologists
and volunteers was not so
strong. "For a long while, we were looked
upon with suspicion," recalls Gilbert. "Did
we really know enough?" But as volun­teers
trained themselves and learned more
and more through their archeological
organizations, professionals increasingly
gained respect for them.
Today, the ranks of volunteers are filled
with medical doctors, grocery derks,
lawyers, architects, businessmen, house­wives,
journalists, factory workers,
students,
and retirees, all
donating their time, from a weekend now
and again to as much as several hundred
hours a year.
With the success of volunteerism in
aiding professional archeologists with
their tasks, other bodies whose supply of
funds usually do not stretch enough to
hire the services of others began seeking
volunteer participation. One such is the
Site Steward Program of the Arizona
Archaeological AdviSOry Commission.
Since the program's official inception in
1988, at least a hundred volunteers have
been trained to watch over public lands.
Explains Teresa Hoffman, archeologist
for the State Historic Preservation Office,
which cosponsors the project: "It's a
complex program. Its purpose is to de­termine
the condition of archeological
sites around the state and to monitor them
on a regular basis to prevent vandalism,
as well as to report damage so that
reclamation can be scheduled."
"The past is worth preserving," insists
Mixon. "When we look into it, enjoy it,
take care of it, it helps us understand
ourselves a little bit better." ~
Editor's note: ArizonaArchaeologyWeek
will be observed next month, March 24
to 30, with the theme "Time Travel
Arizona!" For information on events
during the week, call Teresa Hoffman at
the State Historic Preservation Office,
(602) 542-4009.
Tempe free-lance writer Louise Gacioch
reported on Wickenburg'S bluegrass f estival for
the November 1989 Arizona Highways.
Sean Brady is a Phoenix free-lance photographer
specializing in corporate and editOrial assignments.
Arizona Highways 19
REQUIEM FOR A TOWN
Former residents of Christmas, Arizona, gather to say
good-bye to the mining community they once called home.
The open-pit copper mine, in descend­ing
concentric rings, lay quiescent under
a full Arizona sun. The people gathered
at its edge were silent, too, staring down
into the vastness of this abyss gouged out
of the mountain's slope. Their hands did
not touch; yet a strong fraternal sense
welded them in common bond.
For theirs in truth is a fraternity. They .
are people who once lived in the mining
community of Christmas, Arizona, in Gila
County's Dripping Springs Mountains.
During its lifetime, Christmas placed its
unique stamp on all who called it home.
Today the town is gone, swallowed up
by the unsated pit; the fraternity mem­bership
roll is closed forever.
Time's broad sweep accorded Christ­mas
a full century of existence, beginning
in 1880 when nomadic prospectors dis­covered
copper on the mountain slopes
a mile above the free-flowing Gila River.
Phelps Dodge Corporation soon acquired
the claims and by 1884 began limited
operations. But all activity was forced to
cease because the site lay within the San
Carlos Indian Reservation.
On December 22, 1902, through Pres­ident
Roosevelt's executive order, the
mountain area that included the claims
was returned to the public domain. Den­nis
O'Brien, hired by Phelps Dodge, and
Saddle Mountain Mining Company's
George B. Crittenden had been waiting
in camps near the site for the news. But
fickle history tricked O'Brien, who left for
Globe to celebrate the holidays. Word
came late on December 24, and on
Christmas Day Crittenden, unchallenged,
staked claims to the ore body. Christmas,
as a name for the claims and town, was
a natural consequence.
For years, with varied ownership and
up and down success, Christmas operated
(ABOVE) The town of Christmas as
it appeared in 1919. COURTESY OF
MARION DONAIDSON AND EUGENE MARIN
(OPPOSITE PAGE) Mining-town
memorabilia include, clockwise from top
left, a fuel can, washboard, ore cart
whee4 a flatiron, miner's helmet lamp,
antique photographs, a watermelon­shaped
lunchbox, and a set of lunchbox
pans that could be warmed over a single
heat source. RODNEY BOYD. COllECTION
COURTESY OF ANTIQUE AllEY, PHOENIX
as an underground mine. In 1967, under
Inspiration Consolidated Copper Com­pany
management, it succumbed to open
pit mining. But by 1981, as copper prices
declined, even that ended, and the people
sadly moved on, leaving Christmas to the
silence of the surrounding mountains.
Thus, on this day at the pit's edge,
former residents gathered in reunion to
bid farewell to their vanished town. One
described Christmas in detail as he knew
it in earlier days. He spoke of the mining
operation above the town. Below, he said,
lay the company office, the mine super­intendent's
home, a store, post office,
school, and assay office. Miners and
surface workers' simple wooden homes
dotted the slopes.
The top of an abandoned slag dump
provided a rare flat area for children's
games and later a few homes and a
community meeting hall. Above all a
tramway, buckets clamped to a heavy,
continuous cable, carried ore from the
mine shaft to an ore bin a mile below
at the end of Arizona Eastern Railroad's
spur from Winkelman.
