ON THE ROAD

A Year 2000 look back at stories of the state from the people and pages of Arizona Highways Where the Hired Hand Wears Chaps, by George Phippen. From the permanent collection of the Phippen Museum of Western Art, Prescott. Donated by the Colorado Springs Art Center.

cowboy who was down on life in general, who bemoaned the state of the world or who had to be overhauled by a psychiatrist because of jumpy nerves.

We once met a man who has an office on Wall Street, full of office workers running around like a bunch of wild steers and with more dollars in the bank than he could possibly spend. All he would talk about was how much fun he had in his younger days working on a ranch in Idaho. And possibly the only fun he ever had in his life was on that ranch and if he had stayed in the cattle business he wouldn't have had so many dollars in the bank, but his digestion would have been better.

The life on a cattle ranch teaches you the value of hard work because it isn't a soft life. Isolated as you are, you also learn that you can have a lot of fun in the simple pleasures of life and that it is possible for a person to live quite happily without the broadening effect of motion pictures, billboard advertising, and the daily stimulus of the newspaper. You even learn that there is as much enjoyment in moonlight and starglow as there is in the sickly neon dimness of a cocktail lounge.

You learn that a horse is just about as good a friend as a person could have, just as reliable, just as companionable, just as faithful. And ten times smarter than most of your acquaintances. You learn that the fresh, zestful air of the open range is a good substitute for the carbon fumes of the city boulevard, and a bawling calf makes just as good music as the peep! peep! of the motor horn.

After riding hard all day and you come to a stream you'll appreciate the taste and the uplift of good stream water. You'll enjoy the smell of cows and horses and the tired feeling at the end of a day's work.

An evening by the camp fire will be high entertainment and high education for you and then you'll come to learn how companionable simple, hard-working people can be. The finest literature in the world is the unwritten stories told around the camp fires in cow camps at night.

We know a man who writes books, good books, really very good books, who worked for a cattle outfit in Arizona for about five years. He contends that any person wanting to write should get around a camp fire and tell his stories. If you don't tell them well, the boys will just walk out on you. When it comes to stories, he says, a bunch of cowboys around a camp fire are about the finest critics in the world. They know a story when they see one.

Editor's Note: Raymond Carlson was the editor of Arizona Highways from 1938 to 1971 except for the World War II years, and the man credited with developing it into a quality magazine known worldwide.

From the July 1941 issue The Call of the West

TEXT BY RAYMOND CARLSON If you haven't done it before you should not don your chaps, get on a cow pony, and spend a whole day chasing a bunch of cattle through a typical Arizona cattle range. It's hard work and if you take too big a portion at one sitting you'll wake up the next day full of aches and pains and sore spots and your bones will creak like the hinges on a rusty gate.

Generations of clear thinking people have made the saddle about as comfortable as possible and skilled artisans have worked overtime to pattern the saddle to fit and to serve its purpose well, but if you are unaccustomed to riding and all at once you spend a day chasing a cow you will maintain that the saddle is an instrument of torture and the horse a demon under a saddle blanket.

While there is no law against it, you would look ridiculous seated on top of a couple of pillows for comfort's sake, and you surely would not look like a hard-working, debonair cowboy, that vision in nonchalance we all try to attain. Break in easy and gentle-like and when you get toughened up you'll find a day in the saddle good for the soul and out here in Arizona, where the weather is ideal for that sort of thing, you'll enjoy your experience to the utmost.

Every person should spend some time on a cattle ranch. There is something about the life on the range that affects you unlike any other experience. The cowboy will curse it as a dog's life at little pay, but have you ever seen a cowboy who wasn't full of fight and fire? We have yet to see a work-a-dayin In the early years of the magazine, as more and more people began to die in automobile accidents, editors used the pages to promote highway safety. Following is an example of those efforts:

From the October 1935 issue Death Never Takes a Holiday

By Elma Roberts Wilson Death never takes a holiday: He lurks on every street; He crouches down each alley-way His menace to repeat. At every railroad crossing He waits with patient grin: Some fool will try to beat the train And Death's the one who'll win. Death stalks the little children As they run out from school. And snatches them when drivers Disobey the "DRIVE SLOW" rule. He tips the liquor bottle; He drops the drowsy eye; Chortles when drivers "hit 'er tip" For soon some one will die. The long, straight, open stretches Are where his harvest's best. They are such tempting places To put speed to the test. Death loves a dirty windshield, A sudden, careless swerve; He grows extremely chummy When you park upon a curve. He loves the glaring headlights, Six fools, in one coupe, "Sixty" at the cross-roads And trailers wide that sway. Death rides the arms of petters, He snuggles up beside Those drivers who have grown so wise That road signs they deride. He trots behind thin casings, Slides over worn brake bands; When careless drivers turn their heads He pounces on their hands. Then rakes his gory winnings, From ditch, or pole, or tree And chalks against pure carelessness Another tragedy. Yet there's a way to foil him, And this the only way: Obey the rules; be cautious When driving, night or day.

