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ON THE ROAD Our Big Birthday Year

Seventy-five years ago next April, the old Arizona Highway Department launched the first issue of Arizona Highways, following a trend of state governments hoping to lure motorists to their states. These governments wanted the owners of a new transportation medium - the automobile to know that some good graded roads awaited them in their states, including even some paved roads. Most of those state magazines failed, but a determined group of highway commissioners and their engineers kept the Arizona Highways dream alive. The magazine has changed significantly since 1925, expanding its scope and attracting the finest writers and photographers. Today Arizona Highways receives plaudits annually as the foremost regional travel magazine in the country. The magazine has subscribers in every state and in two-thirds of the countries of the world and pioneers - about those who came before and those who are here now. The magazine has achieved inordinate success. It influences between $300 million and $600 million in tourist spending each year. It wins countless awards for design, photography, illustration and stories, and often is judged the best in its class by its peers. And it has done all this without A Year 2000 look back at stories of the state from the people and pages of Arizona Highways advertising and, since 1982, without funding from the state legislature. Not many magazines can make it without advertising. But this magazine thrives on its own revenues. It does so because of readers like you, persons who have a passion for Arizona and a love for its people. Arizona Highways offers each reader an unvarnished view of the state in pictures, stories and illustrations. It delivers its content in a wholesome, uplifting way and never demeans or derides or whines. The magazine offers content as suitable for a 6-year-old child as for the child's great-grandparents. To celebrate its 75th anniversary, the magazine will carry this special anniversary department each month this year. The department will feature classic stories from past issues, vignettes of frontier life, anecdotes of men and women who take pictures or write stories for the magazine and tales its writers uncovered as they traveled along the Arizona road. The magazine will have a series of photography exhibits in museums around the state, a special anniversary banquet and a fund-raising project to help construct an education center at Grand Canyon National Park. So come along. It will be an exciting ride.

FORERUNNER JOKES

Each month Arizona Highways contains a humor page, "Arizona Humor," and a humor column, "Wit Stop." They further a tradition started in the magazine 75 years ago. Here are the two jokes published in our first edition, April 1925: Confusing Witness Jenks: "What's the grand idea having your car painted yellow on one side and blue on the other?" Bangs: "It's great. You should hear how confused the witnesses are and how they contradict each other in court when I have a damage case on."

Regret "Madam," said the leader of the brigands, "we'll have to hold you until your husband ransoms you." "Alas," replied the woman, "I wish I'd treated him a little better." (Yeah, yeah, we know. But remember, these jokes are 75 years old.)

HELPING REBUILD EUROPE

Among the things that please us most are the innovative secondary uses subscribers find for our magazine. Many, many readers pass along their copies to schools, hospitals and nursing homes.

Here is how Emily Creswell of Phoenix used some of her issues: "In 1946, after World War II ended, the Phoenix Red Cross asked people to adopt suffering families in Europe. I was given Josefa, my age (21), in Poland.

"Her father and brother had been killed in the war; she, her mother and sister were living on what remained of their farm. Their house had been razed, and they were staying in their dirt cellar.

"We were told to send monthly boxes containing coffee, tea, sugar, cocoa, canned milk and other canned goods, and cigarettes (yes, those wicked things) since the recipients could easily sell or trade these items if they did not want to use them themselves. Of course, we were encouraged to send clothing and blankets or other personal items.

"I didn't have much money but did manage to get the requested items, and I also enclosed copies of Arizona Highways, thinking it would be nice for Josefa and her family to see where I lived.

"About two months after I sent the boxes, I would receive a letter (translated for me by a friend who knew Polish) thanking me for the items.

"The letters expressed special thanks for the magazine because they had 'papered' their dirt cellar walls with the beautiful pictures, and it made their lives so much more cheerful."

A Photographer's Humbling Experience

Hard luck follows nature photographer Marty Cordano around like gum stuck to a shoe.

About five years ago, Marty got an assignment from Arizona Highways to photograph skunks. Marty decided not just any skunk would do. He wanted pictures of the hog-nosed skunk, a species common in Mexico but found in only a few sections of southern Arizona. Because Marty lives in Bisbee, a city practically on the Mexican border, the hog noses were close at hand.

Out into the wild he went. He set up his camera on a tripod and then plopped down on a tree stump to wait.

