TWO ARIZONA SCENES

CHRISTMAS COMES TO THE SOUTHWEST

(Continued from Page 13) Christmas beautifying plan they decided to carry on when spring came. Lawns were raked and sown in grass. Hundreds of trees were planted along the streets and around the houses, and almost every house had its small vegetable garden lurking behind the rows of old fashioned flowers. That all sounds very easy, but how many of my readers have tried to have a lawn and flowers and garden with water hauled fifty miles in tank cars and apportioned out like a much more precious fluid? I have, for many years, and to me there is something very courageous and admirable in the fact that per serverance has turned the little town into a place of green, inviting beauty.

Leaving my Arizona Indians to get along without me for one Christmas I turned my car toward our sister state and headed for the little town of Madrid. Night crept over the plains and Mexican shepherds were rounding up their flocks into protected coves where they would be safe until morning, when I left the paved highway and turned on to a smooth graveled road which a sign told me leads into the valley where Madrid lies. Perhaps a thousand people live there in that bituminous coal country, and even the children just old enough to cut colored paper and pop corn are given their share of the decorating. No money is spent for anything it is possible to make. On the Sunday before December 15th between two hundred and fifty and three hundred men give their day to rest to this decorating scheme. There are forty thousand lights to be placed so that each one's twinkle will show to best ad vantage. There is the trip to be made to the Santa Fe National Forest to se-cure the big tree for the center of things that will hold all the gifts distributed on Christmas morning. The United States Forest Service freely provides the central tree as well as small individual ones for the entire town. There is the big dance hall to be decorated by the younger group, for here on Christmas Eve the guitar and violin vie with the big outdoor broadcast, and dozens of young folks dance the whole night through.

cure the big tree for the center of things that will hold all the gifts distributed on Christmas morning. The United States Forest Service freely provides the central tree as well as small individual ones for the entire town. There is the big dance hall to be decorated by the younger group, for here on Christmas Eve the guitar and violin vie with the big outdoor broadcast, and dozens of young folks dance the whole night through.

To the men fall the task of building frames, setting the stage and stringing electric wires. The women paint and dress the figures appearing in the scenes, and in the school rooms the children and teachers make wreaths of colored paper and string miles of cranberries and pop corn. They sew stockings to be filled with goodies for the big tree, and they festoon their school room windows with gay homemade decorations.

There are always a hundred odd jobs popping up to confound the undertakers of this huge project. A few years ago so anxious were the sponsors to have a perfect pageant they employed a well known Santa Fe artist to construct the art scenes. His touch is discernable in Toyland. Somehow the simple fact that the villagers envisioned and executed the entire scheme themselves as a work of love gave an added charm to the scheme for me. It is to be hoped that the ones behind this grand idea do not grow too artistic in their zeal.

The simple little sign at the forks of the road does nothing to prepare the visitor for the amazing spectacle that lies in the valley. Twenty miles from the highway the whole story is written in flaming symbols. "This is the Place Where the Christ Child Lives!" That is the one thought possible when one pauses at the top of the hill and looks on Modern Bethlehem.

Because the air was filled with my favorite Christmas Carol when I first saw the town below me, I stopped my car and listened: "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem How still we see thee lie Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by."

This was Bethelem! Literally transplanted from the pages of St. Luke, the Three Wise Men rode majestically across the hill behind the town. A great soft star hung quivering in the East, its warm friendly light spilling down on the roofs of the little settlement. Could this possibly be the drab workaday coal town that shimmered and fainted in the heat of mid-summer when I last visited it? Tonight with the thousands of colored lights pouring softly over everything and the beautiful old anthems coming from two hidden loud speakers back in the hills it was a place set aside for dreams and memories.

But I released my brakes and let the car drift silently down into the brightly lighted main street. The music had changed and a hearty "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" greeted the first visitors of the season. Forty-nine weeks of each year Madrid is merely the place you order coal. But from the fifteenth of December until the seventh of January, it is Childhood's Dream come true.

