EDITOR'S LETTER

— In Memoriam —
JOHN WESLEY “WES” HOLDEN
1937–2019

IT DOESN'T MATTER which seat you sit in. Editor in Chief. Art Director. Associate Editor. We’re always trying to measure up. It’s like playing the outfield at Yankee Stadium, where even if your name is Reggie Jackson or Roger Maris, you’ll never be Ruth, DiMaggio or Mantle.

Like Monument Park in the Bronx, the hallways at Arizona Highways evoke a sense of spiritual mystery, awe and fascination. Carlson, Avey, Stacey, Holden ... it was their vision and editorial dexterity that created this dynasty. Those of us on the masthead today are merely caretakers. Humble footmen and handmaidens.

I never had the privilege of meeting any of our illustrious pioneers, but I’m driven by their legacy every day. And perhaps a little terrified, too. Sadly, all of those would-be mentors are gone. Most recently, Mr. Holden, who died on May 24 at the age of 81.

JOHN WESLEY HOLDEN grew up in Winona, Minnesota — he liked to tell people that he was from “Minnesnowta” or “Minnesquito.” Like Bob Dylan, he eventually left the land of lakes to make his mark. But instead of Greenwich Village, he went the opposite direction, to Arizona, where, in 1959, he became a member of the first graduating class of Arizona State University, a school previously known as Arizona State College. Two years later, he married Suzi DuPree and made Tempe his new home. There, he and his wife would raise their children, Tammy and David (who passed away in 2018). And from there, he’d commute every day to The Arizona Republic and the Phoenix Gazette, where he began his career in publishing as an ad man.

His tenure with us began in January 1972, when he became our first-ever associate editor. That title means different things at different magazines. Almost always, though, associate editors are the unsung heroes. They’re the Bob Cratchits in the corner. The dependable men and women who do the things that don’t come with bylines or acceptance speeches. “Wes,” as everyone at Arizona Highways refers to him, epitomized that.

“He had time for everyone,” says Jeff Kida, our photo editor. “And when you were with him, your story was the only thing that mattered. Before setting out to shoot an assignment in my early years as a freelancer, I’d drop by to visit with Wes to see what he thought. He would listen patiently, then he’d push his chair back away from his desk, put his hands behind his head and say, ‘Well, Jeffrey’ — to Wes, I was always Jeffrey — ‘if it were me, this is the route I’d take. It’s not the shortest, but I think you’ll like it, and here’s why.’ ”

Like all great associate editors, he made Jeff — and everyone else around him — look good. Or at least better. And he did so with humility and grace.

Pete Ensenberger, our former director of photography, remembers him in the same way. “He was a gentle soul and a kind spirit — one of the nicest people you’d ever meet. He was a joy to be around, and he could weave a tale and tell a joke with the best of them. There was no such thing as a brief conversation with Wes.”

Perhaps the highest praise came from the late photographer Jerry Jacka, who worked in tandem with Wes on some remarkable projects, including an epic piece on Canyon de Chelly. Through so many decades of collaboration, they developed an unparalleled professional partnership and a close personal friendship. So close that Jerry often referred to Wes as the brother he never had. And the feeling was reciprocal.
 

“Wes loved everyone,” Suzi says. “He never met anyone he didn’t like. There was something in him that was different. He was such a wonderful man. I’m the luckiest person in the world to have been married to him.”

The good karma came back to Wes in 1976, when he was selected to be Arizona’s delegate to Washington, D.C., for the Bicentennial celebration, where, among other things, he flew a Navajo rug depicting the American flag over the U.S. Capitol. Wes was especially proud of that honor.

When he got back home, he began forging what would become another lifelong friendship. “I first met Wes when I was a journalism student at ASU,” says J. Peter Mortimer, who served as our photo editor from 1982 to 1984. “I’d been offered an internship at Arizona Highways. After a brief meeting with Tom Cooper, the editor, he called Wes into his office and introduced me. Cooper looked my way and said to Wes, ‘Give him the run of the place, and teach him everything!’ For the next couple of years, that’s exactly what Wes did. He taught me photo editing, layout, photo cropping, typesetting and many of the numerous skills that are needed to get a monthly magazine ready to go to press.”

The two of them went on road trips together, too.

On one, in the late 1970s, they were researching a story about Southern Arizona. “We were camping out,” Pete says. “While our coffee was warming on the fire, we noticed a couple of men coming our way — they looked as if they’d just walked off the set of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Quietly, Wes reached into his bedroll, pulled out a Colt .45 and slipped it into the front of his belt. Moments later, one of the men gruffly hollered out, ‘We’re coming into your camp!’ That’s when Wes looked up and said, ‘This isn’t a good time!’

“Things were pretty tense until the brutes turned around and walked back out into the desert. I remember thinking, I’ve just witnessed a whole different side of the gentle Wes Holden I’ve come to know.”

It was a departure, to be sure, but like the man who shot Liberty Valance, Wes Holden stood up for what he believed in, and rose to the occasion whenever he had to. That’s why he agreed to fill in as acting editor when Tom Cooper retired in 1979.

“Arizona Highways was his dream job,” Suzi says. “I can’t think of anything that thrilled him more than exploring the wilderness. Especially when petroglyphs were involved — petroglyphs were his second love. But he never wanted to be editor. Never. He preferred being second in command.”

Nevertheless, he skillfully guided the mothership for five months until Gary Avey took the helm in January 1980. In his first column as editor, Gary wrote: “When Tom Cooper retired last summer, after serving as editor since 1976, Wes Holden carried the stewardship with his customary enthusiasm and dedication.”

After that, Wes returned to his desk in the corner, but not before penning a beautiful column in our last issue of the decade. In December 1979, he demonstrated his skill as a writer and also his depth of thought: “For all of the contrivances and sophistications of mankind, understanding relationships is one of our most notable shortcomings. Yet nature, without art, without words, without photographs, speaks to us in ways that are perfect, universal and unfailing. Come to Arizona. Walk the deserts. Climb the mountains. Discover the miracles of nature for yourself. The day-to-day problems of the world won’t vanish, but, when put in their proper perspective, they can be more easily understood.”

Forty years later, his words are as meaningful as ever, and so is the adage that guided him for nearly a quarter-century as our associate editor, and later as the head of our books division: “Do as much as you can for as long as you can, and then say ‘thank you’ for a good run.” Few in the history of this great magazine have had a run as long as his. Long may you run, Mr. Holden.

On behalf of everyone at Arizona Highways, we offer our deepest condolences to Suzi and Tammy, and our humble gratitude to the dear man they mourn. Thank you, Wes. We’ll do our best to measure up.