The Legend of Pearl Grey

HE BLACKED THE EYE of more than one contemporary who reminded him of it; but the fact remains that the name with which he was christened was Pearl. Equally unlikely but true is the fact that he received his higher education in dentistry, taking his degree from the University of Pennsylvania in 1896. That was exactly a century after his mother's ancestor, a soldier in the Revolutionary War, was given a grant of land in Ohio where a prosperous city stands today. Evidently Ebenezer Zane, for whom Zanesville was named, was a progenitor of vigor, for not only did the city choose to bear his name; so also did the vigorous young dentist, whose writings first focused world-wide popular attention on what frequently today is called the Zane Grey country, referred to in this issue as the Payson country. Zane Grey's book, Under the Tonto Rim, is largely responsible for the substitution of "Tonto" for "Mogollon" in referring to the Rim. Indeed, his works, as much as anyone's, made America conscious of Arizona and the The latter attempt, however, was the springboard to Grey's success. Jones induced Grey to travel to Arizona to gather material and background. Ironically, today it is the biographer and not the subject who is remembered. Grey returned from the trip convinced that the West and its people were the ingredients of which literary romances were made. They were, to him, the perfect means to articulate his dreams of daring and heroism pitted against untrammeled nature. The direct result of Grey's first Arizona trip and the consequent Jones biography was the author's meeting with Ripley Hitchcock of Harper and Bros. publishing house. Hitchcock saw the young dentist's potential as a writer, and was soon responsible for the publication of five Grey books. The first of these was The Heritage of the Desert, a romance of the Mormon country, in 1910, which was a success. Instant best-seller status, dream of every would-be writer, was achieved in 1912 by Grey's Riders of the West, of the cowboys, the Indians and the gunfighters, of the shimmering deserts and the rugged mountains that have captured so universally the imagination of the moviegoing, TV-watching world. Born January 31, 1872, young Pearl literally fought his way to acceptance as Zane Grey. Any youngster foolish enough to tease him about his name had to be man enough to whip Zane and few were. Zane was a natural athlete, keen of eye, and exceptionally fast of hand. A real devotee of physical fitness, he stood five feet eight and kept himself at a trim 150 pounds until he died. Dark haired and lean, he put something of himself into each of his heroes. Success as a writer did not come easily. His initial effort, Jim of the Caves, written while he was a youngster, engaged in a variety of Robin Hoodlike escapades, never found a publisher. More discouraging, neither did the first four works he undertook as a half-hearted young dentist. The first three were historical novels, the fourth a biography of Col. C. J. (Buffalo) Jones.

Purple Sage. After that, success was so regular that, to date, his seventy-eight books have sold some 30,000,000 copies in the United States and nearly 4,000,000 copies in foreign lands. Perhaps Grey was not a true classicist. Perhaps, as current critics charge, his works are escapist, sensational, populated by stereotyped characters, and full of an uncritical worship of strength. Nevertheless, they reflect the author's sincerity and enthusiasm. He does achieve what he himself set as his goal, the capturing of ". the spirit, not the letter of life." Few can deny he succeeded in capturing the spirit of the old West. Historians criticize the accuracy of detail in To the Last Man, his account of the Pleasant Valley war which took place in the Payson country. Defenders answer, reasonably, that Grey was writing not as a historian but as a romantic novelist. Besides which, defenders and historians agree, no one since has fully unraveled that complex tale of feuding frontier life.

OLDTIMERS IN THE PAYSON COUNTRY — and in the Oak Creek area — will disagree about Zane Grey as a person. A great many claim to have known him personally (most of them as youngsters). Some say he was an egocentric, a dude. They say he wasn't nearly as good a hunter, fisherman and outdoorsman as he thought himself. His personal defenders point to him as an early-day Hemingway. Grey did win a number of world records in salt-water fishing, and he did bag trophy game. He did zestfully roam far in search of adventure — to the South Seas, the Rogue River country, to Catalina Island, throughout the United States. Yet always his first love called him back to Arizona, to Oak Creek and, especially, to the Payson country. He had a cabin on Oak Creek, but he had a refuge, a lodge, near Payson. No one can prove how much of his literary production and inspiration came in and from the latter. His retreat there has recently been restored and turned into a sort of museum. Stevenson, Kipling, Poe and Hugo were the models he took for his writing, and he said he knew “by heart” Tennyson, Wordsworth and Matthew Arnold. Consistent in this frame of reference were his religious beliefs — nonsectarian and professing strongly the spirituality of nature and man and a dedication to the simple virtues. These beliefs were reflected in the warm family life he enjoyed with his wife, his daughter, Betty Zane, and his two sons, Romer Zane and Loren. To Zane Grey, the fact that his books sold so well and made him rich was a source of gratification, for it enabled him to lead the kind of life he enjoyed, roaming where the whim called and then returning to the mammoth studio in his Spanish-style home in Altadena, California, where he spent almost every spring writing. But to Zane Grey, admittedly a bit of an egocentric, perhaps the greatest satisfaction of success was that he became virtually a legend in his own time. Accounts of his personal adventures added to the charm of his books, and together they combined to fascinate a nation. Harsh as some critics were to his work, they at least had to admit that he had given the old dime novel a distinctly twentiethcentury expression and that his epics, crude as some called them, approached an American saga. A less critical public devoured his works and turned westward in imagination toward Arizona and the marvelous Mogollon (Tonto) Rim. And certainly every American girl knew what Grey was talking about when his heroine in Riders of the Purple Sage gazed out across the desert and prayed that “. . . out of those lovely purple reaches . . . might ride a fearless man, neither need-bound nor creed-mad.” Many a maiden heart breathed a fervent “amen” to that prayer, even while her hometown beau was, in his own mind, a rider of the purple sage under the Tonto Rim, battling the thundering herd to the last man. Indeed, it wouldn't be surprising if more than one of the thousands who visit Arizona's Zane Grey land today are secretly keeping these same dreams alive. In fact, it would be surprising if they weren't, for it is awfully easy to dream big, adventurous, sentimental dreams in the Payson country. It's that romantic kind of country.