Literally thousands of cars filled with eastern visitors, who are wintering in the Southwest, visit Madrid and its streets look like the Great White Way at theatre hour. There is no charge for the show and the Committee has prepared a program which gives the beautiful old story of the Nativity, and tells about each lighted group that appears in the series. People all over the world have carried these souvenir programs home with them.

The chimes of the church joined softly in the Christmas Chorus as I parked my car and wandered up the street. Darkness had deepened until nothing remained of Southwestern United States, and I was transported to the Land of Judea, back in the troublous times when tax collectors invited Joseph and Mary to meet them, personally, in Bethlehem around the year four B. C. or thereabouts.

Etched against the dark curtain of night appeared the walls of the ancient city, and approaching them a weary traveler leads a donkey on which is outlined the drooping figure of Mary. It was the end of the long journey from Nazareth-and there was no room in the Inn. The lights fade and the approaching group is gone to appear on the other side of the walled city, fleeing from a dream of death to their manchild. For a few minutes the lights twinkle and wink giving the illusion of motion to the Holy Family. Then, they too, fade from sight.

Deepening into form a group of angels spread their wings over a plaza in the center of the town and the rays of the Star seem to shine directly down upon that spot. Just as shepherds of old left their sheep to follow the Star, we moderns followed it now The Manger was there. How can a 'dobe shed, a pile of straw, a live burro, some placid sheep and a group of waxen figures crowd the things we think so important into the limbo of forgotten thoughts? I don't know. I only know the whole world faded into a valueless background and there was only one thing that existedthe Birthplace of Christ!

For the space of several breaths I stood there entered. In the Catacomb of the old Monastery in Georgetown the brownrobed fathers depict the Nativity each year, but they should come to Madrid to study effects. With the unlimited money and materials at their command they cannot capture the elusive spirit that hovers over this unknown town whose little plaza is indeed the Nativity. The burro sighed contentedly and a sheep settled itself for sleep. I stared intently at the Holy Family firmly convinced that The Child would whimper or his Mother Mary croon a low lullaby. Illusion, of course. But of just such moments are composed Life's worthwhile visions.

Kneeling in front of the Christ Child shepherds worship humbly, and Three Wise Men offer their precious gifts. Angels float into sight and out again and the Evershining Star lights the Manger. "Silent Night, Holy Night, All is calm, all is bright, Round that Virgin Mother and Child," one hundred and fourteen years ago in a little Austrian town, where the name of Christ is no longer permitted to be heard, Franz Gruber wrote that song, but it might well have been the original Song of the Angels as they appeared-peared to the shepherds on the Hills of Judea, so fitting it is to this night. Whoever planned the musical portion of the program knew full well that music plays an important part in stirring human emotions. And that the old, old songs we heard and sang in our childhood put us in the receptive mood necessary to appreciate this transportation into reality.

With an effort I tore myself away from the Manger and wandered dreamily down the fairy street. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs could well spend their vacation from the screen here on this street. An airplane roared in the sky, but it was "grounded" figuratively speaking. Its efforts expended themselves in turning a propeller outlined in colored lights, and gently moving its white lighted wings. Santa Claus, bless him, came urging his gallant reindeer into town. "On Donner and Blitzen!" The jolly old scamp was like a lettter from home. How many many Christmas Eves I wasted sitting bolt upright in front of the open fireplace waiting to greet him! And now, he came riding right into myarms three thousand miles and a million years after I quit expecting him. Life is like that.

All at once, so close beside me I almost jumped out of my shoes, The Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe blazed out into the night. What a Shoe! And what an Old Lady! Little Boy Blue, not waiting for the cows to trample the corn, shrilly blew his whistle and Popeye the Sailor Man must have sailed there on a non-existent sea far from any authentic ocean. My old friend of nursery days bobbed up to give me the glad eye-Peter, Peter Pump-kin Eater. I always wanted to ask how long he kept his poor wife in the pumpkin shell, but before I could gather my wan-dering wits Mickey Mouse pranced across a neighboring patio and I followed him. I soon decided he and Popeye were too modern for me, and I turned to watch the real little train running on a genuine track around and around the town. A whistle blows and sparks fly upward to the delight of its load of passengers.

