Tag: History

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.

Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon Bisbee, Arizona

Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon - A group strolling down the sidewalk on Bisbee's colorful main street-Tombstone Canyon.
Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon – A group strolling down the sidewalk on Bisbee’s colorful main street-Tombstone Canyon.

Welcome back to a new month and a new project! To play a joke on you, I almost sent out a blank post yesterday for April Fools. But, being the clever person you are, I deduced that you’d be too smart to fall for it. So then, I switched days on you and almost sent the prank out this morning, but I realized that you, a person of superior intelligence, wouldn’t be tricked by that ruse, either. Instead, I fooled you and wrote this new article, and you never saw it coming—HA! Inconceivable! Happy April Fools’ Day! – (thanks, Rob)

This month, Queen Anne and I will drag you back to Cochise County and Bisbee because we have a soft spot for this little mining town nestled in the Mule Mountains. Of all of Arizona’s ghost towns, Bisbee has been our favorite since our first visit, sticking with us like a catchy tune you can’t get out of your head. With its mile-high elevation, the weather’s usually pleasant, even in the hot summer months—as if Mother Nature herself turned down the thermostat. Instead of decaying wood shacks, Bisbee’s structures were built to last, and most of them are still standing, like proud survivors of a bygone era. The town boasts a thriving art community and a wide variety of shops, restaurants, and architecture. Oh, and let’s not forget the Copper Queen Hotel, once the poshest place to rest your head between St. Louis and San Francisco, where even its ghosts have high standards.

The Mule Mountains and Bisbee area have a rich natural and geological history. Millions of years ago, the mountains were formed through volcanic activity and shifting tectonic plates, resulting in deposits of copper and turquoise hidden beneath the surface—the juniper-covered Mule Mountains cradle Bisbee, nestled in the folds of its canyons. The region’s unique geological history has also led to the formation of these valuable deposits, shaping Bisbee’s identity as a mining hub. Anne and I enjoy capturing the breathtaking landscape and remnants of the town’s mining heritage. The area’s natural beauty and rich history have made it a true gem in the heart of the Southwest.

Long before the arrival of European settlers and the establishment of Bisbee, the Mule Mountains were already painting a masterpiece in vibrant hues of copper and turquoise, like a natural work of art that only the Hohokam, ancestors of today’s Tohono O’odham and Pima tribes, had the privilege of appreciating up close. These skilled farmers, traders, and artisans were the original caretakers of the land, leaving behind a legacy of pottery, petroglyphs, and other artifacts that offer a glimpse into their rich and colorful culture. The mountains were their muse, the copper and turquoise their paint, and the result is a stunning canvas that still takes our breath away today. The Mule Mountains had always held a special place in the hearts of those who called this land home long before Bisbee became the colorful town it is today.

Bisbee’s European history began in the late 19th century when prospectors discovered rich copper deposits in the Mule Mountains. The town proliferated, attracting miners, merchants, and entrepreneurs worldwide. By the turn of the century, Bisbee was a bustling hub of activity, with saloons, hotels, and shops lining its streets. Bisbee has had its fair share of both good times and bad. The town has a rich history, from its early days as a mining community to its recent incarnation as an artsy, quirky town. But with its history comes some dark moments, such as the Bisbee Deportation of 1917 and the Bisbee Massacre. These events left a lasting impact on the town and its residents, reminding us that Bisbee’s story is not just one of beauty and charm but also struggle and resilience.

This week’s photo is a street scene of Bisbee’s main street—Tombstone Canyon—lined with a row of historic buildings painted in various colors reminiscent of San Francisco’s Painted Ladies. As was expected before WWII, the shops share a common wall to maximize their interior space. The most colorful building is topped with a plaque identifying it as the Letson Block. A small group of pedestrians is walking down the sidewalk; perhaps they’re window-shopping tourists. On the otherwise drab street, reflections of the sun off windows create interesting random rectangles.

Dot's Diner - Don't care to stay in a stuffy ghost-laden hotel. Then head down to the cemetery and stop at Dot's, where you can book a night in an Airstream, Airplane, or Yacht. Besides, it's an excellent place for breakfast in the morning.
Dot’s Diner – Don’t care to stay in a stuffy ghost-laden hotel. Then head down to the cemetery and stop at Dot’s, where you can book a night in an Airstream, Airplane, or Yacht. Besides, it’s an excellent place for breakfast in the morning.

We hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s photo of Bisbee’s Main Street, showcasing Bisbee’s charm. You can view a larger version of Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon on the official website by clicking here. Join us next week for another exciting photo and tale from our favorite ghost town. We can’t wait to share our enthusiasm for this quirky, historic town.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

I told you so. If you haven’t gotten out yet, you need to get going. The fields are awash with flowers now. Grab your camera and get out there.

Greyhound Lowell Arizona

Greyhound - An old Scenicruiser waits for passengers outside of the bus terminal.
Greyhound – An old Scenicruiser waits for passengers outside of the bus terminal. Note the prehistoric air conditioning in the window above the dog’s head.

I have ridden my share of buses in my life. I rode in school buses, metro buses, tour buses, trams, and trolleys, but the only time I was a passenger in a Greyhound Scenicruiser—like the one seen in this week’s image (titled Greyhound)—wasn’t one of my most pleasant memories.

That ride happened in 1967. Two other recent graduates and I were in the Army and on our way for a 13-month Korea tour. We flew commercially from Fort Holabird in Baltimore to Seattle on the first part of our journey. The sun was going down as we took off, so it was late in the evening when we landed at SeaTac. As we got off the plane, a military representative greeted us. He looked at our orders and directed us to the buses waiting outside. After retrieving our duffel bags, we headed out into the damp and chilly night.

We looked around and saw a line of Greyhound Scenicruisers. To keep the engines and interior warm, they sat idling at the curb and spewed plumes of white vapor from their exhaust. They looked like steam engines at a railroad depot. As we reached the lead bus, someone ordered, “Stow your duffels in the cargo bay and get on board.” Like good PFCs, we obeyed unquestioningly. Once seated, we waited and waited, and waited for something to happen.

In case you don’t remember, in 1967, the U.S. was in the midst of the Vietnam War. The military was going through boys like Lucy and Ethel at the chocolate factory. The Army drafted kids off the street, trained them, sent them to Fort Lewis, and put them on the next plane crossing the Pacific. The Army ran an efficient system at SeaTac. They grabbed anyone coming off an airliner in uniform and stuck them on the bus.

We sat in that dark Greyhound for hours before it filled. The door closed, and—around midnight—it started on the short drive to Fort Lewis. I don’t sleep well in moving vehicles, so I was looking forward to a warm cot and sleeping till noon. Silly me; I forgot that I was in the Army. When we got to the base, we had to be processed, which meant we stood in line filling out forms until they handed us a pillow and assigned us a bunk.

I was in a deep sleep and busy sawing my way through a pine log when someone rousted me at 03:30 (I can still remember the military time). “Get up and get dressed. You’re on KP duty this morning,” a strange voice barked in the dark. After donning my last set of clean fatigues, I fell in with a group on their way to the mess hall. I guess someone has to peel enough potatoes to feed hash browns tor a hungry Army base. That morning was the only time I had to do KP in my military career.

We finished up our kitchen duty at lunch. I was dog tired and just wanted to flop on my bunk and recover, but when I got back to the barracks, I was told to change and pack my bag again. I was moving out in an hour. This time, there was no fancy civilian bus waiting. Instead, they loaded us in the back of a duce and a half for the ride to a military air base. As the sun went down again, the Army loaded us on a Northwest 707 that the soldiers affectionately dubbed the Big Red Tail. We knew and counted the days until we’d board the Red Tail to come home—some of us walked on, but Honor Guards loaded too many in the plane’s cargo bay.

The Scenicruiser in this week’s shot was designed and built by General Motors and was supposed to imitate the luxury stainless steel passenger train cars of the time. GM only manufactured them between 1954 and 1956, but Greyhound used them into the 70s. The buses were supposed to offer a luxury parlor experience and had an onboard toilet (RVs from the past). The early ones were delivered with whitewall tires. Their Achilles heels were that they were too long and too tall to be driven in some states. After Greyhound retired them, they started using ordinary buses that fit within the size restrictions and had enough cargo space for 50 passengers.

Click here to see a larger version of Greyhound on its web page. Next week we’ll finish our stroll down Erie Street and the memories it evokes. Be sure to join us then for another tale from Lowell, Arizona.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

Last week, I threw out a challenge for my Gearhead friends who know 1957 Chevrolet trivia. Interestingly, all the commenters who had the correct answer (including myself) are older than dirt. Kids these days don’t have the passion.

