Ostrich Ranching

“No, I’ll never be able to finish it. I’m doomed,” croaked the big weathered farmer in the faded blue overalls, the standard dress of the Arizona frontier. His voice caught in his throat as he turned away from the huge glutenous yellow-eyed mass filling the frying pan in front of him.

His name was Legend, Harry Charles Osgood Legend. And for the last 25 years of his 40 years in the Territory he had never once failed when personally challenged. Even when the odds were dead set against him. That is . . . until now.

And he was hanged if he could figure out how he would ever live this one down. After all, it wasn't every day that a man got bested by an egg.

Charley, as he was later called, might have felt that the sky had personally singled him out to fall on him, but actually he was only one of many strangers to the community who had been taken in by the old trick over the years.

As the victims later found out, the eggs they had been challenged to eat in one sitting weren't really the kind they were familiar with at all. They were ostrich eggs, so huge one could make a, As the victims later found out, the eggs they had been challenged to eat in one sitting weren't really the kind they were familiar with at all. They were ostrich eggs, so huge one could make a hardy meal for ten men with enough scraps left over to stuff several goodsized hounds. But who knew that one ostrich egg was the equivalent of some 33 hens eggs? But while Charley and the others probably suffered a little good-natured ridicule for their failures, these sporting events did serve an important purpose, too, providing a little needed humor to the otherwise grindingly monotonous lives of the folks in the little farm town of Phoenix. Eventually the tales were to become part of the growing lore and legend of one of the Salt River Valley's strangest business ventures, around the turn of the century. Ostrich ranching. The commercial growing of ostriches in the Valley to provide decorative plumage for ladies' bustles, bonnets, boas and fans, swelled to remarkable proportions during the 1890s and through the period of Arizona statehood. But, during the era of World War I, the boom shattered like Humpty Dumpty's shell, and not even the needs of the fan dancers of the Roaring Twenties could "put it back together again."

Josiah Harbert, who owned a farm in the rural area near Central Avenue and Indian School Road in Phoenix, is credited as being the first to act when he heard of the huge profits being made by feather growers in South Africa. One man, it was said, had paid more than $16,000 for 21 pairs of birds and then turned around 2 years later and sold the offspring for $31,000. In the sweltering heat of mid-August, 1887, the feathered flock of ostriches Harbert had ordered from an importer in Pasadena, California, reached the loading dock of the Southern Pacific Railroad in downtown Phoenix. Already gathered were crowds of sweating townspeople braving the summer sun just to get a close look at the strange birds that weighed 300 to 400 pounds, stood up to 8-feet tall and could run 60 miles an hour, taking 25-foot strides. In fact, public curiosity was so great that Harbert was forced to place the birds on exhibit in the downtown area before transporting them home. Two weeks later public fascination with the long-necked fowls had cooled and Harbert could hire a man and highsided horsedrawn wagon to deliver the birds to his farm. To prevent his charges (Above) A typical Phoenix ostrich ranch in the early years of this century. The eggs being carefully placed in wash tubs were taken to the incubator; infertile ones were blown and sold as curios for $1. Courtesy Arizona State University Library (Center) Not the handsomest of creatures, the ostrich also had a mean temper and showed it. Dick George Courtesy Phoenix Zoo (Left) Ostrich wranglers on roundup, circa 1913. Courtesy Arizona Historical Society from fussing or escaping into the desert, the driver a greenhorn in the ostrich trade pulled an old stocking over the head of each bird; then, for good measure, tied a tarpaulin over the top of the wagon. At the end of the threemile journey under the intense summer sun, all but three of the birds were dead. The only survivors were a badly wilted adult male, an adult female, and a chick of undetermined sex. The lady ostrich, apparently mistaking a piece of barbed wire for an exotic Arizona insect was the next to succumb. For three years the remaining two birds were kept as pets while the chick matured, happily showing signs of ostrich femininity. Finally the pair

mated and made up for lost time. Within four years a feathered family of 104 had descended from the original couple.