Seeking a quiet place to sit and digest some of the amazing things I'd seen I turned into a doorway that led into a spacious schoolroom with its windows gayly festooned with wreaths and pop-corn chains. The great fireplace was ready for Santa's visit, stockings all hung and everything. Two anxious children were on hands and knees peering up the chimney. Here, for the first time, I missed the holly and fragrant hemlock and spruce we use to decorate houses and churches in the South. And the green leav-ed mistletoe with its white waxy berries were absent too. There must be some-thing in mental telepathy for just as I thought of Christmas greens the big con-cealed loudspeaker broke loose with

"Christmas in the land of fir tree and pine,

Christmas in land of the palm tree and vine,

Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white,

Christmas where cornfields are sunny and bright.

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight."

Christmas everywhere, but for the moment it all seemed to be bottled up in that small mining town.

Out again into the street, slowly up one side and down the other with the crowd enjoying the brilliant and unique display on private homes. One of the most striking of these was a big basket overflowing with colored electric light bulbs which formed American Beauty roses, clusters of poppies and tulips. It wouldn't have surprised me to meet a wave of Three Flowers perfume, or else something fully as impressive and expensive. These Madrid folks have active imaginations.

High over the town the Catholic church lifts its Cross, symbol of Christianity throughout the ages. The rugged building is outlined in white lights and the blood red cross stands out with startling vividness. Into this Ancient Southwest centuries ago the Church sent its Cross and the blood of its martyrs was shed, perhaps, on this very spot.

Back once more to the Nativity for one last peaceful look before braving the miles back to the Twentieth Centruy. Touching the soft nose of the dozing burro I stood watching the angels float into sight and fade again into the darkness. The burro took advantage of my kindness and peacefully leaned against me while he continued his nap

MODERN ARIZONA IRRIGATORS

able forms of frozen meat or finished animals ready for the block.

Agriculture and mining furnish the markets for Arizona's lumbering industry, as the mining and lumber camps furnish important markets for products of the farms. All are interdependent; but the one, without which the others could not exist in anything like their present magnitude, is agriculture. And agriculture could not exist without irrigation. Why irrigate? Even today, millions of farmers in the East and Midwest assume that irrigation is a mere supplementary means of increasing production over what it would be if crops were grown with no moisture except what falls from the sky. In the early days of the depression the manager of one of our large irrigation projects went to Washington to arrange a loan to enable the farmers to pay their annual assessments for opera-tion and maintenance of the system. He explained to a Senate committee how some of the farmers were so hard hit by low crop prices they could not meet their assessments. If they did not pay, the entire burden would be thrown upon the others; the others could not bear it, and all would be without water.

A pompous and impatient Senator from the Atlantic seaboard glared at the manager. "Then let them get along without water for a season or two," he snorted. "Everybody has to do without something in times like these."

Indeed! The average annual rainfall in Salt River Valley, for instance, is 7.9 inches. The minimum amount of water with which crops can be successfully produced is three acre-feet. That is, enough water, in addition to the scant and uncer-tain rainfall, to cover each acre under cultivation to a depth of three feet if applied all at once. It takes the runoff from 4,000,000 acres of forested mountains to water less than 300,000 acres of farms in Maricopa county. If this seems like a great deal of moisture, remember that it requires from 400 to 1,000 pounds of water to produce a single pound of dry vegetable matter.

tain rainfall, to cover each acre under cultivation to a depth of three feet if applied all at once. It takes the runoff from 4,000,000 acres of forested mountains to water lass than 300,000 acres of farms in Maricopa county. If this seems like a great deal of moisture, remember that it requires from 400 to 1,000 pounds of water to produce a single pound of dry vegetable matter.

