Category: Archaeology

Arlington’s Abandoned Feed Mill: Fading Memories of Cattle Country Picture of the Week - Arlington, Arizona

Abandoned farm equipment at Arlington Cattle Company
Arlington’s Abandoned Feed Mill – The abandoned grain hoppers and silos of the Arlington Cattle Company were left to rust in the Arizona desert.

Last week, I wrote about the exceptional rainfall we had in Arizona and how the wildflowers love it. Well, the same wet winter that showered our land with nature’s colorful confetti also brought heavy mountain snowfall. Since the predicted snowmelt and runoff would overflow our reservoirs, the Salt River Project began releasing water into the river. It’s been quite a while since we have had water in our ordinarily dry riverbeds. While some may scoff at the idea of water in Arizona’s riverbeds, I was thrilled that I might get the chance to shoot some whitewater rapids in the desert.

I convinced Queen Anne to go-for-a-ride(?) a couple of weeks ago. We drove down the west valley to the Gillespie Bridge, excited at the prospect of capturing the raging torrents of water. However, upon arrival, we were met with disappointment. The river was spent and lethargic when the artificial flood passed through Phoenix. The snowmelt’s aftermath left us with sluggish, murky water oozing through the tamarisk. It looked more like effluent than a river. Feeling disheartened, we started to return home when I noticed the stunning light falling on the machinery at the Arlington Cattle Company. When I stopped the car and grabbed my camera, Anne responded, “Hurry up! I’m Starving.”

The Gila River begins its journey in New Mexico’s Gila Mountains. It collects water from its tributaries, including the Salt River, the Verde River, the Santa Cruz River, the New River, the Agua Fria River, and the Hassayampa River. The Gila River embarks on an audacious westward journey, carving its path through untamed landscapes. Just after the confluence of the Gila and Hassayampa rivers, the Gila turns south for thirty miles towards Gila Bend. As the river flows past the Buckeye Hills, it enters a natural pinch point several miles down old US 80. It passes between a formidable silhouette of a volcanic sentinel and the edge of Gillespie Shield Volcano. The black rock lava flow rises two or three stories above the road and river and is known for its impressive pictographs, visible along the cliff of lava rock when examined closely. At this pinch point, pioneers attempted to build three versions of the dam. After they all failed, the highway department erected an all-season bridge to cross the river. Local farmers plant the dam’s old flood plains in summer with deep green cotton, making the little valley a desert oasis.

I’ve been to the Arlington Cattle Company before, so this wasn’t my first time photographing this abandoned equipment. The last time I photographed there was over a decade ago; the massive boom that sent grain over the road to the feed lots there had collapsed into the canal flowing along the roadside. Someone has cleaned that mess up since then. As I stood and framed the shot, I could hear the ghostly sounds of machinery banging, gears meshing, and belts squealing in protest. The equipment stands as a testament to the relentless march of time, bearing the scars of decades past, with the weathered vestiges of industry adorned in hues of faded silver and rust contrasting against the intense blue sky. However, what catches my eye in this photo is the tall silver elevator, which towers above all else, and with the sun’s reflection, it appears as a beacon against the bright blue sky. The wispy white clouds in the background are a bonus and provide a nice contrast to the earthy tones of the equipment.

The Arlington Cattle Company was established in the early 1900s by a group of investors led by William W. Clemens, who also served as the company’s president. The company purchased approximately 55,000 acres of land in the Arlington Valley and constructed a state-of-the-art cattle feeding facility. The company aimed to fatten cattle for the market using a combination of locally grown grains and hay from nearby farms.

The facility stood as a cathedral of innovation, a testament to the audacity of human endeavor, featuring a grain elevator that could lift and store thousands of bushels of grain at a time. The elevator was powered by an extensive motor and conveyor system that could move the grain from the elevator to the various silos and feedlots throughout the property. The company also built a vast network of canals and irrigation ditches to ensure a reliable water supply for the crops (and cattle).

Despite the initial success of the operation, the Arlington Cattle Company struggled to turn a profit. The company faced several challenges, including drought, floods, and fluctuations in the price of beef. In addition, the company’s location in a remote part of the state made transportation difficult and expensive. As a result, the company was forced to declare bankruptcy in the early 1920s. After the default, the land and equipment were sold to various buyers. Today, the rusting equipment seen along the roadside in the Arlington Valley are the only remnants of the Arlington Cattle Company.

