THE END OF THE RAINBOW

LEGENDS RULE in Arizona lore. Names such as Cochise, Earp and Geronimo cast long shadows over the 19th century. In the 20th century, the name Goldwater took center stage. Much like the rocky spires in Barry Goldwater's beloved Navajo country, the conservative politico carried his rock-hard belief in individual freedom to the U.S. Senate, where some said he'd “shoot from the lip.” But there was another side to this career politician, whose heart and spirit always remained in his home state of Arizona — and in one particular spot.

“He had a love of the outdoors, and such a love for Arizona,” says his son Barry Goldwater Jr. “He just saw a lot of beauty. He said, ‘When you're walking through the forests and canyons, you're walking with God. Don't ever forget that.” Goldwater's first trip to the Indian lands of Northeastern Arizona was with his mother, in 1916. It took place when he was just 7 years old, but the area drew him back for many years after that initial visit. He never forgot his own “piece of heaven,” Rainbow Lodge, a trading post and lodge at the foot of Navajo Mountain. Ultimately, Goldwater's wife, Peggy, gifted a share of the lodge to the senator when he returned from serving in World War II. He co-owned the lodge with Bill and Katherine Wilson from 1946 until it burned to the ground in 1951.

Barry Jr. worked a few summers at the lodge and listened in awe as Bill Wilson, a tough outdoorsman, talked about riding with the legendary "Rough Riders" and heading up San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt during the Spanish-American War.

"He was a kind, generous but tough old man who had lots of stories, lots of tales," Barry Jr. recalls. "He was a rough-and-tumble [individual], and his hands were gnarled and thick with calluses from years of handling horses. I'm sure he broke every finger on his hands."

Katherine Wilson took charge of feeding the working cowboys and occasional guests, no easy task in an era that predated microwaves and high-tech stoves. Barry Jr. began every morning by starting a fire in the stove.

"This huge, cast-iron stove was about 6 feet wide and about 3 to 4 feet deep," he says. "We'd get the coffee on, and Bill's wife would come down and fix breakfast for everyone, and at that elevation it was chilly, so we'd sit around the stove and then we'd go to work."

It didn't matter that Barry Jr. was the son of the owner. There were no special privileges for him as he worked long days with the cowboys. He played with Navajo children during his time off, learning their language and often helping out at the trading post.

Rainbow Lodge also hosted tourists, with the highlight of a stay being an overnight, guided trail ride to the magnificent natural stone wonder, Rainbow Bridge. The journey left a lifelong impression on Barry Jr. "The last 3 or 4 miles were down the riverbed, and at that last bend, Rainbow Bridge just jumped out at you. It almost knocked you off your horse, it was so magnificent, so godlike, and I never ceased to be amazed."

BARRY GOLDWATER SR., who learned to fly in 1929, sometimes piloted his airplane to the reservation, occasionally taking his other children, Joanne, Michael and Peggy Jr., with him. The northeastern corner of the state became sacred land to the politician.

"You learn — as soon as you come up to live in this country you learn to respect the Indian, because this is where he lives, not where you live," he once told friend and television helicopter pilot Jerry Foster.

Goldwater was also a frequent visitor of the Gouldings, who operated a lodge and trading post on another part of the reservation, Monument Valley. Decades later, Goldwater told stories to friends about watching legendary filmmaker John Ford make Westerns there. "The Indians used to get very confused," he said, "because [Ford] would come up here and hire Indians and then would have to have them get painted up, and the Indians would say, 'What the hell does he think we are, anyway?'"

Then there were the flights that Goldwater didn't talk much about, but Barry Jr. remembers them.

"He flew often in the Navajo country and had a lot of Navajo friends," he says. "Every once in a while, he'd go and pick up someone who was sick and would bring them down to Phoenix." Those missions of mercy would remain under the public radar.

One unforgettable trip for Barry Jr. took place during the summer of 1951, when he turned 13. His father took 20 YMCA kids down the Colorado River in rubber rafts. "About the time we got close to Rainbow Bridge, we were running out of food," he remembers. "So, he asked me and another boy to walk up to Rainbow Lodge and bring down several pack animals with food from the Wilsons. So, we hiked 14 miles, and we didn't get in until late at night. It was dark, but of course the stars were out, and it was light enough to see where we were walking. About a week later, the lodge burned down, and I haven't been back there since."

The August 1951 fire meant the end of Rainbow Lodge. Goldwater returned in 1983, when Foster flew him in with Lake Powell guide Stan Jones, photographers Nyle Leatham and Bryan Neumeister, and artist Ed Mell. The moment humbled Goldwater, bringing him to tears.

"We'd looked for it once before and were intending to just fly by it," Foster recalls. But anyone who knew the senator, or Foster, knew they couldn't pass up an opportunity.

"When we landed at the lodge, there wasn't anything much left but the foundation, and it brought tears to his eyes. I just wanted to put my arms around him and hug him. It was such an emotional time for him."

"We're standing now where the kitchen was," Goldwater said that day. "This is where the fire started. We only had one shower, and a cowboy came in to take a shower and put his cigarette on the window, and a breeze kicked it off."

Stan Jones wrote about the visit in his book Ramblings in Lake Powell Country, describing how Goldwater pointed out a big block of concrete with heavy bolts still in it, telling how he had poured the cement for what became a foundation for the generator.

He posed for pictures there, but his knees and hips were failing him, and he moved slowly about the ruins, sometimes overwhelmed with emotion. This was a Goldwater the public rarely saw.

"He was in the later part of his life," Mell says. "He led such an exciting life, and having that place up there was, back then, a chancy thing to do. You know, guys who took chances look back as that being the best part of their lives."

Simply put, on this isolated, quiet piece of land in Northern Arizona, Goldwater was home.

"Peggy said they were the best years of their lives," Foster says. "He was right where he belonged. He loved the outdoors. He loved the Indian people. He loved everything about Navajo Mountain, the Navajo Reservation. There's not a whole lot of one area on that reservation that we didn't cover."

Foster and Goldwater would make one more trip to Rainbow Lodge. In December 1985, the senator's beloved wife died, and a piece of him died with her. Foster, who had the privilege of flying Goldwater for decades, knew his routine. "Every time we flew some-where, he'd go to the terminal and call her," he says. "Even after she passed on, we flew somewhere and I knew where he was going. He told me, 'Boy, I just can't get used to it, not calling Peggy.'"

In his autobiography, Goldwater, the senator wrote about how, a few weeks after Peggy's death, Foster flew him up to Lake Powell, then over to Rainbow Lodge. Once again, tears welled up from memory — this time, for memories lost.

"I'll never forget Jerry for that act of kindness," Goldwater wrote. "The trip took me back to our honeymoon. For an instant, the face of my beautiful young bride appeared on the emptiness of the lodge and my heart. Then she was gone. We flew home. But Peg was there ... in the face of the desert and brown hills. My tears clouded the clear blue sky."