Others, recalling their Christmas years,
spoke of the town as they had experienced
it. One warm remembrance was shared
by all: the plaintive strains of Mexican
music floating across the hills as night
gently folded over the little community.
All residents, even those of the open
pit period, when most of the original town
was gone, spoke emotionally of this
special place. The common thread: times
were often hard and many public amen­ities
were lacking, but undergirding all
was an uncommon spirit bringing dis­parate
peoples and cultures together in
uncommon harmony. It was a spirit,
perhaps drawn from implications of its
Singular name, that Christmas residents
acquired and never lost. As one long-time
citizen of the town put it, "Christmas gets
in your blood, and once there, it stays!"
But the time for reminiscence ended,
and the reunion celebration began.
Through the courtesy of Cyprus Miami
Mining Corporation, present owner of the
Christmas property, the people gathered
in welcome shade under lofty sheds that
once housed gargantuan ore trucks. Bar­becue
grills were set up and picnic baskets
opened. Now was a time for the mingling
of families and the greeting of old friends.
Finally all came together for a brief
program, a few talks, some music. Sadness
for the departed has its place but, as these
people knew well, Christmas was a happy
town. The reunion program reflected that.
Gaiety continued into the afternoon;
but quietly a few of the older folk, some
who had known Christmas for nearly three
quarters of a century, wandered again to
the pit's edge. As they stood there hushed,
thoughts returning to the Christmas they
once knew, the vastness seemed to
whisper up to them, "Yes, this was your
town; now only memories remain." ~
Marion Donaldson, a retired educational
administrator, is now a Scottsdale free· lance writer .
. .................... .... ........ .. .. .. ..... Text by Marion Donaldson .............................. .. ......... ..
20 February 1990 Arizona Highways 21
A PORTFOLIO B Y J A C K w.
22 February 1990
DYKI NGA
I1GHT~
SHADOW,
AND
L ees Ferry has been
a key Colorado River
crossing point for people
on their way to someplace
else since John D. Lee first
dipped his oars into the
mighty river in 1872.
Text continued on page 27
CLEFf) Defying gravity, a
huge Shinarump boulder
balances atop its eroded
Moenkopi rock base.
Sunset lights the Echo Cliffs.
Arizona Highways 23
26 February 1990
LIGHT",
SHADvW,
AND
F o
R
M
I am no exception. For 12 years I have
been crisscrossing this high desert land,
always en route: down the river by raft, to or
from the North Rim by car, up Paria Canyon
on foot. Each time I promised myself to
return one day and photograph the
Vermilion Cliffs, which here provide a
rugged backdrop for the Colorado. But for all
these years, it has never happened. Until now.
My morning begins at 4:00 AM. with strong
coffee. In minutes I'm on my way, my pack
of camera equipment strapped to my back.
I trudge along the base of the ancient cliffs
in the company of boxcar-size boulders
perched precariously on their rock pedestals,
looking much like gigantic mushrooms.
Their attraction is magnetic. As I scramble to
find the perfect composition, rose-colored
light glints over the Echo Peaks. But my
indecision is my downfall; too soon the sun
is up, and the delicate shades of dawn I'd
hoped would wash over my picture are gone.
Text continued on page 31
(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 24 AND 25) The weather­carved
profile of Vermilion Cliffs near Lees
Ferry reveals fault lines and intricately
sculptured pinnacles.
(LEfT) Sunlight and shadows help
define channels cut by eons-long erosion
in the Moenkopi formation at the base of
the Vermilion Cliffs.
(FOllOWING PANEL, PAGES 28 AND 29) Calm
waters of the Colorado River at Lees Ferry
create a reflecting pool for the towering
Vermilion Cliffs in the background.
Arizona Highways 27
30 February 1990
LIGHT",
SHADv\V,
AND
F o
R
M
Now aliI can do is watch the sumise
paint the ancient rocks with shades of gold
and crimson, the very colors that gave these
cliffs their name: Vermilion.
Each day I repeat the ritual, rising at 4:00
AM. and striding off to record the balanced
rocks. Soon they are as familiar to me as if I
had lived here all my life.
I can trace the paths they have scoured
down the cliff face, the great pieces of
Shinarump stone tumbling, tumbling, finally
coming to rest on the much softer Moenkopi
formation. Each boulder shelters the softer
rock beneath; but as wind and rain slowly
take their toll on the surrounding Moenkopi,
it erodes to leave the Shinarump boulder
resting on a pedestal. Eventually the pedestal
itself gives way, and the boulder again falls.
In time another will take its place, and the
weathering process will begin again.
But my camera captures the monoliths as
they appear now, in the magic light of the
high desert. And before you are the results
The coffee's hot. Linger awhile.
Jack W Dykinga is a Pulitzer Prize-winning
photojournalist based in Tucson.