LARRY TOSCHIK Our Readers' Favorite Wildlife Artist

Wildlife artist Larry Toschik remembers meeting in Editor Raymond Carlson's office in 1966 with Art Director George Avey. Toschik, who had a full-time job, also did part-time layout for the magazine to support his wife and four children. But design wasn't Toschik's real dream. He wanted to create the art. "What do you do on the side, Larry?" Carlson asked him. "I like to draw and paint wildlife," he said. "Really? I'd like to see your work. Do you have anything with you?" By chance, Toschik had a roll of drawings in the trunk of his car. The men spread them out on the floor of Carlson's office. They studied the images for a bit, then Avey said, "Ray, I think we should use these." "I think so, too," said the editor. Turning to Toschik, he asked, "Can you work up about a four-page spread? Write the text and we'll use these drawings." "But I've never written anything," said Toschik. "Don't worry," Carlson replied. "I know you can do it."

Carlson was right, and the four-page spread blossomed into an 11-page feature on wildlife that appeared in the March 1967 issue. "It changed my life,"

Larry Toschik painted Flagship of the Spirit Dancers for Arizona Highways' February 1979 cover. The 48-by 36-inch oil now hangs in the lobby of the Department of Interior in Washington, D.C.

Toschik says, as his wife, Ceil, nods. "I couldn't sell a painting for $40 before that, but the day that Arizona Highways issue came out, I got a telephone call from C.L. Smith, chief executive officer of American Airlines, and he bought one of the paintings in the article for $400. Later that day, Marion Sadler, the airline president, called and commissioned another one. Sometime down the road, one of my paintings sold in a gallery for $24,000." There were five more successful collaborations between Toschik and the magazine after that first one, earning both the man and the publication worldwide acclaim. Once on a tour bus in England, Toschik mentioned that he was from Arizona. "Man," said the driver, "I'd sure like to meet that artist from Arizona whose birds appear in Arizona Highways." Toschik'sfriend responded, "You're in luck. He's sitting right here." While Toschik and his wife lived in Pine, two elderly women traveled from France to Phoenix, then made the two-hour drive to the Toschik home in the woods. "What possessed you ladies to drive all this way to see me?" the artist asked them, though he was growing accustomed to the stream of visitors that flocked to his studio. "Why Mr. Toschik, you are very famous in Paris," they exclaimed. At one point, Toschik said he told Carlson, "I owe you." "You don't owe me a thing," said the editor. "We owe you." That's how Carlson was, Toschik says. "When he was editor, the magazine had feeling, spirituality. It was wonderful to read. After Ray, the magazine read like a technical brochure for a while, but now it's got that wonderful feeling again." - Paula Marie Searcy

CARLOS ELMER Great Photographer, Great Friend

Carlos Elmer not only contributed pictures to Arizona Highways for more than 50 years, he assisted the magazine in numerous ways. For example, when the magazine decided to republish its first issue, the reproduction was copied from an orginal issue in the collection of Carlos and his wife, Wilma. Carlos also helped establish the Friends of Arizona Highways, a volunteer group that conducts photo workshops and helps the magazine in many other ways. But his main contributions were his pictures, particularly his landscapes of northern Arizona. His first pictures appeared in 1940, when he was only 19 years old. His landscape photos continued to appear in the magazine after his death in May 1993. "Most people can't appreciate what goes into making a landscape photograph dramatic, moody, exciting," said Pete Ensenberger, the magazine's director ofphotography. "To be in the right place at the right time, to see potential in a scene and to have the patience to wait it out, to see the light shaft or the shadow strike a scene and elevate it from just a landscape to a work of art, that's what Carlos Elmer did. "He was one of the first photographers to contribute that kind of photo to the magazine."

