Wit Stop

My Mother Knows All about Really Hidden Treasure

Arizona is full of buried bounty. The Dutchman lost his gold mine, and countless thieves and bank robbers have concealed their loot under Arizona's soil. Even a few pirates have hidden their booty there. I suppose it is relatively safe from seafaring marauders. But so many of them have forgotten where they hid the stuff. There must be something in the state's climate that gives people amnesia. Of course the natives say, "Yes, but it's a dry amnesia."

Still none of Arizona's notorious villains compare with my mom when it comes to losing things. My mother could lose things faster than a beginning poker player in a room full of remorseless cardsharps. If there were a Hall of Fame for making things disappear, my mom, Harry Houdini, and the Bermuda Triangle would be the first inductees.

Mom lost items because she didn't want to lose them. She worried about anything in our house that had either real or perceived value. She felt compelled to put anything worthwhile in a safe place. If my mom had been curator of the Phoenix Art Museum, it would feature nothing but a display of bare walls and empty floor space. All of the French paintings and Oriental, contemporary, Mexican, and Western art collections would be stored in a safe place.

The trouble is that Mom could never remember where that safe place was for the rest of her life. But wherever that place was, it definitely was safe. Nothing that was ever relegated to that haven was ever seen again. I've often suspected I was a twin and Mom kept my sibling in a safe place.

If my brother or sister were in that safe hiding place, he or she would be a wealthy person because all of our family valuables would be there, too whereever it is. Periodically my mother would recruit us kids to help find something that was lost and needed to be found.

"Kids, you've got to help me find Daddy's diamond cuff links before he gets home from work."

We'd ask, "Where does Daddy keep them?"

Mom would say, "In his jewelry box, but that doesn't have a lock on it, so I put them in a safe place."

We'd ask, "Well, where is that?"

Mom would say, "If I could remember that, I wouldn't need you to help me look for them, would I?"

So we'd diligently search but to no avail.

Mom would say, "I can't remember where I put them. What am I going to do?"

I said, "I'd go out and buy Daddy a shirt with button sleeves."

Invariably Mom would introduce logic into the hunt.

She'd say, "Where would be the last place you would look for Daddy's cuff links?"

I suggested, "Stuttgart."

Mom said, "Don't be smartalecky. Just tell me the last place you would look for the cuff links."

I said, "Why do you ask that?"

She said, "Because everything I've ever found in my life was in the last place I looked for it."

I said, "Mom, doesn't that make sense?"

She said, "What do you mean?"

I said, "If you find something, why would you continue to look other places for it?"

Mom never quite got the logic of that.

Sometimes, though, Mom's forgetfulness was strategic. That was whenever any of us kids wanted some spending money. "Mom, can I have a nickel?" A nickel back then could buy a candy bar, a bagful of penny candies, or a bottle of soda, if you drank it in the store. If you took it out of the store, it cost seven cents with a two cent deposit on the bottle. So a nickel was considerable.

Mom never said "no" to our request. But she'd say what was equivalent to a "no." She'd say, "Find my purse."

Pinkerton was a great detective. He found Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in Bolivia, no less. Naturally, that was the last place he looked. But Pinkerton and all of his horses and all of his men in their heyday could not find my mother's purse if she didn't want them to find it.

We would look under the couch, on top of the china closet, in the cabinets under the sink everywhere. If we did find the elusive little snap-shut money bag, it would be long after our thirst or hunger was gone and after the corner store had closed. Mom succeeded in not denying us, but in not giving us our nickels, either.

I'm convinced that someone, someday will uncover the Dutchman's lost mine. Serious treasure hunters or hikers or bikers will eventually find some bank robbers' hidden loot or a pirate's bounty. If you find it, I hope you enjoy it. Spend it for fun or invest it for profit. But whatever you do, don't let my mom put it in a safe place for you. We'll all be right back where we started.

FROM THE Arizona Highways WILD WEST BOOK SERIES FROM THE Arizona Highways WILD WEST BOOK SERIES STORIES OF THE GOOD, THE BAD . . . AND THE JUST PLAIN ROTTEN

Gathered by Arizona Highways from more than 70 years of writing about the Old West

LAW OF THE GUN

Historian and author Marshall Trimble presents an overview of those who wielded the gun to break the law and those who embraced the gun to uphold it. You'll marvel at the stories of such compelling figures as Wyatt Earp, Wild Bill Hickok, Kit Carson, John Wesley Hardin, Jesse James, the Daltons, and Judge Roy Bean. Includes 20 historical photographs. 192 pages. Softcover.

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THEY LEFT THEIR MARK: Heroes and Rogues of Arizona History

Explorers and warriors, novelists and scientists, missionaries and mercenaries - a parade of larger-than life characters have boldly written their names in the annals of Arizona history. From the early Spanish explorer Juan Bautista de Anza to land swindler James Addison Reavis to World War II Marine hero Ira Hayes, you'll enjoy these fascinating biographies of Arizona's famous and infamous. 144 pages. Softcover.

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MANHUNTS & MASSACRES

A bungled stagecoach robbery results in murder. Mexican soldiers ambush seven sleeping cowboys in Guadalupe Canyon. In order to safeguard his family and property from marauding Apaches, rancher John Benjamin Townsend decides to go after the Indians first and becomes a skilled Indian hunter. These stories from Arizona's frontier days recount cleverly staged ambushes, horrible massacres, and the valiant, sometimes vicious, pursuits staged by lawmen and Indian fighters. 144 pages. Softcover.

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DAYS OF DESTINY

On July 6, 1900, an unarmed Warren Earp was gunned down in a saloon in an act of revenge stemming from the infamous gunfight at the O.K. Corral almost two decades earlier. "Buckskin Frank" Leslie didn't know when he got drunk on July 4, 1889, that it would set off a chain of events ending his odyssey as one of Tombstone's most deadly gunfighters. Billy Claibourne, Black Jack Ketchum, Bronco Bill... as this collection of historical sketches vividly illustrates, even the most powerful could not predict what fate had in store for them. 144 pages. Softcover.

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