Editor's Letter

I knew we’d get a letter from Larry. Or someone like Larry. The expectation was rooted in the wisdom of a medieval monk. “You can please some of the people all of the time,” John Lydgate wrote, “you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.”

Ricky Nelson learned that at Madison Square Garden. He was one of several rockers at a 1971 concert celebrating the music of the 1950s. He was a headliner, and during the show his fans were on their feet, singing along, feeling groovy … until the set transitioned from Hello Mary Lou to Honky Tonk Women. Like the introduction of New Coke, the change was too much. His groupies wanted the old songs, and felt contempt for anything else.

That’s what happened with Larry, I suppose. He wasn’t happy with our April issue, which celebrated Mexican heritage in Arizona — escaramuza was his Honky Tonk Women. “No landscape photos?” he wrote. “Can you suggest a magazine that has great landscape photographs like Arizona Highways used to?”

I’m not sure if he was being facetious or sarcastic, but I wasn’t bothered by his words. I’m always grateful when readers take the time to write, even if they’re using their mighty pens as swords. In Larry’s case, it’s easy to understand his affection for landscape photography. Ours is pretty good. And almost every day I have the privilege of poring over hundreds of images by Claire Curran, Jack Dykinga, David Muench, Suzanne Mathia, Jeff Maltzman, Joel Hazelton and so many other talented artists. Their broad panoramas have been attracting readers for decades.

The thing is, Arizona Highways is not a photography magazine. It never was.

Our mission is “to promote travel to and through the state” — to get folks off the couch. We do that by showcasing the people, places and things that make Arizona unique, from its natural wonders and colorful history to its fascinating culture and endless adventure. Landscape photography is one of the tools we use, but there are others — vowels and consonants among them. Nevertheless, I knew we’d get a letter from Larry. Or someone like him. What I wasn’t expecting was a wonderful card from Maple Grove, Minnesota.

The front of the card, which was sent on March 20, features a painting by Monet — Japanese Footbridge and the Water Lily Pool, Giverny, 1899. It’s Monet. It’s beautiful. But even more beautiful are the words inside, each one flawlessly written, like the letters on a Zaner-Bloser alphabet chart.
 

“Dear Sir,” the note begins. “My name is Helen Kennedy and I was born on April 6, 1925. I have enjoyed your magazine from the first time I saw it as a TWA hostess on one of my flights to Phoenix. The year was 1949. We are both 100 years old. I have wanted to write many times, but always felt too intimidated. Now, it seems, I am motivated because of your wonderful April issue. I loved every one of its one hundred pages.”

She was referring to our centennial issue, which she’d revisited in the weeks before her birthday. She liked our “Mexican heritage” issue, too. “I look at every page of every issue,” she says. “Frankly, I enjoy everything about your magazine.”

On Monday, April 6, I called Mrs. Kennedy to wish her a happy birthday. She was turning 101.

“I never thought I’d live this long,” she said, “but one never knows these things.”

She was having a quiet morning at home, and looking forward to dinner with her son and his wife, who live just north of her in Dayton, along the Mississippi River. Meantime, I asked about her time at TWA.

“Ever since I was 7 years old,” she said, “I wanted to work for an airline and see the world. But before I became a hostess for TWA, I was a delivery room nurse at Cedars of Lebanon Hospital, which is now Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Hollywood. Prior to World War II, you had to be a nurse to be a hostess on an airline.”

Knowledge, Emerson said, is when you learn something new every day.

I was learning things from Mrs. Kennedy, and hoping for more. “Were there any other odd rules?” I asked, wondering about anachronisms.

“Oh, definitely,” she said. “I was 5'3", so 117 pounds was my weight limit, and they checked regularly. They’d also check to make sure you had your fingernails polished and that your hair wasn’t touching your collar. You weren’t allowed to be married, either, but I was a rogue at that point — I was married secretly — and kept flying until I got pregnant.”

One of those flights, in 1949, was headed to Phoenix Sky Harbor, which, at the time, had a single terminal known as the “North Terminal.” That was before Terminal 1.

“I was flying on a DC-3 back then,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “Those were propeller planes. I can vividly remember that day. After we landed, they opened the door and the heat came pouring in. It was like somebody had opened an oven door. It was so hot. That was my first time in Phoenix.”

It was her first time seeing Arizona Highways, too.

“I thought, I just want to read that magazine,” she said. And so she did. She also filled out a subscription card. That year and every year since. That’s 77 years — her subscription has outlived Albert Einstein, King George II and Aretha Franklin. You can’t please all of the people all of the time, but it seems we’re coming close in Maple Grove, Minnesota.

Happy Birthday, Mrs. Kennedy. This one’s for you.