"Arizona: A Guide to the Sunset State"

"Land of extremes. Land of contrasts. Land of surprises. Land of contradictions. A land that is never to be fully understood but always to be loved by sons and daughters sprung from such a diversity of origins, animated by such a diversity of motives and ideals, that generations must pass before they can ever fully understand each other. That is Arizona.."

"Arizona: A Guide to the Sunset State" is the latest addition to the American Guide Series produced by the Federal Writers' Project. This state guide, compiled by the workers of the Writers' Program of the Work Projects Administration of Arizona, is published by Hastings House of New York, and a neat job it is all around.

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, a publication which prides itself on some knowledge of Arizona and a greater appreciation for it, welcomes the Arizona Guide to the shelves of Arizona literature. You can have the Guide put in a handy place, too, because it will be much in demand as a tome for reference, for interesting reading, for browsing, and for any of the other purposes for which good, reliable books are used.

If you know nothing of Arizona and would like to learn a lot in one compact volume we recommend the Arizona Guide, and if you know a great deal of Arizona and would like to have a ready reference for those intimate details that are apt to slip your mind the Guide will be your valuable source book.

But better yet, if you are a traveler exploring this new land, this book will be your invaluable guide pointing your way as you travel, giving you all sorts of information and marking your distances with a careful eye. There are many uses for this book. Each would well justify its production.

Introductory material includes a pre-face Preface, list of maps, illustrations, and a general information section which gives often-used data at a glance. The remainder of the book is divided into three main sections: essays, eleven principal cities, and tours. The essays are designed to present a picture of Arizona's social and economic development and consist of the Contemporary Scene, Natural Setting - Climate, Geology, Paleontology, Natural Resources, Plant Life and Animal Life; Indians, Archeology, History, Agriculture, Industry, Commerce, Labor, Transportation, Education, Religion, Newspapers, Radio, Sports, Recreation, Arts, Architecture, Indian Arts and Crafts, Folklore and Folkways.

Included in the essay section is a group of essays devoted to the Sunburnt West of Yesterday-"which casts so deep a glow over the Arizona of today." Here the reminiscences are drawn upon of those who were ranch cooks three or four decades ago and of those who frequented the saloons of territorial days; the stubborn little burro who helped the prospector uncover Arizona's bonanzas, that changed industrial and political destinies, is celebrated. The wild horses descended from the stallions and mares brought to America by Spanish explorers, and the western saddle, most prized of all a cowboy's possessions, are eulogized. And the "blood and thunder" days are recalled by an account of the killing of Jack-the-Ripper and other tales.

Begins the essay section, surveys the contemporary aspects of the state contrasting its various elements to produce a strong unified picture of present day Arizona.

"Arizona has been the home of hairy aborigines who stoned to death the giant sloth, the mammoth, and many another beast now extinct; of nomads little more advanced who huddled in natural caves, hunted with spears and bows, yet developed an art of basketry not surpassed today; of cliff dwellers who built shelters of stone, learned how to shape clay into pottery, but did not practice even the rudiments of agriculture

, of pastoral tribes who built pueblos, planted corn and cotton beside irrigation canals; of fierce raiders who preyed upon their peaceful neighbors; of swashbuckling conquistadores and gentle priests who strove to impress the faith and culture of Spain upon the natives they found here; and last of these modern interlopers, the Yankees, who leveled mountains for their copper, laced the face of the land with ribbons of concrete, dammed rivers to make the deserts bloom, and in less than a century worked changes vaster than their predecessors had wrought in thousands of years.

"Arizona is a land of contrasts geologically, racially, and culturally. Its mountains tower a mile or more into the air; the rivers have cut miles deep into the multi-colored earth. Snow lingers on the peaks while the valleys are sweet with the fragrance of orange blossoms. Here are sere deserts and the largest pine forests in the world. Here are fallen forests turned to stone, and forests of trees that have survived the slow change from jungle to desert by turning their leaves to thorns. Modern transport planes fly on regular passenger and mail routes, while Hopi grandmothers scatter sacred cornmeal on the newborn infant and pray to the sun for blessings."

The second section is made up of Arizona cities each of which is comprehensively treated with emphasis upon the contemporary, historical aspects and the points of interest. The cities included are Bisbee, Douglas, Flagstaff, Globe Miami, Nogales, Phoenix, Prescott, Tucson, Tombstone, and Yuma. Other cities are included in the Tours which make up the third and last section of the book.

