EDITOR'S LETTER

Grew up 47 miles from Taliesin - Frank Lloyd Wright's summer home in Spring Green, Wisconsin. Now, I'm 12 miles from Taliesin West, his winter compound in North Scottsdale. My link to the legendary architect, however, has nothing to do with the proximity of our front doors. The nexus, if there is one, is Raymond Carlson.

Although both of our names have appeared in the same place on this magazine's masthead, many decades of continental drift have made my world very different from his. I suppose some things are better in the 21st century, most of them because of Steve Jobs, but the stature of the position has changed. In the 1950s, being the editor of Arizona Highways carried the respect of a nobleman. And the queue of visitors was impressive. Like the line outside Sinatra's dressing room.

"Raymond and his wife, Helen, were one of the most beautiful and charming couples in Phoenix," said Gary Avey, a former editor. "They knew how to party, and their circle of friends included the best-known and most talented people in the country."

If you happened to see our June issue, you know about Raymond Carlson's friendship with Ted DeGrazia, the famous artist from Tucson. Ansel Adams was another good friend. And so was Frank Lloyd Wright. Their friendship is my connection. Sitting in Mr. Carlson's chair, and rifling through old papers, I get to see another side of the architect. Glimpses of benevolence that contradict the persona of arrogance. Like the time he designed a home for one of his closest friends.

"He'd heard that my wife and I had just bought a plot of land," Mr. Carlson said. "He asked if there was anything he could do to help, and I told him that I couldn't afford his fee. He sat there tapping his cane, and then he smiled. 'I have two prices,' he said. 'I either charge a hell of a lot. Or I charge nothing.'"

The benefits of being a nobleman.

By the time it was finished, "the Carlson House cost $15,000," Frank Lloyd Wright wrote in 1950, "including the architect's fee of 10 percent. It is so finely built I am giving half my fee to the builder as a reward of merit. The rest of the fee goes to Raymond himself to help furnish his aristocratic little gem of a house." And so he did.

Among the most interesting features of what's now known as the "Raymond Carlson House" is the dumbwaiter the Carlsons used to move their parrots up and down the home's three stories. "As a kid, I spent an entire summer entrusted to teach their parrots (Polly and Gonzalez) to talk," Gary Avey said. "By September, I had a few good bite scars and developed a fondness for crackers. The birds, however, remained mute."

Or so he thought.

Mixed in with the old papers is a story by Ben Raeburn, who published the complete works of Frank Lloyd Wright. As the story goes, Mr. Wright asked Gene Masselink, his longtime secretary, to drive him into Phoenix for a late appointment. After dinner, Mr. Wright said, "Let's drop in on the Carlsons." When they got to the house, it was dark inside, except for a night light upstairs in the bedroom.

The front door was unlocked, so the two men walked in and went to the living room. "Let's not disturb them," the architect whispered. And then he started looking around. "This room doesn't look right," he said, as he took off his coat. First he moved a chair. Then a table and some lamps. He wasn't done, though. He even moved the piano. About the only thing he didn't touch was the birdcage, because the parrots seemed to be asleep.

"Mrs. Carlson told me that upon hearing strange noises down in the living room, she woke Raymond, who promptly turned over and went back to sleep," Mr. Raeburn said. "She then stole quietly to the top of the stairs. Because her hair was in curlers, she didn't want to be seen, even by burglars. As she peered down, she noticed, to her great delight, that Frank Lloyd Wright wasin her living room, rearranging the furniture."

When he was finished, Mr. Wright took a look at his handiwork and said: "I guess we've done it, Gene. Let's go home." As they were headed to the door, they heard a voice say, "Good night." In response, Mr. Wright took off his hat, bowed gallantly and said, "Good night, Mrs. Carlson." Later he learned that the voice wasn't hers - it came from one of the parrots.

The next day, a delivery truck pulled up in front of the Carlsons' home. Turns out, Mr. Wright wasn't quite finished. In the truck was a "magnificently beautiful rug" for the Carlsons' living room.The benefits of being a nobleman.