(LEFT) Time and erosion on these boulder­strewn
slopes will eventually create more of
the spectacular balanced rocks typical of the
Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness.
Arizona Highways 31
A Titan-2 missile jartress, complete with a disarmed
ICBM, has become a popular tourist attraction.
A
MUSEUM
OF THE
COLD
WAR
1:e bugles of time
have sounded retreat for many of Arizona's
former military posts. They have become
silent witnesses to another era: Fort
Apache, Fort Bowie, Fort Defiance, even
a little known outpost near Tucson nick­named
the Copper Penny.
The Copper Penny, however, was no
isolated encampment on the Arizona
frontier. Less than a decade ago, this
underground fortress and its Titan-2
intercontinental ballistic missile still stood
global guard duty; it was, in fact, on
constant alert for 19 years. Now, much as
does Fort Bowie just beyond the eastern
horizon, the Copper Penny gives tourists
from around the world a glimpse into the
garrison life of United States armed forces
during a critical period. It is a museum
of the Cold War.
"Okay, folks, let's gather out here in
the hot sun," urges the guide
and museum manager, Becky
Roberts, after the latest group
of visitors, nervously adjusting
hard hats, emerge from a short
32 February 1990
y
George
Ridge
a: « ro
tii a:
f­
«-'
I
Arizona Highways 33
,-----_______________________________ ----------------------__ MISSILE MUSEUM
34 February 1990
video briefing. They make a quick circuit
of the aboveground facilities and get a
peek at the decommissioned Titan-2,
which extends down nearly halfthe length
of a football field beneath the glassed-over
mouth of the launch tube.
The guide leads the group to a metal
stairway emerging from the desert floor,
the entrance to the crew quarters and com­mand
center.
Jon E. Rosell II, now an executive with
United Technologies in California, was a
Titan-2 site commander here in the late
1970s, and he recalls one vivid moment
connected with these underground steps.
One sizzling day in an Arizona summer­when
temperatures on the desert floor can
climb above 120 0 - a member of Rosell 's
crew opened this door to discover that
the small sump at its base, refreshingly
ventilated by air leaking from inside, had
become a pit of rattlesnakes. The reptiles
had snuggled up to the only cool spot
within 25 miles. Because the silo was de­Signed
to withstand a nuclear blast, the
crew could survive any emergency for 30
days. On this occasion, Rosell recalls, they
gladly remained inside until a special Air
Force strike team could be summoned
from another missile site to rout the
intruders.
Many of Rosell's memories as a Titan
crewman are of such intangibles as the
smell of hydraulic oil and the more
ominous odor of toxic missile fuel. The
volunteer developers of the museum have
done their best, without benefit of missile
fuel, to re-create the underground scene
when a crew of four babysat their inter­continental
bird in 24-hour shifts.
The Titan museum and its missile
centerpiece exist by tacit if not ratified
superpower agreement. The inoperative
Titan-2 was moved aboveground before
the museum opened so its decom­missioning
could be verified by Soviet
reconnaissance satellites. The nuclear
warhead was long ago removed from the
nose cone.
When it was oper­ational,
the under­ground
fortress ex­tending
nine floor
levels into the
copper-rich earth­hence
the name,
Copper Penny- was
almost invisible
from the nearby
desert. It was a fort
designed for a sin­gle
retaliatory shot
(LEFT) Faceless
"space suit" was
protective rigging
worn during
refueling
operations.
RANDY PRENTICE
(RIGHT) A sterile
emptiness
pervades the
silent crew
quarters.
HAL TRETBAR
Arizona Highways 35
,-_____________________________ --..: _------------------------MISSILE MUSEUM
36 February 1990
in response to a nuclear strike at the
United States. The entire complex floats
on massive springs to withstand the shock
of a nuclear explosion outside.
Today's visitors descend 39 steps after
entering the crew's doorway, passing
through the former area of intense security.
From the control center, a 200-foot under­ground
passageway leads to the missile
hangar, where a viewing port has been
cut through two feet of concrete encircling
the launch duct (the port also renders the
silo incapable of launching). The missile
sits behind this window, with a mixture
of sunlight and greenish artificial light
patterning on the rivets.
Two floors above, the 740-ton launch
door has been welded into a half-open
position. There at ground level, silence
extends from the mine tailings on the west
to the stately Santa Rita Mountains rising
from the Santa Cruz River basin on the
east. Despite this air of serenity, the fading
sign at the front gate evokes memories
of the watchfulness of the recent past.
"This is an Air Force installation," it warns.
"It is unlawful to enter this area without
permission of the installation com­mander."
To show that some things have
not changed since Rosell's day, a more
imperative warning in white on red has
been posted near the rest rooms: "This
is rattlesnake country. Please be careful
when walking around the site."
