LYMAN DAM

and the people worked with a will. The going wage for a man and a team was $4.00 a day. Even in 1909-10 there was little mechanized equipment to help in even so large a project and again men came with teams to pull the dump wagons, slips were employed to spread the dirt out over the dam. Canal building went along with the dam building.

Construction was slowed several times due to diffi culty in finding a supervisor who could go ahead with the job and changing supervisors was a costly operation. Finally Jacob Hamblin, the son of Utah's "old Leather stocking," Fred Colter, a state senator from Apache County and Monico Garcia took the contract to build the dam. After so many false starts or at least starts in which the dam seemed to go nowhere, it finally stood tall, banked high with rock on front and back. And the people now thought ahead to what the dam would bring into their lives. They thought of the warm coats, the store bought chairs, the new china cups that would come from its waters and they thought also of what they could offer through their tithing to the glory of God who had, in the first place, given them this gift.

The dam looked imposing to the people and held within its confines their bounty . . . green alfalfa, red apples, corn and winter squash. Being a small community of mostly farming and ranching interests the area now continued to build and grow. And so it was for three sea sons . . . until the spring of 1915. All over the Southwest that spring there had been unprecedented rains . . . streams were out of their banks, there had been snows in the winter too, followed by steady rain. Ranchers counted heavily on fatted cattle at market, farmers looked to the prospect of great crops all over New Mexico and Arizona. Else where in the world there were Zeppelin raids on Britain, Annette Kellerman was in a seven reeler called "Neptune's Daughter" and studios were filming Rex Beach's "The Spoilers." But in the Southwest the talk was all of the weather.

A small group of buildings huddled now at the base of the dam, one of them a two room school serving the scattered farm families on the peripheral area of the dam. The teacher of this school was a Mrs. Jennie Palmer. Another woman, a Mrs. Ray, traveling south by buck board to the desert around Phoenix for the health of her fifteen-year-old son, was camping at the dam. Mrs. Ray had with her two sons and a daughter. She and Mrs.

Palmer, the schoolteacher, had become friendly. Mrs. Ray, a widow from Colorado, liked the company of the other woman and they often visited together. Between them it was arranged that Mrs. Ray would look after Mrs. Palmer's children while the latter was in St. Johns attend ing the end of school program which was to be followed by a big dance.

The day of the program dawned clear but with extremely high winds from the southwest. In St. Johns the school program went off on schedule and the dance followed . . . an oldtime dance with fiddles and a neigh borhood caller. The Mormons have always loved to dance, they danced across the prairie from the Missouri to the Great Salt Lake and after a back breaking day over the preserving pot or plowing the fields, they danced their great love of life and their thanksgiving for the Lord's gifts. And so it was on this night, never knowing in their gaiety the tragedy that was unfolding to the south.At the dam along about ten o'clock that night there was a leak on the north side. Water began to spill over in an ever increasing amount. Mrs. Ray aroused her children and hurried across the way to the Palmer young ones. The only other people around were some mule skinners camped below the dam. They too were aroused by the water and hurried to their rope corral, cutting the ropes so the mules could fend for themselves while they hiked to higher ground. Little did they know of the pathetic attempt being made below on the part of one lone woman and a sickly boy to save themselves, their family and the children of the schoolteacher who had befriended them. No one knows exactly what happened . . . only one of Mrs. Ray's children survived the rampage. The water which had begun as a trickle now became a torrent sweep ing everything away before it, the Little Colorado twist ing and tearing a nightmarish pathway.

Death and destruction poured down the valley. At the first report of a dam break people sought the high ground, life being valued above property. In the streets of St. Johns and surrounding area the flood reached a depth of three feet in some places but no great damage was done in the town proper. But back up at the site of the dam, a woman, two of her own children and the three other children she had vainly tried to save were drowned. The body of one was never found.A Spanish woman and her child were swept away. The river seemed especially bent upon taking children.

