THE HIGH CHAPARRAL

"You name it."

"What is that bush called — that green one?"

"Chaparral."

Eyes bright as a desert sun-up, she exclaims, "That's it — Chaparral. I christen thee — The High Chaparral, the greatest cattle ranch in the whole territory — the whole world."

The vignette, in terms of location and time, possesses the elements of the classic western. The thorn-scarred feeling of the land is established with all its mood and intensity, foreshadowing stories of violence and love, death and passion. Sentiment has won a close battle over sentimentality. From this point on the history of The High Chaparral will commence.

In Arizona, chaparral grows in the high foothills bordering desert valleys, usually at altitudes between four and six thousand feet. It turns color in the fall to dull yellows and browns.

A few oldtimers will scoff at the name and insist it's "scrub oak."

Chaps (pronounced "shaps") open-backed leather overalls worn as protection against cacti, horse bites and thorns, derive their name from the Spanish chaparreras: for the chaparral.

Any wrangler will tell you that a horse especially trained for scrub riding is needed to ride into the dense, prickly growth and cut out foraging cattle. It's a painful, often dangerous job. Yet a good brush horse and brush buster are always willing to ride straight back into the chaparral, getting the job done.

"Getting the job done" might be considered the motto of The High Chaparral Ranch.

To be factual, another name had been selected for the series — Saguaro.

The Giant Saguaro cactus often reaches a height of fifty feet and can weigh up to seven tons. Pima and Papago Indians gather its fruit for food and, with amazing skill, fashion water vessels from its thick stem. Its evening glory, a creamy, waxy, magnolia-like bloom, is the official state flower.

About seventeen miles east of Tucson, along the Old Spanish Trail, lies the Saguaro National Monument, a sprawling cacti forest dedicated to the preservation of this fluted "tree cactus." Here, Spaniards, Americans, Mexicans and Apaches fought a century or more ago. Saguaro, for a title was a natural.

Not many people unacquainted with its pronunciation could sound "Saguaro" correctly. The word appeared to be something of a phonetic oddity, in terms of the general public. "Chaparral" was easier all the way around.

Consistent with present-day methods of producing for television, it was decided that The High Chaparral pilot would be done as a full-length movie. The "pilot," or initial segment of a proposed TV series, is a costly and involved affair. All too often it finds no buyer. By creating a work that can also be released as a feature film, some financial loss is averted.

The High Chaparral backdrop would be one woven from historical basis and geographic reality — a combination that has nearly always mesmerized the international "western" fan. Names that dot the blistering saga of early Arizona would be duly noted: Camps Wallen and Grant; Forts Huachuca, Lowell and Crittenden, along with such military contingents as Troop G of the 1st U. S. Cavalry, the Twenty-fourth Infantry and the now legendary Tenth Colored Cavalry.

The missions that might sooner or later play roles were catalogued — those north of the border: San Xavier del Bac, Tumacacori, Guevavi, and those south: Bogota and Bocoancos, although some, even then, were hardly more than ruins.

Ranches that claimed the high grass regions of what are now Nogales, Patagonia, Duquesne and the spurs of the Santa Catalina Mountains could all be held ready for plot lines. Mines like the famed Heintzleman were not overlooked. The roaring openness of Tucson and legacy of the presidio at Tubac (now a state park), with its history as old as the haciendas of Sonora, offered endless possibility for dramatic exploration.

Since Mexico and its influences would be very much a part of the projected series, borderland would speak loudly. The Apache would be represented in strength: Diablo, Mangas Coloradas, Natchez, Geronimo, Eskiminizin, Gon-E-Shay, Naquino and — Cochise! These chiefs and others like them took on all comers — Spaniard, Mexican, settler, pony soldier, miner — even the other Indian tribes of Arizona, with the possible exception of the Navajo (both races belonged to the same Athapascan nation). When this wasn't enough they fought against one another.

If the Apache sub-tribes had ever been able to unite, the story of The High Chaparral would be quite different. For that matter — the history of Southern Arizona.

The ingredients for cinematic adventure were obvious. The work involved in such a venture is staggering and called for specialists in numerous fields: executive (Irving Elman), story editing (Ward Hawkins), music (David Rose), photography (Harkness Smith and Harold Stine), art (Mac Capps), production management (Andy Durkus and Kent McCray). These are but a few of the many whose job it would be to present with force and excitement the Arizona of a century ago.