As many as 14 tours leave the visitor
headquarters daily, many of them led by
retired Air Force officers and senior
noncommissioned officers who served on
active duty at Titan missile sites. Among
nearly 100,000 visitors since the museum's
opening in 1986 have been the com­mander
of China's air force and a dele­gation
of medical doctors on a private
peace initiative from the Soviet Union.
Entrance to the control room is through
a three-ton blast lock, balanced so per­fectly
that a slight push moves it on its
hinges. The signs on the walls remind one
and all that a "two-man" policy is man­datory.
In the days of nuclear warheads,
nobody was to be alone in these red­button
areas. Here was the nerve center,
CLEIT) Deep in
the bowels of the
fortress, museum­goers
view the
Titan 's launch
duct from the
level of the
rocket engines.
HAL TRETBAR
and the layout of
buttons and dials
continues to com­mand
the same awe
as a science-fiction
thriller.
" I can still go
through the count­down,"
remembers
Rosell. "Sometimes
I wake up at night doing it."
While the tour group is in the command
center, a guide plays a tape that contains
a realistic but simulated order to fire -
an order that never arrived when the site
was operational. Crisply the electronic
voice cuts through the hush of the
chamber: "Red-dash-alpha message in two
parts!" The guide points out the lights on
the console that indicate stages in the
launch order. In the most crucial fail-safe
maneuver, the site commander and the
deputy commander, standing several
paces apart, would turn separate keys. The
ignition ports resemble ordinary automo­bile
starter switches.
Not quite a century ago, on Oct. 17, 1894,
Troops B and I of the Second U.S. Cavalry
lowered a 44-star flag, wheeled into line
for the final review on Fort Bowie's parade
ground, and rode off toward Colorado.
In a ceremony that underlined the
evolution of military technology in this
century, on Nov. 11, 1982, the 50-star flag
was lowered in the final review at the
Copper Penny, and a caravan of blue
trucks carried the crew of the 571st
Strategic Missile Squadron back to wing
headquarters at nearby Davis-Monthan Air
Force Base.
Among the 54 Titan-2 intercontinental
ballistic missiles that once stood on
underground alert outside Tucson and
other U.S. cities, only one remains to bear
witness to an era: the permanent resident
of the launch tube at the Copper Penny. ~
George Ridge is head oj the Department oj
j ournalism at the University oj Arizona. He writes a
weekly travel column JorThe Arizona Daily Star.
WHEN YOU GO .••
In the tunnel connecting the control room with the missile launch duct, these
huge shock absorbers would have been activated to offset the tremendous pressures
produced by the powerfuL engines. RANDY PRENTICE
The Titan Missile Museum is located on the outskirts of
Green Valley, Arizona, about 25 miles south of Tucson. Take
Interstate Route 19 to the Duval Mine Road (exit 69). The
museum is 112 mile west.
From November through April, the museum is open seven
days a week, except on Christmas. From May 1 through
October 31, the museum is open Wednesday through Sunday
(plus holidays) only.
Hour-long guided tours begin every 30 minutes from 9:00
A.M. until 4:00 P.M. Reservations are recommended. Admission
is $4 for adults, $3 for seniors and active military personnel,
$2 for youngsters 10 to 17, and free for those 9 and under.
Group rates are available.
Museum Manager Becky Roberts poses with the buttons, gauges,
and levers in the silo 's nerve center. RANDY PRENTICE
For additional information or to make reservations, write
to the Titan Missile Museum, Box 150, Green Valley, AZ
85622 ; or telephone (602) 791 -2929. -J. W
Arizona Highways 37
T H E o R A w N G s o F
FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT
B Y C H R STOPHER GEOFFREY M C P HER SON
38 February 1990
"[Wright's drawings] do convey, in their
own way, the essence of the buildings­more
than photography ever could, really.
Mr. Wright always insisted photography
lacked the third dimension. Drawings are
equally two·dimensiona4 but they some·
how have the warmth and clarity of the
vision and concept which a photograph
can never have . ..
-Louis Wiehle, drafting assistant to
Frank Lloyd Wright, 1950-1959
or the first time in 27 years-and
perhaps for the last time in this
century-original drawings,
sketches, and designs for some of the most
important works of architect Frank Uoyd
"San Marcos-in-the-Desert,"
watercolor on art paper, 25 by 65
inches; 1927. Proposed for a site
on Phoenix's South Mountain as
successor to the San Marcos
Hotel in Chandler, the resort was
never constructed. Once Wright
conceived his designs, he often
left much of the delineation to
associates. In this case the
collaborator was his
son Lloyd Wright.
Wright are on public display at the Phoe·
nix Art Museum. The exhibition, which
opened January 13, continues through
April 8, 1990.
"Frank Uoyd Wright Drawings: Master·
works from the Frank Lloyd Wright
Archives" presents 302 of the architect's
original drawings dating from 1887
Arizona Highways 39
(RIGHT) Two perspectives of a
" peacock chair," designed in 1915 for
a dining room called the Peacock Room
in the Tokyo Imperial Hotel, s ince
demolished. Penci l and colored pencil on
tracing paper, 17 by 20 inches.