The fame of the flock spread throughout the Salt River Valley, and the old Phoenix street car line, which ran from the capitol to the Indian school, carried local residents and winter visitors to exchange wide-eyed stares with the unique livestock.

With Harbert's obvious success other ranchers and farmers began adding ostriches to their regular stock. And because profits from the sale of feathers were good there soon were large farms in the area handling ostriches exclusively.

Pan American, Phoenix American, Big Five, and the Tempe and Mesa City Ostrich Companies were some of the large organizations with stockholders and thousands of birds. Smaller growers ranged from Dr. A. J. Chandler, who ran several hundreds of ostriches near his elegant San Marcos Hotel in Chandler, to Pima Indians at the Sacaton Agency, who broke the long agricultural tradition of their forefathers by raising two pair of the elastic-necked creatures.

And why not? After all ostriches were selling at prices higher than cattle, $100 for a chick and $800 for a 4-yearold; they required less water than the usual run of livestock, and they ate less, too. And to top it off, they'd provide the owner with eggs and meat, as well.

Like any other industry, ostrich raising had its own peculiarities, and growers had to develop special techniques to cope with them.

"The ostrich", as one grower noted, "is one of the largest and stupidest living birds. It stands nine-feet tall, weighs over 300 pounds at maturity and has a brain the size of a pea. He communicates with a deep 'ooming' cry, is fleet of foot and, despite popular belief, does not hide his head in the sand at the approach of danger. "On the contrary, the ostrich fears little except barking dogs and summer thunderstorms. When thus startled they may stampede into fences and break their wings or legs."

But ostriches were also capable of peaceful pursuits . . . like egg laying. Mother ostrich would lay three-pound football-sized eggs casually in the alfalfa fields in the spring and nudge them into a depression dug in the desert sand by her considerate mate. Sometimes, like its diminutive relation the chicken, the hen ostrich would keep laying if the eggs were systematically removed from the nest.

sand by her considerate mate. Sometimes, like its diminutive relation the chicken, the hen ostrich would keep laying if the eggs were systematically removed from the nest.

But unlike chickens, ostriches were careless with their eggs, often stepping on them and kicking them around. To overcome the problem, hired hands would crawl amongst the herd with shepherd-like staffs and hook them to safety. Then the huge eggs were gathered in washtubs and hauled by horse and wagon to the new "Improved Reliable" ostrich incubator where they were matured for about 40 days and then opened by hand. Infertile eggs were blown and sold as curios for $1; others were dyed bright colors and sold as gargantuan Easter eggs. Nothing was wasted on the ostrich ranch.

As befit Arizona's most valuable commercial fowl, the chicks were placed in brooding pens where for the first three months of their pampered lives they ate constantly under close supervision.

The care lavished upon the big birds was, of course, for one purpose, the production of feathers, and clipping time on the ostrich farm was the big

THE OSTRICH-PUNCHING OF ARROYO AL

I was broke in Arizony, and was gloomy as a tomb When I got a chance at punchin' for an outfit called Star-Plume; I didn't ask no wherefores, but jest lit out with my tarp, As happy as an angel with the newest make o' harp.

When I struck out from the bunkhouse, for my first day on the range, I thought the tracks we follered was peculiar like and strange, And when I asked about it, the roundup foreman sez: "You ain't a-punchin' cattle, but are herdin' ostriches."

Well, we chased a bunch of critters on the hot and sandy plain, Though 't was like a purp a'racin' with a U.S.A. mail train; But at last we got 'em herded in a wire fence corral, And the foreman sez, off-hand like: "Just go in and rope one, Al."

Well, the first one that I tackled was an Eiffel Tower bird, But the noose ain't pinched his thorax 'fore several things occurred: He spread his millinery jest as if he meant to fly, And then reached a stilt out, careless, and smote me above the eye.

They pulled me out from under that millin' mass o'legs, And they fed me on hot whiskey and the yolks of ostrich eggs; And, as soon as I was able, I pulled freight fer Cattle Land, And the ostrich-punchin' business never gits my O.K. brand.