On the surface, Dortort's original story was straightforward, action packed, and full of excellent production values. The High Chaparral would describe the efforts of the Cannon family to establish a cattle ranch in spite of militant opposition from the Apache, the bandido, and the whims of the desert.

Big John Cannon would be the "hero," a man of many moods; determined, resourceful and fully committed to his struggle for survival. Men came west for one of three basic motives: to get away from something, just to get there, or to get something. There is never any doubt that Big John is out "to get something" — a stake in the future of Arizona.

Annalee, his first wife and the woman who names the spread in the early romantic scene, is killed during an Apache raid. Following this tragedy, hardships mount, with Mexican rustlers supplying the final blow.

In an effort to secure a defense pact with a powerful Spanish hidalgo, Big John crosses into Mexico. Don Sebastian de Montoya proves a caballero of infinite grace and practicality. He gives his daughter, Victoria, in a marriage of convenience, thus a feudal alliance against the nomadic war parties of Cochise is sealed.

Naturally, it's a question of what a man does with a western film or series that ultimately tells the tale. The High Chaparral breaks with traditional patterns on a number of points.

Dortort speaking: "I think it's important that the settling of Southern Arizona be considered from a number of viewpoints. Take the Apache — certainly he could and did fight like a demon, but he had reason to. He was fighting for his homeland. Ruthless, granted. But we mustn't forget his courage and honor, nor the many outrages perpetrated against him that contributed to his anger.

"Too often the Mexican in a western is presented as a sullen character useful as background color, or as a foil to manufacture some questionable humor. What about his emotions, his commitment to the land, his dreams?

"The newcomer, the rancher, the miner, the cattleman — each had his own way of seeing things. Often it was a mixture of the good and the bad. But it was a new land and a new challenge. And it had its own share of heroism, often in impressive degree.

"The High Chaparral is not one story — it's many: a chronicle that belongs to all the people who loved the land and fought for their place on it.

"At the end of the first episode a fierce battle with the Apache has terminated. When it's over, Big John Cannon pleads for peace, saying there's room for all in this new territory. The Apache spokesman, Nock-Ay-Del, his words translated by a young Mexican, answers that a man fights for his country . . . but it's his hope that out of the blood on the earth will grow a new land where all can live as men who are truly brothers in their hearts.

"The emotion is warmly human, universally so, and it's on this note that The High Chaparral will build."

Screenplay assignment was given to Denne Bart Petitclerc, whose job it was to develop the story and express it in the language of the camera. Bill Claxton was chosen to direct the pilot film. The cast would be varied in background. Argentina's Linda Cristal would portray Victoria. Puerto Rico would be represented by Henry Darrow and Mexico by Rudolfo Acosta.

The leading role of Big John Cannon was assigned to Lief Erickson, an actor of wide versatility, equally at home on the range as on the stage. Cameron Mitchell, veteran of countless westerns, would be his firebrand brother. Mark Slade would take on the role of Big John's son, Billy Blue. Frank Silvera would be the elegant Don Sebastian. Other "running characters," personalities to appear frequently as the series progressed, were selected. Technical craftsmen who knew the bow and arrow, and stuntman LeRoy Johnson were signed on. Extras and bit parts would be portrayed by Arizonans, including a direct descendant of Cochise himself.

Any job has hazards. A lookout's hazards are different, that's all. The most obvious one is falling off the tower. Billie went up one day in a 50-mile-per-hour wind and her feet were swept out from under her, but she had a good hand grasp. Another hazard is being struck by lightning. You can crouch on your little insulated glass-legged stool to keep from being electrocuted. When a thunderstorm is a mile away, you report it, switch off the radio, keep away from metal objects (which is difficult when the tower is made of metal), and remember your past sins. John Chambers asked me one day what I would do if a fire was burning around the lookout tower. I guessed I'd take off in the opposite direction. He told us about working across a river from a friend who was up in the tower. "There's a fire just in front of you, you'd better get out," the lookout told John.

OUTSTANDING ACTORS IN “THE HIGH CHAPARRAL”

John looked up and radioed back, "That fire you see is right under you." His friend proceeded down, out and away.