Woodruff was inundated. It would have been swept away completely but the Woodruff dam burst too and relieved the pressure. All the people of the town reached high ground and there were no fatalities. Holbrook was alerted and made hasty preparations for the protection of life and property but the streams there were at low stage and there was good river bank protection. Property damage of from $400,000 to $600,000 was estimated. The Santa Fe Railway Company threw up dikes along its tracks, several miles of which were regarded as in a critical position.

An old photograph of the dam made in September of 1915, a few scant months after the break, shows the middle portion intact but eroded and water washed. Both ends of the dam which had tied into slick rock were washed away completely.

The St. Johns people felt the weight of their burden. They remembered only ten years previous the dam which they had been almost a decade in building was lost. Men had worked with sandbags and shovels and picks to save it but to no avail. Now this dam into which they had poured their money, their best efforts, was also gone. The other time they had been blessed . . . no one was killed. But this time three little ones, children of their own, had been the victims and a woman who had been a stranger amongst them and her youngsters . . . they too were gone. There was sorrow also for their Spanish neighbors who buried two members of a family who did not quite make it to safety.

They carried the dead to the graveyard atop the mesa near the town and buried them there, harboring in their hearts their wonder if the river could ever be contained.

Overlooking the town in one direction and the meandering Little Colorado in another, this graveyard is now a legend in itself, telling something of the history of St. Johns. Buried there, overlooking the river are David King Udall and Nathan C. Tenney, Arizona pioneers, and the Greer family from Texas who brought the cattle in. Amid the mountain asters and the galleta grass is a small tilting gray marker. On it are the names of the three children who lost their lives in the dam break: Gerald E. Palmer, almost eight; Carrol Ross Palmer, not quite four; and Louise who would have been seven in October and whose body was never found. Marked simply at the bottom of the stone is the reminder that these were the children of Ellis and Rebecca J. Palmer. In another part of the cemetery are the three graves of those who had not come to stay, but who had made a friend and chose to stay on for yet a little while. These are the graves of Violet W. Ray, the mother; Hazel, the daughter; and Dewey, the son. In the Spanish graveyard are the graves, unmarked, of the Spanish lady and her baby whose lives were also claimed by the river. They are remembered still by some of the old Spanish settlers.

There was a great sadness in the valley. Their own had been taken from them and there was not much will to begin again. So much of themselves had been given to the building of the dams, so much of themselves had been taken by the river. It was true, of course, that there had been names attached to the building of the dams, that sums of money had gone into their construction, but the ways of finance were apart. They had known them variously as the Denver interests, the men from Colorado, and their own they had called the Lyman Land Company and the Lyman Irrigation Company, just as long ago on their first project they had called it the St. Johns Irrigation Company. But always the people had thought of the dam as themselves . . . their labor had gone into its building, their hopes had twice raised it from the floor of the river. It was theirs, a part of them; with their own hands they had tipped the slips that hauled the dirt, they themselves had shoveled and spread and packed and tamped. Their clothes had been caked with the soil that had gone intoits building. Twice they had done these things and had been glad to do them, grateful for the bounty the dams had brought. Now they wondered if the river would ever be tamed mere men had such a little chance. These were the thoughts they pondered after the debacle.

But for the country to develop there must be a dam to contain the water. There now began again the necessary business details: damage suits, purchase and transferral of water rights. There was then an appeal to the Arizona State Loan Board for assistance in the building of another dam. The state, recognizing that this project would have to involve more money than had previously been available, passed a law providing funds, taking as security mortgages on the dam and farmland. In the fall of 1917, with state help, work was again started on a dam on the Little Colorado. A tent city sprouted up once more and there was a commissary and busy workers. Typhoid plagued this venture and then the Spanish flu. There was much delay, but eventually there was success. In 1923, the first water was delivered to the main ditch. This new dam, an earth fill, stood 67 feet high with the spillway level at 56.8 feet. The dam was 382 feet long with a top width of twelve feet.