Mankind's dependence upon a water supply for domestic purposes, and also for irrigation in arid regions, was never more strikingly expressed than by Charles K. Cooperrider and Glenton Sykes in a recent University of Arizona publication. Referring to the irrigated valleys along the Salt and Gila, they write: Modern irrigators built well to hold and store water from the mountains.

"Their importance cannot be judged alone by population, wealth, or products. For round about each spot revolves the economic and social life of a much larger, less productive, and sparsely settled area. Thus the irrigated spots may be considered the nerve centers from which radiate human-betterment influences, and from which may also spread social paralysis wherever man fails in this modern conquest of the desert."

Arizona, without the ingenious and scientific application of a limited water supply to as much land as that water can make productive, would be pretty much as it was in the third quarter of the last century. Some mining, considerable livestock, a little lumbering, a population of less than a quarter of a million instead of nearly three times that many. With few improved roads, perhaps no transcontinental highway at all, our worldfamed scenic wonders would be known to scores where they are now known to millions.

For most of the progress achieved we must give thanks to the National Reclamation Act, passed by the Congress of the United States, June 17, 1902. It is doubtful if any other law adopted in this nation exerted such profound and permanent effects upon so many people or upon such a large portion of its domain.

Certainly there was irrigation in Arizona before the National Reclamation Act. There was irrigation in Arizona before Magna Carta. But successful irrigation, in all but a few small localities, depends upon storage of water in years of comparatively heavy rainfall for use in dry years. This requires capital in such amounts and upon such terms as can be had only from the federal government. Until we began to store water, it was possible for only a few farmers to plan a permanent agricultural program with certainty. Most of them never knew how much water there was going to be. In the report of the governor for 1901, we find that there were 4,210 irrigated farms in Arizona with a total area of 558,821 acres; but only 261,020 of those acres, an average of 62 to the farm, had been irrigated in the preceding year. In all In probability much of that land was only partially irrigated, wet once or twice to grow a crop that would be accounted a failure by standards of 1938.

Today, when we say that we have approximately 660,000 acres of irrigated farms in Arizona, we mean that 660,000 acres are under constant irrigation, most of it with a supply adequate for maximum production. For water is conserved, regulated, released from reservoirs or pumped from wells as needed. Many farms have both "gravity water" which may or may not be from storage reservoirs, and pumps that are operated in times of shortage. Only a small percentage is dependent on unregulated stream flow alone, and projects now under consideration will take care of all that really needs storage.

Therefore Arizona is a land where crop failures are unknown. Without the weather hazards that afflict nearly all other agriculture areas, with the drought hazard removed, with the process of uniting water and rich soil developed to a fine art of skill and science, Arizona sets records in per acre production that astonish the world.

It must be admitted that Nature has co-operated generously in making this possible. By an accident of topography, runoff from its rainfall is concentrated largely in the Gila, Salt and Little Colorado rivers, and their tributaries. Along those streams are numerous storage sites; places where a dam only a few hundred feet long between high natural walls will hold the flow to form a lake that may be miles wide, many miles long. Beneficent Nature has also provided great underground reservoirs. Deep "troughs" such as Salt River Valley, Casa Grande Valley, Sulphur Springs Valley, have in ages past been filled with gravel, sand and clay brought down from the mountains. This detrital "valley fill" has absorbed surface waters until it is saturated with water that is there to be pumped up and used on the surface. Hundreds and hundreds of pumps are operated with electricity generated by passing stored water through turbines on its way to the farms below. Thus irrigation begets irrigation.

The necessity for storage, if Arizona was ever to attain its full agricultural possibilities, was perceived by the earliest settlers. Private corporations attempted several storage projects, with unhappy results. One of the worst disasters in Arizona history was the breaking of the Walnut Grove dam, in the Hassayampa above Wickenburg; disastrous not only to those who lost their lives, but also to the farmers who depended on the water impounded, and to stockholders who had invested in the enterprise.

