Jerome

Few can say that Arizona was slighted when the Creator allotted the natural and scenic wonders of this world. The Grand Canyon and The Painted Desert stand alone. The San Francisco Peaks, The White Mountains, and Oak Creek Canyon share much of the same magic touch. A list of the state's less publicized spectacles might well exceed a hundred. Scores of lesser attractions are missing merited attention. Perhaps there's something special about Arizona's crisp thin air, the brilliant sunshine and the limitless distances which makes big things immense and small things unusual.

The same subtle influence has even changed the men and women of these rugged mountains and sweeping mesas. If another list was made to include the improbable and fantastic creations of man, Arizona might again furnish many examples. Topping the list one would find Jerome. Here human perseverance, ingenuity and unbridled creative imagination have forcefully asserted themselves.

The location, the setting, even the unique construction is a rare curiosity. The town itself personifies the reckless yet tenacious spirit of the men who built it. For over sixty years it has clung to the 33 degree slope of Cleopatria Mountain. Repeatedly it has threatened to let go with the resounding blasts in the big copper mine above, beneath and around it. It would be easy to skip into the yawning canyons below. And such a wild last fling would be entirely in character for this colorful community. Perhaps gravity and the jarring blasts may yet win this half-century battle. But so far, the Little town enjoys its airy, sighty, if insecure location.

Middle-aged residents by the dozens, who were born with those earth-shaking blasts in their ears, have rounded out a contented half-century in Jerome. Now looking forward to another fifty years on the hillside, they predict the town will be alive when they are gone.

"It's a tough little town!" they say. Not "tough" in the brawling sense of a Tombstone or Virginia City, but tenacious in its grasp on life and the shifting shales of the mountain's shoulder. The foundations of its homes and its residents' spirits go down to the eternal bedrock. Any less permanent an anchor would have proved unfit. The top level homes, fifteen hundred feet above those at the bottom, have been good sentinels these many years. Despite rumors to the contrary, the little town is stable and secure on its uneasy perch on the mountainside.

The rip-roaring past seems near yet far. Forgotten are the disastrous fires which three times levelled the town and prompted the waggish newspaper headline: "JEROME BURNS AGAIN! ENTIRE BUSINESS DISTRICTS OF 24 SALOONS AND 14 "JEROME" BY CHARLES M. MORGAN. "This shot was taken June 20, 1948," Mr. Morgan explains, "at 4:30 p.m., between showers of the first rain storm of the year. I used a 4 x 5 Speed Graphic Camera, Ektar 127mm lens, no filter, tripod, 1/5th second at f.29. Daylight Kodachrome was exposed at Weston 8 speed on a Weston Master meter. Sky reading on meter was 800, 45 degree angle to ground reading was 200. To maintain sky tone I bracketed film latitude so sky got maximum exposure without burning out. This then reached down into the shadows for detail that otherwise might be lost. The foreground need interest. I moved the 8-foot 150-pound Century Plant 200 feet and replanted it to get effect I wanted. Two rattlesnakes got into the act to make it more fun."

CHINESE RESTAURANTS DESTROYED.

With nostalgia, old old-timers recall that these same “business” houses sported heavy metal shutters to fend off the frequent flying bullets. The big pay days lasted half a week until the miners were broke and sober enough to stagger wearily back to the mine.

Those were the days, they say, when gambling tables regularly supported $50,000 in gold pieces in a single night's play. Some recall that Pancho Villa contracted to haul the town's water in 1900 and his two hundred burros and glower-ing assistants added their colorful menace to Main Street. Others refer to the big years of 1917, when $21,000,000 of ores were gouged out of the mountain, or 1929 when the yearly diggings soared above $25,000,000. Yes, Jerome recalls as rousing a past as any, but few would ask to have it return. Today's life on the precipitous hillside, while less hectic and exciting, still has a flavor all its own.