Eighteen years later on Friday afternoon, May 9, 1941, in celebration of having water flowing through the spillway, a "Water Blessing" celebration was held at the dam. It was a tremendous and inspiring sight for those who could remember the drouth years and had worked on the earlier dams or had heard the tales and stories of their destruction around firesides at home. There was an all-day picnic and the people feasted on delicacies brought from homes all over that part of the county. But their eyes returned again and again to the water pouring through the spillway and falling over the cliff. For people who had always valued water as the life giver, it was indeed a sight to bless.

With the new dam came the storage of water for the economic well being of a people. This is what the dam meant for the old pioneer who worked his farm or rode over his rangeland, always casting his eyes upward for the sign of moisture that meant grass and growing things. The old ones would scarcely believe the size of the lake which impounds the water of the Little Colorado and irrigates the barren land to which they first came, land which now produces alfalfa, fruits, vegetable gardens bor dered with sun flowers and the tree lined streets of friendly St. Johns.

But in our own time man has placed a new, an additional value, on the use of water. For him it has become a means of recreation. Thus it is that the Little Colorado, namesake of the truculent, mighty river of the West, not only brings economic benefit to the people of the valley, but also gives pleasure to the people of Arizona and to visitors who come this way. For Lyman Dam is now a State Park where boats may be rented and fishing licenses, supplies and lunch makings can be procured. Camping spaces with cooking grills are available, there are boat ramps and black topped roads around the edge of the lake. But the Arizona scenery is still the same as in the days when Solomon Barth first brought in a few families from New Mexico to herd his bands of sheep.The needs of man change as time and distance contract into an ever-varying world... but the man in the motorboat, the one with the fancy fishing rod and welltied lures, the woman with her grill and portable ice box they too long for a touch with history, to be a part of the grandeur which the old pioneer took for granted. The real treasure of the Southwest stems from the spirit of all those who found their homeland in this place of abundant land and scant water. Their will to endure and remain is reflected in the history of Lyman Dam and the waters of the Chiquito Colorado.

A MAN AND HIS GARDEN

I thought he was a churlish sort, Not leaning much to gentle thought. He'd often give a brusque retort, And act more coldly than he ought.

But once, for reasons now forgot, I called upon him where he dwelt, And there he showed his flower plot, And there I saw this stern man melt.

In loving joy he told what grew, And some with gentle hand caressed. He showed concern for one or two, And some in tender tones addressed.

No longer am I quick to say That men are this or thus or so; I save my judgments till the day I go to see their gardens grow.

DESERT PAINTING

This is the desert. Color the sand, Windswept and lonely, brushed by God's hand.

Color the sagebrush softer than blue, More gently than twilight fading from view.

Cloud streaked and golden, color the sky; Vast and unending to the wayfarer's eye.

Faint are the wheelmarks, let them be strong: The color of courage that moved them along.

Paint burnished horizon, that widens the scope, Of faith in tomorrow, the color of hope.

OLD CEMETERY

Golden larks and Linnets small, Call from each Sagging post. Red poppies nod Along the wall And play the Silent host To a dusty, Peaceful crowd Sleeping neath An emerald shroud.

WINTER WINDS AND SUMMER SUNS

The trees so bare spread outstretched arms To halt the Winter Winds From steading Autumn's fluttering leaves Before the Spring begins To cloak them with her buds of green When blossoms one by one Will fill the air with rare perfumes To capture Summer Suns.

MISSILE BASE

At a wide sky, looking down in wonder, We hurl our man-made lightning and thunder, Usurp sky's old prerogatives, to form Dark portents, without the cleansing storm.

YOURS SINCERELY WE TELL THE TRUTH:

After our first trip to the Southwest, we became subscribers to your wonderful maga zine and have continued to take it through the years.

I had heard about Russia's ban of the ARIZONA HIGHWAYS prior to this issue which discusses the ban and I had taken exception with a Polish scientist (a frequent visitor in Russia) who was at the institute where I am employed. I brought in my color slides of our Southwestern sojourn and proved to him quite conclusively that your magazine tells the truth about the beauty of the South west. I hope he will tell his Russian friends on his return to Poland.