(BELOW) " Oasis ," an imaginative
concept for an Arizona state capitol,
proposed in 1957 for Papago Park but
never built. Colored pencil on tracing
paper, 36 by 46 inches.
through 1959. Organized in nine sections,
the drawings illustrate the growth and
maturity of Wright as architect and artist
through his seven-decade career. Many of
the drawings have never before been seen
by the public in their original form.
Taliesin West, in the desert foothills
northeast of Phoenix, houses Wright's
school of architecture and the Wright
archives, repository for all of his drawings,
correspondence, original manuscripts,
photographs, books, and periodicals.
During his life this was Wright's winter
40 February 1990
headquarters, the seasonal alternate to
Taliesin, his original home and office in
Wisconsin.
Deciding which of Wright's more than
21,000 drawings should appear in the
exhibition proved a daunting challenge.
The original goal, says Jim Ballinger,
director of the Phoenix Art Museum, was
to select 120 drawings. But it couldn't be
done. "Because of the quality of the draw­ings
and the extent of Wright's impact on
architecture in the 20th century, it was
literally impossible to choose only 120
drawings and feel that we were doing the
job that we wanted."
Archivist Bruce Brooks Pfeiffer of Talie­sin
West agrees: "When Jim Ballinger and
I began selecting the show, he was
concerned that we were going to have
too many drawings-with 120. He finally
was able to edit it down to 302!
"He was a little worried that it was going
to be overkill-302 drawings in one big
room." But Ballinger solved the problem
by dividing the exhibit into sections:
Text continued on page 42
COMING YOUR WAY
IN THE MONTHS AHEAD
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Music and art: the singing of the Tucson
Arizona Boys Chorus; the paintings of
a 19th century Army medical officer.
Folklore: Arizona's old cemeteries, where
traces of the frontier can still be found.
Nature: the marvelous world of the honey
bee. Education: unique Prescott College,
"for the liberal arts and the environment."
In March.
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With spring's arrival, Arizonans respond
to the lure of open water in a wide
variety of ways. We'll explore each of them,
from canoeing in a wildlife refuge to
houseboating on Lake Powell, from scuba
diving in the Colorado River to sailing on
Lake Pleasant. And we won't forget fishing!
In April.
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Meet the charras, heroes of a
spectacular Mexican sport that
demands amazing feats of horsemanship.
Then join us for a steam-train excursion to
the Grand Canyon; a visit to fish farms in
the Hyder Valley; and a nostalgic return to
Arizona ballparks of the 1930s, when
Arizona-Texas League teams held forth.
In May.
SHARE THE BEST OF ARIZONA: Start or give an Arizona Highways subscription.
Look for details on the enclosed order form.
Spice up your meals for family and friends with
the Arizona Highways Heritage Cookbook.
You can travel back in time by re -creating
Native American, Spanish, Mexican, and pioneer
chuck wagon dishes, along with a few modern
favorites such as Justice Sandra Day O'Connor's
Cream Taco Casserole.
Here are some other redpes to try:
* Apache Acorn Soup
* Sheepherder's Salad
* Barry Goldwater's Arizona chili
* Tillie Luke's Popovers
We've even included the flavoring of historical
anecdotes to delight your dinner guests. 176 pages.
Hardcover. $12.95, plus shipping and handling.
Order your copy of the Arizona Highways
Heritage Cookbook today with the attached order
card, or write or visit Arizona Highways, 2039 W.
Lewis Ave., phoenix, AZ 85009. You can place tele­phone
orders by calling (602) 258-1000 or, toll-free
within Arizona, 1 (800) 543-5432.
Arizona Highways 41
"Fallingwater,"
a residence
designed in 1936
for Wright client
Edgar Kaufmann,
was built in
Mill Run,
Pennsylvania_
Pencil and
colored pencil on
tracing paper, 17
by 33 inches_
residences, religious buildings, high rises,
civic and cultural structures, commercial
buildings, schools, and a miscellaneous
section that includes factories and studios.
"We also thought it would be interest­ing
to focus on one building, such as the
Imperial Hotel in Tokyo," adds Pfeiffer,
"taking in facets from the architectural
design, engineering, sculpture, window
glass, carpets, interiors-everything. And
then the last section- which we added
42 February 1990
quite toward the end because I thought
it was too important to avoid-was Mr.
Wright's graphic and decorative designs."
For the drawings, however, the short
trip of a few miles from Taliesin West to
the Phoenix Art Museum was not as simple
as it might seem. In 1976 archivists at
Taliesin West began a long-range program
to conserve 500 of the most damaged
original drawings and sketches that had
been mounted on wood-pulp boards.
Over time, the highly acidic boards had
caused stains and bums on the drawings.
Painstaking restoration has given new life
and freshness to the works-some of
which are more than half a century old.
