GLAMOUR TREKS TO THE COW COUNTRY

JANUARY, 1938 ARIZONA HIGHWAYS Glamour Treks to the Cow Country

By STAN ADLER Columnist of the Brewery Gulch Gazette (Cartoon by the Author) Babes from the swank Eastern metropolis may look with apprehension at a pasear to the cowboy, bronc and the cactus. They may picture themselves as acquiring a coiffure of cuckle burrs, a complexion to scratch matches on, and a remodelled sack about their midriffs in place of garbiture. But they couldn't be wetter on their slants, as we say along the Gulch. For just as the lure of the West has seeped across the Pecos to intrigue the fancies of the tenderfoot, just so has the modern inconvenience of the beauty parlor and the dresse shoppe invaded the solitude of the desert. Glamour has busted loose in the cow country.

Just as the straight line is the shortest distance between two points, so is straight hair the cause of the fastest time between the ranch and the cowtown. Some unrecorded lady dude must have been the first to convey the impression ends of feminine tresses should curl up like a hotdog in a roll to be seductive. And ever since then, beauty parlors have sprung up like gourds and cowgirls have taken their exercises under driers instead of on top of saddles. The brawny he-men of the wide open spaces have become reconciled to the whimsy long since, but it sure took the hosses one hell of a while to keep from laughing in their gal riders' faces, and you will still see some of the more spirited ponies spook and pitch at the sight of a supersynthetic type of platinum blonde.

There was a time when the small talk at the breakfast table would start with a lusty salvo from the gullet of the boss' missus as viz: "Do you jughaided rannahans aim to stow away aiggs or frijoles this mawnin?" But now the modulated voice of the top lady inquires mincingly: "Who is going to town today for a permanent?" The response is unanimous from the contrary sex.

The top billing at a rodeo used to go to the saddle bronc champ but now it goes to the rodeo queen. This is the epithet given to the local babe who has scaledthe heights of the beautician's art and who smiles from the posters and magazines publicity features in all her cosmetical splendor and hirsute conceits. She is still usually garbed in the traditional rigging of the range, but there are instances hither and yon where rodeoqueens have been depicted in shorts, with a barking sixgun smoking in each hand. Shades of Calamity Jane and Poker Alice! Vanity-what sins are committed in thy name!

The term "bareback" used to imply riding a bucking hoss with a loose rope. But now it is a word which denotes the last word in feminine evening garbiture. The cowgal boot, once de rigueur at the most formal type of rucki, has now been discarded for the brutal species of hobble known as the sandal. The Old Crow Saloon and Dance Hall in Brewery Gulch, once the alfalfa and omega of hairy chests and tender emotions, is now Joan and June's Sanitary Beauty Shop; and, just up the line the oldtime Flop and Drop Rooming House has become the Betty Co-ed Frock Nook. The former disrupts the gifts of nature from the neck up, and the latter reconstructs them from the neck down. Sunlight arcs give the babes their patina of hardihood where in frontier days they picked it up under the desert sun while riding herd behind a string of longhorns. "Broncho Nell", of Hossthief Flats, and Fifi Delafield, of Park Avenue, are sisters from the skin out.

First we had the vanishing Indian, then we had the vanishing buffalo-and now we have the vanishing frontier woman. Glamour has trekked to the cow country.

THOSE TRAFFIC LAWS

I hate the chap who tries to beat The traffic light; But if he happens to be meWell, that's all right! I loathe the car that in a jam Twists out and in; But if I'm sitting at the wheel, I slyly grin.

At drivers who lean on their horns I rave and shout, But when some fool gets in my way, I honk him out. I grow indignant at the chance Another takes; But I drive sixty miles an hour And trust my brakes I wonder is it possible They cannot see That traffic laws were made for them And not for me?

By Lewis N. HaleFrom Safe Driving.

March of the Palms

(Continued from Page 13) Antonia robusta) a taller species of noticeably slender trunk, further distinguished by its smaller leaves, which are, as a rule, destitute of the long threads that are so conspicuous a feature of the other. The origin of the Washingtonia gracilis is a mystery, no living botanist having seen it growing wild, though it is suspected of being indigenous to some of the canyons of Lower California. It is grown from seed from cultivated trees.

We can't take too much time, though, on just the palms, there is so much else to be considered. Six hundred sour orange trees, 500 ash trees, 500 Chinese elms and a lot of others are already standing at attention as you ride by, with more where they came from. They all must be given expert care, water diverted from irrigation ditches or hauled to them in tank trucks at regular intervals, must always arrive on time, and they must be protected and encouraged in many ways. Under these conditions alone will the desert permit them to intrude.