B. OF R. FILMS:

In the June issue of ARIZONA HIGH WAYS, on page 36, it is stated that films of Glen Canyon Dam may be obtained from the Bureau of Reclamation office in Washington, D. C. or the one in Salt Lake City, Utah. Formerly correct, this information is outdated.

All Bureau of Reclamation films are now distributed by the Bureau of Reclamation Film Distribution Center, Building 53, Denver Federal Center, Denver, Colorado, 80225. We would appreciate your publishing this address in connection with any future refer ence to Bureau films.

Your June magazine is an exceptionally excellent issue. The pictures are spectacular. Of course, every issue of ARIZONA HIGH WAYS is outstanding, but this one tops even your superb standard.

VIENNA WELCOME:

An old friend of mine, living now in Dallas, Texas, gave to me as a Christmas present a year's subscription of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. I must say without any over statement that this Christmas gift was my most beautiful among all others. I work as a camera man at the Austrian TV and it is my profes sion to make good and beautiful pictures and I have seen many magazines with good photos. But never before in my life I have seen such wonderful color photos as in your real grand magazine. And that's not my conviction alone, all my friends at TV who saw the photos say the same and each month I am looking for ward to another "symphonie in color." So let me thank you and all contributors and em ployees for your and their excellent job.

COLOR CLASSICS FROM ARIZONA HIGHWAYS

35mm slides in 2" mounts, I to 15 slides, 40c each; 16 to 49 slides, 35c each; 50 or more, 3 for $1.00. Catalog of previous slides issued available on request. Address: ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, Phoenix, Arizona 85009.

RI-23 Near Headwaters of the Little Colo rado, cov. 1; RI-24 In the Lower Gorge of the Little Colorado, cov. 2; RI-25 Little Colorado Is Still at Work, cov. 3; RI-26 Bend in the River - Little Colorado, cov. 4; RI-27 On a High Mountain a River is Born, p. 17; RI-28 Lazy Day on the Little Colo rado, p. 18; RI-29 In the Upper Valley of the Little Colorado, p. 18; RI-30 Little Colorado at Sheep Crossing, p. 19; RI-31 Little Colo rado below Greer Lake, p. 20; L-155 Greer Lake in the White Mountains, p. 21; RI-32 Little Colorado above Eagar, p. 22; RI-33 River Scene near St. Johns, p. 23; RI-34 At South Fork Bridge - Little Colorado, p. 23; RI-35 Muddy Mist of Grand Falls, p. 24 25; L-156 August Afternoon-Lyman Lake, p. 26; L-157 In Lyman Lake State Park, p. 27; L-158 Early Evening Lyman Lake, p. 27; RI-36 Little Colorado near Cameron, p. 28; RI-37 Little Colorado below Lyman Dam, p. 28; RI-38 River at Lyman Dam Outlet, p. 29; RI-39 Diversion Dam above St. Johns, p. 30; RI-40 View of Lower Gorge between Cameron and Grand Canyon, p. 30; RI-41 Little Colorado near Holbrook, p. 31; RI-42 Melting Snow Gives Life to a River, p. 32.

"LITTLE COLORADO IS STILL AT WORK" BY WAYNE DAVIS. This is a view of the Lower Gorge of the Little Colorado. Photo taken on Arizona 64 between Cameron and Grand Canyon. Here is dramatic proof of the power of a gentle trout stream as it leaves the cool serenity of high mountains and plunges madly downward to the Colorado on its way to the sea. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.22 at 1/25th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens with Pola screen; May; strong side light, early morning; ASA rating 64.

"BEND IN THE RIVER LITTLE COLORADO" BY WAYNE DAVIS. This photograph was taken about eight miles upstream from St. Johns. The river, swollen by rain and melting snow runoff, was higher than it has been in years. Hence, the red silt giving the river a "red" look. 4x5 Linhof camera; Ektachrome; f.16 at 1/50th sec.; 150mm Symmar lens; August; noon slight back lighting; ASA rating 64.