Willcox, U.S.A.

Old WILLCOX Just a Little Piece of America

TEXT BY KATHLEEN WALKER PHOTOGRAPHS BY J. PETER MORTIMER HERE IS A DOG WHO CLIMBS TREES IN WILLCOX, ARIZONA. His name is Duffy, and his tree outside the Saxon House Restaurant has a trunk with a slant that gives those four short legs a running start into the lower branches. Then he climbs, finds a seat, and watches the world go by.

Most people who come to Willcox never see Duffy. They go to the fields north of town, the "U-Pick-It" farms. There they can harvest the fresh fruits and vegetables for their urban tables. There they can teach their children what it means to be part of the land, if only for a few hours.

Other people pass through Willcox on their way to history. On a drive of 100 miles, they can see the remains of Fort Bowie, where the dreams of the settlers were protected and where the hopes of a native son were dashed. Geronimo was imprisoned here briefly in 1886 before being shipped to Fort Pickens, Florida, as a prisoner of war.

There are ghost towns to visit, the rugged beauty of the Chiricahua and Dragoon mountains to enjoy. There is no pressing need to go to town.

Some people may make a short visit. They may remember Rex Allen, the last of the singing cowboys. He was born in Willcox. He sang for nickels and dimes down at the barber shop and for God and glory at the Methodist and Baptist churches. Then luck, determination, and a voice that spanned three octaves took him into radio, to Hollywood, and into an America still young enough to believe all a good guy needed was a smart horse, a steady hand, and a just cause.

But most people don't stop in Willcox, Arizona. It is only one of those small Southwestern towns, a spot on the map between El Paso and Phoenix. A glance, perhaps a quick detour off Interstate 10 for gas, then they are gone. That tends to bother some of the folks in that town below the exit.

"They can't see the real Willcox," laments J.B. Bethel. She has seen it and loved it all of her 63 years. Even as a child she would fight the idea of leaving for a family vacation.

"I wanted to stay home," she says. Now she thinks peoPlease come to her town for a vacation, for a day off. She wants more tourism in Willcox.

"All we can get," she says.

Dorman Brown agrees. He adopted Willcox as his home after a life of work as a developer in the Phoenix area. He too wants those people to come, to see more than the fields and the mountains.

"We want people to stop to admire Willcox for what it was one day and what we're trying to make it today."

Ten years ago, Brown took himself out of retirement, picked up

Old WILLCOX

HERE ALSO ARE SOME TOWN ATTRACTIONS AND EVENTS THAT VISITORS DON'T ALWAYS SEE. LIKE DUFFY, THE TREE-CLIMBING DOG, THEY ARE THE THINGS THAT CAN MAKE A SMALL TOWN MORE MAGICAL THAN ANY MIRAGE OR TALE OF BEGUILING WATER his tools, and joined, if not led, concerned business and civic leaders in an effort to get the world to at least slow down on its way through town. For a decade they rebuilt, restored, painted, and preened the historic center of Willcox, the streets which grew from a townsite mapped in 1874. They are still doing it, building by building. This lov-ing process of preserving rather than changing is almost entirely a volunteer ef-fort. (See Arizona Highways, October '88.) "That's something we're proud of," says Douglas Dunn, a resident who has served on his share of the committees, done his share of the work.

In reality the old heart of Willcox is only about four or five blocks. Not much to offer in this day when malls and shopping strips seem to run for glitzy miles in all directions. But Willcox never was much on glitz. And as dusty and as quiet as they may seem, these streets are filled with history, smalltown history, and small-town pride.

Down on the corner of restored Railroad Avenue is the Willcox Commercial Company. It opened in 1881 and is the oldest department store in Arizona still doing business at its original location. They say Geronimo once stopped here to buy sugar.

A few storefronts down is what used to be the Joseph Schwertner Saloon. It certainly wasn't the only place in town to go for a drink. Old Willcox was a hardworking town with a healthy thirst. At one point, there were seven saloons on Railroad Avenue. With the arrival of Prohibition, this one was turned into a grocery store. It now is the home of the Rex Allen Museum, where all of the paraphernalia of one man's 50 years in show business is on display.