Rustic Gillespie Bridge spanning the Gila River with a mountain in the background
Old US 80 Bridge at Gila River – The historic Gillespie Bridge at Gila River, part of Old US 80, features a rusted iron truss structure and spans over the water with a volcanic rock mountain in the background.

I hope you enjoyed this week’s photo and reading about the Arlington Cattle Company and the old farm equipment that still represents Arizona’s ranching history. Don’t forget to check out the larger version of Arlington’s Abandoned Feed Mill Cattle on our website by clicking here. Join us next week for more fascinating stories and photos of farming equipment, from the old to the new. And who knows, maybe we’ll even find something borrowed and blue. Thanks for reading!

Till next time
jw

Heart of Bisbee Bisbee, Arizona

A view of Bisbee's Main Street, with its colorful storefronts, snow-capped mountains, and decorative lights.
Discover the heart and soul of Bisbee on its Main Street, where history, culture, and charm come together uniquely and unforgettably.

You should know that I may be a sports legend of sorts. When my family moved to California in 1960, we lived in a rental home in Sylmar. Our street was at the west end of the San Gabriel Mountains, and it was so steep we couldn’t play ball sports because any balls that got away rolled down into the San Fernando Valley and wound up in Hansen Dam Lake. So, we played a lot of tetherball and invented our fun.

On a sunny summer morning, my friends on the block were hanging out in my front yard trying to fix my sister’s roller skates—the metal ones that you adjusted to fit on your shoes. One of them had come apart, and as hard as we tried, it wouldn’t go back together. One of the boys said, “I got an idea.” He ran to his garage and returned with a hammer, some nails, and a scrap piece of 2×4. He quickly nailed the skate halves to each end of the board. Once he secured the skate, he walked to the top of the street, sat down on the contraption, and tried to ride it down the sidewalk. Of course, he immediately fell off, but the game was on. We lined up for our turn to see who’d go the furthest before getting a personal dose of road rash—the red badge of courage. It’s a good thing that it never occurred to us to stand on the stupid thing, and that’s probably why I’m alive today. Within a month, pictures of missing roller skates appeared on milk cartons all over LA. For all I know, we may have been the brain trust that invented skateboards, but my real point is: You make do with what you have.

Think about it—it’s a worldwide truth. In the frozen north, they slide rocks across the ice to show people where to sweep. New Zealanders either race or jump off objects depending on whether or not the objects move. Scottish highlanders wear skirts so they can chuck telephone poles. So, it’s unsurprising that Bisbeeites turned their hills into sports fields.

Take this week’s featured image, called Heart of Bisbee. It was taken at the bottom of Bisbee’s Tombstone Canyon, looking up the hill. It’s a serene photo of Bisbee’s shopping district. There’s little traffic and just a few people walking. Imagine fully grown adults riding in gravity-powered oversized cigars hurtling around the corners, trying to achieve the fastest downhill time. That happens during Bisbee’s 4th of July celebrations, where the highlight event is the Coaster Race. Unfortunately, the race was suspended during the Covid pandemic and canceled in 2022 due to staffing shortages, but organizers are working hard this year to ensure the race returns.

The Coaster Race is an actual test of skill, courage, and homemade engineering. It has been a Bisbee tradition since 1969, making it the country’s second-oldest running soap box derby. The rules are simple: racers must build their cars from scratch and be powered only by gravity. The race begins at the top of Tombstone Canyon and winds down the steep and twisting street, with racers reaching up to 40 mph speeds. Spectators line the sidewalks to watch the cars zoom by, and the excitement is palpable.

Over the years, the Coaster Race has attracted some notable participants, including former Arizona Governor Bruce Babbitt and the late comedian Gallagher. The race has also had its share of mishaps and close calls. In 1980, tragedy marred the race when a racecar careened onto the sidewalk, killing two bystanders. In response, organizers revised the rules and shortened the course to prevent future accidents. Despite the dangers, the Coaster Race remains a beloved Bisbee tradition, and racers and spectators look forward to it yearly.

