The Passing of Frank Bledsoe

The Passing of FRANK BLEDSOE Highway Commissioner Resolution

Whereas, the Supreme Commissioner of the Universe has called Frank Chancellor Bledsoe to His High Commission in the Skies; and Whereas, the wise counsel of Frank Chancellor Bledsoe will no more guide us, nor his welcome presence give us cheer and comfort in our deliberations, and by Divine Command his name has been dropped from the personnel rolls of our department forever; Now, therefore, it is most appropriate that we should express and make public our sincere appreciation and respect for him and his invaluable labor as a member of our commission, in the cause of the highways and the people of our state; He came to our organization from the conduct of his own affairs at a sacrifice to his own business, to aid in the carrying out of one of the state's greatest governmental functions, the building of highways; He for many years paid the full price of his citizenship in unselfish devotion and untiring service in the political and governmental councils of the state and its municipal subdivisions; his record as a public servant stands out in bright letters in the hearts of his fellow citizens; In the conduct of his private affairs, whether as an owner, an employer or an employee, he has at all times achieved and maintained the highest success; not success in the sense that he has been called to sit in the councils of the mighty leaders of the land, not in the sense that he has attained commanding wealth, or power, or station, but in the sense that out of his great fairness, his unfailing honesty and integrity, his sympathetic consideration of the needs and opinions of his personal and business associates, he has reached the highest of places in the devotion, esteem, and admiration of his fellow men; He has brought to this commission the characteristics that have marked his public and private life; always kindly, courteous, and considerate of the views and opinions of others, always willing to listen and learn before speaking, always ready to yield to the views of the majority wherever the dictates of his conscience did not forbid, he has rendered this commission and this state a devoted service that may never be regained; His work has been zealous and sincere, without ostentation, or thought of personal advantage and without a trace of unfair discrimination as among the varied interests and communities of the state; At all times he has sought to banish discord and bring harmony into the activities of the department, and to accomplish the greatest good for all the people of the state; Now, therefore, be it resolved, that we deeply deplore his passing away and sincerely mourn the great loss we feel; That we extend our most heartfelt condolences to those who were nearest and dearest to him, and who have remained behind; That this resolution be written in the pages of our permanent records, and signed and certified copies be sent to his bereaved widow.

J. M. PROCTER, Chairman. R.-E. MOORE, Vice-Chairman. Attest: M. L. WHEELER, Secretary.

KEMPER MARLEY, Commissioner. L. B. OWENS, Commissioner.

October 21, 1939.

Mission San Xavier Del Bac Christendom's Glorious Shrine

Continued from Page 9)...

To the left, forming the west arm of the cross, is the gospel chapel, contain-ing two altars; one dedicated to the Passion of our Lord, the other to Saint Joseph. The original confessional chair stands in this elaborately adorned chapel. To the right of the main altar, forming the east arm of the cruciform plan is the epistle chapel, also containing two altars; one to the "Mother of Sorrows" and the other to the Immaculate Conception. A large wooden cross, once bearing a life-size representation of the Christ, is embedded in the wall above the figure of Mary, the Mother. This chapel too, as is the rest of the church walls, is almost completely covered with frescoes and decorations, beautifully done and soft-ened to greater beauty with the years. Returning to the main isle of the church and looking over head, the great The Indian graveyard just to the west of San Xavier Mission. Some graves are very old . . . some quite new; the crosses usually are draped with vari-colored paper flowers.

artistry and unbelievable workmanship of the builders can perhaps best be appreciated. The great dome, covered with paintings of various saints, is constructed entirely of laid brick, perfectly fitted and without benefit of supporting equipment.

To point out the hundreds of paintings, statues and features of this glorious church would require a volume. Merely a hint as to its magnificence has been attempted. To see this remarkable achievement verifies the futility of words and pictures.

San Xavier del Bac-the finest Spanish mission in North America-stands today, its regal beauty quite unharmed by the ravages of time and the elementsstill the worshiping place of the Indians who have been coming here with few interruptions for some two centuries, exemplifying the teachings and great faith bestowed upon their people by the kindly Kino and Garces and their contemporaries-Jesuit and Franciscan-whose ideals, purposes and sacrifices perhaps have never been and never shall be equalled in the annals of Christendom. And to all the bearers of the cross who have come after these pioneers, who have carried on with the descendants of the Indians of Kino's and Garces's day-the Fathers who have perpetuated the ideals and have cared for this master cathedral, this Christmas story of San Xavier is gratefully dedicated.