Dams failed in those times because the builders lacked the knowledge that time and experience have brought their successors, because they had to work without concrete and structural steel, but most of all because they lacked capital to build strongly enough to withstand the fury of maximum floods. Pumps faiied because the modern deep-well turbine was yet to be invented. Surface reservoirs could not be created; and the underground reservoirs, whose existence was then scarcely suspected, could not be utilized.

So the date of June 17, 1902, the day upon which President Theodore Roosevelt signed the National Reclamation Act, stands out as the most momentous date in the annals of Arizona. Ten years later, Statehood changed her political status; Reclamation changed her destiny.

Arizona had played a leading part in the long fight for a law which would authorize the expenditure of federal funds in placing water upon the arid lands of the West. With the statute finally enacted, and almost before a riotous celebration in Phoenix was over, Arizona was first to lay a completely planned, feasible project before the Reclamation Service (now the Bureau of Reclamation). This was a project to serve Salt River Valley, where some 180,000 acres were under cultivation. It had been thoroughly demonstrated that the soil would produce abundantly when irrigated; yet on all but land with the very oldest "water rights," farming was precarious and intermittent. An ideal damsite was available, enthusiastically approved by U. S. Geological Survey engineers.

All these arguments had much weight with the Reclamation Service heads, who naturally wished their initial undertaking to be an outstanding success. But a hitch arose. Some held that as the Act was worded, projects could be undertaken only for the benefits of new lands, not for lands already in private ownership. It was finally ruled that Salt River Valley was eligible, a policy decision of inestimable import to every arid state.

In the name of the United States the Reclamation Service took title to the damsite at the junction of Tonto Creek and Salt River, 76 miles east of Phoenix, discovered in 1889. With much red fire and a torchlight parade, Phoenix greeted the news that construction of the dam had been authorized.

One of the necessary preliminaries was the building of a road to the site. That is how the Apache Trail, known the world over for its scenic grandeur, came into being. Over that steep, precipitous, twisting mountain road-roughly following an old route which the Apaches traveled in making their forays against desert tribes mule teams hauled materials, machinery, provisions, a complete cement plant, lumber for a town that destroyed itself by erecting a dam that buried it under many feet of water when the gates were closed. The last stone was laid on February 6, 1911, and on March 11 ex-President Roosevelt dedicated the dam that had been given his name. Never since has any event in Arizona been attended by so much enthusiasm. Arizonans realized that for them a new era had begun, although they could not foresee all the changes that had been set in motion.

When the first stone was laid it was estimated that the dam would cost $3,000,000, and nothing more was contemplated. But one thing led to another. Soon it be came plain that the Reclamation Service had a hydroelectric project on its hands, as well as an irrigation project. Since an eager market was waiting, it would be a sinful waste not to generate power with that stored water and use the revenue to reduce the cost of delivering water to the farmers. So a generating plant was installed at the base of the dam; a canal, heading 20 miles up Salt River, was built to augment the power output by dropping water through the penstock under a pressure of 280 feet; a transmissionline was built to Phoenix. That first power investment was $2,741,000, and later it was greatly increased.

It was perceived that the water distribution system, as well as the storage dam, must be owned by the farmers and operated under one management. So the canal system in the valley was bought but improved at a cost of $604,000. Wells were drilled and pumps installed that cost $126,000, to provide still more water. A permanent diversion dam-flood-proof concrete and steel replacing brush and lumber was built at Granite Reef, 25 miles east of Phoenix.

All this raised the initial project to $10,000,000 and inevitably led to charges of extravagance. Some of these may have been justified, for Reclamation on a grand scale was something new in the world, there were few precedents to go by, and much of the work was ex-perimental. Later irrigation works may have been constructed more economically; but years before any other project was completed, Salt River Valley was reaping golden benefits from flood waters that formerly flowed away unchecked.