A staircase in Bisbee leading up to an adventure with railings on each side and a rosemary bush in the corner.
Bisbee is full of unique outdoor activities, including climbing up the many flights of stairs throughout the town.

But wait, there’s more. May I direct your attention to this week’s other photo— Bisbee’s Stairway Adventure—shows an absurd flight of stairs? You already know about my step affliction, so I won’t burden you with that tirade again. I’m out of breath just looking at it. They may seem innocent enough, but they’re only part of a sinister foot race called the Bisbee 1000 Great Stair Climb. The grueling event occurs on the third Saturday of October each year and consists of running up nine sets of stairs, totaling 1,034 steps, over a distance of 4.5 miles. The race starts in downtown Bisbee and winds up the steep hills and through the narrow alleyways of Old Bisbee. The race is so famous that the entries are limited to 1,500 runners. The current record holder is Eriks Zars, who, in 2016, managed to complete the race in less than 23 minutes. It’s an impressive feat that only the most dedicated or insane athletes attempt.

If you want something unique and exciting in Bisbee, consider planning your trip around the Coaster Race in July or the Stair Climb in October. These events are truly one-of-a-kind and will give you an unforgettable taste of Bisbee’s adventurous spirit. Of course, if you prefer a more relaxed activity, you can always try the annual Ghost Hunt. Whatever you choose, I’m confident you’ll enjoy visiting Bisbee and experiencing all it offers. And don’t forget to click here to see a larger version of Heart of Bisbee, and join us next week as we wrap up our April Bisbee tour.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

It’s only April, and we’ve already had our first snake sighting—well, sort of. Queen Anne found a shed snake skin on the side of the house on Saturday. It was so small you had to move rocks to see it, and it didn’t have a pattern, so I think it was from a Garter Snake. In any case, I’m hoping it’s our snake-in-the-yard for 2023.

Bisbee’s Pythian Castle: A Clock Tower of History Bisbee, Arizona

Bisbee's Pythian Castle: A Clock Tower of History - The green and white clock tower on the red-brick building pierces the cold blue winter sky.
Bisbee’s Pythian Castle: A Clock Tower of History – The red-brick building’s green and white clock tower pierces the cold blue winter sky.

During our December visit to Bisbee, Queen Anne and I was once again captivated by the town’s beauty and rich history. We finished the morning enjoying lunch at the historic Copper Queen Hotel before embarking on a walking tour of the city to capture new angles and perspectives with my camera. However, as we made our way up the town’s hilly streets, we were reminded that walking in Bisbee can feel more like hiking, and I must admit, as someone who dislikes exercise, I was less than thrilled.

Bisbee’s layout is like a wicked witch flashing you a peace sign with her crooked fingers. Her left finger is Tombstone Canyon, with galleries, shops, and cafes. The right finger represents Brewery Gulch, which holds several boutique hotels, restaurants, and a most attractive building—the Pythian Castle. This grand and ornate structure always winds up at the other end of my lens each time we’re there.

The Pythian Castle was built in 1904 as a meeting hall for the Knights of Pythias, a fraternal organization popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The Knights of Pythias were known for their philanthropy and community service, and their membership included many prominent business people and politicians. The castle’s grandeur was a testament to their wealth and influence, and it quickly became one of Bisbee’s most iconic landmarks. Over the years, the Pythians gradually faded into obscurity, and the castle changed hands several times. Today, it is a popular venue for weddings, events, and ghost tours, but its history and architectural beauty inspire visitors and locals alike.

When I stand before a historic old building like the Pythian Castle, my mind floods with ideas of what I’d do with it if I had the wealth, time, and my youth back. At first, I saw it as a restaurant worthy of a James Beard award. The castle’s grandeur and history would make it a perfect establishment, offering diners exceptional food and an unforgettable experience. But why mess with a landmark the town is already proud of when there’s a better option next door?

Nostalgia on Ok Street: The Philadelphia Hotel in Winter Light - I imagine that this forgotten hotel cries out at night, "Save me. Please somebody, come and save me."
Nostalgia on Ok Street: The Philadelphia Hotel in Winter Light – I imagine this forgotten hotel cries out at night, “Save me. Please, somebody, come and save me.”