Here the principal highways and byways running north to south and east to west are intensively treated with all the points of interest localized along the routes with mileages and directions and general information for each point of interest given. Each tour contains a general information section for the convenience of users and a general introduction summarizing the tour contents thus: "This route (Tour 2) crosses the high plateau of northern Arizona, a land of wide horizons and small towns, castellated mesas and deep gorges cut by the Colorado, Little Colorado, and their tributary streams and washes. Wind as well as water has gashed canyons in the soft sand and clay and revealed their many shades of red and yellow that pale and deepen as the light is filtered through passing clouds. Along this section of U. S. 66 are many glimpses of Navajo men riding their scrubby ponies, of Navajo women weaving beside their igloo-shaped hogans, and of their children guarding the sheep. Though many of the tribesmen, with a newly acquired business sense, have built brush ramadas near the highway and hung them with blankets and rugs for sale to tourists, they do all their purchasing at the trading post. There the men, women and children gather in groups with their exquisite handiwork. The men usually wear gaudy shirts, blue denim trousers, earrings, belts studded with huge silver conchos, and either worn Stetsons or bright bands tied around their long hair; the women, clad in velvet tunics and flowered or brightly colored voluminous skirts, often carry their black-eyed babies strapped in cradleboards.

"From a point at 47.2 m. is the most extensive view along this highway of the PAINTED DESERT (R). The yellow, red, magenta, and mauve sands appear in terrace, mesa, and hill formations. "At 47.4 m. is the junction with a paved road. "Right on this loop drive, which skirts the most brilliant section of the Painted Desert is an addition made to the Petrified Forest National Monument in 1936. "The Painted Desert extends for 300 miles along the north bank of the Little Colorado-a stretch of vividly banded earth beneath a brilliant sky; at times even the air above this lonely land glows with a pink mist or a purple haze, etc." Then follows a complete description of the point of interest. This method is used to designate mileages, directions, and descriptions and is done in a simple unaffected manner that avoids confusion and assures the tourist or sightseer the maximum of enjoyment with a minimurn of trouble, so that every significant historic site, town or village, and scenic point of interest is made accessible by a simple direction, and understandable by clear and concise descriptive treatment.

If, as the saying goes, a good photograph tells as much as 10,000 words, the Arizona Guide is a veritable epic for possibly its most interesting feature to many people is the number of well selected illustrations artfully spaced throughout the book. The illustrations are divided into the following sections: Indians, The Desert, Territorial Days, The Mountains, Architecture, Mining, Lumbering, Agriculture, and Recreation. Each section is a pictorial essay complete in itself and attractively presented. There are many fine maps and possibly the Guide's map of the Grand Canyon is the most expert map of its kind ever produced.

The Guide makes no attempt to be

"...As exponents of law and order, the editors would condemn the practice then in vogue of 'shooting up the town.' Immediately cowboys in their cups and the wilder element . . . would show their disapproval . . . by riding down the main street and firing into the newspaper office. The entire newspaper staff would drop to the floor, hiding under the press or anything else. . . ."

other than what it is: a guide to Arizona, giving an historical background of the people who live here, where they came from, and what they do for a living. It is factual and it tries, with success, to tell an honest story and paint a true picture of Arizona. It doesn't lose itself in superlatives or over-statement, and when a skeleton in the closet has to be rattled for accuracy's sake, it is rattled.

The book has an honest flavor and it has caught in its pages the color and the charm, almost undefinable, that makes Arizona so beloved to those who have taken the time to know the state.

When one considers the conditions under which the book was compiled the finished task is all the more remarkable. They say that too many cooks will do something or other to the broth. Too many cooks apparently has done nothing to the detriment of this book.

When our favorite depression was kicking people in the teeth, writers were getting their share of the kicking. The WPA in Washington made funds avail able to tide many writers over the rough spots and writers so engaged were put to the stupendous task of compiling a great American guide, each state to contribute its part to the story of Amer ica. The Arizona Guide is Arizona's part of that story.

The Arizona Writers Project was started in October, 1935, with a quota of 15 people under the direction of Charles M.

Morgan. In February, 1936, the quota was increased to 40 and the project was placed under the direction of Ross Santee, noted writer and author.