In 1917 the Reclamation Service turned over the project to the farmers; or, rather, to their co-operative Salt River Valley Water Users' Association, which has served as a model for similar organization of land owners in all the other federally financed irrigation districts. They soon met new problems and embarked on further expansions of service and facilities. By a court decree in 1919 they were forced to include 23,000 additional acres; this, with previous extensions, raised the net acreage to 242,000. There was not sufficient gravity water from the Salt and Verde for so much land, and in 1923 the shortage was remedied by a pump installation program which did not cease until there were 188 pumps drawing on the subterranean river that flows under the valley at the rate of one or two miles a year.

These pumps served another purpose equally important. Under steady irrigation the "water table" rose gradually in certain parts of the valley where natural underground drainage was inadequate. At one time 22,000 acres were out of production because the water stood on the surface, or so near it that plant roots were drowned. Another reason why crops could not grow there was that the moisture, rising by capillary attrac-tion, brought up soil salts that were deposited on the surface as the moisture evaporated, until some once fertile farms were "alkali flats."

The pumps brought the water table down to its natural level, or even below. Water flooded abundantly over the "alkalized" land reversed the former process by carrying the soil salts below the root zone. Farming was resumed.

Necessity for more reservoir capacity, more power, and better regulation of irrigation flow to be had only with storage nearer the point of diversion, led to the building of three supplementary dams below Roosevelt. Horse Mesa, Mormon Flat and Stewart Mountain dams, they are called; their combined cost was $8,301,000, not counting betterments and "completions" carried out in 1937-38. With Roosevelt dam they form a continuous 66-mile chain of beautiful mountain lakes, nestling amid some of the most majestic and colorful scenery to be viewed in America. To the people of central Arizona their recreational value vies with their utilitarian value. When full they contain 1,790,000 acre-feet of water.

At each of these dams another power plant was constructed. Four times the water is used to produce current, and some of it is used a fifth time at smaller plants along the canals in the valley. Hydroelectric generating capacity of theproject has mounted to 103,000 horsepower. Just this year the Association built at Tempe a 15,000-horsepower Diesel plant, burning fuel oil. It is supposed to be a "stand-by," operated only in case of emergency, but demand is so great that it is running day and night.

At the start the power department's current was all sold to mines of the Globe-Miami district and to cities and towns of Salt River Valley. Lines have been gradually extended until now the Water Users' Association serves numerous farm homes, irrigation pumps, cotton gins and other industrial plants in Pinal county.

Members of the Association demanded the convenience and economy of electricity in their homes and in farm operations. In 1929 a $1,200,000 "electrification project gram" was consummated which made current available to every farm in the project. The farmers serve electricity to themselves, charge themselves the same rates their other customers pay. Profits go toward project operation, bond payments, and interest. It is conceivable that after all or most of the bonds have been retired, power will pay all the costs and the farmers will receive their water free.

The transformation effected by electricity in the daily lives and habits of thousands of families was only one of many results unforeseen when Uncle Sam more or less agreed to spend $3,000,000 on an irrigation dam out in Arizona.

With their power system paying big dividends in comfort and cash, and all the dams they could possibly use on the Salt River, every dream of the farmer had come true except one. That was storage on the Verde, which empties into the Salt just above Granite Reef. They had always used the water of the Verde, before drawing on their storage; but sometimes the flow was more than their canals would carry, and sometimes the floods came when water was not needed.

Other interests, however, had the idea of storing Verde water and irrigating new lands. A long controversy ensued. Finally the Water Users' Association not only won title to all the Verde's flow, but also financial backing to realize on the victory.

A $6,000,000 loan was obtained from the United States, running forty years and bearing no interest. A third of this, roughly, was expended in making improvements and completing spillways at the Salt River dams. The other $4,000,000 is going into a new dam at the Bartlett site on the Verde, fifty miles northeast of Phoenix, scheduled for completion next May. The reservoir will have a capacity of only 200,000 acre-feet, but engineers say that not another drop of Verde water need be lost if that reservoir is always drawn upon before the ones on Salt River.