Just a few steps away from the Pythian Castle is the Philadelphia Hotel, a historic building that has sat empty for years. Although there were plans for its renovation in the past, nothing ever came of them, and the hotel continues to await its chance to shine. Imagine the facade transformed with yellow-striped awnings like a grand Parisian bistro beckoning visitors to come in and dine, and the faded sign replaced with new copper letters. Inside, the hotel could be renovated into a destination restaurant, complete with tables covered in white tablecloths and serving up gourmet cuisine—I’d call it W.C. Fields. Our café only needs half of the building’s first floor, so that would leave enough room for another complementary business. Which would you choose: a bakery and gourmet deli, a Patagonia-style clothing store, or a luxury day spa where guests could indulge in some well-deserved pampering?

But the real gem of the Philadelphia Hotel lies in its 38 hotel rooms. With some TLC, a lot of elbow grease, and modernization, these rooms could be brought into the 21st century. The conservative route would be to restore each room with period furniture and modern plumbing. But why not go hog wild by halving the room count, doubling each room’s size, and wind up with 20 suites? Either way, the hotel would become a sought-after destination for travelers from all over the world. And with Bisbee’s growing popularity as a tourist destination, the Philadelphia Hotel could become the next big thing, drawing visitors in with its historic charm and modern amenities. The Philadelphia would rival The Copper Queen.

In my photograph of the Pythian Castle, I wanted to capture its grandeur and sense of mystery and intrigue. The late afternoon winter light added contrast to the scene, highlighting the details of the clock tower and spire. I chose a low angle to emphasize the castle’s height and dominance over the surrounding buildings, while the receding perspective of the street adds depth and dimension to the composition.

I hope you’ve enjoyed seeing this week’s images from Bisbee and that you found my pipe dreams fun. Click here for a larger version of the Pythian Castle photo on its webpage. Join us next week as we delve into Bisbee’s thriving art scene. We can’t wait to share more of Bisbee’s charm with you!

Till next time
jw

BTW:

Our friends, the Poteets, are touring southern Arizona and meeting with their adoring fans. Before they left, Fred swore on a stack of Bibles that their first stop would be Picacho Peak to capture the wildflowers growing on its slopes. When they return and have their slides developed, perhaps Fred will consent to share one of his finest.

Lowell Theater Lowell, Arizona

Lowell Theater - A Chevy flatbed truck parked at the Lowell Theater in southern Arizona.
Lowell Theater – A Chevy flatbed truck is parked outside the Lowell Theater in southern Arizona.

It was already well past lunch as we drove up Highway 80. Queen Anne’s all too familiar whining had begun, “I only had one meal today.” We were heading to Bisbee’s Copper Queen Hotel, where we could satiate our hunger. As we approached the Lavender Pit, I noticed an old Shell gas station in my peripheral vision. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that—not only was it real, but an old car was parked outside. That was enough catnip for me to slow the Buick and make a U-turn across four lanes of traffic. Lunch could wait.

When I turned onto Erie Street, I was surprised to see an entire block of old buildings with vehicles of the same period parked out front. Was I on a movie set, or had I died and gone to some photographer’s idea of heaven? I decided it had to be the former because I still heard Anne’s food grumbling in my ear. I was further confused by a wall sign saying, “Welcome to Lowell, Arizona.” I turned to Anne and announced, “We’re not in Bisbee anymore.”

Lowell is to Bisbee as Tempe is to Phoenix—a cling-on. Bisbee and Lowell were founded in the late 1800s as mining claims—Bisbee in the 1870s and Lowell in 1899. As the mines grew, they needed men to work them. Like every other mining town, the population lived first in tents, shacks, and finally, proper homes. Unlike the Tombstone mine, the ore at the Copper Queen Mine and Lowell Mine was so abundant that it supported the towns for over fifty years. That’s why these southern Arizona towns have masonry buildings instead of the rickety shanties of most ghost towns. Bisbee reminds me of the coal-mine towns in Pennsylvania or West Virginia.

As time passed, the Copper Queen (and Phelps Dodge) took over the operation of the Lowell Company. Underground mines are inherently dangerous, and there was so much copper ore still buried there that during the World Wars, it became economically feasible to build giant machines to scrape away mountains and dig big pits to extract the copper. Bisbee’s renowned scab in the ground is called the Lavender Pit—named for Harrison Horton Lavender (the mine superintendent). As the abyss grew, it took parts of Lowell with it. All that remains of Lowell today is Erie Street which runs from the traffic circle in the south and the pit’s edge on the north side.

