ON THE ROAD

A Year 2000 look back at stories of the state from the people and pages of Arizona Highways

From the November 1940 issue Those Wily Old Newspaper Ads

Newspapers proliferated on the Arizona frontier, sustained, then as now, by advertising. Only then, promoting your products in newspapers was the main outlet for advertising. No radio. No television. No internet. Here are some of the bold ad claims in the newspapers of the late 1800s. From the Tombstone Epitaph, 1886, the following sure-cures appeared: "Dr. Flint's Heart Remedy has saved more lives by timely use, and has kept from suicide and insane asylum more victims of nervous disorders, than all the physicians with their pet methods of treatment." "Small Pox Marks CAN BE REMOVED. Leon & Co., London, Perfumers to H. M. the Queen, have invented the world renowned OBLITERATOR." "Heads Should Never Ache! Never once a week with white soap, and once a week also with salt. After washing the teeth the brush should be placed far back on the tongue and turned side to side so as to clear off the tongue... It is unnatural, absurd and unphilosophical to have the teeth separated with a saw, or frequent picking, or by threads." Apparently some of the remedies didn't work so well, as the November '40 Arizona Highways story concluded: It was a great day in Prescott when the following "improvements" arrived in town. A 1901 Courier notice goes into detail concerning the latest contrivance: "Undertaker Borders has evidently become impressed with the massive and up-to-date appearance of new Prescott, and has made up his mind to keep abreast of the advanced local conditions in his own particular line of business.

"As an evidence of this, he is in receipt of two of the handsomest vehicles of... any kind that were ever brought to Prescott. Both are new and probably more up-to-date as to finishings and fixtures than anything of the kind in Arizona. "One is a two-story casket wagon, from the National Wagon Company of Chillicothe, Ohio. The other is a hearse from James Cunningham & Sons Co., Rochester, New York. "The casket wagon is a very prettily appointed vehicle, combining strength, convenience and symmetrical finish, and does not give the idea of a dead wagon at all - in fact, it has an inviting appearance.

endure this trouble. Use at once the remedy that stopped it for Mrs. N. A. Webster. She writes: 'Dr. King's New Life Pills wholly cured me of sick headaches I have suffered for two years!' Cures Headaches, Constipation, Biliousness, etc." The dental profession came in for its share of advertising in the early days. From the Prescott Courier of 1901, the public was advised that, "Dr. Gonzales is down in Phoenix making full sets of teeth for $7.50 a set. With teeth at that price, no alfalfa grazer should hesitate about a full equipment of teeth." "Dr. Warnekros's dental office," says the Tombstone Epitaph, 1889, "is well equipped with all modern facilities and instruments needed in the art of mending teeth, or extracting them and inserting new ones; the work being well done and charges reasonable." On the care of teeth, the following is a far cry from the ads of the present. This advice should be of especial interest to children. Says the Arizona Weekly Miner, 1872: "It is useful to wash the teeth once a week with white soap making the mouth as full as possible with lather, so as to be close to every particle of every tooth for a few minutes; because the tartar on the teeth is the product of a living thing, which is instantly killed with soap-suds. A few persons have another living thing about the teeth not affected by soap, but which is instantly killed by salt; hence each person is advised to wash the teeth "The hearse is a very imposing looking vehicle, with draperies of a massively handsome pattern, both inside and out; the wheels have rubber tires; the windows are of heavy, beveled plate glass; there are large glass lamps in front, while the entire equipment of the hearse is strikingly handsome. Both the vehicles would certainly reflect credit upon any city."

Arizona housed many prisoners of war during World War II. Here is one such prisoner's reaction to his confinement, as told by the captain of the ship taking him home. This ran as a letter to the editor in June 1946: This afternoon a German prisoner-of-war, a passenger on board this ship, came to me and brought a bound copy of Arizona Highways. He had been in the camp at Florence. He is an artist and was taking back to Germany your magazine so that he could remember the beauties that he had seen there. He had heard that my home is in Arizona so he brought his book to me. I must say that he has made me terrifically homesick. We are about 2,000 miles out of New York bound for Le Havre.