The project was state-wide, with re search workers combing every nook and corner of the state, compiling and gathering data and material, which in turn was edited and rewritten in the Phoenix office. Since the project was started over 200 people have been en gaged in various forms of research, edi torial and reporting work, with 60 en gaged at one time. Through the years 6,000,000 words have been gathered and every word relates to some phase of that fascinating subject-Arizona.

Therefore, the Arizona Guide repre sents the work of many men and women whose efforts were coordinated under the watchful eye of Ross Santee. Know ing Santee's passion for truth and care ful writing, and his abhorrence of hokum and hot air, we can readily understand that the Guide is up to its present ex cellence for every word in the book had to pass his careful scrutiny. We do sympathize, however, with the writers who had to write and rewrite and then write and rewrite again to satisfy the standard demanded by the supervisor.

The Guide, a too prosaic name for such an interesting book, is only one of the things accomplished in the program of the Arizona Writers Project. The ma terial already in the files would fill ten Such books. Other material has been published and many valuable publica tions have been planned.

The Project, through Arizona State Teachers College at Flagstaff, has pre pared several compact and informative Indian bulletins. Eventually a bulletin will be issued for every tribe in the state.

Material now being gathered is to be included in the book on grazing to be issued by the Department of Grazing, U. S. Department of Interior. This will contain a complete historical account of grazing in Arizona, as part of a com mentary on grazing in eleven western states. Such a study will no doubt have an educational effect that the blunders of the past will not be repeated in over grazing.

"San Xavier Mission," complete with photographs, is a small book prepared by the Project which has seen light through the presses of Hastings House, New York. This booklet is perhaps the most complete presentation of the Mis sion available.

Valuable both to the historian and the writer in future years is the material now being gathered for publication on a gen eral subject entitled: "Pioneer Source Book." Members of the Project have gone to Arizona pioneers, the real pio neers who cut the brush for American expansion in the west, to find what short cuts were used in preparing and keep ing of food, in making medicines, and in

The other innumerable chores pioneers had to resort to in order to live and survive on a frontier that was harsh and cruel. Suppose, for instance, that you were living in Arizona three-quarters of a century ago and you came upon the muddy Colorado River after a long trek acroSS the desert. Even your fever for water could not persuade you to gulp the muddy contents of that river. How would you clear the water for use? You could dip a pan of water and let the mudy residue settle, but if you were enterprising you could speed the process. A drop or two of canned milk in your pan of water would permit you to have drinking water in a few seconds.

Another interesting method used by the pioneers in assuring themselves of a constant supply of fresh vegetables is seen in the account in the MMS. of "Pioneer Source Book" of pioneer handling of tomatoes. When a plot of ripened tomatoes was ready for consumption the tomatoes would be dried in the sun. Fresh tomatoes would last only a few days without refrigeration, and in those days ice and electrical cooling processes were non-existent. But dried tomatoes could last forever. When the pioneer mother decided to have fresh tomatoes for dinner, she merely soaked a pan of dried tomatoes in water and presto! there were fresh tomatoes for dinner.

Through the sponsorship of the Arizona Writers Project by the Arizona highway commission, ARIZONA HIGHWAYS has been privileged to publish from time to time Project material deal ing with personalities and episodes of the old west. The reminiscences of Jim Wolf, The Killing of Jack the Ripper, Lady Lee and Eye Witness, were prepared for this magazine by the Project. Material of this nature will be published eventually under the title: "Muchos Hombres." This will make not only interesting reading, but it will retain for ever glimpses of the color, fervor, and action of the early west, and many people who made the west will be forever with us through this personalized history.

Material of a personal nature, as authentic as history, has been gathered for a book, "Hard Rock," for which a publisher is already being sought. "Hard Rock" will deal with stories of the mining camps of our state.

Through the Department of the Inter ior, the Project has completed a bulletin: "Your Vacation in Arizona: A Guide to Its Recreational and Vacation Areas." Small and compact, this bulletin will also be a valuable aid to travelers.

Such in a short resume is a description of the work of the Writers Project. Its value and its worth can be best be seen by a reading of the Arizona Guide. Do not shy away from it because youthink it may be mediocre due to its connection with a WPA project. It is in no way mediocre and while no names of writers appear over its many divisions, we can assure you many able and careful writers, under the direction of a very able and careful writer, Ross Santee, worked together to make it possible.