Christmas Weather At Grand Canyon

(Continued from Page 13) If you had seen it snow upward in Grand Canyon, even your closest friends would probably inquire if you felt well, and might even mention something about a fellow called Ananias, the historically famous liar. Strange as it may seem, it does snow up in this astonishing region. The pilot who landed his airplane on the Tonto Plateau, thirty-six hundred feet below the rims and then flew it out again, explained with a lot of enthusiasm why it can snow upward at the canyon. When he headed his plane toward the rim for the return flight, his worry, he said, was not if he would get out, but where he'd stop when he did get out. He shot aloft at a terrific speed. The warm air of the inner gorge flows up the walls of the canyon, causing a strong up-draft. That's what throws snowstorms into reverse at the brink of the gorge. Trail parties coming out of the canyon frequently arrive with the bottom sides of their hats plastered with snow. The secret lies in the qualifying "in Grand Canyon."

Did you ever gaze into the sky and wonder what it would be like to sail through space astride of a puffy white cloud? You can't ride a cloud at Grand Canyon, but you can ride a mule through one. If you have the spirit of adventure coursing through your veins, that's what you're apt to find yourself doing in intimate contact with a mule, headed down a trail to the Colorado river. What a revelation is in store for you!

Like snow-storms, however, clouds can't be had to order. You're in luck if you happen to arrive together. As you travel down the trail, level by level, the clouds thin and soon you emerge below them. From then on, they look like clouds ought to look. Frequently they're only a fringe hanging against the rim, and you ride out into sunshine. At the lower elevations the snow disappears, and you begin to shed some of your heavier clothing. What a transformation! Within three hours and a distance of seven miles, you pass from deep snows to a climate comparable to upper-Sonora, Mexico.

Of course you can't say you've seen Grand Canyon until you've ridden the trails to the river. To do the job de luxe and get the most out of your trip you should spend a day, a week or a month at Phantom Ranch. This intriguing little guest ranch is in Bright Angel Canyon, a tributary of Grand Canyon. It is on the north side of the Colorado river, and to reach it you cross the river by the Kaibab trail suspension

bridge. When you arrive at the ranch you'll probably find the cottonwood trees putting on their new dress of leaves, as they scarcely shed the old crop until new ones come popping out. The only objection to visiting Phantom Ranch is your reluctance to leave it. Here, charming little cabins nestle among the trees. In this atmosphere of contentment, you're lulled to sleep by the gurgling of crystal-clear water in Bright Angel creek as it flows by your cabin on its way to the murky Colorado. While you loll in the warmth of a brilliant Arizona sun, jetblack butterflies flutter about. Gazing aloft, two miles distant by airline, you see the snow-capped precipice down which you rode only a few hours before. Alluring, isn't it? All too soon comes the time to mount your mule and head up the trail again.

Even the park animals take on new beauty in their winter garb. The scrubby brown coats of the park deer have changed to beautiful, sleek gray coats, and the bucks are crowned with an impressive set of fighting antlers. Cunning, alert squirrels with tufted ears and bushy white tails that seem to have been freshly laundered, go scampering about the village, intent on business important to squirrels. Waddling porcupines leave their tell-tale tracks leading to pinon trees where they had a meal of succulent inner-bark.When the long shadows of winter creep over the canyon, and the sun sinks back of the Trumbull mountains in the distance, be sure to visit Hopi Point. Colors However severe the storm, the Grand Canyon presents a spectrum of color and scenic enchantment. Snow may pile deep on the Rims but in the interior of the Canyon it lasts for only a short time.

of unbelievable brilliance blaze in the sky and, reflected into the canyon, light the gorge with an eerie glow. Truly it is a land of contrasts. In the summer the canyon is charming, but in the winter it is magnificent. No betterdescription can be had than the words of a matronly old lady with a foreign accent, who barged up to the rim for her first view of the canyon on a winter day. Gazing into the gorge, she exclaimed "Oh, oh, ain't dot bootiful!"

Star Over Prescott

(Continued from Page 17) Then added, "Charley, watch the play, so there'll be no argument." Judge Charley Hall shook his head to clear it, backed up to the bar, grabbed a half empty bottle and rapped on the mahogany three times, "This court'll now come to order. All right, first shooter step up." A miner weaved forward.

