Tall Woman

WIND puffed through a broken windowpane causing the oil lamp to sputter uncertainly at his elbow as Nocki-Sonne thumbed the worn pages of his one cashbook. The Post was cold. the old man shivered and again the index finger paused at an item. Another blast from across the desert prompted him to move the lamp closer. Bits of a Yei-bi-chi chant from some lone rider of the waste were borne to his ear on the chill wind and he paused momentarily to listen. Then he continued penciling his notes on the ledger. "Old Mexican," as the Navajo called him, was dark of visage, keen eyed but kindly, stern but far too lenient with his horde of Indians but enjoyed their respect and friendship through a lifetime on the desert. Host to presidents, senators, noted folk from out the land, Nocki-Sonne boasted of never having charged for lodging or a single meal at his post and his fame as a benefactor of the Navajo spread far and beyond the confines of his desert domain, and, NockiSonne loved it all. "Let's see," the old man mused, scanning his accounts in the dimly-lit room, "here's Many Goats poor wool crop can't pay. Well, fifty dollars ain't much anyway "Various similar comments were made regarding the hundreds of Indians who owed him as he turned the pages."Wonder how Tall Woman is?" he wondered, stopping at the woman's account. Another vicious blast through the windowpane and a door slammed, vibrating through the room. "Must be getting old now," and he pictured Tall Woman as a little girl he had seen win ning the squaw's race as a little girl long ago. How straight she had sat her pinto, he remembered pretty too, "Might even have married her," he ventured inwardly, "other white men married squaws," and the two had remained fast friends throughout the tragic years in the desert. Once more the trader cocked his white head toward the broken windowpane, the better to get those last high-pitched notes of the red singer. Finally the notes came, then the dog-like barks near the Nocki-Sonne smiled wearily as the familiar song finished, blew out the light and shuffled through the dark room toward a loud knock sounded at the front door, startling him ! It was not a Navajo, he knew, for the Indians always coughed when they wanted admittance at night, never knocked. Yes, this must be a white man, so he called out The answer came back a rider wanting to give him a message, so he opened the front door and stepped out into the starlit night. A cowboy stood there. He had ridden far, the old man could see "NockiSonne, howdy?", the rider said. "Well as usual-happy as ever," NockiSonne replied. "I've a strange message for you," began the cowboy. "A woman 'way over in the deep canyon to the north asked me to tell you to come over there and bury her on the tenth day from now No. Not ten days from now," he corrected, "but ten days from the day before yesterday." Nocki-Sonne made no comment as he stepped quickly inside the door, struck a match and carefully examined a fly-specked calendar hanging on the adobe wall. "Leaves me just eight days from tonight," replied the trader in matter-offact tone. "I know just what you're going to tell me. she doesn't want the coyotes to gnaw her bones, so I'm to go and bury her. That's it, ain't it?".

Above the scraggy brush of the desert when the dusky chiefs, head-men and people came pouring in. They came from the river-bottom, from the villages, from the weeds, from the grass, and possibly from the holes in the ground. On horseback and on foot they came; by twos and by threes, and by sixes and by dozens. Paint and

The Pioneers Left It To Us

Excellent library on Arizona and the Southwest, including many books now rare and out of print. The files are full of journals, newspapers, clippings, personal letters, reminiscences, diaries, and original manuscripts.

The museum and library are open daily from 1:30 to 4:30 p. m., excepting Sunday. In these few hours, thousands of people from all over the United States and foreign countries come to visit these interesting rooms each year. But there are hundreds of other people, many of them well known artists, writers, historians, newspapermen, research students and technicians of Hollywood studios, who use the filled and catalogued files as source material for stories, pictures, books and plays.

Research work done at the Historical Society made possible Clarence Buddington Kelland's story entitled Arizona, published recently in the Saturday Evening Post. The Columbia studio of Hollywood, preparing to convert Arizona into a movie, sent technicians to the Historical Society for photostatic copies of all the pictures and data there on Tucson during the Civil War period. This material is being used to construct a replica of the Old Pueblo in Tucson Mountain Park to serve as the setting for the movie, and to provide authentic characterization of the pioneers.

A few of the other well known writers using the Society's material are Ernest Haycox, Paul I. Wellman, Dr. Frank C. Lockwood, Walter Noble Burns, and Stewart Lake.