While the Writers Project is now sponsored by the Arizona Highway department, the Guide appears under the sponsorship of the college at Flagstaff. The primary cost of publication of the Guide is guaranteed by the college.

Royalties from the book will first go back to the college to repay the guarantee and then successive royalties will go back to continue the work of the project.

In a foreword to the book, Dr. Thomas J. Tormey, president of Arizona State Teachers College at Flagstaff, says in part. "The Arizona Guide seeks to tell the story of the wide-open spaces, the color that nature has generously splashed, of towns continuously inhabited prior to the coming of the white man and of the missions. It contrasts the aircooled-by-nature, pine clad northern area with the air-cooled-by-man desert area of central Arizona . . . . Arizona is a delightful haven for the retired, an opportunity for the ambitious young. Arizona is a study of contrasts, and this Guide is your guide so that you may know Arizona."

That about tells the story... R. C.

"...The impression made on the Southwest by soldiers, missionaries, and civilians from Old Spain has been a lasting one. Where they touched Arizona soil, they left something-name or building or legend-to memorialize their pres ence; and sections of the state they never saw have been partially Hispanized by the Indians called Mexican who have the language, religion, customs, and some of the blood of their Spanish conquerors..."

Testifying, O Lord As To Rainbow Bridge

Continued From Page 12 Is it a cyclopean gourd turned gray with antiquity? Or a captive balloon everlastingly tethered and gone solid? No, something else; the clew was in my brain yet eluded me. The answer came when, four miles deeper in, Bill Wilson halted the train to show us Elephant's Head Rock, that enormous and most cunningly-chiseled phenomenon which, having been copiously photographed and reproduced, has done so much for the souvenir postcard business at the Santa Fe's lunch stands back along the railroad. Here, miraculously thrown up in bas-relief was the front of a tired old circus performer, her lean skull outlined as clean as a cameo, her tuskless jaws loosely agape, her trunk dangling, her venerable rheumy eyes bedded deep in the scored wrinkles of eternal age and only the two ears less shrewdly etched than the rest. Why, of course, those were her dismembered feet which I had passed yesterday, propped in the tawny sands near Red Lake; and that gross rotundity which today I had beheld in Forbidden Canyon would be the pachydermic posterior. There was no mistaking it. She certainly got her self widely distributed, that old lady.

Making this jaunt we started at 6400 feet above sea level, and when we got through we had dropped off nearly four thousand feet. At the upper extremity of Cliff Canyon was where we negotiated a considerable part of this dropping-off process, with a grade averaging almost thirty per cent-- and if afoot, you should tackle a grade any steeper than thirty per cent, you'd practically be leaning backwards. It would be a job, really, for the daring boys of Hook & Ladder Truck No. 7. Doing it mule-back though is the way to get the thrills. Here was where that confirmed student of landscape effects, namely, Coyote, had some of his biggest moments. But not his harassed rider. If your correspondent is expected to pay any compliments to the more slanted section of Bridge Canyon, would say that it's one of the best places in the world to lean up against.

We took the perilous plunge in one fell swoop, so to speak. Before we took off we didn't for the life of us see how we were going to slide down and when we were down, we couldn't see how we were ever going to scale back up an illusion which occurs on peaks less altitudinous than this. If I, for one, hadn't been so busy draping myself like the trailing arbutus on the gaunt trellises of Coyote's upper framework, I probably would have taken more interest in the fact that in this single operation we descended from the tall timber, through stunted and spiny desert growths, and on to the aspens and willows and cottonwoods of a better-watered level. It was with almost a shock of surprise that eventually I discovered myself still aboard Coyote's walking beams and Coyote ambling along a gentled swale. A nice busy little creek was marching with us and springs were gurgling from under the grassy banks. The noonday heat was baking fine resinous smells out of juniper and sage and sweet herbs and the Mormon tea bush. And along with whole patches of flaunting sago lilies and gay cactus blooms and other big pushy, gaudy things, the shoulders of the slopes wore epaulettes of bright yellow stuff and many wide troughs of white sand were brocaded thick with such tender, shy flowers as you'd expect to find in your grandmother's garden instead of here, flanked in by these bleak guardian masses.