Grants from the National Endowment
for the Arts provided key support for the
conservation. Another 15,000 drawings
have been sealed in acid-free Mylar,
mostly donated by the Du Pont Corpo­ration.
It is because of the fragile nature
of these icons of American architecture
that "Frank Uoyd Wright Drawings" will
not tour, Its only public display will be
at the Phoenix Art Museum.
In the exhibition, drawings encased in
Mylar sleeves are mounted on acid-free,
100 perce11l rag mat board covered with
clear glass or Plexiglas. To protect the
drawings from adverse effects of light,
gallery illumination will be carefully
controlled.
The exhibition itself provides a detailed
look at the architect as artist, removing
the drawings and sketches from their
workplace environment, where they
merely serve as tools, and raiSing them
to the level of art.
It is an eclectic collection reflecting
some of Wright's most famous work: the
graceful Johnson Wax administration
building in Wisconsin with its lily pad
columns and atrium work space; New
York's futuristic Guggenheim Museum;
the dramatic private residence called
Fallingwater, which the American Institute
of Architects Journal called "the best
American building of the last 125 years";
and the striking Marin County Civic Center,
a Romanesque structure of massive round
arches rising out of the verdant hills north
of San Francisco.
Included with the familiar are many
designs for structures that were never built:
Arizona Highways 43
This 1948
design for a
resort (never
constructed) at
Meteor Crater,
Arizona,
called for an
observation
tower of " desert
masonry"-Iocal
stones and
concrete. Pencil
and colored
pencil on
tracing paper,
2 7 by 36 inches.
the elegant San Marcos·in-the·Desert
resort; the visionary concept of a mile-high
skyscraper; and the exotic rendering of
an Arizona state capitol in Papago Park.
Patrons of the exhibition will see an
aspect of architecture rarely highlighted.
"The drawings themselves are absolutely
outstanding," says Taliesin Associates
44 February 1990
L
architect John Rattenbury, "even if you
aren't an architect but just appreciate the
ability of somebody to express himself
in a very simple medium of lead pencils
and colored pencils and sometimes a
little ink."
"The dimensions in terms of the num·
ber of drawings and projects being shown
r c;
'"'»
",,-0- !
make it absolutely a major show," adds
Louis Wiehle. "Drawings convey the es·
sence of a project in a way that really isn't
available in any other way. If somehow
the buildings themselves disappear, the
drawings will still convey the beauty of
those ideas."
As archivist Pfeiffer points out, "Mr.
I I ~.. -r :
Wright has been dead 30 years now. If
you study the works of most men dead
30 years, you're going back into history.
You study Wright's work as a living future
because the principles upon which he
built his buildings are so viable today and
will still be viable a couple of centuries
from now."
, -7
~
It is generally agreed a speCialized
exhibition of this size and scope conveys
an important aspect of the art to be found
in architectural drawings, an aspect rarely
presented in a public forum. But there
is another, more personal, side to the
aesthetic lure of a drawing, best expressed
perhaps in Wright's own words: "There's
I
nothing more seductive than to sit before
a blank sheet of paper with a handful of
colored pencils." ~
Christopher Geoffrey McPherson writes a column
f or the Tucson weekly ObselVer newspaper and is
a contributing producer for the Los Angeles radio
program "This Wtry Out."
Arizona Highways 45
Apache Leap
The name of one Arizona cliff
beguiles romantics and bedevils
historians. Apache Leap towers
1,800 feet above the town of
Superior, 63 miles southeast of
Phoenix on U.S. Route 60. A sunrise
or a summer storm over the
heights offers travelers a dramatic
windshield full of color.
Legend says that in the early
1870s as many as 75 Apaches
leapt over the edge rather than be
killed or captured by soldiers.
ARIZONIQUES
Text by James E. Cook
Edited by Vicky Hay
Historians have found nothing in
U.S. Army records to support the
story, although similar plunges
were reported elsewhere in
Arizona. Published accounts, based
on hearsay, report that bones,
beads, and arrowheads were found
strewn down the ragged face of
Apache Leap after 1900. Plainly
something happened to inspire the
legend. This version seems most
likely:
In 1870 the Army established
Camp Pinal on the desert west of
the cliff; in 1871 the camp was
moved farther west and became
Camp Picket Post. Apaches
occupied the heights to the east
and the mountains beyond. The
top of the cliff offered either party a
strategic advantage.
One night flanking soldiers
circled east of the mountaintop and
crept up on Apaches camped near
the precipice. The surprise attack
caused a number of Indians to leap
over the cliff as the only way of
avoiding the troopers' guns.
Whatever the details, the story
and the name cling to the cliff with
a remarkable tenacity.
What's in a Name?
Arizona's birthday is easy to
remember: February 14. Arizona
became the 48th state on
Valentine's Day, 1912.
On the other hand, few people
remember that Arizona Territory
was created February 24, 1863.