Frederick D. Pine, Captain, C.M.P. Transport Commander SS Rensselaer Victory In the North Atlantic

Germany Bound

AND NOW A WORD FROM THE POPE

In 1880 the Southern Pacific Railroad finally reached Tucson, and on March 20 the first train puffed in from San Francisco. It was a big day in the Old Pueblo. Cannons roared. The Sixth Cavalry Band oompahed lustily. There were toasts and more toasts, and then of course, more toasts.

As the day wore bibulously on, Tucson's expansive citizens decided that they ought to share their joy with others. So they commenced sending telegrams announcing the arrival of the railroad. One went to President Rutherford B. Hayes, another to Queen Victoria, still another to the Kaiser of Germany. And then, at last, someone suggested, "Why not the Pope?"

Why not, indeed? With considerable care, the message was drafted.

"To His Holiness, the Pope of Rome, Italy," it read. "The Mayor of Tucson begs the honor of reminding Your Holiness that this ancient and honorable pueblo was founded under the sanction of the church more than three centuries ago, and to inform Your Holiness that a railroad now connects us with the Christian world. (Signed) R. H. Leatherwood, Mayor."

The message was handed to the local telegraph operator and then forgotten by all, that is, save a few of Tucson's soberer burghers. Such a telegram to the Pope struck them as being somehow unseemly. They bribed the telegraph operator not to send it. Then, while they were at it, they wrote out a pretended reply from the Vatican and asked the operator to have it delivered at the appropriate time.

That night, at the height of a climactic banquet, a messenger arrived. He handed a telegram to the mayor, who forthwith arose and lifted his hand for the crowd's attention.

"It's a reply from Rome," he announced thickly but happily, and then without glancing through the message first, he read aloud: "His Holiness the Pope acknowledges receipt of your telegram informing him that the ancient city of Tucson has been connected by rail with the outside world and sends his benediction, but-." The Mayor gulped, then plunged heroically on "-but, for his own satisfaction, would ask, where in hell is Tucson? (Signed) Antonelli, Papal Secretary."

RAY MANLEY'S WORLD OF PHOTOGRAPHY

Ray Manley, a native of Cottonwood in the Verde Valley, grew up exploring the vast reaches of the Navajo and Hopi Indian reservations. He loved the land. Inspired by landscape photographer Esther Henderson's great images, young Manley took up photography. An early picture earned him a Boy Scout merit badge, and started him upon a career path that would lead him around the world eight times.

World War II briefly altered Manley's career path, and he served a stint as a Navy photographer. Afterward he sent an image of a cattle chute in Kansas to Arizona Highways. It looked enough like the area around Willcox to achieve publication. From that start, Manley's pictures, particularly of subjects like cowboys, cattle roundups and Indians, went on to become classics in Arizona Highways at a time when the magazine was beginning to use full-color photos on a regular basis.

Arizona Highways held the dubious honor of being among the lowest paying markets for scenic photographers at the time, and Manley once figured he was spending as much as $100 to take an image he would sell to the magazine for only a fifth of that amount. But like other photographers able to command much more than the magazine could pay, Manley found another incentive to contribute images to Arizona Highways. "It was a great benefit to a photographer," Manley said. "It was great publicity and a good credit line." Working with Western Ways, a Tucson studio, Manley produced a series of photographs of Sonora, Mexico, solidifying his international reputation and placing his work in demand for countless catalogs, postcards, calendars, record covers, greeting cards and advertisements. He established Ray Manley Commercial Photography and Ray Manley Tours in Tucson, using the latter to lead others to the beautiful places he'd been photographing for years. He also published a series of books on scenic travel and Indian art, two subjects dear to him, hoping to share his passion with the rest of the world. Ray Manley, 79, is among those great photographers who helped establish Arizona Highways as one of the icons of the West.

ON THE ROAD Artist Hal Empie's Trademarks — Kartoon Kards and His Grin

In 1938, Editor Raymond Carlson invited Hart Haller "Hal" Empie to draw a few cartoons for Arizona Highways to add a little spice to stories about road construction, and Empie gladly accepted. He created scenes depicting road construction, automobile safety and travel. Thrilled, Carlson made Empie's cartoons a regular part of the magazine. Empie, a pharmacist in Duncan, was becoming famous for his funny Western-themed postcards called "Empie Kartoon Kards." Hoping to get ahead of schedule with the magazine, Empie sent Carlson a year's worth of material in advance. What a surprise when he saw that Carlson, so impressed by the drawings and in need of good material, had placed every cartoon in one issue.