ARTHUR CHAPMAN "Out Where the West Begins"

Copyright 1917 by Arthur Chapman. Copyright renewed 1945 by Kathleen C. Chapman. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.

Event for the growers. After roundup, the long-necked herds were driven to holding corrals by “cowboys,” or perhaps more accurately, “ostrichboys” on horses. Then the plumes were clipped from the birds. This occurred at the age of six months, again at the age of two, and once every eight months thereafter.

The quality of feathers varied greatly and were rated on length, breadth, luster, weight and overall appearance. The finest wing and tail feathers were large and white, produced by the males, but the females also also provided beautiful gray plumes. The jargon of the feather sorters included “shorts and longs,” “cock whites,” “cock boos,” “long drabs,” and “hairy blacks.” High quality plumes were “superior prime whites,” “superior prime feminas” and “extra special spalones.” Such produce sold for $10 to $300 per pound during uring the peak years of ostrich fashion, depending on quality. In one case reported in 1910 the value of shearings from 4023 ostriches brought, $1,365,000. The price was determined by a monthly auction in London, the feather capital of the world.

Even though the ambitions of the feather growers were great and the claims of early promoters enticing, profit in the business usually tended to be minimal. Ostrich growers overestimated the value of their stock and underestimated the cost of feed, hired hands, shipping of feathers to the East Coast, and commissions paid to agents which also cut into profits.

Nonetheless, before World War I, the future of the ostrich business seemed particularly bright. Top breeding birds were selling from $500 to $1000 per pair, and Arizona's famed U.S. congressman and later senator, Carl Hayden, proposed that federal funds be appropriated for intense scientific experimentation with the American ostriches in Arizona.

In his speech to Congress Hayden argued eloquently, “No one need have any fear for the future of the ostrich industry. The feather is undoubtedly the most beautiful ornament of its kind, and as such, is independent of fashion -all history indicates that the demand will remain as permanent and expansive as any other branch of trade.” Subsequently an appropriation of $2500 was granted by Congress, and experiments were carried out at the University of Arizona Experiment Station in Mesa.

Unfortunately, not Hayden or anyone else could foresee what lay ahead in the fickle course of women's fashions. The first drop in the popularity of ostrich plumes came early in 1914. Farmers in the Salt River Valley thought it was a temporary lull, but the market diminished rapidly. In the latter part of the year, the Pan American Ostrich Company began trying to unload its birds by advertising them in local papers at the reduced price of $10 a pair. There was little response. The company's last transaction of any note was the sale of 2500 birds to the British-American Mercantile Company for $7.00 a head.

In 1922, a short-lived demand for low quality feathers to clothe kewpie dolls brought a rise in the market, but it soon sagged again.

Then for a short time rumors flew that the ostrich market might be revived yet again, this time to supply fans for burlesque queens of the “Roaring Twenties.” But it too never materialized.

Ostrich ranching in Arizona had come to the end of the trail. It was sadly epitomized not by the market, however, but by the indomitable New York feather dealer O. B. Fish, himself, who, it was learned, was going into the business of selling oriental rugs.

Bookshelf

by Mary Lu Moore Inquiries about any of these titles should be directed to the book publisher, not ARIZONA HIGHWAYS.

Teresita. By William Curry Holden. Illustrated by José Cisneros. Stemmer House Publishers, Inc., 2627 Caves Road, Owings Mills, Maryland 21117. 1978. 235 р. $14.95, hard cover; $8.95, paper.

During the political ferment of the last decades of the 19th century in Mexico, a mysterious figure emerged from rural Sonora who has piqued the curiosity of researchers on both sides of the border. Teresita Urrea, also known as Santa Teresa de Cabora, was a spirited, beautiful, intelligent, unassuming girl who seemed to have powers to foretell events, heal a variety of illnesses and disabilities, read thoughts and transfix people with her luminous eyes. So great was her charisma that she was worshipped as a saint by the Indians and Spanish-speaking populace in northern Mexico. Thousands flocked to avail themselves of her miraculous healing powers. Porfirio Díaz's repressive regime deemed her a threat because desperate Northerners, rebelling against repression, invoked Teresa's name as their protectoress. The Catholic Church denounced her as a heretic. Disclaiming any role of revolutionary leadership, or even advocacy, Teresa was expelled to Arizona, then Texas and California, where she soon attracted large follow-ings of believers. Whether this shy, compassionate, frail young woman died in 1906 in Clifton, Arizona, of consumption or of giving her all to endless patients and pilgrims, Santa Teresa has remained a shadowy enigma until now.