Lavender Pit - The famous Lavender Pit mine where tons of copper ore was dug from the ground. The pit is so vast I couldn't fit it all in the frame, even with my wide angle lens.
Lavender Pit – The famous Lavender Pit mine where Phelps-Dodge dug tons of copper ore from the ground. The pit is so vast I couldn’t fit it all in the frame, even with my wide-angle lens.

A group of volunteers banded together and formed the Lowell Americana Project. They worked hard to restore and enhance the quarter-mile street and transform it into an open-air museum. Their hard work got them international attention for their cultural preservation. They have turned Erie street into one of the most photographed streets in the West. Like me, you’ve probably seen some of those pictures in magazines and films without knowing the location.

We’ll explore Lowell’s Erie Street in February, hopefully, to delight my car friends. I consider this week’s photo the foundation shot. It was taken at the north-end parking lot where I left Anne to starve while I skipped up and down the street taking pictures. In this shot, I wanted to show the theater marquee, the Gulf, and the Lowell welcome sign. As an additional no-extra-cost bonus, the town thru in a Chevrolet flatbed truck. I don’t know what year it is, so perhaps one of you gearheads can tell us. I also have no idea about the flying saucers. I didn’t find a reference to any abductions in the area, although more aliens visit Arizona than any other place. They like the weather here—especially at Bisbee’s mile-high altitude. Maybe the spaceships are a warning that you’re about to enter The Twilight Zone.

You can see a larger version of Lowell Theater on its Webpage by clicking here. We’ll begin our walk down Erie Street next week to see what we can find. Be sure to come back then.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

No Queen Annes were harmed in the making of this article. She finally got her lunch and a glass of wine before she fell asleep as we drove back to the motel.

Crystal Palace The Town Too Tough to Die

Crystal Palace - When we travel to Tombstone, we make a point of stopping in the Crystal Palace and admire its back bar.
Crystal Palace – When we travel to Tombstone, we make a point of stopping in the Crystal Palace to admire its back bar.

How adventurous are you? Do you try new things or stick with the tried and true when you return to a location? I’d say that Queen Anne and I are 25/75 split. We always seem to return to the joints we’ve enjoyed but try to see what else is out there. I’m unsure if that’s adventurous or what other people usually do.

That holds for Tombstone as well. It may not be a surprise that when we get to town, one of our first stops is a bar—not just any bar, but we specifically make a beeline to the Crystal Palace. We don’t go there because the beer is cold or the wine is vintage; let’s face it, beer is beer, and bar wine is—ugh. When we are belly-up to the bar, the alcohol is only a vessel for a toast to a great piece of furniture—the Crystal Palace back bar.

The Palace is on the south end of town on Allen Street. During winter, they keep the front doors closed, but you can bust your way through a pair of a traditional cowboy swinging doors during summer. As you look around the cavernous room, you’ll see a bigger-than-life roulette wheel hung as wall art. The ceilings are two stories high and covered in stamped tin tiles. There’s a stage along the back wall where rows of cancan girls danced. On the room’s left is a massive mahogany back bar dwarfing the bartenders. The room smells of stale beer, French fries, and hamburgers smeared on a leather saddle.

The cabinet that is the source of our admiration reaches about three-quarters of the way to the ceiling. It has three arches supported by Corinthian columns with mirror inserts. I wonder how often those mirrors were targets of bullets or flying cowboys. It looks like one piece, but I’ll bet there’s a seam hidden beneath the center trim and festoon. On each of its flanks are matching liquor hutches. If you don’t have time to drive to Tombstone, you can see its twin sister in one of Prescott’s Whiskey Row bars (I don’t recall exactly which bar it was because I spent too much of my life doing research for this article).

We don’t grow mahogany in Arizona or any other hardwood that would be nice enough for cabinets like this. This one was ordered from furniture makers in New England and then shipped around South America’s treacherous Cape Horn (no Virginia, the canal wasn’t yet built). Once the sailboat reached the Sea of Cortez, the bar was unloaded and carried overland by wagon.

