Editor's Letter

"Is it possible to purchase Kodachrome slide pictures of cactus flowers, birds, trees, scenery and other attractive things in Arizona, similar to the pictures that appear in your magazine?" Mrs. Walter C. Flower, of Maplewood, New Jersey, asked in 1949. She was among the many readers who wanted a colorful slide show to complement the Chesterfields, canapés and vodka martinis they were serving at cocktail parties.

"This summer," Mr. Carlson wrote in response, "we hope to have slides for projection purposes made from all photographs appearing each month in the magazine. They will be made from our original transparencies, and we feel they will be very attractive."

Rimbaud's entire career as a poet lasted for four years. It took us five years to finally launch what came to be known as "COLOR CLASSICS FROM ARIZONA HIGHWAYS."

"We are pleased to announce that 35 mm color slides in 2" x 2" mounts, made from original color photographs published in Arizona Highways, are now available. This announcement will please the many hundreds of our readers who have requested that such slides be issued. Our first 100 Color Classics cover some of the most popular subjects published herein. Additional subjects will be announced in our June issue. Our price schedule is as follows: 1 to 15 slides, 40¢ each; 16 to 49 slides, 35¢ each; in orders of 50 slides or more, 3 for $1.00."

It took a while to lift off, but the response was immediate.

"I was very pleased to see your announcement of Color Classics in the May issue," Alfred Canol of Milwaukee wrote the next month. "I hope to eventually have every slide you produce." Mrs. T.T. Stevenson of Knoxville, Tennessee, was excited, too. "My first order has just arrived, and I must say that your slides are truly classics, some of the best I've seen."

Within a year, our color slides had been distributed to 24 countries around the world, including one place they weren't supposed to be. "Shortly after you announced Color Classics," Hermann Stromberg, another Milwaukeean, wrote, "I purchased 100 slides of various scenic subjects that have appeared in your pages and sent them to a friend of mine who is a schoolteacher behind the iron curtain in Germany. I doubted that they would get through, but took a chance. I've been informed that they did get through and have caused not only pleasure, but excitement to children who must surely be surfeited with a steady diet of Russian visual propaganda."

The new program was a hit because our editor could easily recruit photographers. In a letter to Ansel Adams, he wrote: "As soon as we determine the popularity of this slide series, we further propose to advertise in photographic magazines, to not only enhance our slide business, but to further publicize Arizona Highways. We have carefully gone over all of our material and have picked out the specific subjects of yours we would like to use ... if you're willing to go ahead with us in this series."

Turns out, the master photographer was on board, and he emphasized his endorsement with seven exclamation points. "Delighted to go along with you on your slide program!!!! Wonderful idea!!!"

Esther Henderson, Josef Muench, Wayne Davis, Ray Manley, Tad Nichols, Allen C. Reed ... all of the regulars went along with it, too. At a glance, it's hard to understand why. The royalty for each slide was only 2 cents, which, even in 1954, didn't get you much. A postage stamp was 3 cents, a loaf of bread was 17 cents, and a gallon of gas was 22 cents. Two cents. Adjusted for inflation, that's only 23 cents today. I can't think of anything I can buy for 23 cents.

But it wasn't about the money. It was about the charisma of our editor. And his ability to inspire devotion from those around him. Nevertheless, like the French looking back on the Louisiana Purchase, or the Red Sox wondering why they traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees, there was cognitive dissonance. Our photographers were conflicted, Willis Peterson, another regular, told me. “A few them complained, ‘That’s the last time I’m ever contributing to Highways.’ As if there were any other possibilities. Consternation became resignation.”

I had the privilege of spending a lot of time with Mr. Peterson toward the end of his long life. I’ve never met a more gentle human being. Like Mr. Rogers, he spoke in a tone that could calm a wild pony. But that didn’t keep him from confronting our editor and offering his own two cents. “I sent a letter,” he told me, “citing the need for more compensation. I listed all of the photo expenses, such as the cost of the newer Ektachrome film. It was a long list. During the night, I woke up, panicked, thinking I’d been too hasty. The next day, I felt glum. Two days later, Mr. Carlson called me into his office. I arrived, repentant, as anyone might feel who had just defied God. We shook hands, cordially. I was shaking, on the verge of tears.”

But there wasn’t a stern lecture. Instead, God led his disciple into our gallery and started discussing the overhead costs that come with circulating a magazine in the stratosphere.

“His discourse was a lesson in the economics of publishing,” Mr. Peterson remembered. “Then, in a well-modulated voice, he looked me in the eye: ‘Yes, Willis, we have tried to make this venture economically feasible for photographers. Though the amounts will be exceedingly small, hopefully the magazine’s photographers may find their pockets somewhat heavier by the end of the year. We hope you, being one of our newer and younger contributors, will abide by the needs of our magazine.’ ”

Of course, the young photographer did. Defying God wasn’t an option.