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.

Hotel Monte Vista Picture of the Week

Hotel Monte Vista - Built in the 1920s as an upscale hotel by Flagstaff investors. It was named the Community Hotel until a private corporation purchased it in 1960.
Hotel Monte Vista – Built in the 1920s as an upscale hotel by Flagstaff investors. It was named the Community Hotel until a private corporation purchased it in 1960.

The proverbial railroad tracks split Flagstaff’s downtown, but in this case, I don’t think there’s a wrong side. The north side is a historic district; on the other side, old warehouses fill the limited space between the tracks and Northern Arizona University. Each has a distinct vibe.

Older masonry structures make up the historic district and crowd the sidewalks. As a result, the streets are narrow, and parking is limited. If you find a parking spot, walking about the 24 blocks downtown is easy. When the founders laid out the town, they included alleys so deliveries and utilities would be off the street. That may have worked in the mid-twentieth century, but retail space is at a premium, so landlords split the buildings, and now shops occupy the building’s front and back. That means there’s always a beer delivery truck clogging the street somewhere.

I get the feeling that since the city is Arizona’s “premier” ski area, the city planners are using other resort towns as models. There is the usual mix of restaurants, bars, souvenir shops, and galleries for you to spend money in. The building owners maintain the facades well and have decorated them with low-voltage lights—for that Disney Main Street look. However, something’s missing. The Snow Bowl doesn’t draw the same skiers as Aspen, Telluride, or Park City (the airport couldn’t hold that many private jets). So, although I enjoy walking around and seeing the architecture of the old town, it needs more polish.

Nope - I spotted this sign in a tavern window and it confused me for days. Then I realized that it has a different meaning if you move the 'N' from the top, to the bottom.
Nope – I spotted this sign in a tavern window, which confused me for days. Then I realized it has a different meaning if you move the ‘N’ from the top to the bottom.

If the area north of the tracks is all façade, the south side is another story. As you’d expect from a college town, it’s more bohemian, rustic, and organic. The merchants may slap paint on their industrial buildings and hang an open sign on this side of town. They depend on the product and repeat clientele to survive. You’ll get the same bar food but without the pretentiousness. For example, this is where the youth hostel is. Over the past two weeks, I’ve shown motel signs from here, where you’ll find a café called the Tourist Home. This eating establishment has good food, but they’ve replaced the wait staff and cashier with your cell phone—petulant geezers like me, beware (they dare to expect tips).

For this week’s picture, we will cross the tracks north to the Aspen and San Francisco Streets intersection. Here, we’ll see Flagstaff’s third oversized sign on scaffolding. This one is on the roof of the Hotel Monte Vista, one of the oldest hotels in Northern Arizona.

Monte Vista has an interesting backstory. It was built in the 1920s with money raised by local citizens. Including a big chunk from Zane Grey, they raised $200,000 to fund an upscale hotel the town desperately needed. It opened on New Year’s Day 1927 as the Community Hotel. It was a publicly held business until private investors bought it in 1960. Besides the hotel, the building was home to the Post Office, newspaper, and radio station, and its lounge was a speak-easy during prohibition. The hotel’s Website has a page with other histories, famous guests, and ghost stories. You can read it here.

I shot this week’s image, Hotel Monte Vista, early morning before the sun and the empty streets. The lack of light muted the building’s colors. It looks like I was trying for a sepia-toned effect, but I wasn’t. It’s an unusual look, and I’m not sure it works. What do you think? I also noticed that the signs on all three of this month’s photos have the sign on the right. I would have changed that had I thought about a grouping layout.Teal 356 - I stumbled on this Porsche while on my morning shoot on the south side of the tracks. It proves that even the bourgeoisie appreciate classy cars.

Teal 356 – I stumbled on this Porsche while on my morning shoot on the south side of the tracks. It proves that even the bourgeoisie appreciate classy cars. You can view my Hotel Monte Vista web version on its page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy seeing this month’s trio of hotel signs. Next week, we start a new adventure from Northern Arizona, so be sure to join us.

 

 

Till next time
jw

BTW: A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about coffee cups, contests, and calendars. I asked for your advice, and the response I got was: <crickets> – – Silence – – </crickets>. You’re not interested, so to paraphrase Seinfeld’s soup-Nazi character, “NO CUPS FOR YOU—ONE YEAR.” Now, I must shave my head before meeting with Larry and Mo.