Arizona Lumber Goes to War

larger plants at McNary, Flagstaff and Williams and some smaller ones throughout the forested regions of the state are roaring out in answer to the call of the Nation for more and more lumber.

STORY IN WORDS AND PICTURES BY ESTHER HENDERSON AND CHUCK ABBOTT

LUMBER goes to war

Typed green since complete drying takes a week in the dry-kiln and from one to three months, depending on the season, in the drying yard. Time in the drying yard is now being hastened by piling the lumber into tall narrow piles through which the air circulates faster and more freely than in the larger piles of other times. At the current rate of activity one might wonder what the future holds regarding the maintenance of the forests themselves. The answer is agreeable to the ears of the conservationist. The cutting is done in accordance with U. S. forestry regulations and every tree has been previously marked by a government forester as a tree which is either defective and should come down or one that has reached its maturity and will enter into a decline. The best timber is left standing for seed trees for the future; strictly speaking, the lumber industry gets the "culls." These "culls" look, to the untrained observer like mighty good wood but disease is frequently at work in the lower trunk and there is often a loss of from three to ten feet from the total length of the tree. In theory, the forests under this system of selective cutting can support the lumber industry in perpetuity, in practice it is apparently working out that way. We say apparently because the lumber industry is still new in Arizona and the passage of generations will be needed before it is definitely known whether man and nature are working to create the necessary harmony and balance. If they are, and it does seem they are, Arizona will never know the bare windows of desert homes in lumber ghost towns looking out over empty hillsides. And so lumber, along with everything else now, goes to war. The crash of the falling trees, the cacophony of industry in the mills, the trucks roaring down to the ponds with their war capacity of thirty-two tons of timber, the trucks with ten thousand feet of planed lumber rolling out to state-wide and interstate war projects these are some of the many aspects of the war scene. From the tree that fell on McKay's Peak to the board that forms a part of a hangar wall at Amarillo or Roswell or Blythe the story is the same. A story of nature and man and man's use of nature. And finally, when the need is over, man's return to the forest with fishpole and creel and the forests standing in peace as majestically as they fell in war; to give man comfort and inspiration in their green, silent depths.

The Wind Points

THE THREE young ladies, twenty or there abouts, looked freshly starched and neat in their clean and pressed slacks and blouses. They were feminine and attractive, indeed, but there was a business-like look about them and an air of assurance and confidence that was good to see. The bus came up the street and ground to a stop before the curb on which the young ladies were sitting. They picked up their lunch buckets and swung aboard, their employees buttons marking their names and destination: riveters, or something like that, headed for the afternoon shift at the Goodyear Aircraft Works, near Litchfield.

He was Henry Chee Dodge, chief of the Navajo Nation, bowed by 80 summers, but spry and attentive as he could be. His host that day at Luke Field was the C. O. himself Colonel Hoyt, commanding officer of the largest single engine advanced flight training school in America. Chee Dodge was fascinated by the training field and the "iron flies" as his people call the airplanes. In honor of the distinguished visitor, some of Colonel Hoyt's boys performed a few tricks which left the Navajo chieftain round-eyed. He was particularly pleased by a certain pursuit ship. "How much does that cost?" Chee Dodge asked his host. The Colonel mentionad a sum that ran in six figures. "Good!" Chee Dodge replied," "Pretty soon I have enough bonds to buy you a plane like that."

It seems that it was just yesterday that Willie Wright was a guard on the High School basketball team at Miami, Arizona, and another boy, Alvin Netterblad, ran the 440 in track for the same school. They were, and are, nice American boys, brought up in good homes, the sons of fine American parents. A week or so ago the papers told of Captain William Wright leading a pursuit squadron against a Japanese Naval unit of New Guinea, and doing a darned good job of it. And another dispatch told of Captain Alvin Netterblad of the Army Air Force, being among the first to put in a blow for his Flag and his Country in North Africa. There are many little schools in America like the High School at Miami. Arizona, and there are lots of boys like Willie Wright and Alvin Netterblad. You can see why in the end America will win, why the greatness and goodness of the American people will persevere against evil and the people who do evil on earth... R. C.