If you’re hungry, you can order food. It’s not the worst place in town, but it’s still bar food. They prepare onion rings in-house, notably better than those awful versions at Jack’s or The King. If the tour busses are in town, the place will be packed, and the crowd can overwhelm the staff. Then you’ll have to be patient with your food and bill. But it’s not any better at the other restaurants.

There is one more thing about the Crystal Palace that I should warn you about—especially in spring. For some reason, enough couples are getting hitched in Tombstone; the town provides them with sideshows. On one of our visits, we noticed a table full of guys having a bachelor’s party. They had a great time drinking beer and being loud when suddenly an attractive woman dressed in a bright red dance costume burst through the swinging doors. She was followed by three men with handlebar mustaches wearing long black dusters and deputy badges. The young woman walked over to the groom-to-be and pointed her finger at him. She shouted for the entire world to hear, “That’s him! That’s the slime ball. Last night he promised to love me forever, and today he’s running off with another woman.”

Then the deputies grabbed the scoundrel under his arms and dragged him through the side door to the hanging tree out back. The crowd emptied the bar and filled the streets. Once there, the posse strung him up but stopped until someone fetched the bride.

Once she arrived (accompanied by her entourage), the lawmen presented their case. After hearing what they had to say, she promised that after their wedding, she’d set him straight, and he would never do it again. The sheriff polled the crowd, “Do you believe her?”

Most of the mob said yes, so he removed the noose, and we all went back into the bar and ordered another beer—on the groom.

I called this week’s picture Crystal Palace, and it’s of the cabinets described in my story. I was happy that my shot was sharp in such a dark room without using a flash or a tripod. I lightened the wood in post-production to show off its luster and grain. To get a clean shot, I had to wait for the bartenders to go to the kitchen window. Sometimes it pays to be patient.

You can see a larger version of Crystal Palace on its Webpage by clicking here. I hope you’ll join us next week when we come back with another Tombstone story.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

Are you ready for flowers? With the frequent rain this winter, we will have a bumper crop of wildflowers. Now is the time for you to come up with some strategery on where to go to photograph them.

Courthouse Yard The Town Too Tough to Die

Courthouse Yard - The tall brick wall surrounding the Tombstone Courthouse yard conceal the gallows within them
Courthouse Yard – The tall brick wall surrounding the Tombstone Courthouse yard conceals the gallows within them

Whenever I visit Tombstone, it takes me a while to get oriented. But when I see a town map, I understand why. Unlike most communities established in the Mormon Territory of Deseret, the streets aren’t aligned to the compass points and aren’t centered on an intersection named Central and Main. Instead, the town is 45° off the compass; there’s no Central Avenue, and Allen Street substitutes for Main Street. Given Tombstone’s distance from Salt Lake City and its rough and tumble history, I don’t suspect its citizens weren’t concerned about religions.

When I visit the “Town Too Tough to Die,” I consider the OK Corral its social and geographical heart. As I stand on the corner of 3rd Street and Allen and look the town over, I see the streets lined with one and two-story old wooden buildings. They’re either painted in bright colors or left in their natural dull brown finish. The only exception is a block southwest on 3rd Street. There you’ll see a large two-story brick building trimmed on each of its angles with white stones. On top is a cupola festooned with a widows-walk. The first time you see this pearl before the swine, you instantly know it must be important. It was—is. It’s the original Cochise County Courthouse.

It only took five years from the silver find to the OK Corral gunfight. In that brief time, the population swelled to 7,000, and robberies and lawlessness ran rampant. Wikipedia notes, “Except for the Earp–Clanton feud, which gave Tombstone an extremely bad press—from which it has no interest in recovering—citizens gladly accepted the proffered alternative.” The townspeople wanted a change. More importantly, miners had to make a two-day journey to Tucson to file a new claim. In 1881 two historical events happened; the shootout and the state legislature carved Cochise County out of Pima and made Tombstone its seat. The irony of those events and building the courthouse a block away from the Corral the next year isn’t lost on me.

By 1929 the silver played out, and Bisbee became the next boom town. The copper strike there required more men to work the mine. With a larger population, Bisbee won the county seat in an election, and the government offices moved 25 miles down the road. The old courthouse sat empty between 1931 and 1955. That’s when the local historical society took an interest in it. They began restoring and lobbying using local contributions until the Arizona legislature declared it an Arizona State Park.

