ROADSIDE REST

Setting, Not Size, Makes the Living Easy in Arid Phoenix and in Seaside San Diego

Fate sometimes delivers us into a most paradoxical moment. It happened for me during a visit to the Lower Left Corner of mainland America. Under my arm was a copy of that day's San Diego Union, whose front page sizzled with news difficult for editors to believe: Phoenix rises past San Diego as sixthbiggest U.S. city. The article read: "America's Finest City" is no longer America's sixth-largest city. That honor belongs to Phoenix, which apparently has moved up in rank and knocked San Diego down a notch to seventh place by about one-tenth of one percent. Adding to the irony, Phoenix Mayor Skip Rimsza was vacationing in San Diego this week." Many of us who reside in the Far Southwest maintain a sort of dual citizenship in landlocked Phoenix and seawashed San Diego. The rich keep houses in both towns, and those of lesser means settle for vacations. So many Phoenix citizens descend upon the cool San Diego beaches during summer, they earn the slightly derogatory label of "Zonies." Until 15 years ago, I lived a long spell in San Diego, and I loved it. The freeways were so ahead of their times everything surrounding its unexcelled natural harbor and sparkling bay lay 10 minutes away from everything else. To deepen channels for supercarriers of its Sixth Fleet, the Navy had piled up the dredging soil creating the marina paradises of Shelter and Harbor islands. Here California began. And here, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo dropped his hook 78 years before Plymouth Rock. Here, in 1769, Father Junipero Serra established the first of his 21 California missions. Here, 77 years after that, the U.S. Navy raised the Stars and Stripes to advance the American dream of Manifest Destiny: one nation from the Atlantic to the Pacific. No prettier setting exists for a city in the world, north of Sydney. My years in San Diego were dreamlike, sailing her busy bay, embracing her Mexican culture, and experiencing her addictive attractions: Old Town, the Embarcadero, the beaches, chic and expensive La Jolla, and the rural and relaxed North County, where I made my home. SO IT WAS OF A RECENT DAY that I carried my current edition of the Union under my arm into a familiar antiques store in seaside Carlsbad, California, to immediately espy another publication almost exactly a half century older: the December, 1947, issue of Holiday magazine. This special issue celebrated Phoenix and Arizona with a colorful cover dominated by the mandatory saguaro cactus, galloping cowboys and costumed Indians, and startling landforms. Somewhat earlier than the Holiday special, as a kid I had encountered Phoenix myself; a seedy farmtown stuck in the middle of a hot desert. Phoenix's 60,000 souls clustered within about 120 developed but dusty city blocks. The airport terminal was of adobe, smaller than a small house. Malodorous cattlefattening pens bordered one side, and junkyards the other. The most popular spectator sport was girls' semipro softball. The Sunday thrill was eating a dish of ice cream at the Carnation plant on Central Avenue two miles into the country north of downtown. Manufacturing and its goodpaying jobs were practically nonexistent, and the struggling tourism industry had to contend with several climatological obstacles: Arizona's unrefrigerated summers were miserable, and its modern accommodations few. Not five golf courses in the state kept their greens green. As wards of the government, impoverished Native Americans were required to fight foreign wars but were not allowed to vote. The editors of Holiday put on the best face. Lavish inside spreads featured dude ranches, Western wear shops, rodeo action, Indian arts and crafts, semiarid wildflowers, and geologic wonders, such as the Grand Canyon. SO NOW THE DEMOGRAPHERS quoted in my copy of the Union pegged the Phoenix population at 1,210,420. The Census Bureau predicts that Arizonans soon will number 4.5 million. San Diego likewise was expected to grow well beyond its 1,197,676, and to a residency of 3 million soon for San Diego County. Not wishing to offend the patriots of either city, I judged San Diego this visit to be dreadfully difficult to get around by car. In large measure, probably the Zonies were to blame. And my Phoenix, still trying to overcome its generational lag in freeway construction, endures daily traffic jams as status quo. When I dwelt in San Diego, an officially chartered group was named "The Citizens Committee to Keep San Diego from Becoming Another Los Angeles." At about the same time on the wall of the Phoenix water department was displayed a sign, "Please, Lord, Not Another Los Angeles." Forgive an old gent who states he would love his dissimilar cities even more if nationally they ranked 106th and 107th in size, and that he would not care a whit which was the larger.