For many, the high, airy, sightly location alone seems justification for living there. Somewhere in their hearts these individuals share a close kinship with the mountain eagles which soar overhead.

As in many of Arizona's towns off the beaten path, if the individual fails to measure up in man-sized qualities or human goodness, his neighbors are quick to let him know of it. The friendly welcome and generosity are withdrawn. He either mends his ways or moves on.

Living so near to the remains of the old west, the vigorous life figures prominently in the affairs of most individuals. Although the cinema, radio and daily newspaper provide conventional ties with the outer world, major activities center on things nearer home. These people have today the rare faculty of winnowing the grain from the chaff of manufactured news-paper ballyhoo. Important topics win merited attention. The artificial is soon recognized and ignored. Life for them is simpler yet much fuller in daily contentment and satisfaction.

Opening trout day, the start of deer and elk seasons are major events. Business slows to a crawl as miner and business man alike take to the hills, gun or rod in hand. And that's as it should be. Too much synthetic pressure has robbed the great majority of our citizens of the simple pleasures formerly theirs.

In Jerome, the rugged outdoor life of yesterday is close at hand. The heights, the adjacent wilderness of forest and can-yon and the open, limitless views somehow bring the spirit of the pioneering yesterdays into the daily present.

This bedrock appeal of the yesteryear periods of explora-tion for gold, new lands, new adventures has in recent years attracted new faces to the old mining community. From the far reaches of the country they have come, drawn by the ir-resistible forces that are deep within us all. The urban society they left had failed to supply them with contentment or proof of their ability and will to survive. In Jerome some have found what they sought. There is much of the old and enough that's new to provide a full life for those who will accept it.

Around the calendar the outdoors can be enjoyed. The heights of Mingus and Woodchute offer excellent skiing and ice skating in the cold season and a cool camp and picnic retreat when the hot valley winds sweep upward in midsummer. Game animals and birds abound in adjacent mountains, val-leys and canyons. The nearby Verde River ever holds promise that a twin to the record twenty-five pound channel cat awaits your hook. Scrappy small mouth bass tempt those who know their haunts in lower Oak Creek and the upper Verde. And Oak Creek trout attract the anglers from many distant states.

In late years the natural advantages and scenic appeal of Jerome have attracted a literary and artistic following. At one time recently six different writers had novels in progress. Several landscape artists and scenic color photographers have also found Jerome to their liking.

There is no lack for artistic inspiration. Sunset on the purple and red-rock spires and citadels of Sycamore and Upper Dry Creek Rim will usually spur the most laggard creative instincts. The late afternoon play of light and shadow over the 10,000 square mile panorama of foothill, canyon, valley and mountain spread out before the town provides a never-ending delight in changing chiaroscuro.

When this palls, nothing so forcefully separates an individual from his worldly cares as to watch the mighty spectacle of weather unfolding over earth and sky about the town. Life-giving rain is promised when the purple, gold and white cotton-puff thunder-heads boil up from the scorched valley floor. They tower and climb to fantastic heights, finally to collapse and tumble wearily over from the sheer effort of their tremendous exertions.

Soon they darken sternly and breathe chilly winds over the land. Then the rain comes, sometimes blustery and violent, sweeping with awesome power, accompanied by deafening thunder and vivid lightning. The peaks are cloaked in filmy gray gauze, or blackened swiftly as the clouds descend.

Sometimes nature is mild. The brilliant sun steals away, the sky quietly darkens to a leaden sheet and gentle rain falls without fanfare or display. The earth is moist and cool and the heat and strife of the troubled world vanish while man and beast give thanks. In winter, the majestic pageant is re-peated and soft snow sifts down to sculpture the flinty profile of crag and canyon and valley floor into graceful contours.

This ever-fascinating parade of the weather is but one of the spectacles of nature presented to the mountain dweller. Probably no other town anywhere offers such a magnificent display of nature's many moods across the earth and sky as the most humble dweller enjoys in Jerome.