In a lookout tower, you have all the company you need and none of them tell you their troubles. Swallows nested and raised a family in a knothole under the window at Springer Mountain. A mourning dove sings softly from a thicket. The sun glints off blue-black crow's wings soaring above Lake Mountain. A woodpecker hammers away at his favorite tree. From somewhere near Danstone Springs, a power saw buzzes. Every evening at 5, a family of buzzards fly over from Wishbone, gliding lazily on brown-fringed wings looking for supper.

About the first of June, I looked north toward Silver Creek and saw a slow-moving cloud of yellow ochre dust. The sheep were coming to spend the summer in the White Mountains. For days they moved, band after band, 1500 to 2000 sheep in a band. Harry Little, of the Range Staff, brought a young Spanish herder up to the tower one day. He had a red beard and a white grin. His name was Amadero, and he invited us to eat with them. After work I got my daughter and her friend, and we drove out to Porter Springs. It was dusk and the sheep were being moved into a wide cienega. We watched while the cocinero built a fire, set up cots, and cut thick slices of lamb to broil. Paula spoke her good Spanish to the young herders. We ate well, smelling the carne asada, the coffee, the smoke, the sheep in the cold, clear night. While we washed the dishes, the herder Francisco played many songs from the north of Spain on the harmonica. Then we drove away in the darkness, without lights, through the band of dozing sheep.

A lookout's days are long and confining, but different, every one. He notices cloud patterns, birds' songs, light and shade playing in the green forest. He smells dry, dusty leaves; brittle cold morning air; moist pine needles and sweet, wet oak leaves. A lightning storm charges the air with sharp purity. Rain on Arizona's red soil is sour and mineral. Always in the air is the clean, sharp fragrance of the Ponderosas. They stand with dignity and patience in their God-given places. You wait for July and August when the clouds will swell and darken in the southeast and come rolling over Mt. Baldy to bring rain to the thirsty land. Then our peaceful mountains will be safe for another year. by relating the personal odyssey of a gal named Phoebus Titus, who baked pies for a living, selling them to a clientele of disillusioned sodbusters, con men, soldiers, and just about anyone who could dry gulch a dollar. Oddly enough, this well-known film character was not based on a real life pioneer woman, but on a gent known as "Pie Allen" — one John B. Allen, a man who did not arrive in Tucson courtesy of some vigilante out-of-state travel bureau. He was an exception.

Old Tucson has been the setting for a stream of films and TV productions over the last quarter century. Located about twelve miles west of the city in Tucson Mountain Park, 30,000 acres of natural desert growth and mesa land, the pueblo is close to the famed Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, a "living museum" where the animal and bird inhabitants of the Sonoran Desert — mountain lion, black bear, kaibab squirrel, coyote, rattlesnake, prairie dog, turkey vulture, gambel quail, golden eagle, etc. — are housed in unusual fashion.

The handsome rancho of Don Sabastian is, in actuality, the Mission of San Xavier del Bac, the "White Dove of the Desert." The present mission dates from the early 1780s.

This fine example of mission construction, with its domes, ornate carvings and stone portals, is about nine miles southwest of downtown Tucson, off U.S. 89 in the Papago Indian Reservation.

Such unusual settings, photographed in glowing compositions of color and viewed by a weekly TV audience numbering into the millions, are bound to do their part in whetting the tourist appetite on a global scale.

The Development Authority for Tucson's Economy (DATE) threw its support behind The High Chaparral from the start, making it possible to film the series in the Old Pueblo.

John W. Kenny, DATE's president, and chairman of the Southern Arizona Bank, is a strong advocate in support of bringing more film industry to Southern Arizona. Such support extends from loans for motion picture distribution in Tucson (about $2 million) to generous civic support.

On the governmental level the state has recently granted attractive tax relief measures to film makers who bring their working productions to Arizona.

The financial rewards are mutually beneficial. For example, each episode of The High Chaparral brings approximately $50,000 to the economy of Tucson. Although, as the week-to-week lensing continues, this figure will rise considerably.

One of the biggest drawbacks to filming on location in Tucson is the lack of a sound stage large enough to compensate for occasional inclement weather. With such an indoor structure, it's been estimated that filming in Tucson could be increased as much as forty percent.

Because of the present lack of an adequate sound stage, The High Chaparral alternates two weeks at the Old Pueblo, with one week in Hollywood, at Paramount Studios.