About 2 A.M., a hog-nosed skunk crept into camp. Marty arose and stood behind the camera, waiting for the skunk to move into range. Instead, it headed toward Marty, walked across his shoes and ambled back into the brush. No pictures. For four nights afterward, Marty waited for skunks, but none came.

Disgusted, Marty broke camp and drove home. There he lay on the floor of his living room, petting his dog and drinking in the breeze that wafted through the screen door between the living room and the porch. Suddenly, the dog leaped up, raced to the screen door and began barking.

Marty peered out to see what caused the commotion and there, on his porch, stood a hog-nosed skunk.

Just then the skunk let out a spray and sped away.

The final indignity.

To fulfill that assignment, Marty sent in pictures of a more common variety of skunk. But eventually he did photograph a hog-nosed skunk, and that is what you see in the picture above.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

IF YOU ARE A TYPICAL READER, you probably noticed, vaguely, that something is different about the cover this month, but you're not sure what.

At least that was the reaction of readers in two focus group studies we conducted last June on the new design of the nameplate.

We thought it would be interesting to show you the evolution of our nameplate. This is what it looked like on the first issue in April 1925:

Here are some others:

Many times when a magazine changes its nameplate, it means a price hike will follow. No such plans here. We simply wanted to modernize the look.

Now that you know we've made a change, we hope you'll take another look, and like the new nameplate as much as we do.

A True-life Tale of Bull

Or, some people are leaders of men and some are leaders of cows Photographer Bernadette Heath, with whom I often work on stories for Highways, attracts cows and angry bulls like most people draw the interest of kittens and puppies. One fall day on the San Carlos Indian Reservation, the elk were coming in for water, and Bernadette prepared to photograph a big bull with his antlers tilted over his back.

She decided her best chance at a good picture was to sneak around the edge of the clearing, being careful to stay hidden behind the pine trees. Then she would crawl on her hands and knees through the tall grass to the perfect hiding spot and wait for elk to walk in front of her.

Bernadette was so intent on hiding from the elk, she didn't realize she had attracted the attention of some Hereford cattle grazing in the nearby meadow. Gradually, they wandered into the pines where Bernadette skulked from tree trunk to tree trunk to tree trunk. Still unknown to our intrepid photographer, as she crawled through the grass, the cattle lined up behind her and followed in a single file. The curious herd waited patiently until Bernadette got her camera set, and then surrounded her. Frantic now, Bernadette tried to shoo them away without revealing her location to the incoming elk. The cows stayed put. The elk came within a few yards of Bernadette, but she couldn't get a shot without a cow being in the picture.Meanwhile, the bull realized his cows had deserted him, and he came looking for them. When he saw Bernadette, he let out a squall and pawed the ground. Bernadette managed a hasty retreat, fuming mad because the cattle had ruined her photo.

But the bull wasn't going to forget about her. For the next three days, whenever he spied Bernadette, the bull bellowed and tore up the earth, pawing with his front legs and making the dirt fly. You could tell where Bernadette was just by listening for that old bull.

JOSEF MUENCH Prototype Landscape Photographer

An emigrant from Germany, Josef Muench settled in Santa Barbara, California, and worked as a landscape gardener. But his passion was photography. He first visited Arizona in 1936 and returned time after time to take pictures. In 1938 he spotted a copy of Arizona Highways at a service station and liked what he saw.

On his next trip to Arizona, he brought along a box of prints of the scenic places he had photographed during previous visits. He met then-Editor Raymond Carlson in a little shack behind the old Arizona Highway Department headquarters, which served as the editor's office. Muench said he felt nervous, "like a lost little boy trying to make a business deal." He didn't realize Carlson had been at the job only one month.

Carlson turned each image over slowly and finally said, "This is what I want to bring this magazine to. Can I keep these?"

So marked a relationship between Muench and the magazine that lasted nearly 60 years. Josef Muench more than any other photographer provided the impetus to transform the scenic photos in Arizona Highways from black and white to color.

When he was 90 years old, Muench visited the magazine's offices, now located in west Phoenix.

"What do you consider your best photo?" he was asked.

"I haven't found it yet," he replied.

Such was the indomitable spirit of Josef Muench. He died in December 1998.

LONE WOLF GETS HIS WISH

Lone Wolf, the artist son of a Blackfoot woman and prolific Old West author James Willard Schultz, spent many winters and springs painting in Greer and in Tucson. His canvasses of Indians and frontier scenes became so popular that by the early 1900s, galleries in New York, Chicago and elsewhere displayed them. Herbert Hoover, Mrs. Calvin Coolidge, the Santa Fe Railroad, universities and museums collected his work.