But oh, such a lonesome spot and, oh, how silent except when we ourselves broke the hush and then the echo barked like dogs. A mule shoe striking a pebble was like the clash of smitten cymbals. Call aloud and through the shattered quiet the sound boomeranged back to you, and pounded against your ear drums, a dozen times repeated. We saw no bob-cat tracks nor tracks of the little dwarf rabbits in the moistened soil along the stream; and it's said that no one traveling by night in this enclosure ever yet heard a hunkered coyote confessing his sins to the unresponsive moon. Even the swift little lizards and the overgrown insects of the high desert were missing. Away off somewhere we did hear one cactus wren chirp to itself twice and then stop as though abashed; and a single strayed pinon jay called once, then he quit, too. And that was all. We detected ourselves talking in half-whispers.

At its farther end Cliff Canyon appears to butt smack into an escarpment of solid mountain. You are right up against it almost before you see that from top to bottom, this seeming barricade is split by a rift hardly wider than the foot-trail which pierces it. This is the famous Redbud Pass. Verily, it's like the Crack of Doom made usable. There are places where your putstretched fingers brush both sides and, looking up out of the perpetual twilight of the bottom, the sky is seen only as a tiny blue strip. You have the feeling that any moment the crevice may close shut and flatten you like a mite caught between two book-ends.

We had just entered this cleft when all of a sudden up came one of those impulsive thunder storms of the high country. It came with no warning and ended the same way but, while it prevailed, brought lashing of big fat rain drops and a lavish amount of lightning and contrarywise gusts that caromed off the cliffs and brutally whipped the cottonwoods and redbud bushes, and whistled shrilly past us for the right of way. Being inside by now we escaped the downpour but to us, buried in that dim alley, the wind, going by, was the wailing of a lost banshee. Overhead and straight up the bolts skittered and bounced off the craggy rim, and left behind a sulfurous taint. And the thunderclaps, though somewhat muffled, kept reverberating and growling and drumming until one of us, calling back or forward to the others, had to strain his voice to be heard above that insane clamor. We could have asked for no more stirring curtain-raiser to the impending climax. After that-and those mad orchestral effects-the last act just had to be good which, verily, I say unto you, it was indeed, and then some.

As miners might emerge from a mine-working, we issued forth, numbed and deafened and thrilled to our several marrows, and immediately were confronted by a descent, not so prolonged as the aforesaid one in Cliff Canyon-merely a matter of three hundred feet or so, but fabulously steep-in fact, as you might say, just straight up and down. A "horse-ladder" is what they call such things out here, with logs set in the earth and wedged down at either tip under boulders for the mules to brace their hoofs on.

I said to myself that no mule born of a mare could climb down that preposterous staircase but these mules made it without a bobble and what's more, on the return trip next day clambered back up. They make it often and always without mishap. When they die monuments should be erected in their memory.

Going down, they practically stood on their heads and where the cross-rungs were far apart, coasted, each time to fetch up, just when Buck and I figured all was lost, with a hair-raising jolt against the next toe-hold. Coyote and I were following Bill on the leadmule. Between Coyote's ears I looked straight down-or so it seemed to my popped eyes-at the hind quarters of his mule and my one consoling thought was that if Coyote missed connection and we did tumble, we'd take Bill and his mule along with us and probably have something softer than stone to 'light on at the bottom. It is difficult to avoid being selfish in a situation such as this. At an inopportune moment a back foot of Bill's mule picked up a cup custard of freshly wetted earth and flung it back. I say inopportune because at the moment our cruppers were bumping together with painful emphasis that is, my personal crupper was coming down on Coyote's leather covered one; and I had my mouth ajar to moan, for when I moans, I moans! And that muddy gob took me right square in the face and spattered ever'-which-way. I must say that this is not a very tasty mountain.

Along the slanting path through Bridge Canyon we followed the creek which, having tunneled out of some subterranean channel at Redbud Pass, now had grown to a widened clear stream, full of deep pools; and the trees were taller and bushier than anywhere else on the route, and so deep were the wild grasses that the trail was a half-hidden trace, and a shepherdless flock of Navajo sheep found the richest of pasturage as they browsed about, led by an old ewe. She had a copper bell at her throat-latch and in that solitude the bell's jingling could be heard for half a mile before we saw her.