In this week’s featured image, I call Courthouse Yard, I tried to capture the gingerbread and grandeur of the red-brick building, but I wanted to emphasize the wall surrounding the side yard. Inside those enclosures is where convicted murderers met justice at the gallows. The first hangings were the perpetrators of the Bisbee Massacre in 1883, while the last was the two men that killed a sheriff and deputy at the Wilson Ranch Shootout in 1899. The tall brick walls were designed to shield the gentle public from the gruesome hangings, but most of the town went inside and watched through the second-floor windows anyway. Incidentally, I like the foreboding clouds hanging above the courthouse.

You can see a larger version of Courthouse Yard on its Webpage by clicking here. I hope you’ll join us next week when we tell another thrilling tale from yesteryear in Tombstone.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

We’re planning to visit Temecula, California, wine country, in the upcoming weeks. I hope to bring home a bottle or two along with the pictures and stories we gather.

Gunfighters The Town Too Tough To Die

Gunfighters - Actors dressed in Earp costumes try to stay warm on Allen Street while they coax visitors to come see the 3:00 pm show.
Gunfighters – Actors dressed in Earp costumes try to stay warm on Allen Street while coaxing visitors to see the 3:00 pm show.

Ghost towns in Arizona are a dime a dozen. There are enough of them to fill a book. I know because I currently have five of them sitting on my shelves. The morphing of a city into a ghost town follows a familiar pattern. It starts with some loony prospector finding a valuable mineral—gold, silver, copper, diamonds, or another precious stone. News of the bonanza spreads quickly and lures a gaggle of opportunistic people. Half of them want to get rich by picking nuggets from the ground, and the rest want to pick them from someone’s pockets.

A new town springs from the ground like a children’s pop-up book. More people settled in the town and either got jobs at the mine or open shops that every mining community needed, like bars, gambling halls, and whore houses. Eventually—in a year, a decade, or a century—the gold (or whatever) pans out. The excitement of living in a mining town slowly dies, and its residents move on to the next boom town. Mother Nature reclaims the land without caretakers; all that remains is a pile of rotting wood, some foundations, and the eerie spirit of ghosts.

Of course, there are exceptions to my rule. In a handful of cases, when the mine goes bust, its residents look around and say to themselves, “This is a great place to live.” They find other sources of income. I call these places amusement communities. Examples that come to mind include Oatman, Jerome, Bisbee, Bagdad, Clifton, and Tombstone.

Of those locations, Tombstone is the odd duck. There are no gaping open pits to gawk at, historic hotels, or James Beard-worthy restaurants. I suspect that most of its visitors don’t even know about the silver mine. That’s because the silver vein wasn’t gigantic, and that’s how it got the name Goodenough Silver Mine. A gunfight between the Earps and the Clantons secured Tombstone’s historical spot. If it weren’t for that singular gang fight, Tombstone—’The town too tough to die’—would be a pile of splinters by now.

Don’t get me wrong; there is a list of exciting things to see in Tombstone. It was the Cochise County seat for a while, so there’s the old courthouse (with its gallows patio), the Crystal Palace back bar, the world’s largest dead rose bush, and the Birdcage theater should be on everyone’s checklist. Of course, if you have the time and money, you should see the show at the OK Coral, but realize that the actual gunfight was on Highway 80—behind the Coral.

I took this week’s photo on a cold, windy December afternoon. We had checked into our motel and started into town before the light faded. Standing in the middle of Allen Street (dirt, then paved until the street department poured dirt over it again—for authenticity) were four gunfighters dressed in black wearing badges. They tried to stay warm while they hawked visitors to the 3:00 pm show. I don’t know how successful they were because the streets were empty as people sheltered inside the bars. I titled this shot Gunfighters.

You can see a larger version of Gunfighters on its Webpage by clicking here. I hope you’ll join Queen Anne and me throughout January as we show some of the exciting Tombstone scenes we found.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

Queen Anne and I are working on our calendar for the year. We’re putting together a list of places we’d like to visit and this year’s book topics. If you have any requests, let us know in the comments section.