The Arizona Pioneers' Historical Society is more than fifty years old. In 1884, Charles D. Poston, whom historians have called the father of Arizona," issued a call to the men of the Territory asking them to come together to form a pioneer association "for historical and humanitarian purposes." On the night of January 31, 1884, over two hundred men assembled in the elaborate parlors of the Palace Hotel, in Tucson, then the finest hostelry in the Territory.

In these smoke-filled rooms of the Palace Hotel, the Society of Arizona Pioneers was organized. But most of the evening was spent in heated debate as to what constituted a pioneer. Poston suggested that nobody be admitted to the Society unless he had entered the Territory prior to the coming of the Southern Pacific railroad into Tucson in 1881, for, he said, "subsequent settlers can scarcely claim to be pioneers."

But many persons present considered this date insufficiently exclusive. As one of them expressed it, "the Society would then be open to the genus tramp who came as a pioneer on the brakes or railroad ties." This snobbish spirit wasimmediately squelched by E. W. Shortridge, who said, "Then all pioneers are tramps! I, myself, tramped into the Territory from the Hoosier State, and tramping was the common fate of most pioneers."

J. S. Mansfield objected to the wrangling in general and moved that the demarcation line be set at April 30, 1871, the day of the Camp Grant Massacre. "Gentlemen," spoke Mansfield, "it was a bloody year and I shall never forget it." William S. Oury, one of the Americans who led the mixed army to Camp Grant jumped to his feet. He berated those who spoke from hearsay about the Camp Grant Massacre, and said, "Another matter, I do not call the affair of 1871 a 'massacre.' It was a killing of Indians who were preying on us. As I was a participant, it grates upon my mind to call it a massacre. I have as much of the milk of human kindness as anyone and I do not consider what was simply a necessary defense against murderous Indians can be designated by the term heretofore mentioned."

Eventually it was decided by majority vote "that those who arrived in the Territory prior to January 1, 1870, be entitled to membership, and that all male children of such pioneers be also eligible to membership." This was a blow to quite a few men present, for many had entered the Territory via railroad. This group immediately withdrew to the sumptuous bar of the Palace Hotel and other drinking establishments available in Tucson and drowned their disappointments in aged bourbon.

Charles Poston, at the second meeting of the Society, again pleaded the cause of the left-out pioneers, this time trying to change the date to 1876. He was unanimously defeated and was so chagrined by his failure that he refused to participate further in the organization. However, a year later while he was United States Consul at Nogales, the Society elected him an honorary member, and he accepted graciously.

Over thirty-five men-leading names in Territorial life and history-became charter members. Phoenix was a little over a year old in 1870, the admission date to the Society, and Prescott was six years old, so these towns were scarcely represented. But many men from Yuma were eligible and Tucson had more than any other settlement.

Subsequently, other pioneers joined the original group, but they had to be proposed by a member and voted upon by all. Only persons who had given honorable and important service to the Territory were proposed. The following recommendation of Thomas Tidball for membership is self explanatory: "I, George O. Hand, do now nominate subject to the approval of the SocietyThomas T. Tidball, formerly of Company K, 5th Infantry, California Volunteers, for the simple fact of hisself and company going into the mountains near Tucson and absolutely killing a number of Indians estimated at least to have been eighty perhaps or more they were dead."

The Society of Arizona Pioneers was, from the day it was formed, an impressive and very influential organization. Its members were knit together in fraternal unity, they understood each other, and they were respected by the whole Territory. They busied themselves with the affairs of Arizona; but primarily, in what to most of them were the closing unity, they understood each other, and they were respected by the whole Territory. They busied themselves with the affairs of Arizona; but primarily, in what to most of them were the closing

A section of the Historical Society's library. Many relics of old Arizona are found here.

Death has taken all of the original members of the Society of Arizona Pioneers. Today, membership in the Society is open to those born in Arizona and over twenty-one years old, and those with thirty years residence in the state. Women are now also eligible. There are at present about five hundred members who come together each year in Tucson. A Board of Directors elected by the membership is the governing body. Mrs. George F. Kitt, whose father came to Arizona in 1874, and is herself a native of Florence, Arizona, is the present secretary of the museum and library. Due to her efforts and admistration most of the material has been catalogued and filed, and a wealth of new material is being added to the already vast collection. The members of the Historical Society have become even more energetic than their predecessors in gathering relics and papers of historical significance on Arizona and the Southwest.

years of very hard lives, they enjoyed being together. They celebrated every holiday and marched in every parade; they expressed themselves at length on many national problems and every single Indian question, and frequently memorialized congress. They set up funds to help needy pioneers and their families. They collected all materials available on the history of the settlement of Arizona, preserved and filed them away, and started what is now the important collections of the Historical Society. As, one by one, they passed on, the remaining members wrote elaborate eulogies to their departed comrades and filed them away for future generations. By an act of the Territorial Legislature in 1897, the Society of Arizona Pioner was renamed the Arizona Pioneers' Historical Society. A sum of three thousand dollars was donated to it by the Legislature, and in return the Society was asked that its museum and library always be available to the public. The state still gives partial support to the Society's work.