The engineers also say that with the Bartlett dam in commission, Salt River Valley will come the nearest to having a "100% water supply" of any irrigated section on the face of the globe. It will be prepared, as nearly as human ingenuity, vision and industry can prepare, for any conceivable drought.

We also have the word of the U. S. Bureau of Reclamation that Salt River Valley is its "show project," physically and economically the most successful of all its enterprises. The original federal debt of $10,000,000 has been reduced below $3,000,000. On no payment to the Government or to private bondholders have the farmers ever defaulted-a record without parallel in the history of Reclamation. (To be continued)

ALONG THE HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS GOOD LUCK TO JIM WHEELER:

One day early last month, M. L. Wheeler moved into the City Hall of Phoenix, seated himself behind a large desk, proceeded to take up the management of the largest city in the state of Arizona. City Manager Wheeler left the Arizona highway department upon the behest of the Phoenix City Commission to run the town's affairs.

His resignation tendered the Arizona highway commission was reluctantly accepted. Reason: the Arizona highway commission did not relish the idea of losing a valued, trusted and competent employeAs secretary to the commission and comptroller of the highway department since January 30, 1937, Jim Wheeler rendered valuable, faithful services to the citizens of the state. Before being elevated to the secretaryship, he was chief accountant for the highway department for four years. In Jim Wheeler is combined ability with a personality that has endeared him to his fellow employes of the highway department.

Jim Wheeler took into the offices of the city manager of Phoenix all good wishes from the Arizona highway department.

FIRST VALLEY OF THE SUN PHOTOGRAPHIC SALON:

The back cover of this issue calls attention to the fact that the first Valley of the Sun Photographic Salon will be held at Hotel Adams, Phoenix, February 1st to 28th, 1939.

The salon is sponsored by The Arizona Pictorialists.

The invitation for the submission of pictorial photographs reads as follows: "The Salon Committee of the Arizona Pictorialists takes great pleasure in extending this invitation to you to submit prints to be judged by the Jury of Selection of the First Valley of the Sun Photographic Salon, to be exhibited on the mezzanine floor of the Hotel Adams, Phoenix, Arizona, from February 1st to 28th, 1939. We offer this Salon as our contribution to the furtherance of Pictorial Photography, and are happy to announce that our Jury of Selection will be composed of three noted Arizona pictorialists, who have long been associated with Salon Photography. They are: Forman Hanna, Globe, Arizona, F.R.P.S.; Norman Rhodes Garrett, Prescott, Arizona, F.R.P.S.; and W. M. Tillery, now residing in Los Angeles, California."

Prints have already been received from residents of all parts of continental North America, including Canada and Mexico, according to Tom Imler, Jr., chairman of the Salon Committee. Other members of the committee are: O. P. Sanderson and Marvin Deshler.

Prints must reach the committee on or before January 15, 1939.

The Arizona Pictorialists was organized in 1931 by a group of Arizona residents interested in photography. Starting out with 20 members, the club now has a membership of 65.

They state in their announcement of the first Valley of the Sun Salon: "Our natural surroundings are of such great variety and beauty as to make the heart of any pictorialist glad. In the spring the rolling desert is covered with millions of blooming cacti, the majestic sahuaro with its waxen white bloom, the flowering candle-like yucca, the strange and beautiful night-blooming cereus, and many other strange, wonderful plants. Only a short distance from this desert wonderland are snowcovered, pine-clad mountains with beautiful streams and lakes. We have near us always such wonders as the Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest, Cliff Dwellings, extinct volcanos, ice caves and the great Boulder dam.

"Is it strange then with this surrounding atmosphere, that our members are inspired to make pictures that hang in many of the world's salons? We extend our invitation to you to visit us here and view our Salon. While so much of the rest of the world is covered with snow in winter the warm friendly