SEASON OF NACRE MOONS

This is the season of nacre moons When words are as silent as crystal dunes; When thoughts of Springtime lean on the wind Of drifted moments, undisciplined. Through stained-glass windows the seeking eye Searches the somber somnolent sky For future seasons of harvest moon Knowing the Binder comes too soon!

ALWAYS

Not all the famous physicists, Tho they have conquered space, Can transcend one small fragile flame That changed the human race. Not all their probing sapience Can grow a feathered wing; Tho nuclear bombs destroy the world Somewhere . . . a bird will sing!

WHERE WIND WORKS

Sand carving deeply into sun-dried wood, Leaves paint-protected names in bold relief, Markers of trail-worn mother's hardihood, Of gunmen's evil fame. No echoed grief Retells that tale of endless miles . . . of sun That seared the mind, and sucked the infant's breath. When hope was gone and dragging steps were done, There came this leveler of difference, death. Still here, beneath this bending arch of blue, A mother's name, a gunman's one gray hue.

A HEARTBEAT

I cannot Gather up a cloud Or hold in my small hand A tree. No finger has yet Touched the evident horizon; Nor artistry contrived the Pleasure of the wind Or subtlety of air. A heartbeat sounds Unnoticed in a crowd - And the sky and earth Do not Contain my care.

DESERT STILLNESS

In majestic glory, the giant cactus stands, Silhouetted against the sun's last rays. The purple shadows deepen Then silently slip away. Out of the twilight comes the Night owl's lonely call, Stillness, the desert is lulled To sleep, and darkness curtains all.

YOURS SINCERELY

Please accept my congratulations for the magnificent pictorial and editorial treatment accorded Lake Havasu and Lake Havasu City in the February issue of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. In my opinion, no publication has ever succeeded so well in bringing to life for its readers both the beauty and the man-made attractions of this particular part of the lower Colorado River. The composition of both your color and black and white photographs were uniformly excellent, and the color reproduction is among the finest I have seen anywhere. The accuracy and detail of the reporting and editorializing on Lake Havasu City itself were excellent throughout, and for this I express my grateful thanks. In the years of growth ahead I am sure that your February issue will be a defini tive reference work on the "early days of Lake Havasu City."

This is a very difficult letter to write because I do not know where or even how to start it. The basic intention is to thank you, thank you, and thank you again for including us in the February issue of your wonderful magazine. Naturally, everyone here at McCulloch feels that it is the finest and most interesting issue they have ever read.

The photography, as always in your magazine, was excellent and I particularly liked the manner in which you handled the text. It was concise and factual, which is the way we believe all reports on our Lake Havasu project should be.

Over the years, I have admired your publication ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. In my opinion, it has been the finest example of any state publication in existence, but this year's Christmas issue is undoubtedly the epitome of all your issues. The magazine is certainly a credit to the State of Arizona and I am sure it does the job for which it is designed. The photography, make-up and copy are outstanding.

What I say about this magazine is not insincere praise. It is something I have felt for a number of years, but have never taken the time to put into writing. I do have a soft spot in my heart for Arizona as I lived in Tucson for a few months during the year 1944 and learned that the desert country has a charm all its own, and this is hard for a person from the "water country" to admit. I have been back a number of times since and always enjoy the hospitality your state affords.

Even in a land as exciting as Japan, an American college student sometimes feels homesick. It is a great pleasure to read a magazine such as ARIZONA HIGHWAYS. Not only pleasure from reading and gazing at the pictures, but also from showing your issues to my Japanese friends and saying with great pride, "This is part of the beauty of America."

Each issue is exciting, and each issue brings America abroad. With all due honesty, your magazine is a welcome addition to my reading enjoyment here in Japan.

OPPOSITE PAGE

"WHERE THE TONTO IS BORN" BY ROBERT B. WHITTAKER. The Tonto is one of the main tributaries of the Salt River. Sometimes it flows so dry it is almost a dry wash, but high under the Mogollon Rim, where it is born, the Tonto is clear and fresh and full of trout. This photograph was taken above Tonto Fish Hatchery at the very headwaters of the Tonto.

BACK COVER

"BLUE RIDGE LAKE" BY DARWIN VAN CAMPEN. Blue Ridge Lake is one of the new lake-jewels available to fishermen on the east slope of the Mogollon Rim not too far from Payson. This charming lake was formed by a dam built by the Phelps Dodge Corpora tion in a water exchange with the Salt River Project. Water from this lake is being pumped into the East Verde and eventually Verde River for the Salt River Valley. In exchange water from the Salt River drainage will be available to the Phelps Dodge Corporation for their large mining operation at Morenci. Everybody is happy!