February 24 is not a memorable
date unless it happens to be your
own birthday, in which case we
send best wishes.
Arizona Place Names, the
granddaddy of our guides to
geographic names, said in 1935
that Arizona was sometimes called
the Valentine State. It hasn't been
called that very often, except by
grade-school teachers trying to
interest pupils in Statehood Day.
Somehow the nickname seemed
precious and irrelevant.
From 1912 until 1959, when
Alaska was admitted to the Union,
(LEIT) Apache Leap looms behind
the mining town of Superior.
PETER ENSENBERGER
(OPPOSITE PAGE) George Warren's
photograph inspired the likeness of
the miner in the Arizona state seal.
COURTESY OF BISBEE MINING AND
HISTORlCAL MUSEUM
Arizona was often called the Baby
State, certainly a demeaning motto.
Grand Canyon State sounded grand
enough, even if relatively few
native children had actually seen
the Canyon. Arizona was also called
the Copper State and the Sunset
State, and sometimes the Sunshine
State, although Florida seemed to
have usurped references to
sunshine. Arizona's sunshine was
so constant that children did not
consider it worth mentioning.
Some envied Tennessee, which
called itself the Volunteer State, or
Utah, the Beehive State. Or
Pennsylvania, the Keystone State­especially
if a canny geography
teacher had explained the use of
the keystone in architecture.
Perhaps Valentine State ~\\E
is not so bad after all. ,,~ ~====::::;
Look what the heart "
has done for New ~1ij[iii~Li"~ York City. rq, 'f in the Mule Mountains
of southeastern
Arizona. His claims
included a one-ninth
interest in the Model
Citizen
As Arizona prepared
for statehood between
C"'-J
1910 and 1912, leaders sought
a state seal that would capture the
territory's major industries:
irrigated farming, ranching, and
mining.
The lone human on the seal is a
miner, resting on his shovel before
the mouth of a crude mine. The
miner was actually a restless
prospector named George Warren,
a colorful frontiersman if not a
model citizen in the usual sense of
the term. Warren was born in
Massachusetts in 1835. His mother
died when he was 10, and later his
father, Charlie, a government
teamster, took George to New
Mexico Territory.
Raiding Apaches killed Charlie
and took George captive for 18
months. George claimed later that
a gro.up of prospectors ransomed
him for 15 pounds of sugar.
Fluent in both Spanish and
Apache, George Warren became an
occasional government scout and
guide in Arizona Territory. He was
also one of the earliest prospectors
Copper Queen,
which became one
of Arizona's richest
mines.
Warren liked to drink,
gamble, and brag. When he
boasted that he could outrun a
horse in a 1oo-yard race, a partner
persuaded him to bet his claims on
this purported fleetness. The horse
was sober and Warren was not, and
so George lost his claims.
The Copper Queen turned
Bisbee into a boomtown. The
borough of Warren, one of several
districts that make up greater
Bisbee, is named for George. He
continued to prospect, drinking
away or giving away his findings
until his death in 1892.
Frontier photographer C. S. Fly
posed Warren for the classic
miner's portrait. The photo
belonged to Bisbee merchant and
banker William H. Brophy. One of
the delegates to Arizona's
constitutional convention, Bisbee
attorney E. E. Ellinwood, borrowed
the photograph as a model for the
state's heraldry.
Thus George Warren's fate was
sealed.
Calendar
February 3, Rorence. Join a tour of
the town's clasSically Southwestern
historic district. Telephone
868-5216.
February 3-24, Tucson. The Arizona
Theatre Company presents The
Importance of Being Earnest at the
Tucson Convention Center.
Telephone' 279-0534.
February 4, Tucson. A retrospective
exhibit of Arizona Highways
photography spanning the
magazine's 65 years opens a 6112-
week run at the Old Pueblo
Museum. Telephone 742-7191.
February 7·11, Tucson. The Tucson
Gem and Mineral Show takes place
in the Community Center's
Exhibition Hall and Arena.
Telephone 624-1817.
February 9·19, Mesa. Wild West
Days, benefiting the Arizona
Special Olympics, presents camel
and ostrich races, a pro-celebrity
rodeo, fiddler's contest, carnival,
exhibitions, and scores of other
events during 11 jam-packed days
at the Rockin' R Ranch. Telephone
786-0949 (ask for Harry Sisak).
February 9-11, Wickenburg. The 42nd
annual Gold Rush Days celebration
features a rodeo, gold panning, a
parade, melodrama, carnival, and
more. Telephone 684-5479.
February 10, Picacho Peak. Explore
the landmark peak northwest of
Tucson on Interstate Route 10 and
enjoy special programs for the
family during "Take-a-Hike" Day.
Telephone 466-3183.
February 17·19, Casa Grande. The
O'odham Tash Indian festival
features nationally acclaimed
artisans, cowboys, and dancers
displaying their skills in a rodeo,
parade, pow-wow, and
demonstrations. Telephone
836-4723.