A graduate of UCLA, Elmer served as an Army Air Corps captain in World War II. He led a group of combat photographers in the Pacific at places like Tarawa, Saipan and Guam. But landscapes remained his real love, and through more than half a century he pursued them from his home in Kingman. Four years after his death, the Carlos Elmer Gallery opened in Kingman. And today, part of the road between Meadview and Pearce Ferry is called Carlos Elmer's Joshua View, a stunning landscape of Joshua trees. Elmer ranks high on the rolls of those who have made this a great magazine.

LIFE ON THE FRONTIER THE O'FARRELLS TELL A STORY ABOUT A GUIDE

From the September 1940 issue The O'Farrells at the Gap Trading Post on U.S. Route 89 between Flagstaff and Utah are remarkable people and they maintain a remarkable trading post and stopover for Visitors. Not so very long ago a party of their friends came to the Gap, intending to travel out into the Navajo country. Knowing that their friends were not versed in the ways of Navajo roads, the O'Farrells graciously arranged the services of a Navajo guide. The party started out. Finally, at the end of a long day's ride, they came to a place where the road forked. "Which way do we go, right or left?" the guide was asked. "It doesn't make any difference," the guide said, "you are already way off the right road." "What do you mean?" this in unison from all members of the party. "You turned wrong way back there," the Navajo said, pointing westward. "Why didn't you tell us?" someone screamed. "You didn't ask me," the guide said quietly.

THE ARIZONA RANGERS, NO DANDIES THESE

From the June 1942 issue The Arizona Rangers were formed in 1901 to combat rustling and other lawlessness. They wore no uniforms and rarely showed their badges, preferring to pose as cowboys. By 1909, crime on the range had been reduced substantially and the unit was abolished. Here is a description of the rangers as reported by Lawrence Cardwell: Folks who have gained their conception of cowboys from motion pictures and rodeo parades would have been sadly disappointed in this crew of sixshooter experts. Shaving and bathing were considered signs of masculine weakness in company where everybody wanted to be a curly wolf. For the most part they were grizzled and smelled to high heaven of human and horse sweat, leather, beef tallow, chewing tobacco, wood smoke, and just plain corral dust. Their garb also left much to be desired as to picturesqueness. Usually denim overalls and brush jackets, runover high-heeled boots, blood and sweat stained spurs often clogged with hair, battered flopbrimmed hats, and plain wingless "shotgun" chaps overhung with well-filled cartridge belts. These sagged under the weight of old fashioned single action .45 Colt six-shooters in well worn, easy slipping open holsters. The entire ensemble was frayed and brush worn for the most part.

BARNEY REGAN, FRONTIER PREACHER AND SALOON OWNER

From the February 1937 issue Barney Regan, an ordained minister, came to Arizona in the 1880s to reform the wild western populace. But he was no unctuous namby-pamby. He observed that social life centered around the saloons, and he knew that religion should tie closely to social life. So he purchased a saloon in the town of Florence. As proprietor and barkeep, Reverend Mr. Regan ran a "clean" saloon. Nobody cheated or got drunk there. No women did more than drink and dance respectably. Nobody roared more joyously at a saloon joke than Rev. Mr. Regan, but nobody told a smutty joke.

One morning a cowboy announced that he had decided to shoot up the Regan bar, in traditional fashion. He walked across the main street to begin his carousing. He jerked out his pistol and fired and shot at the mirror behind the bar and never fired another. Quick as a flash, Rev. Mr. Regan jerked out his own pistol and killed him. Next day, the same minister preached the cowboy's funeral service a notable sermon on the general advisability of living circumspectly.

BET YOU DON'T KNOW HOW PIPE SPRING GOT ITS NAME

From the January 1943 issue The names on most Arizona Strip country places in the northwestern part of the state, like Wolfhole, Clayhole, Bullrush, Yellowstone, Littletanks, Cane Beds, Short Creek, sprang fullfledged from the unspoiled brain of some early cowboy or traveler. The origination of the name Pipe Spring is more devious. It is said that a party of missionaries led by Jacob Hamblin and sent by Brigham Young to make peace with the Navajo in 1858 stopped at this spring; that among their number was William (Gunlock Bill) Hamblin, a sharpshooter among sharpshooters. A wager was made that he could not shoot a hole through a silk handkerchief at 50 paces. Someone held up the handkerchief and Hamblin's bullet hit it, but the slick cloth gave away and there was no puncture. Irked that any cloud should be thrown on his ability as a marksman, Hamblin bet he could shoot the bottom out of Dudley Leavitt's pipe. Leavitt put the pipe on a rock and Hamblin drilled the bottom out of it neatly with the first shot. Hence the name Pipe Spring.