Dr. Holden, a Texas archaeologist and historian, has dedicated many years to research on La Santa de Cabora. He has followed every elusive trail to gather information, the results of which make for reading as absorbing as a dramatic historical novel, typographical errors notwithstanding. There are substantial notes, a brief bibliography, several appendices and best of all, many lively and perceptive illustrations by the incomparable José Cisneros. Did it all happen? Is it all true? Read and draw your own conclusions.

Memories of Antonio José Martínez. By Pedro Sánchez. Translation, Notes, and Profiles by Guadalupe Baca-Vaughn. The Rydal Press/The Print Works. 1978. 156 p. $6.00, paper. Available from Mrs. Guadalupe Baca-Vaughn, Box 94, Taos, New Mexico 87571.

Padre Antonio José Martínez was a clergyman, political activist, educator, publisher and as controversial a lovehate figure as ever trod the New Mexico landscape. Pedro Sánchez of Taos had ample opportunity to observe the Padre's varied activities in the midnineteenth century. Published in 1903, his reminiscences are highly laudatory, but do give insights into Martínez's more positive facets of character. “Here is a son of New Mexico who, for his noble actions and public spirit, has earned a place among the great of this country.” Mrs. Baca-Vaughn's competent translation makes this kernel of New Mexico available in English for the first time. Her “Notes and Profiles” are almost as long as the original work. For the most part, she has relied on older, more general histories for her data. Adorning the text are charming motifs from hand-sewn New Mexico colchas (spreads or coverlets).

North American Indian Artifacts; A Collector's Identification and Value Guide. By Lar Hothem. Books Americana, 1716 Tune Avenue, Florence, Alabama 35630. 1978. 414 p. $8.95, paper.

Archaeologists, museums, collectors, appraisers and others who esteem Indian artifacts will enjoy studying the 23,000-plus entries, colored and black and white photographs and introductory remarks to each chapter. Magnificent examples of prehistoric and historic chipped and ground-stone artifacts, items of organic materials, ceramics, clothing, weaving, jewelry and more, abound. For each item there is a brief description containing measurements, average value and other distinguishing features. Of interest also are reproductions of old photographs from well-known collections, often illustrating usage of artifacts shown in this guide. At the end of many chapters there are suggested readings on various types of artifacts. Our own Southwest is well-represented in this handy, comprehensive reference, packed with nuggets of information.

I Am the Fire of Time: The Voices of Native American Women. Edited by Jane B. Katz. E. P. Dutton, N.Y. 1977. 201 p. $6.95, paper.

Using the life cycle from birth to death, Mrs. Katz has compiled songs, prayers, essays and excerpts from longer works written by Native American women of differing ages, from varying time periods and from many tribes. Represented are older, traditional ways and newer, less certain paths. Indian women have always been a strong, cohesive force, which is reflected in their writings. The introduction and brief remarks which precede the selections are informative and thought-provoking. Well-chosen photographs of Native American women and not enough fine illustrations by them add life to the text. The thorough “Sources and Credits” section leads readers to bibliographic citations for all selections. This reader is an excellent introduction to a rich heritage and a relatively untapped creative force in our society.

Yours Sincerely

It's "catch-up time" for the Sincerely Yours department. Having done a few Special Editions in a row, there just wasn't any room for letters. With that in mind, we're going to back up a couple of months and start from there.

DECEMBER:

Editor: Surely the bloom on the Teddy Bear cactus in the December issue, page 12, is a rarity. I know of no other green blossom on any plant. Tell me if I am right.