Next door is the restored theater, where a skinny fellow with flinty eyes once stopped and sang for the crowd. Then he was called Leonard Slye. Later he would answer to Roy Rogers. Even later he would call WLS radio in Chicago to compliment a young man he heard singing. The voice was that good. The singer was Rex Allen.

It was in this part of town that the legends were born, the tall tales were swapped. There were the stories about those strange things going on out on the dry lake bed to the south of town.

Today they call it the Willcox Playa. In prehistoric times, it was the floor of a shallow lake, but it's now dry most of the year.

Since the 1960s, it has been the winter home of thousands of the sandhill cranes that migrate here from as far away as Alaska. Then it becomes the focal point of visiting bird-watchers. But in old Willcox, it wasn't birds they were seeing out there. It was mirages of great sailing ships and shimmering water.

And it was in the 1870s when one pros pector told his story of the train he had seen when he was lost on the playa. It came roaring up to him and then stopped so he could board. He was found a few miles from town, minus train.

The real trains came to town in 1880. It was the Southern Pacific that turned Willcox into a major cattle supplier for a beefhungry country. By the 1930s, they were shipping up to 50,000 head a year from Willcox. Forget Fort Worth. Willcox wasn't just a cowtown. It was the cowtown.

The trains don't stop here anymore, only whistle as they go through, but the Southern Pacific still has an office at the other end of Railroad Avenue. In less sober times, the building housed the Headquarters Saloon. It was here part of a legend died. Warren Earp, youngest brother of Wyatt, was shot to death at the Headquarters in the early morning hours of July 6, 1900.

At one time, this town earned its place in the press. They were praising the cowboys of Willcox in an era when those working men were looked on with far more skepticism and caution than 20thcentury adoration.

Still, on February 28, 1881, the San Francisco Stock Report told its readers that the "cow-boy element" of Willcox consisted of "generally naturally bright and genial fellows." However, they felt it prudent to warn that they could be "dangerous when interfered with much." Some things never change.

By 1889, 500 people, the entire population of the town, earned their own place in the columns. The Golden Era magazine of San Diego described the citizenry as "possessed of considerable pluck, determination and intelligence." That description also seems to have stood the test of time.

Says Mayor Sandra Ousley of the 3,100 people who live in her town now, "It doesn't, quite frankly, impress them a great deal if you have a big title or you drive a big car. If you can't do the job, forget it."

She can give you all the reasons why people should not only visit but consider a move here. She says the pioneer spirit is still alive, that it is a good place for entrepreneurs.

"It is a pretty solid economy," she says of the rural and business life of the town. "We don't suffer the fluctuation that every place else does."

If the civic boostering isn't tempting enough, she may offer a glass of local water and a piece of folklore.

"They say once you drink the water you're doomed; you're here to stay."

J.B. Bethel knows that story. "It keeps pulling you back," she laughs. "Good ole country water."

It wasn't the water that first brought Marya Murray and her late husband to Willcox from their home in Goshen, New York. It was the wind.

"Literally blew in," says Marya of their arrival in 1980. It was one of those little breezes that have been known to slam into Arizona after barreling across New Mexico, carrying along with them a few pieces of Texas. This one hit when the Murrays were on their way to Tucson. Marya's husband headed for the nearest exit, a place called Willcox.

"Mud houses," is what Marya still says of that first impression. But the Elks Club was having a dinner, and they were welcome to come, and the Commercial was having a sale. Not a bad night for a small town.

One year later, the Murrays were back. They left the lush greenery and the Victorian gentility of Goshen and bought one of those mud houses. It was the Saxon House, an adobe built in 1916. It took them 12 years, but they turned it into the restaurant Marya always dreamed of owning someday.

It is filled with old-world charm and Irish elegance from the lace curtains on the windows to the polished golden glow of the wooden floors. Out in the yard is the Willcox dog they adopted. They named him Duffy.

When asked why it was they came to Willcox to make a dream come true, Marya says it was the people.

"The funniest thing," she remembers, "when we first came everyone waved to us."

Sandra Ousley can talk about those people and what they meant to her in 1986 when her son Danny was killed in a traffic accident.