Through the years, Lone Wolf became acquainted with illustrator Ross Santee, whose artworks were appearing regularly in Arizona Highways. In a May 24, 1942 letter to Santee, Lone Wolf wrote: "I wish I could get some of my work in the Arizona Highways, but I don't think I am good enough."

The magazine never did publish any of his work - an oversight we now correct, posthumously.

A Brief Look at a Brief Bathing Suit Issue

Last August Arizona Highways ran a cover picture of a woman playing in a waterfall in rugged Hellsgate Canyon. The picture ran on the newsstand editions only as a test to see if an action shot would stimulate sales.

The Arizona media, however, thought we had spent too much time in the heat. The woman in the waterfall, you see, was wearing a two-piece swimsuit. Television stations, talk radio and the newspapers wondered how this venerable publication could dare to put a swimsuit-clad woman on the cover.

Never mind that it was a conservative photo, suggestive of nothing but playing in a waterfall. The hullabaloo indicated the home-town media were unfamiliar with the magazine's history. The practice of occasionally running pictures of women in bathing suits began in June 1939. On page 2 of that issue, Editor Raymond Carlson used a picture of three women on the rocks below Boulder Dam waving at an airplane flying above.

In the May 1945 issue, Editor Bert Campbell expanded the use of women's pictures when he ran a portfolio on fashion models. Campbell also used women posing in various Western scenes as cover models.

So when we conducted the newsstand test last August, we simply added another photo to a 60-year-old practice.

The test results? Inconclusive. The issue sold very well. But the test was biased and rendered useless by the media reaction.

ON THE ROAD From the August 1938 issue Old Dobie the Mule's Bout With Bacchus

Burro is a bit of undomestic, mischievous wantonness, possessed of the perversity of a spoiled child, and the rough exterior of a ragamuffin. For a few scraps to eat he becomes your true brother, but the suggestion of work engrosses him with devilish obstinacy. Only the prospector values him. There exists a connubial companship between these two western species.

Old Jose and his burro, Dobie, were such a pair, and of a Saturday could be found among the saloons in Santo Granado. Here Dobie, with the reputed love of burros for tin cans, browsed on the dump of empty beer cans behind the beverage establishments. Jose meanwhile mingled with the Saturday idlers, displaying quartz specimens from his "diggings," and, like a good fellow, setting up several rounds of drinks.

The more Jose drank, the more given he was to loquacious caricatures, by which device his doubtful discovery grew to such fabulous wealth that a mere grub stake would have placed its donor on Easy Street. But his offers were never taken, and his meager earnings were spent quickly, so Jose would seek Dobie, whom, it was rumored, often not only supported but led Jose home.

Perhaps their lonely life welded such true companionship. Only when Jose drank of a Saturday was this close relationship disturbed by acrimonious dispute, for Jose, changing his easy manner for that of the ribald scoffer, would rake Dobie unmercifully with a flow of unsavory words.

Dobie, as all good friends would, resented such treatment.

Next day in despair Jose would plead his case.

"Ah, mi amigo, no be angry with Jose. Jose no good, no good you to serve. Be no angry, it happens again, no. You believe Jose, si? By the cross of Our Lady of Saints Jose swear it."

Slipping his arm affectionately around the shaggy neck, Jose would indulge in a few tears before accepting his forgiveness.

"Gracias, mi amigo, so kind to be again friends. Jose drink no more. Mi amigo a lucky fellow no drink such stuff."

Jose celebrated the reunion in song, while poor Dobie, reaching the limit of passive endurance, would tilt back his head and bray most vindictively.

This was the cycle of their rum friendship until on one of their gala Saturdays, when Jose was carrying more money and brew than usual, he espied Dobie by the doorway of the saloon. The burro eyed Jose dubiously, as well he might, but Jose, delighted to see his friend, led him to the bar.

"Serve mi amigo. Mi amigo is thirsty," shouted Jose.

Turning to Dobie, his bosom companion, he said, "You think I should no spend mucho dinero on Jose, si? You want a fiesta too? You are right. Pardon Jose for no invite you sooner."

Jose again pounded the counter and shouted at the angry bartender. "Why you wait? Serve mi amigo bucket of beer. He thirsty, want to enjoy his fiesta."