"Put your ten in there," roared the Captain grabbing a wide-brimmed sombrero from a nearby cowpuncher's head The dice rattled and clicked in the cup, scampered across the floor, leaped up against the bar and fell back. The miner cursed. Others stepped forward, tossed a gold piece into the hat and threw the dice. Old Rudolph hobbled slowly into the space. "For a double eagle, I get two rolls, eh?" A roar of protest drowned out the answer. The Hebrew trembled as he made one cast. "I vould haf made "I vould haf made the babe mascot of der Row," he an-nounced sadly as he gazed mournfully at the five aces on the floor. "Ve could nicely py it, togedder, eh?" he asked, still hopeful of striking a bargain.

But the gambling fever was high and the Jew wilted under the heat.

Colonel Bob Groom, a handsome sixfoot bachelor topped by a wide-brimmed hat pushed back on his head, stepped out. Methodically he shook the cup. With a sweep of his arm he sent the dice spinning again the bar.

"Ah!" breathed the crowd.

Four sixes and a five!

Captain Fisher spoke solemnly, "Colonel Groom, I---"

"Just a minute, just a minute," Judge Charley Hall interrupted, thickly but majestically, "I guess I get a throw."

His ten-dollar piece clinked in the now heavy hat and he swung, arm extended, in a circle. "Give me room."

The judge squared himself with immense dignity. Feet spraddled out to maintain balance, he began to shake the cup. He blew his pungent breath into the smelly leather and with a muttered supplication sent the dice twirling across the floor.

Cheer upon cheer rent the smokeladen air.

A spread of double-rowed spots stared up from the dirty floor. Five sixes!

Colonel Bob Groom cursed under his breath, then swore roundly. "You won it, but I'll christen it. Open up the champagne, Cap."

Captain Fisher stood on the bar, held the baby aloft and the Colonel began to intone: "As the bead of this sparkling wine---"

"How are going going to know what to name it?" coolly interrupted the girl, amusement behind her thickly mascaraed lashes.

"What's that?" said Groom, whirling to meet the new challenge.

"Well, is it a boy or a girl?" she raised her eyebrows.

Without a word the Captain handed the sleeping babe to the girl. "Its canvas needs changin' anyhow."

Embarrassed silence was broken by scraping boots. A fresh blast off the Bradshaws rattled a loose shake on the roof.

"Christen it a girl," said the singer to the Captain, tenderly handing him the babe.

Glasses lifted high as the Colonel began again: "As the bead of this sparkling wine ascends to the surface, so may the destiny of this little waif rise from obscurity and sparkle amongst the stars of heaven on earth, uplifting humanity, making us better men and better women. And in memory of this presence I now christen thee, little miss, and name thee, Chance Cobweb Hall. Drink"*

DECEMBER, 1939

on the motto were the words, "Peace on Earth, Good Will To Men"

The words echoed in an incongruously reverent silence as glasses were tipped and lowered.

So, Judge Charley Hall stepped out of the Cobweb. The singer braved the biting wind long enough to stick her head out and call after the weaving justice, "Keep her wrapped up all the way home, now mind!"

The judge followed the road across the corner of Groom's surveyed Plaza. He wobbled off the lane and a low-spread branch from a manzanita almost tripped him. He cursed, then as quickly apologized to the babe sleeping in his arms. Half way up the block the road crossed Groom's Gurley street and curved up the hill across the proposed Cortez street and on out toward Fort Whipple.

Winded, the judge paused on the brow of the hill, looked back into the dark bowl of Granite creek, turned, shook his head and mumbled to himself when he noticed the sky was pink over the Fort.

The judge had difficulty lining up his unruly eyes with a clear bit of glass on the frosted pane. His wife was waiting for him. "Improving each shining hour," he muttered to himself, noticing she was busily plying a needle on one of her everlasting mottos.

With a determined purpose he opened the door; inside, he stood a moment.

"Well," she spoke shortly, without raising her head.

The judge, wisely, said nothing. He laid the bundle on his wife's lap.

"What is this, she asked accusingly, meeting his uncertain gaze with her stern blue ones. "Charley, if it's another one of your tricks! If it---"

"Sh-hhh! It's a baby girl-a lil' stray," warned the judge. "She's asleep."

"Eh?" The startled woman stood up, carefully holding the bundle. The motto slid to the floor.

"A baby," her voice broke on the word. Her eyes were suddenly glazed with tears as she looked down at what her arms held. But there was no melting in the look she flashed at her husband when she lifted her head. Her mouth was tight and her eyes were hot. Then a little stirring of the baby in the blankets and she seemed to forget her anger again. She turned away, whispering endearments and clucking into the nest of blankets.