February 23-March 3, Phoenix. The
Phoenix Sister Cities Commission
celebrates Japan Week with a
Matsuri Festival, fashion show,
special exhibits, and other events.
Telephone 262-4440.
For a more complete calendar of (!()ents,
free of charge, write to Arizona Office of
Tourism, ] 100 W Washington St., Phoenix
85007. Unless otherwise noted, all telephone
numbers are within area code 602.
Arizona Highways 47
BOOKSHELF
B Y
Phoenix: The History of a South­western
Metropolis, by Bradford
Luckingham. University of Arizona
Press, Tucson, 1989. 316 pages. Avail·
able through Arizona Highways, 2059
W Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009,
telephone (602) 258-1000. $29.95,
hardcover, plus $2.50 postage.
James Cook, who writes a history
column for The Arizona Republic,
once remarked that Phoenix didn't
just grow; it has always been a "pro·
moted" city. In this much·needed
history of the Arizona capital, Brad­ford
Luckingham takes as his theme
the observation that throughout the
20th century the city has expanded
by virtue of active boosting from
private and public interests. This has
always been the case. It has been true ·
since the time of John T. Alsap, first
mayor of Phoenix, and it continues
BUDGE RUFFNER
-spurred a constant, sometimes
explosive growth pattern.
Today Phoenix is the tenth largest
city in the nation. It has reached a
kind of urban critical mass that makes
possible the social and cultural bene·
fits characteristic of a big city rather
than a sizable town. The performing
arts are taking a firmer hold. Museums,
higher education, professional sports,
efforts to improve public transport,
and public programs for the poor, the
abused, and the sick are gaining
attention. A few superb places to eat,
shop, and play rival the high spots
of New York or San Francisco.
All these advances are the result of
almost unbridled boosterism. This
influence has not been wholly benign,
as Luckingham's book indicates; with
the good life have come despoiled
desert and hillsides, nerve-racking
to this day under the tenure of Mayor Terry Goddard. traffic, some of the worst air in the country, polluted water,
and arrays of skyscrapers of uneven quality that trans­formed
a once· gracious central city neighborhood into
yet another faceless commercial district.
Almost from its founding, Phoenix (at first dubbed,
unpromisingly, "Pumpkinsville") was the dominant urban
center of the Salt River Valley. The infant town began
as an agricultural community, but a series of technological
and political developments-the arrival of the railroad,
selection as territorial capital, construction of Roosevelt
Dam, New Deal programs, World War II training bases,
charter government, and availability of air· conditioning
Luckingham, a professor of history at Arizona State
University, traces these developments from 1867 to the
late 1980s. His prose is comfortable and easy to follow,
yet the substance of the book is solid. A highly professional
history, long overdue and most welcome.
The Arizona Gun Owner's
GuIde, by Alan Korwin. Bloomfield
Press, Phoenix, 1989. 125 pages.
$695, softcover.
This is not a book about the
.I. right of a citizen to own guns.
Rather, it addresses the
responsibilities that gun ownership
implies. In concise language, it
describes the gun laws of the State
of Arizona. Also emphasized in the
text are 50 firearms safety rules,
along with such information as
who may carry arms, how, and
where. If you own a gun, this book
is indispensable.
In a preface, Arizona's Attorney
General Bob Corbin writes:
"Gun ownership is a serious
responsibility. I believe that The
Arizona Gun Oumer's Guide will
48 February 1990
help make Arizona a safer place in
which to live."
Before I Die: A Creative Legacy,
by Therese Donath. Prometheus
Books, Buffalo, NY, 1989. 148
pages. $17.95, hardcover.
This is a collection of letters
.I. exchanged by two women
who aspired to be writers. On rare
occasions, a tyro writer with some
genuine talent meets a good­hearted
editor. Donath's friend,
Virginia A Greene, was one such,
and she achieved modest success
when she found a market for three
articles in Arizona Highways. But
free-lance journalism is neither
well paid nor a romantic endeavor,
and even its most successful
practitioners suffer the overwork
and chronic neurosis evident in
this correspondence. The book
reaches a climax of pathos after
Greene comes to believe she has
contracted cancer. It is a document
that says much about the way
Western society treats middle-aged
women and creative minds. - V.H
(BACK COVER) This Frank Lloyd
Wright design was completed in
1922 for the Lake Tahoe
Summer Colony in California.
Pencil and colored pencil on
tracing paper, 22 by 17 inches.
For other selections from the
work of the famous architect
and information on an
important exhibition, see the
article beginning on page 38.
"Desert Spring, " by Anne Stevens Allemann;
watercolor, 22 by 40 inches. Educated in
Montreal and Mexico City, the artist also studied
at Anzona State University. Well known in the
Southwest as a commercial muralist, she has
recently concentrated on watercolors. They as
well as her acrylic and oil paintings are found
in both private and corporate collections.