Robert Shelton, president of the Old Tucson Development Company, states, "When a production like The High Chaparral has a day of bad weather the payroll loss can be in excess of $15,000. In Hollywood, the sound stage solves the problem. The shooting schedule is altered to go 'inside.'

"A budget-minded film has to consider the fact that Old Tucson has no sound stage; therefore the producer is more likely to bypass Arizona.

"With the sound stage, for example, The High Chaparral would never have to leave the state. Tucson is very conscious of its sound stage need. We're going to get it, no doubt about that, and then Southern Arizona as a mecca for film making is going to outdistance anything we've seen in the past.

"The High Chaparral is actually the beginning of a new era in film possibilities for the Tucson area. Its effect on tourism, publicity and economy is bound to be historic."

It didn't take long for The High Chaparral to find the National Broadcasting Company highly excited and confident about the new property it quickly claimed. Technically, The High Chaparral is produced by Xanudu Productions in association with the NBC Television Network.

The preview of the new TV series was held at the Catalina Theater in Tucson on Tuesday, April 18, 1967. The event was noteworthy on a number of points. An overflow crowd came from a misunderstanding that the event was open to the public. Even Mayor Lew Davis couldn't get a seat, and another preview night with an invited audience had to be scheduled.

While many persons closely connected with the series stood in the lobby munching popcorn because they couldn't get seats, including actors Leif Erickson and Cameron Mitchell and producer Buck Houghton, those inside were treated to a program that featured the singing of the famed Tucson Boys Chorus, introduction of The High Chaparral personalities and municipal leaders and the film itself, opening with a wide panning vista of Arizona's endless clear sky, yawning desert and Apaches about to ride the warpath.

There was even a rumor that the series (to debut this month — September) would make the world think Tucson is the Arizona state capital, a likelihood quickly denied by the Phoenicians present.

With purchase of The High Chaparral (the name of the lead episode as well as the series) other stories were set and filming begun: Shadows on the Land, Gold Is Where You Find It, Best Man for the Job, Ride the Savage Land, Quiet Day in Tucson — each a vivid page from a time when Arizona was racked with growing pains.

It's been a long, long time since the first of the truly great western stars, William S. Hart, journeyed to Flagstaff in search of rough Arizona cowhands who had "gaps where teeth should be." He wanted authenticity for his western, Travelin' On, and came to Arizona to get it.

Much of what Hart sought and found in Arizona that seized the imagination of the world, has been sought and found by The High Chaparral — the romance of the Indian, the Mexican, the Spaniard, the American who helped to build this state with a sheer determination of will and the vision of a personal dream.

William S. Hart said it long ago in the last silent subtitle of his classic western, Hell's Hinges . . .

Whatever the future, theirs to share together . . . ▢ ▢ ▢

OLD INDIAN

The roof of his school was the turquoise sky, Its wall was the mesa’s rim, Its bell was the raucous call of a jay At dawn to summon him.

He learned to read the print of a paw, A tree which a claw-mark scars, The way of an eagle against the sun, And at night a script of stars.

His were lessons as old as time, Or the cycle of death and birth — The wisdom shared with her listening ones By the ancient teacher, Earth.

Leslie Savage Clark

THEN CAME OCTOBER

For a space of time the land lay tired and spent — Burned out by summer’s riotous, sun-filled days; Where once, upon the hills, gay flowers sent Drifts of color spilling, lengthening rays Of sunshine fell on hills no longer bright. September, warp of summer, woof of fall — Caught half between the seasons — shed no light On autumn’s promise, gave no warning call; And then, in a burst of brilliant gold and flame Almost too beautiful to bear, October came!

Wilma Carlock

SACRIFICE

Bits of trembling shimmering colors flushed from trees which are left exposed and naked by winter’s freeze.

Wilma K. Chiricuzio

FUNCTIONAL

The holy Painter decked the evening Skies in polka-dot array, And hung a dipper there for star-drops Splashing down the Milky Way.

Lenore Eversole Fisher

GIRL IN A GARDEN

In this small garden, a whole world In miniature is unfurled. The child kneels on a patch of grass To watch a scarlet beetle pass. She thrusts her hand into the cool Mirror of a fern-ringed pool, And fish like darting sunbeams veer On gauzy wings, then disappear.