EXECUTION OF

DANIEL KELLY, OMER W. SAMPLE, JAS. HOWARD, DANIEL DOWD and WILLIAM DELANEY,

AT THE COURT HOUSE, TOMBSTONE, ARIZONA,

Italian Newsboy

(Continued from Page 8) Kee's monument was selected from the fields of Arizona by the publisher himself. With a screwdriver and chisel he cleaned it and selected the exact spot for the bronze plaque to be secured. "Quong Kee, Rest In Peace."

The meteoric rise of Giragi Brothers publishing company, under the leadership of the shrewd and kindly Columbus, was termed by the Tucson Star last Spring as an Arizona epoch. From floor men and linotype operators the brothers broke into the newspaper business as publishers and in about fifteen years owned a chain of weeklies whose total volume is surpassed probably by only one daily paper in the state.

Columbus P. Giragi was born in Congress Junction February 1, 1897. His parents moved to Tombstone in less than a year after his birth. He attended school there. He fought in the streets, sold newspapers, learned to trade, learned to be hard when life is hard.

His older brother, Carmel, went to work in the newspaper shop so, naturally, Columbus followed. In the back shop of the famous Tombstone Epitaph ne learned to "throw in." Throwing in is taking advertisement forms apart-rule by rule and line by line. He still teaches young boys that learn the trade under him to start with "throwing in." The mystery of the presses, type cases, and machinery were gradually unfolded to him.

Then came the day when Carmel and Columbus learned the paper was for sale. After brief consideration they plunged headlong into business. They were successes overnight. It was hard work, but Carmel was the front man and Columbus did everything in the back shop. And, too, brother George was coming along now and could help out.

In 1926 Bill Kelly, now publisher of the Graham County Guardian, offered Giragi Brothers several times over their original investment for the Epitaph. Not that Columbus would sell out on his home town, but there were rumors about the mines closing eventually and, as he said then and still repeats, "You never lose money selling at a profit."

Carmel couldn't see it. He wanted to stay in Tombstone, but Columbus' judgment won out. The Epitaph was sold.

The epoch had just begun.

In the summer of 1926 Giragi brothers took Winslow like Grant took Richmond. The railroaders of that town accepted the Italian family with open arms and open hearts. In a short time they were repeating witty sayings of Columbus, telling of the fool hardy nature that Carmel possessed, and laughing over the uproarious pranks for wnich young George was so well known.

The Winslow Daily Mail and the Chief Hotel became the property of Giragi Brothers. As a daily, the Mail was not a paying proposition, as a weekly, yes. So publication dates, advertising rates, and subscriptions were all changed. The Winslow Daily Mail became the "Winslow Mail, published every Friday, Carmel Giragi, Editor."

In September, 1927, the neighboring town of Holbrook was recovering from an oil scare. $100 a month rents were going back to $25. The get-rich-quick boys were selling out, bag and baggage. The few regular citizens who still had bean money were trying to bring together a community from the wake of the hectic gale that had just passed.

Again realizing that opportunity was knocking on the door, in fact only 32 miles east of Winslow on highway 66, Columbus and Carmel purchased the "Holbrook Tribune-News, published every Friday, Columbus Giragi, Editor."

Brother George worked into the pic ture in Winslow. Kid brother Louie got out of knee pants and began to look like backfield material for the Winslow High School Bulldogs when the first stark tragedy hit Giragi brothers company.

Carmel had been appointed to the state fair commission. As Wilson T. Wright, now corporation commissioner, then fair commissioner, said, "Carmel and I certainly liked those fair commission meetings. We used to call a meeting at the slightest provocation."

One snowy day in the winter of 1933 Carmel and Jack Irish, a pilot, left Winslow airport for Phoenix. A commission meeting had been called and Carmel couldn't wait for the train. A few miles out of Winslow the plane crashed in the face of a ninety mile headwind and both men were killed instantly.

Plunged into the abyss of grief, Columbus saw nothing ahead if he must go it alone. Carmel had been so close. Mrs. Columbus Giragi, the former Virginia Mars of Tombstone whom he married in 1921, says that at times she worried over his mind he was so heartbroken.