If you happen to arrive at the nursery just when wizard Helms is taking a pan of palo verde seed, (Parkinsonia microphylla) out of the oven where they have soaked in warm water all night you will be in a position to witness some sprouting that borders on magic. Desert trees not only take great pains with their roots but they arm their seeds amazingly to resist being rushed into action. When a palo verde seed falls to the ground in the desert its travels begin. Rains must wash it over the sharp sands, winds must roll it mercilessly until its thick shell is ground to a thin coating; some day, after a lot of hard going, it will find a little depression with just the right combination of moisture and heat; then, and not until then, will the worn shell allow the swelling life to burst forth.

Books say palo verde seeds should be soaked for hours in concentrated sulphuric acid, than bathed copiously in warm water to sprout them artifically. Maybe Verne Helms doesn't have any sulphuric acid and maybe he doesn't fancy himself rolling little seeds for miles over the desert sands; anyway, in two hours after he takes his out of the hot water he has a baby palo verde about an inch tall and growing lustily. He must talk to 'em or something.

He has trees there fifteen feet tall from cuttings planted last February, (this is written in November, 1937). Not palo verdes, of course, but Thornber cottonwoods, the kind that are too polite to make you sneeze with cotton. Dean J. J. Thornber of the University of Arizona talked them out of their bad habits. Once upon a time a cottony old reprobate slipped and produced a freak child-a sport shoot. He grabbed it and from this developed a new species with no cotton, and elegent habits; a service worthy of more appreciation than most desert dwellers have shown so far. Be that as it may, there are now rows and rows of these handsome trees ready to take their places in the sun by the side of the road, the nieest fast-grownig tree that ever stood up to the wind.

The dancing leaves of 600 assorted poplars are now flirting ardently with the passersby on the Valley highways and hundreds of sub-debs are practicing the enticing art in the nursery in anticipation of an early debut. The desert or flowering willow is there, too, only it isn't a willow at all but is the chilopsis linearis of the family Bignomaceae; also about 3000 other desert species in varying numbers.

There's just no end to the list, it seems, and, so far, the multitudes of shrubs and the thousands of transplanted cacti have been left unmentioned. It's a shame too, to ignore miles of oleanders, buddliae, and that strange, fairy-like thing from Old Mexico, the Bird of Paradise, a senna, which blooms from seed in three months and just keeps on blooming with unquenchable enthusiasm. But there can be no doubt left even with so incomplete and superficial listing as has been made that the difficulties of roadside planting have been met and are being successfully overcome. Time must now be given a chance; it knows how to produce impressive changes. In this climate plants and trees grow very quickly and become dominant features in the landscape; the roadsides have an imposing future.

It is a stupendous job. They'll tell you out at the Highway Department that they have hardly made a start on the things they are planning to do. Bear in mind that the work is going on simultaneously all over the state and new ramifications are continually presenting themselves. For instance, in the less desert parts proper species can be planted and, more or less, left to the care of the seasons, but this is not true, to any extent, in the really arid sections, exactly where growing things are most needed and appreciated. Irrigation ditches aren't found everywhere and tank trucks can't follow all the highways. Something else had to be done, so those in charge worked their way around the difficulty in a very clever manner. Beginning in January of 1937 they are offering free trees and shrubs to filling station owners and others living along the highway on the simple agreement that proper care be given(Continued on Page 24)

Do You Love Your Neighbors

(Continued from Page 15) courage, their integrity of purpose, and their unquenchable persistence build for them a character admirable and worthy of imitation. They fit their world, not because they have revolutionized it, but because they have, through ingenuity and adaptability, overcome its obstacles.No matter what else must be done, they concentrate first on getting their roots adequately set. They do not crowd nor allow themselves to be crowded. Neither do they put an undue value on appearances, and the reason they never look shabby nor discouraged is because they are too sensibly busy getting their own tremendous work done well to fly into panics over minor fluctuations of supply and demand, or to go on a bust and squander their resources in times of plenty. They have no vanities, and are never ashamed of their age. They make the best of the situation, take every blow standing up; and, if forced, hand all aggressors such pointed resistance that it is the other fellow who regrets the tooclose contact.

In season, the loveliness of their blooms reveals their intense gratitude for thelife which is theirs. The most pampered pet of the green houses cannot eclipse the glory of the merest waif of the desert. They are never flamboyant nor gaudy, their beauty lies in their delicacy and exquisite detail, and their flair for color combinations. Their fruits are concentrated gifts offered without ostentation and with humility to Mother Nature who has stood guard through the ages as their character has developed to its present strength.