A bumblebee, a fluted shell, A drop of dew on a coralbell, A sparrow pecking at a crumb, A toad no bigger than her thumb — So much to vie for the grave regard Of a child exploring her own back yard!

Ethel Jacobson

WINDS

Winds can break a heart, but now When they come with the scent of the pine, With the feel of the canyons, the far high peaks, They bring mountain healing to mine.

Enola Chamberlin

YOURS SINCERELY

DEATH OF A DESERT MONARCH:

. . . Referring to your January 1966 issue, I thought you would be interested in the following information concerning my photograph, “Saguaro — Mighty Monarch of the Desert,” appearing on cover page three. On Memorial Day a retired friend and I went out to the Saguaro National Monument to photograph this old friend crowned with flowers and maturing fruit. Upon our arrival at the site we were saddened by what met our sight. It had been struck by lightning probably last summer and split into four sections. Even in death it looked great. As a result of the universal law of change, the place that knew it for at least two hundred years and saw it grow into one of the most majestic of its kind will in a few years know it no more. At present there is none there to take its place.

We returned a few days later with tape measures, and here is what we found out. There were ten main trunks ranging in length above the base from twenty to thirty-one feet above the ten-foot supporting trunk, making the total maximum height of forty-one feet. This main trunk, three feet above the ground, was seven and one-half feet in circumference. There were twenty side arms averaging four feet in length. The total length of all the main trunks, side arms and main trunk, if placed end to end, would extend to a distance of 329 feet. This mighty saguaro must have weighed 12 tons.

C. B. Brown Tucson, Arizona

• The death of a desert monarch is always a sad event. We are glad we had the chance of showing Mr. Brown’s saguaro as it was in vigorous health, in our pages.

RECEPTION IN CZECHOSLOVAKIA:

. . . Owing to the kindness of Dr. Donald H. Pack, Acting Director of Air Resources Laboratory / ESSA, U. S. Department of Commerce, I have received a few numbers of ARIZONA HIGHWAYS, December ’64, June, August and October ’66, and I was immensely delighted.

As a geographer and zealous admirer of natural beauties, I was deeply moved by the wonderful photographs of Arizona’s open spaces.

I saw nearly all postwar volumes of National Geographic Magazine, as well as many pictorial books devoted to American landscape, but I must say that I have rarely seen together so many perfect-made and magnificent photographs! Looking on the swirling mists in Grand Canyon, on the wide plains and strange red rock hills, on the steep slopes of mountain towers and on the burning sunset sky, man feels the true meaning of such words like “big land” or “great outdoors!”

Czechoslovakia is quite different — the country of old culture in the heart of Europe, on the crossroads of ancient civilizations. This is a state with admirable history, dense settlement and huge industry. I send to you few photographs from our capital — Prague. The bridge you see in the pictures was built more than a century before Columbus’ discovery of America. Some parts of Prague Castle are still 500 years older. In Czechoslovakia you may find sites from the times of the Roman Empire, nearly 2000 years ago, castles, mansions, countless churches and chapels.

Václav Smil, Master of Science in Geography, ÚHA-ONV bl. 58, Most, Czechoslovakia.

• Thanks to many of our friends, ARIZONA HIGHWAYS finds itself in many interesting places and in many interested hands. What a wonderful country Czechoslovakia must be.

MEMORIES OF THE PETRIFIED FOREST:

. . . As usual, your June issue was just beautiful, but for me it also struck a very nostalgic note. In 1922, when I was thirteen and my brother eight years of age, my Dad and Mother took us all over the West. We got off the Santa Fe at Adamana in the morning, climbed into that vintage automobile mentioned in your article, and the gentleman drove us through the Petrified Forest. Had lunch back at the little hotel, which had a sign over the door to the effect that one should count his blessings and be happy with what he had. After lunch, we again climbed into the car, and he took us to see the Painted Desert. He even made us bend over and look at it between our legs, which made the magnificent colors even more visible. Arriving back at Adamana about an hour before train time, a young cowboy rode up, and was kind enough to let me take a ride on his pony, and steadfastly refused to let my Dad pay him anything for it. I am now 57, but I shall never forget that day.

W. A. Albrecht St. Louis, Mo.

• Times have changed since 1922, but if Mr. Albrecht were to return tomorrow, he will find the Petrified Forest and the Painted Desert much as it was long ago, and as it will remain forever.