George became the editor of the Mail and Columbus oversaw both papers. Then the following August he secured a lease from the Breene estate and Giragi brothers became the publishers of the well known Coconino Sun. For eight years under Colonel Breene and his im-ported New York editor, Del Strong, it had been the first ranking weekly in the United States.

Columbus threw himself headlong into the work at hand. He drove himself to the task and tried to forget his sorrow in long hours of work.

The three-paper chain came along smoothly and by the Spring of 1938 Columbus, according to rumor, was look-ing for new worlds to conquer. In Phoe-nix the night of May 8 he was called to the telephone. He received a long dis-tance message from Winslow. George had fallen dead with a heart attack.

The world tumbled at his feet again. It's drive, drive again, work, push on, where to?

Employees love him. He will fly off the handle at an advertiser or customer but never at an employee. Contrary to what some believe he writes his own column, 'Sparks from the Grindstone," usually in Holbrook on Sunday morn-ing. All three papers carry the same column, front page mast high and the same editorials. He is a truly progres-sive editorial writer. He believes in unions and the New Deal, With so many things on his mind he is often inconsistent in remembering small items or details. In January, 1938, he sent his annual letter to all his friends that he was through with politics for-ever. In the fall he took the stump for every friend seeking election or re-elec-tion. He eats heartily, drives a car us-ually at 70 miles per hour, sleeps very poorly, but enjoys every minute of his full and exciting life. One quality he possesses with the great is a dynamo of energy while working. He employs no secretary, but one day answered 95 letters personally.

Many students are annually kept in Flagstaff State Teachers College by gen-erous loans from Columbus Giragi. He loves athletics and will drive 500 miles to attend a football game when the Lum-berjacks of Flagstaff go into action.His hopes for the future are wrapped in his daughter, Virginia, a student at Holbrook high school, and his son, Jim-my, 14, the scion and proverbial chip off the old block.

The epoch isn't over yet. Louie is working into the editorship of the Win-slow Mail. At present Columbus is sole owner of the company. If this is a suc-cess story and success is measured by individual accomplishment, the little newsboy who fought for pennies in the streets of Tombstone can still write a better news story or editorial, run a lino-type machine a little better, and make-up forms a little better than anyone who works for him.Perhaps the epoch is just beginning.

Their stride with both barrels. Blonditude, brunetticity and redheadishness hit such a hotsy totsical high at no other spot in this cockeyed world. The garbiture of the babes is a beacon for Hollywood, the dancitory of the bozos is the epitome of jocose coordination, and the concoctions of panther juice snorts and other tinctures of high class hard likkers make the nectar of the gods taste vapid as last week's socks. Here seducitory femininious shoulders rub elbows with fantastic and devastating coiffures and the environs assume a more blinding splendor than the glare of the Arizona sun. The tempo is exuberant yet refined and large evenings are had by all and one. These rucki are open to guests of members, and it is as easy for a visitor to meet a golficular Bisbeean as it is to break your neck on a pitching bronc. So with the yarns and legends of Brewery Gulch drifting hither and yon to remote towns and metropoli of Arizona, it becomes obvious why a wistful light smoulders in the eyes of upstate Pharisees at the mention of the Old Arroyo and why they burst out in unconcealed determination:"I'll hafta see the Gulch sometime."

Tuzigoot Ruins

(Continued from Page 5) We wonder, as you will, what happened to the former residents; there were no unburied skeletons found. It must have been something urgent indeed, to have taken them away in the midst of the preparation of a meal, leaving everything, even tables set, in some instances. Scientists have three alternative solutions: invasion and capture by warring tribes, pestilence of a swift and devastating type. or drought that became unbearable. Take your choice. After a cautious climb down a ladder into this ceremonial room, and a peer at the time-laden interior, we rose to the warm sun again.

So, then we left Tuzigoot with definitely more interest in Arizona's history, and an itching little desire to go to our public library and see what more we could find out about it.

Necessarily, of course, this article is no substitute for a visit to Tuzigoot. The jewels, with their lovely blues, and thcir delicate craftsmanship; the pottery shards of so many different types, and their importance, historically; the tools used by those ancient craftsmen; even the skulls, whose teeth show what food ground on the stone metates did to promote toothaches! These things have to be seen to be really appreciated. So, here's hoping you manage to make the trip to Tuzigoot one of these grand Arizona days ahead..