Another notable personality of the desert is the Ocatillo. First of all, it is necessary to state flatly that the Ocatillo is not a cactus, although it has been mistaken for one so many times, even in print, that it could set up such a claim through weight of opinion if it were not more interesting without any prestige the cactus could give it. It belongs to one of the smallest plant families in the world, the Fouquieria splendens, which has only one genus and very few species, perhaps three at most. It is a multiform tree, and there is nothing else that grows at all like it.

The bloom of the Ocatillo is a plume at the end of the stiff, whip-like branch. Many hundreds of separate trumpet-like flowers crowd the stem to form the long panicle, each flower complete and exquisite in itself.

Early spring on the desert is glorified with the burning ember tips of the Ocatillo, as it ushers in the long pageant of months of the desert summer.

HULLY CHEE

Burbank crossed a lemon withAn apple, so they say; He crossed a grape fruit with A loganberry;But, the guy who crossed the track When the train was speeding back, Is now "crossed" at theVILLAGE CEMETERY!

March of the Palms

them; the necessary supervision always retained by the state.

Gradually the more progressive desert dwellers are availing themselves of this provision and the long stretches of featureless desert driving are mercifully disappearing. The traveler finds increasing numbers of inviting spots where he may pull off to the side of the road comfortably, with shade to protect him from the zealous Arizona sun and with blooms to cheer him on his way. Where ever possible, parks of sizable proportions are being developed with seats and drink ing water available. Shades of the prai rie schooners! What next?

All this planting and hard work is modestly designated by the Highway Department simply as roadside improve ment. They don't approve of any fancy names or ideas getting mixed up with it. The object is thus stated by Mr. Guirey: "Roadside improvement falls into several distinct major classifications, which in terlock to form a constructive whole. Broadly speaking these classifications are safety, soil conservation, simplification of maintenance, and, lastly, the introduction of interest from the stand point of the driver, in highway construc tion." I'll say it "introduces interest from the standpoint of the driver," who will spontaneously use a few words Mr. Guirey seems to avoid; to him it's all a miracle of beautification. It's all in the point of view.

The doctor cuts a big gash in your anatomy, fools around a bit inside, then sews you up with a few odds and ends of silver wire and whatnot. He calls it a beautiful operation. But the poor devil with the scar will probably call it all the names his early training will permit. All on account of the point of view. Throw all these points of view into reverse. The landscapers see their achievement as a plain, intensely practical job of work, but to the man in the car, too grateful to stop to analyze causes and effects, what he sees must always be a systematic broadcasting of beauty on a scale never before dreamed of in Arizona. And I hope it goes on forever.

PHOENIX BLUE PRINT CO.

WRICO LETTERING GUIDES Murder on the Far Horizon

Continued from Page 19) tioned terms and conditions, and that "subsequently, in the spring of 1861, the mill and appurtenances were burned and rendered wholly useless by United States troops, as a military measure, who im mediately thereupon withdrew from the country.". Grant was stated to have left about the same time for parts unknown, and the mill site then came into the posession of Gerald M. Jones.

Court days came and wentimportant events in the Old Pueblo, even though the docket contained mainly civil ас tions, which seem, in these remote and complex days, to have been of a minor nature. Not so then, however.

No doubt there were homicides perpetrated in self-defense and other slay ings of the kind which were spoken of in the parlance of the day as "honest shootings." But when the district court convened for the fall term in 1870, two years after the trial of Dolores Moore, the second such trial recorded in the ancient Journal began, on November 21st, when Anthony Dorman entered a plea of not guilty to the charge of murder.

Judge John Titus mounted the bench, a jury was selected, and seven days were devoted to a hearing of the merits of the case, which appear not to have been in the defendant's favor. On the 30th day of the month this verdict was rendered: "We, the jurors, find the prisoner guilty of murder."

Being returned to the court-room on December 12th for sentencing, the pris oner heard Judge Titus speak these dole ful words: "It is considered and ad judged by the Court that the said An thony Dorman be hanged by the neck until he is dead." No date was given for the execution, nor does the frag mentary record name Dorman's victim. The case is closed with the terse nota tion: "Court was adjourned to Monday, the 16th day of January, A. D. 1871." The frontier press of the time states that Dorman was eventually freed upon ap peal to the supreme court.

Two more years elapse before another accused slayer is brought to book in the Tucson court-room. The defendant in this case was John Willis, who was arrested on December 6, 1872, on a war rant issued on a coroner's verdict charg ing he "murdered Robert Swope of Adamsville which was situated on the Gila River, near the present site of Flor ence), Pima county, on the 29th of No vember last."

Willis had a reputation of being a killer and has been charged by sensa tional writers with having slain eight men, before he himself collided with fa tality at the hands of a justice-seeking citizenry.