And with all these wonders of weather comes a remarkably mild climate. Temperatures above 100-degrees are as rare as those below 15. Approximately twenty inches of precipitation nourish a cover of vegetation to soften the stark outlines of up-land and valley.

By appearance, Jerome seems to have been clinging to the mountainside for generations. The raw blasted rock has mel-lowed and man's crude carving along the hillsides has blended with natural erosion. The white man's town of today, how-ever, goes back but seventy years. Despite indications to the contrary, no mere prank decided its location. A look at the Big Pit belies such thinking. Copper, gold and silver are the real reasons for the town's existence.

Without the mine, The United Verde, as the major opera-tion is called, there would be no Jerome. Present day mining probably began after M. A. Ruffner with John and August McKinnon staked their first claims in 1876. Of course the vivid outcrop above the Big Pit attracted primitive Indians long before that.

As early as 935 A.D. the brilliant oxidized surface min-erals were utilized by Tuzigoot Indians for body, garment and pottery coloration. The richly combined mineral deposits produced many tints. There was iron for brown, manganese for black, azurite for blue, malachite for green, all providing an abundance of bright hues for the Indian artists. These early workers neglected the metallic ores. Only the color possibilities interested them.

Nothing much is known of the region until the coming of the Spaniards, six centuries later. It seems fairly certain that Antonio de Espejo in his search for gold and silver visited the mine about 1582-83. He had traveled west and south from the Zuni villages searching for a legendary mine known to the Indians.

Marcos Farfan de los Godos in 1598 visited the area and found active mining operations on the mountain consisting of a shallow shaft which the Indians had mined for colors. A nearby dump contained rich ores and indicated considerable earlier workings.

Espejo left a map showing he had journeyed south from where Flagstaff now stands past the Rio de Las Parras in Sycamore Canyon. He crossed the Rio de Los Reyes (the Verde) near present-day Perkinsville and followed the hogback upwards and around Woodchute Mountain much as Senator Clark's narrow gage railroad was to do three centuries later. His path into Jerome's present site was along the ancient Indian and game trail which existed up to comparatively recent times. While most historians differ on the exact route followed, they all agree that Espejo and Farfan did visit the mine and Jerome's present location.

A gap of some years separates the Spanish accounts from those of the 1850's and 60's. Al Sieber, the Indian scout, and others visited the mine in the 70's and found tunnels, rock tools and juniper ladders. They found no metals, either tools or trinkets, verifying the belief that Indians had been attracted solely by the bright mineral colorations.

Sieber, Capt. J. O. Boyd and John Dougherty, all who preceded Ruffner and the McKinnons, failed to develop their claims. With the development of the original claim and proof of the valuable deposits, there began the fabulous operations which were to continue for three-quarters of a century and produce more than one-half billion dollars in wealth for the fortunate owners. Ironically, Ruffner sold two-thirds of his original claim to the McKinnons for a paltry grub stake. This was but one of the many such transactions where an owner sold his valuable holdings in time of need for a mere pittance.

George Wharton James recalls knowing over half a dozen prospectors who had owned the mine at one time or another before its exploitation. One sold it for a burro, another for $150 in cash, a third for a one-eyed mule, and a fourth traded off the future Prince's ransom for a few plugs of tobacco. Like many another mine, the mighty United Verde was swapped about with but light regard for its golden future.

Governor Tritle, in the territorial capitol of Prescott, bought out the Ruffner interests for the insignificant sum of $500 cash with the $1,500 balance due in six months. A New York lawyer, Eugene Jerome, agreed to finance the mine's development on condition the town would be named for him. Later this same Eugene Jerome was to became famous as the cousin of Jennie Jerome, the mother of Winston Churchill.

The property expanded and so fabulous were the reports of wealth it is hard to separate fancy from fact. That the original insignificant Ruffner claim was one in many lifetimes is certain. A dividend of $60,000 was paid stockholders on October 9, 1884. From then on the sky seemed to be the only limit for profit-until the inevitable price fall of copper came.