The judge remembered. Awkwardly he fumbled for the brim of his hat. It was too wide! It wasn't his-the cowpuncher's! He jerked the wide-brimmed sombrero from his sweating pate.

A shower of gold pieces poured over his shoulders, thence onto the floor. One, a double eagle, the gift of Old Rudolph the Jew, rolled curvingly to the motto. It whirred in ever smaller circles to a stop on the words: "Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men."

45

Christmas Comes To the Navajos

(Continued from Page 39) Home and in giving to those left there they find real happiness. There are great cartons of gifts behind the tree that are full of mystery. These gifts have been sent from every city and town where a Presbyterian church is located. What a great chasm lies between the sheltered educated women gathered in a comfortable home or sewing room mak ing these gifts for their unknown Indian sisters, and the ignorant half starved, half frozen women in their mud hogans that receive them.

In line forms, and again the old women are first, and then the mothers with babes in their arms and little ones cling-ing to their full long skirts. What a picturesque sight the old grandmothers make, shawls wrapped tightly around their thin bodies, their gray hair in great wool wrapped loops, and their eyes as big and anxious as any child's. For them are warm petticoats and scarfs and stockings and gloves. And now and then a bright sweater which draws gasps of admiration and envy from less lucky ones. They meet outside and slyly com-pare and sometimes trade their loot if they think themselves unobserved. The young mothers are so proud of the knitted caps for the babies, the warm flannel dress for little sister and wonder of wonders a pocket knife for brother boy. So excited are these mothers that often they have to be called back to re-ceive their own gifts forgotten in the joy of having their children remembered.happy, one with the wagon and the other pushing a small wheelbarrow.

It is time for the gifts under the tree to be delivered and the school children whisper and giggle as each one is handed out. There's a bit of worry over one little package and the owner comes forth to explain. First she had made the rag doll it contains for her mother. Then she decided to give it to her sister's baby, and then at last mother was chosen to receive it. Since the name had been erased and re-written so often it was rather hard to decipher! The day was ending. Tomorrow and the next day and the next the same scene would be repeated until all the gifts were gone together with the Yuletide Season. Even in the great halls of the Sage Mem orial Hospital Santa Claus came to bring cheer to the bed-ridden children, and a big tree blazed with decorations and can dles while a very authentic Santa Claus visited each wheel chair and bed andBefore the tree is unburdened the Christmas Story is told and as a sentence is finished in English a Navajo interpre ter repeats it in the language of his own people. They listen while the story is told of a little child born among the donkeys and sheep and how shepherds left their herds and followed a bright star until it led them to where the baby was in a manger. All those things are part of their life, the sheep and the donkeys and stars, and so that part of the story interests them. Their eyes grow restless and they move their feet about as the rest of the story is told, how He came to save sinners, and died for their sake. But they brighten again at the singing of the Christmas Carols, especially when a row of small Navajos line up and turns "Hark The Herald Angels Sing" into sundry grunts and groans and half swallowed sounds which makes up the Navajo language.

Time for the presents. Again a long There is no pushing or shoving and almost complete silence except for the never ending wail of one baby or another, with whom the mutton and corn dinner failed to agree. When the grandfathers reach the gift table they, as is fitting and proper, sometimes haggle a bit about the gift tendered and suggest that an other one in sight would be more fitting. It might be that a brighter sweater just out of reach appeals more to the eye than the heavy gray one offered. And one old fellow feels that he really should have a pair of pants to go with the coat just received. After all grandfather's thin old legs get pretty cold on winter days! Outside a small civil war is in progress. The little red wagon received by one boy fills another one's soul with envy. It's just what is needed to haul sand around the home hogan. One grasps the handle and the other the tailend and loud cries surround the struggle until a peace-maker arrives and both boys go away personally delivered a gift.

At the trading posts, whole sheep and beeves were roasted over barbecue pits and gallons of coffee brewed for visiting Navajos. And always candy and apples and oranges were given to the Indians. Surely it won't be many years before all our Navajos know that their "Month of Short Suns" brings the Birthday of Christ, a Christ that belongs as much to them as to their white brothers. There's a chorus of childish voices singing as they come back from a walk. Supper is waiting for them in their warm dining room on the Mission Campus. "Do i ts' a dah ho-di-yind. ca-hal-h'el a-din-din." "What are they singing?" I asked a teacher. "Silent Night, Holy Night. All is calm, all is bright!" Yes, Christmas comes to the Navajos.