Mrs. Mildred Metcalf Salt Lake City, UT We forwarded your questions to W. H. Earle, Director Emeritus, Desert Botanical Garden, Phoenix. Here is his reply. "The flowers of the 'Teddy Bear Cholla' (Cylindropuntia bigelovii) are quite green when they first open in the morning. Later they will fade to a light green or a shining yellow. Another green blossom plant? In late May and early June you may see a greenishyellow cholla flowering in the area from St. George to Zion National Park in Southern Utah. It's Latin name is Cylindropuntia whipplei." - the Editor Editor: Thought I would write and tell you how much we appreciated the December edition of Arizona Highways. Words cannot describe the wonder I felt as I turned each and every page. The presentation by Sam Lowe was a joy to read, and we admired the work of all your photographers and artists, both old and new. But I would also like to thank you for the other eleven issues you presented this past year. 1978 stands out as the best year yet!

Paul Stevens Fort Walton Beach, FL Thank you for your very warm thoughts, but as they say, "That was yesterday's ballgame." We hope you will feel inclined to write a similar letter next year. the Editor

JANUARY

I especially enjoyed the latest issue of Arizona Highways for January. "This Scenic Land" the color portfolio by Dick Dietrich, is a masterpiece of the art of color photography. However, the two-page center photo "Adrift on Huckleberry Hot Springs, Grand Tetons, Utah, should read Grand Tetons, Wyoming.

Loren H. Volmer Burbank, CA It would seem that there is nothing in the world that gets our readers attention like a good big mistake. We could paper the office with letters on that one alone. But we thank you one and all for keeping us on our toes, and we will try harder! The Editor

FEBRUARY

Editor: Congratulations! You've done it again. Your February issue of Arizona Highways exceeds my supply of superlatives.

As a writer, photographer and former editor, I am repeatedly amazed at the apparent ease with which you and your staff exceed your own zeniths. The January issue containing the breathtakingly beautiful nature photography of Dick Dietrich seemed a zenith of excellence, but February, in my opinion, topped it.

The work of Larry Toschik is incredible. The accuracy, aliveness and loveliness of his wildlife portrayals would test my superlatives severely those unbelievably sensitive, imaginative and beautiful backgrounds are beyond words. My thanks to you and to Mr. Toschik for the wealth of enjoyment I received from the magazine.

Mr. Toschik's work so impressed me that his backgrounds were floating through my consciousness as I awoke yesterday. This poem emerged from those pictures so I jotted it down.

MESSAGE..

Dance around your fires Wild shadows in the light Flames and bodies leaping Circling through the night Never cease your dancing Dance forevermore Golden flames soar starward When crackling fires roar Down throughout the ages Wherever fires blaze high There you will be dancing Dancing in the sky Leonora Bell Lowe Hampton, VA.

Thank you, Leonora and we hasten to expand that thank you to include the hundreds and hundreds of others who wrote with similar feelings: "... I have been taking Arizona Highways for 25 years and this is the best ever!"

"... I have no interest in birds whatsoever, but I've read the February issue 8 times."

"... (rarely) does one find an artist, naturalist, poet, philosopher, historian and scientist all in one splendid package."

In our memory, nothing in recent years has generated so much mail as the February magazine. We're glad you enjoyed it. Larry had invested almost 3 years of his life on that project and it shows! - the Editor

35mm COLOR SLIDES

This issue: 35 mm slides in 2" mounts, 1 to 15 slides, 40 each, 16 to 49 slides, 35 each, 50 or more, 3 for $1.00. Allow six weeks for delivery. Address: Slide Department, Arizona Highways, 2039 West Lewis Avenue, Phoenix, Arizona 85009.

Almost as soon as they learn to walk, Tarahumara children learn to run. And run they do. An appreciation of the Tarahumara and their ability to run marathon distances is the theme of the article on page 6. Portrait of the Tarahumaran is by Paul Modlin.

(Back cover) From Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, a prickly close-up of a barrel cactus trunk. For more astonishing up-close and sensitive views of nature read, "It's a Small World," page 16.

James Randklev