Postscripts to January

The mountain range bordering the saguaro-clothed hills is white with winter's mantle but the desert itself is warm and glistening in the sunshine. It is as if old King Winter had decided to conquer the world and then stopped cautiously where the pine is ready to plunge into the domain of the mesquite. For this winter panorama, our coverpiece this month, we are indebted to Norman G. Wallace, whose camera has poked its way through more miles of our west than anyone we know.

The particular scene is in Gila and Graham counties. The mountain, white-clad in the background, is Mt. Trumbull, near Coolidge Dam. At its base, U. S. Highway 80 rumbles along, perfectly oblivious of both time and the weather. Where else but in Arizona can one so perfectly portray in one miraculous moment such complete contrast.

To start out the proceedings this month we devote our first pages to Esther Henderson and Chuck Abbott, who have made a study, in words and pictures, of Arizona's busy lumber industry rallying to the Nation's call in these days of war. Things are a'humming in Arizona lumber and our forests and the men and women of our state harvesting the forest crop are working harder and accomplishing more than ever before to fill the demands for lumber and more lumber.

And then as we turn the pages, we come with quite a flourish to what we think is one of the most interesting documents ever to appear in these pages: "He Stayed With 'Em While He Lasted," Ralph Keithley's Saga of Buckey O'Neill.

Mr. Keithley, at great pains and considerable research, has done a lengthy biography of Buckey O'Neill, some 250,000 words. We have selected a few highlights and in this and our February issue will give you and inadequate (because of space) condensation of Mr. Keithley's complete account of one of the most dashing and colorful figures in all the history of the West.

Anyone ever to follow the roads out our way has heard of Buckey O'Neill of Yavapai County. A monument of him and the Rough Riders stands in the Courthouse Square in Prescott in everlasting memory to truly noble and inspired men. But for the first time anywhere there appears here something about the great Buckey himself. You see him with all his dash and vim and color-gambler, reporter, editor, writer, politician, statesman, patriot a legendary figure. No wonder his memory is enshrined in bronze and he lies buried in Arlington. Only America could produce such a person!

And while we are speaking about books, etc., may we call your attention to an account of Pipe Spring National Monument appearing herein, a study by Jonreed Lauritzen of Short Creek, Arizona. The author has appeared frequently in these pages, and now we take pleasure in announcing that his first novel: "Arrows Into the Sun," comes forth this month from the publishing house of Alfred Knopf of New York. We will review this novel for you next month and we'll publish an article by the author himself telling you of his life.

In our December issue Charles Franklin Parker gave us an account of Badger Clark and his poetry, and we have been pleased as well as surprised to see the response by our readers. This month Mr. Parker takes us for a pleasant evening's visit with one of Arizona's distinguished women, Miss Sharlot Hall of Yavapai County, who also has sung lyrically and beautifully of the west. A New Mexican, Miss Erna Ferguson, in her delightful book, "Our Southwest," paid fitting tribute to Miss Hall, ranking her as one of the west's outstanding women. We deem it an honor to have Miss Hall with us at this time, and we are proud to present her and her works, to you.

To complete our January visit with you we have several things which we think you will find interesting: "Phoenix Indian School," a thorough study in words and pictures by Joseph Miller; an account of the Yaqui in Sonora by Dr. and Mrs. Edward Spicer, whose interesting article on the Yaqui in Arizona appeared herein some months ago; and an article on White Horse Lake near Williams by Ann and Walter Bohl. Mr. Bohl is the renowned American etcher, whose fine drawings, we are pleased to report, will be carried by ARIZONA HIGHWAYS from time to time.

Goodbye for now. We'll come around sometime in February with more about Buckey O'Neill, who stayed with 'em while he lasted; some things about Jonreed Lauritzen and his first novel, "Arrows Into the Sun"; and other things about our West and our people. So long until then... R. C.

Arizona Highways

the friendly journal of life and travel in the old west Published monthly by the Arizona Highway Department in the interest of good roads and devoted to the story of our people and our land. All communications should be addressed to ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, Arizona Highway Department, Phoenix, Arizona. Subscription rates: One Dollar per year, Ten Cents per copy. Printed in the U. S. A. "Entered as second-class matter Nov. 5, 1941, at the post office at Phoenix, Arizona, under the Act of March 3, 1879."