Divers curious indentations worn by the weathers of a million years high upon the canyon's tan-colored mural made a fascinating side-show here. Yonder would be a squared doorway lintel, sill and jambs all complete; and just over there a tall unfinish-ed archway, and next along a titantic pic-ture-frame but no picture to go in it. And then perhaps a funnel or a swirl or an arabesque or an amazing rosette, like a pastry cook's decoration for some exagger-ated caramel cake.

Through Rough Country

These adventures, even when negotiated with no special amount of danger, give the greenhorn a Daniel Booneish satisfaction-the comforting thought of having earned his pleasure by undergoing travail and pioneering hardships.

It was late in the afternoon and I was trying to sort out and classify for future reference a thousand different impressions, when we came to where the path forked. Right in the crotch was thrust up a smallish pone-shaped butte, heavily corrugated. Beyond the wrinkled withers of this dumpy obstruction we could catch a tempting peep at the nearmost pediment of the Bridge but Bill advised that first we get to camp and rub the cramps out of ourselves and then return and go past another little elbow in the gulch for a view of the thing in its entirety. So we turned right-wing and presently butted into a dead-end where the swoop of a future cave formed a half-moon above a sweet spring pouring out of the rock; with a brush arbor and a corral and a storehouse handy by, and two wall-tents with cots and mattresses in them and, crowning paradox for so untamed a vicinity, clean sheets for the beds and clean pillow-cases for the pillows.

It's forty minutes later and the daylight is starting to fade on the lower shorings of the encompassing cliffs and I, being dismounted, am noting that I hurt in a lot of places where I hadn't hurt before, when we hobble stiffly beyond that interposing jog to a proper vantage point facing into the

Already I have confessed total inability to describe what to me is the crowning achievement of the huge arena of uplifting magic in which it lies hidden. I shan't even try. I'd go downright delirious, whereas, at this date, thinking back and reliving that experience when I stood and soaked up pure loveliness through all my pores, I merely grow semi-hysterical.

But I do crave the reader's kind indulgence while briefly I draw in retrospect some sketchy notion of that amphitheatre where Rainbow Bridge is flung up, a perfect symphony in pink sandstone, to unfold like a scroll thwartwise of the canyon's structure which, by contrast, is streaked with less graphic tones-umber and amber and ochre and tarnished copper. But with no vain ornamentations to mar the surpassing grace of it, mind you; no superfluous curlicues to distract the fascinated eye from those al together simple and most truly-scaled lines. Except for the prodigality of coloring in which it is bathed there is a planned economy in every detail of the magnificent conception. And down below and beneath that splendid arching sweep, the little brawling creek hustles along, now riffling over its pygmy rapids and now boring between yellowish shores that are polka-dotted with circular splotches of bright verdure. And on under and beyond the arch, the sun goes down in a welter of unutterably brilliant cloud-wrack that is all crumpled and strewn like torn remnants of silk across the sky.

So in a kind of trance, a thraldom of happy catalepsy, while the inadequate tongue had frozen but the soul was quickened and the brain alert to absorb more and yet more of the beauties of it, I bided there until twilight made everything blurred, then dazedly stumbled away in the dusk, tripping over boulders and splashing through brisk eddies. It was just before the last of the sunset that the glory became almost too glorious to be borne. As the final benedictory rays played over the horizon and struck upon the upper reaches of the great span, what a moment before had been rufous, like a pochard drake's head, now flamed scarlet, like a tanager's breast; and mauve turned to royal purple, and palish green was emerald and dead gray was all of a sudden opalescent and gleaming like so much live pearl. A steep mica bed on the parent cliff alongside picked up a slanted beam and became a cascade of diamonds; the broken canyon floor lit up like a friendly hearth of ruddy firebricks. And yonder through the crescent of the Bridge the heavens flared with flamings of crimson and with waves of blue and of tattered gold - God Almighty's housewarming.

I'd admire to know how those depressions in the once classical contours of poor old scenery-loving Coyote are coming along?

From Prescott to Flagstaff.

Here is State Highway 79, the scenic modern highway between Prescott and Flagstaff via Jerome, Clarkdale and Oak Creek canyon. This picture was taken between Cottonwood and Sedona. There in the far distance some 60 miles away, can be seen the snow capped San Francisco Peaks.