"This town was so gracious and so concerned. The outpouring of feelings from a community just touched us."

It wasn't her family's hometown. She, her husband, and their three sons moved here in 1979 from Michigan. But after the town's response to their pain, she decided to get involved. In 1993 she became one of the four women who have served as mayor. J.B. Bethel also held the office.

It's some of the local history that hasn't made it into the tourist brochures. There also are some town attractions and events visitors don't always see. Like Duffy, the tree-climbing dog, they are the things that can make a small town more magical than any mirage or tale of beguiling water.

There are the Friday nights when the cowboys and the families come to town. There's steaks on the plates and Coors in the cups. When the music starts, mothers get up to dance with small children. Adult children lead gray-haired parents out for a turn.

There's always one old cowboy who walks like he just finished a 40-mile ride on a horse with a spine like a razor and a disposition to match. Then he'll move into a two-step with his lady that is as smooth and pretty as a Viennese waltz.

There also are the young sons and daughters of Willcox who have not yet had the museums built for them. There is Jackie Thompson, born to a ranching family. He plays a mean fiddle, guitar, a little sax; and he sings. They say he may be good, real good.

By 18 he'd already been down the road and seen some lights. "I've played in Tucson and New Mexico," he says. "Las Cruces is kinda big." Wait till he sees New York.

But he promises, "Willcox will always be home to me."

Maybe so. The hometown performer who went before him never got too far away. Rex Allen now lives 40 minutes

WHEN YOU GO

Willcox is located 80 miles east of Tucson off Interstate 10; 192 miles southeast of Phoenix.

Things to see and do:

Places to go:

Cochise Visitor Center and Museum, a half mile east of I-10's junction with State Route 186 at 1500 N. Circle I Rd. (Exit 340) at the Willcox Chamber of Commerce. The small museum celebrates the county's history with displays, photographs, and artifacts from its storied Apache, military, and ranching past. Open Monday through Saturday, 9 A.Μ.

down the interstate in the rolling hills of Sonoita. Every year the town of Willcox throws him and itself a party. Then J.B. Bethel gets all the tourism she can handle: the city folks from Tucson and Phoenix, the winter visitors from the Midwest and (BELOW) At his ranch not far from Willcox, Rex Allen checks on his Texas longhorn, Sancho.

Northeast. There also are the cowboys in for the rodeo from the other small towns of the Southwest.

There's a barbecue, a concert, and a parade. Rex Allen is here and the governor and the Shriners, who drive their tiny cars down historic Railroad Avenue.

Every time the American flag passes, there is a soft movement throughout the crowd. It is the men reaching for their hats, their caps. One time it passes, then again with another band and again with a marching group. Each time there is the hearttouching gesture of honor.

This is small-town Arizona, and it is grand.

Travel Guide: For detailed information about the great variety of places to travel in Arizona, we recommend the guidebook Travel Arizona and Arizona: Land of Contrasts, a video by Bill Leverton that offers a storyteller's perspective of the state. Both will direct you to exciting destinations and out-of-the-way attractions. Our Arizona Road Atlas, featuring maps of 27 cities, mileage charts, and points of interest, also is a necessity for travelers. To order, telephone toll-free (800) 543-5432. In the Phoenix area or outside the U.S., call (602) 258-1000.

To 5 P.M., Sunday, 1 to 5 P.M.; no admission charged. For more information, call (520) 384-2272.

Rex Allen Arizona Cowboy Museum, 155 N. Railroad Ave. This friendly museum honors Willcox's favorite hometown hero. Wonderful displays highlight his career in radio, film, and television, his family life growing up in Cochise County, and the history of ranching and pioneering in the West. Open Monday through Saturday, 10 A.M. to 4 P.M., closed New Year's Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. Admission is $3; family rate, $5. For more information, call (520) 384-4583.

Accommodations:

Best Western Plaza Inn, one-quarter mile south of I-10, Exit 340, 1100 W. Rex Allen Drive, Willcox, AZ 85643; (520) 384-3556.

Econo Lodge, close to 1-10, Exit 340, 724 N. Bisbee Ave., Willcox, AZ 85643; (520) 384-4222.