The bartender succumbed to the urgent pleadings of a beer salesman and amid the bravos and vivas of the saloon idlers placed a bucket of beer before the burro, but Dobie turned up his nose at the suds.

In horror Jose saw his gift spurned. "Caramba," he shouted, "a whole bucket of beer! Why do you no drink?"

In strident tones Jose swore at his friend, then apologized and begged him to drink. Finally Jose dropped a can of beer in the bucket and chortled in delight as Dobie, now realizing the great value of the gift, drained the contents and pawed the bucket in good burro language meaning "more."

In great anger Jose cuffed his friend across the head. "Vamos, you ungrateful wretch," he shouted.

But Dobie didn't mind the angry words, and what is a playful blow among friends, so he nipped a piece from Jose's trousers. Now feeling most fatuously pleased, Dobie took a playful kick at the bar which obligingly upset. "Ah, por Dios, what happens to my poor Dobie?" wailed the dazed Jose.

But Dobie, feeling as one so often does in a like predicament, wavered unsteadily on his four feet and staggered toward the door; misjudging its location he crashed through the showcase window.

It was nearly morning before Dobie found Jose, and then he could only hear his voice for Jose was in jail. Still strongly under the influence of what he had drunk, on seeing his once favorite companion, he proceeded to curse him with a fluent collection of strong oaths.

Poor Dobie, suffering an attack of nausea, meekly stood in the street outside hopefully thinking of the millennium.

Next morning everyone in Santo Granado was laughing about Jose and his burro, Dobie. The beer salesman, however, hurried to the jail and paid Jose's fine.

Jose and Dobie made up on sight and the salesman led the still tipsy pair back To the scene of their crime, where Dobie, on seeing his favorite grog shop, brayed delightedly and staggered within.

There before photographers and newspapermen the bucket was again filled (with the salesman's particular brew) and pictures taken as Dobie proceeded to "drink her down."

Perchance it was the early morning hour, or the memorable party the previous evening - and again it might have been something he ate but Dobie took a turn for the worse.

Gathering their belongings, Jose, not feeling too well himself, led his sick companion toward their home.

"Dobie is sick, me too. But we drink so much! I shall better watch mi amigo next time." To this Dobie gave a most violent belch. Jose looked in distress at his friend. "There will be another time, mi amigo! Quien sabe!"

Editor's Note: George M. Avey, the magazine's first art director and the man most responsible for establishing its award-winning design standards, drew these illustrations in 1938.

THE CAPTAIN AND HIS RANSOM

A story about Fort Huachuca, near the Mexican border, carried this revealing tale about army life on the frontier: Another interesting anecdote verified by post records tells of the mutual dislike existing between a captain in the 5th Cavalry and a 2nd lieutenant in his troop while stationed at Huachuca in 1883. During those days the Mexican government allowed our soldiers to cross the international line when campaigning against hostile Indians. It was on one of these expeditions into Mexico, which were frequently made by the command at Fort Huachuca, that the troop was ambushed by some Mexican irregulars. A small detachment, which included the captain, was cut off and captured. After a running fight, the 2nd lieutenant brought the remainder of the troop back.

Some days later, the lieutenant received a note from the captain requesting that a mule be sent as ransom in exchange for him.

The lieutenant replied, "I am now in command and would sooner have the mule."

No mention is made of what happened to the captain.

BEANS AREN'T WORTH DYING OVER

In the early days of Tombstone, the toughest town in the Southwest, Miss Nellie Cashman ran a popular restaurant. She won the respect of the hard men who made up the town. But one day Tom McLowery, a notorious character, came in the restaurant in a very bad temper. A large pot containing half a gallon of beans was placed in front of him.

Tom's bad temper boiled over. He cursed the beans, the restaurant, and Miss Nellie. This was contrary to Tombstone etiquette. At a table nearby was Doc Holliday, renowned as a killer himself and later active in the deadly EarpClanton feud. Holliday rose, his hand dropped to the butt of his revolver.

"Miss Nellie made them beans," he said in mild tones. "In this camp we think Miss Nellie is a mighty good cook and especially with beans. You better eat them beans and like them, all of them. Get going."

Tom knew Holliday. He saw Doc's fingers tighten a little on the revolver. He began eating the beans. He did not stop until the half-gallon was finished, although the last spoonfuls came hard. Then he slouched out of the restaurant. There were no more complaints about the quality of Miss Nellie's cooking.