Utopia discovered...

Utopia Discovered... 1964 1980

...we're revealing nine wonderful towns where the grass really is greener.... The rush of city life hasn't penetrated Prescott, and there's no reason why it should.... The sun shines almost every day of the year.... -Esquire Magazine, December, 1970 In 1964 Prescott celebrated its centennial with a round of concerts, exhibits, and an elaborate costume ball. But the single event of the year that drew more attention to the town than any other was not planned by the centennial committee.

In early 1964 Barry Goldwater was beginning his twelfth year in the United States Senate and was thinking about seeking the Republican nomination for president. When he decided to go ahead, he also determined to make the announcement in Prescott. He thought of it as almost a second hometown; one of his family's earliest stores was located in Prescott, and he had spent much time as a boy with his uncle, Morris Goldwater, the long time mayor and civic leader whose memory was to be honored by his designation as "Prescott Man of the Century." And Barry knew the small photogenic town would appeal greatly to a national audience of potential voters.

The occasion was a solid public relations success, for the candidate and for Swing your partner. On weekend evenings in summer the Courthouse Plaza comes to life with whirling, promenading square dancers.

Prescott. A throng turned out for an exuberant parade and for Goldwater's speech, delivered on the north steps of the courthouse. It was covered by the television networks, the wire services, and many major newspapers and magazines. It was a rousing start for the campaign that led to Goldwater's convention victory in July. The November election was, of course, another matter.

Against the somber backdrop of the Vietnam War and its toll, the '60s brought other milestones. A new city hall had been dedicated in December, 1963. In 1965 a new high school was completed in Miller Valley, and my old school on Granite Creek became the junior high. In 1966 a suburban neighbor, the new town of Prescott Valley, began to sprout eight miles east of Prescott. Then in December, 1967, came the town's worst winter storm on record. Victor Lytle remembers the big snow of '67 with great clarity. "I owned a building occupied by the Buick agency," he told me. "The snow was collecting so fast on the flat part of the roof that several of us, including my family, were up there shoveling. When it seemed to stop snowing, we went home. About 4:00 A.M. I got a call from the police, saying they had some bad news." It had snowed some more and then rained, and the weight of the soaking wet snow was too great. "The roof caved in," Vic said, "and the force on the air inside blew out a big plate-glass window.

The Southwest is Our Classroom

Long before it had a college, the quiet mountain community of Prescott struck many visitors as the ideal small college town. Today it is the home not of one but of three colleges. Yavapai College, a unit of the Arizona community college system, opened in Prescott in 1969. Its handsome campus, designed by architect Bennie Gonzales, occupies part of the old Fort Whipple military reservation and backs on the Whipple Veterans Administration Center grounds. Of an enrollment of 2800, about 600 are fulltime students, pursuing academic or vocational courses leading to an associate's degree in two years. The 2200 part-time students include a large number of retired persons, to whom an extensive program of special-interest classes is offered. Prescott College, a small private four-year liberal arts college, is known in educational circles as "the college That wouldn't die." Founded in 1965, it offered an innovative program based on recommendations of a Ford Foundation-sponsored symposium of distinguished educators and public leaders. Emphasizing self-direction and experiential education, the college established an enviable reputation until financial setbacks forced it into bankruptcy in 1974. But dedicated faculty and loyal students, refusing to quit, reincorporated and continued their classes in private homes and rented quarters. Gradually they brought the school back to health, and in 1984 Prescott regained its accreditation. Today, with some 200 students, including those in a popular adult-degree program, Prescott College occupies the former convent of the Sisters of Mercy, but declares - because of its many field studies-that "the Southwest is our classroom." The newest institution of higher learning in the Mile High City arrived in 1978, when Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University of Daytona Beach, Florida, acquired the former Prescott College property and opened a western campus. Its spring, 1985, enrollment was about 850. Convenient to Love Field, the school augments its courses in aeronautical engineering, aviation management, and related fields with flight instruction that benefits from Arizona's many days of excellent flying weather.

And of course there were several new Buicks in there. They were ruined! "Several other roofs went down in that storm, too. Altogether Prescott got five feet of snow in ten days. The town was paralyzed. Two weeks after the storm started, our daughter was to be married, and our street still hadn't been cleared. As a favor, a friend plowed a lane to our house just in time, so the wedding party could get here." The great irony of the time, and the wry joke for years afterward, was that city officials had sold Prescott's snow removal equipment the previous summer because it hadn't been needed in recent memory. Lytle, who was himself mayor from 1973 to 1975, is typical of numerous highly qualified Prescottonians Who could have chosen to live and work anywhere but preferred Prescott and its quality of life. He came to Prescott in 1934 and, except for Navy service and two years spent earning a Harvard master's degree, has been here ever since. "Prescott spoiled me," he said. "There just wasn't anywhere else I wanted to live."