Shortly after the mine became nationally known as a great venture, Senator Clark of Montana assumed control and began the expansion and operations which were to become a legend in Arizona's early mineral development. Later, the Little Daisy, or United Verde Extension, was located and for twenty-four years was a spirited rival to the original mine. Other mines were soon to appropriate the gilt-edged Verde title and operate briefly, only to fade as the various ore bodies were exhaused. At one time there were fifteen mining operations sharing some part of the magical Verde or Jerome in their names.

In the late 1910's and early 20's, when Jerome was at the pinnacle, any kind of mining stock could be sold in a flash if the persuasive Jerome-Verde identification was mentioned with it. Conditions became so unstable, with wildcatters using the Jerome or Verde term for every enlarged coyote hole they wished to promote, that legal action was taken by local business men to halt this damaging activity. They wished to preserve the integrity of the Jerome-Verde name. A thorough control of the get-rich-quick schemes was the only alternative.

The 1920's saw Jerome at the peak of its varicolored existence. True, there had been hard times in the past when copper prices rose and fell. But the gay and spirited expansion of the 20's would accept nothing but a rose-tinted future financed by the soaring copper wealth.

But as was inevitable, the tremendous bubble finally burst. As the old timers recall, "She was a mighty bubble in her prime!" Yet, like the fate waiting all mine towns, as the ore was used up, the town declined. A town built solely upon the fate of a mine's production rarely has any other finale but slow death along with its principal occupation.

In the depths of the depression in 1935, hard times closed the great United Verde. Shortly afterwards the Phelps-Dodge Corporation purchased the property and operations were resumed. But past glory and fame would never rise again. Rather, it was to be a slow walk to the end, a steady, lesscolorful cleanup of what remained of the fabulous copper lode.

The Big Pit operations closed in 1940, thereby ending a mighty era of ore extraction in which over eighty million dollars of wealth had been wrested from the mountainsides. Starting with Ruffner and McKinnon's shallow 45-foot shaft, which they had feared to extend, (lest the ore might play out before they could sell) the huge pit had been sunk more than 1,000 feet to uncover one of world's richest ore bodies.

The war years produced a temporary spurt as the dumps were reworked and lower grade bodies mined. But the great virgin mass of ore was gone and it seemed unlikely that anything to match it would be discovered. The recent annual report by the Phelps-Dodge president indicated that intensive mineral explorations had been discouraging. Unless rich new deposits were located (which seemed unlikely) or copper prices advanced, present mining operations probably would end in a year or two.

Today Jerome remembers her hectic youth and middle years when 15,000 people filled her streets and 4,000 miners cashed their pay checks amid revelry and sprees. Now in more leisurely old age she sees copper, gold and silver in true perspective. The scars of the gigantic mining operations are beginning to heal. Vegetation is returning to the rounded slopes long denuded by Senator Clark's first smelter. Now there is time to sit quietly, to savor the past, not sadly but with wisdom. Youth has had its fling. There is much that's good in old age if viewed with the correct objectivity.

Mining goes on as usual. Rumors fly about the rich new strikes. But after seventy-five years, the old town takes the whispered reports with the proverbial nip of salt The mine will always figure in Jerome's thinking. But it is no longer foremost. The season filled with days-all worth enjoying to the fullest are important. The uneasy tourists, crawling up the 9-per cent grade or halting to cool their steaming motors on the 14-degree hill at the end of the hogback, all rate interested and sympathetic attention. The residents remember their own first trip up the curving five mile highway from the Verde Valley and Clarkdale. Starting at a 3400 feet elevation at Clarkdale's city limits, the road climbs briskly during the next 4.65 miles to 5400 feet at Jerome's Post Office. That's right smart climbing anywhere. But after the first pleasurable gasp of amazement the traveler is as enchanted with the wonderful view from the heights as is the town's oldest resident.