Where There's Smoki, There's...

Part fraternal lodge, part anthropology club, part little theater, the Prescott organization known as the Smoki People is unique. In recent years it has also become increasingly controversial. First assembled in 1921 in a lighthearted fund-raising effort for the Frontier Days celebration, the original Smoki (pronounced smoke-eye) participants presented a burlesque of the famous Hopi Snake Dance.

"We were going to use toy snakes," recalls Gail Gardner, the only surviving charter member. "But a traveling carnival went broke in Prescott, and the owner talked us into buying some bull snakes he had and showed us how to handle them. So we put on the show with live snakes.

"Afterwards we got to thinking about the real purpose of various tribal dances and decided to study them seriously. We wanted to help preserve customs in danger of dying out as the Indians' way of life changed."

The resulting annual Smoki Ceremonials became one of the most distinctive aspects of Prescott community life. Basing their interpretations on government ethnographic reports and the work of university anthropologists, and sometimes advised by interested Native Americans, the Smoki developed a repertoire of dances and rituals drawn from a number of different tribes. Their public performance each summer was predictably spectacular.

The Hopi Indians, however, have always resented the Smoki Snake Dance, considering it an offensive imitation by unbelievers of a deeply significant religious rite. Spokesmen for other tribes have also become increasingly critical. Why, asked an Apache medicine man, do we need white men to preserve rituals that we still practice and are preserving ourselves?

by unbelievers of a deeply significant religious rite. Spokesmen for other tribes have also become increasingly critical. Why, asked an Apache medi cine man, do we need white men to preserve rituals that we still practice and are preserving ourselves?

Sincere in their intentions and devoted to a tradition that now spans several generations, the Smoki smart under such criticism. A possible compromise could be to perform only those rituals that are in fact being otherwise neglected and forgotten, and for which tribal cooperation might be obtained. But so far, the Smoki appear determined to continue as they have for more than sixty years-climaxing the evening of ceremonials with their version of the famous and sensational snake dance.

This year the Smoki will dance at sundown on Saturday, August 10.

For sixty-four years the Smoki, a group of Prescott's town fathers, have entertained tourists with imitations of Indian ceremonies and dances. Today controversy surrounds the Smoki as Indians protest the Smoki's use of their sacred rituals.

By 1970, the year nearby Chino Val-ley incorporated, Prescott's population had crept up to 13,283; by 1980 it had jumped to 20,055, an increase fueled by articles about Prescott's climate and life-style in several national magazines. Several thousand more lived just beyond the city limits. To serve the growing community Prescott had a new library, fin-ished in 1975. That same year a second junior high school, Granite Mountain, opened on Williamson Valley Road. New shopping centers were going up on Iron Springs Road as the town spread toward the northwest.

But along with all the construction of modern subdivisions, custom houses, and new public and commercial buildings, something happened in the 1970s that reforged Prescott's strong link with the past. America's bicentennial observance gave impetus to the historic preservation movement-protecting and restoring worthy old buildings, those of historical significance or architectural merit-and the concept found a receptive audience in Prescott. Encouraged by the accomplishments and growing influence of organiza-tions like the National Trust for Historic Preservation, Prescott residents led by Elisabeth (Bette) Ruffner formed the Yava-pai Heritage Foundation. Demolition of the old high school and the threatened destruction of several popular buildings, notably Washington School and the Bash-ford house, a handsome Victorian, galva-nized citizen interest. The sturdy old school was rehabilitated and continues to serve new generations of children. The Bashford house was raised on jacks, moved with great ceremony across town, and added to the cluster of historic struc-tures at the Sharlot Hall Museum. With the incentives of special tax provisions and the advice of imaginative architects like William Otwell, an impressive number of aging Victorian and "carpenter's Gothic" houses and distinctive commercial build-ings have been restored or remodeled for adaptive reuse. Prescott's refurbished historic buildings have become an attraction in themselves, both to residents and visitors.

A poet and balladeer most famous for "The Sierry Petes Or Tying the Knots in the Devil's Tail," Gail Gardner, at age ninety-two, still lives in the Prescott house in which he was born. Dartmouth educated, Gail returned to Prescott, ranched in the area, and later was appointed the town's postmaster. Weaving tales of the town's and his own younger, wilder days, the grand old man of Prescott says, "Nobody's had more fun than I've bad."