In November 1953, Al Fenn wrote about Empie: "The most noticeable thing about him, besides his grace, is his red hair and his impish grin. But there is much more about Hal than shows on the surface." He'd crack a joke, then give a sidelong glance, eyes twinkling, waiting for a laugh. Hal Empie was born in Safford in 1909, three years before statehood, in a one-room adobe with a dirt floor. He liked to hunt, trap and fish along the Gila River near his family's farm, and in 1929 he married Louise Reinhardt, his friend from down the road. He'd earned a degree in pharmacology, and later bought the Duncan Arizona Drug Store, where he'd worked since 1933. But his real passion was art. He doodled his way through school. While working at Best Drug Store in Safford, he created a tropical scene in poster paint on the mirror behind the soda fountain. It had green palm trees, blue water, and read: "Banana split 15 cents." He began drawing his famous Kartoon Kards, and they sold like hotcakes. And they got around. One Kartoon Kard was found in a hayloft in Italy during World War II. Another was discovered under glass at the registration desk of a Tokyo hotel. Empie also painted an 8-foot by 27-foot mural for the Duncan High School cafeteria, using locals to create the scenes depicting the historic procession of Indians, Spaniards, miners, farmers and ranchers who populated Greenlee County. Many of his paintings captured his intimate knowledge of Arizona's people, flora and fauna. And though he took a sketchbook with him into the field, Empie always returned to paint from memory.

Today, at age 91, Hal Empie lives and paints in Tubac, and he and Louise celebrated their 71st anniversary in February. Happy to devote his time now to painting, Empie still remembers life in the Gila Valley, and his doodling days, with a grin.

From the unpublished files of Arizona Highways

HORSESHOES, BRANDING IRONS AND BROADWAY

During Tucson's frontier days, a blacksmith set up shop at what is now the downtown intersection of Broadway and Scott. But Broadway then was known as Camp Street, and the blacksmith complained to a visiting drummer that he was "too far out of town." The drummer was a resourceful and obliging fellow. He dug into his bag and produced a sign pilfered from a street corner in New York. The sign read "Broadway." The drummer tacked it To a pole, planted the pole in front of the blacksmith's shop and said to the blacksmith, "Now you're on Broadway." And the name has stuck to this very day.

HOW YUMA WAS YANKED AWAY FROM CALIFORNIA

From the July 1942 issue In 1870 the county seat was transferred to Yuma from LaPaz, now a ghost town. The furniture and fixtures were transported from LaPaz to Yuma on the steamship Nina Tilden. A year later, Yuma was incorporated by the territorial legislature. This action was taken in spite of California's claim to the area and even though that state was collecting taxes from Yuma citizens.

During its first session in 1864, the Arizona Legislature had sent a memorial to Congress, asking for annexation of the Yuma territory. No action was taken however until 1873, when the Public Land Commissioners decided in favor of Arizona. The city of Yuma then sued San Diego County, California for $40,000, claiming that it had illegally collected that sum in taxes; a compromise was reached and part of the claim was paid.

In this period, Yuma's election officers attempted to exclude Indians from the franchise by ruling that if a man wore shoes, he could vote. The officials were outwitted by the candidates, who lent shoes to each prospective Indian voter, recovered them when the Indian came out of the polling place, then promptly passed them on to another barefoot voter.

CARDS GENTLEMEN

Excerpted from the February 1944 issue Contrary to the propaganda spread by the writers of lurid Western fiction, a gambler was not per se a villain. But it is true that evil men gambled. A crooked game was usually but not always climaxed by a fight. In the late 1880s, when Vulture ore

LIFE ON THE FRONTIER

was running somewhere around $200 a ton, Wickenburg was a booming frontier town. "Screw-Jaw" Davis, a cattleman by profession and a poker player by choice, bought a stack of chips in a game operated by four short-card men who regarded this stranger with the twisted jaw as a sacrificial sheep.

House rules governed the play, and much to the dismay of Screw-Jaw, his opponents had some peculiar rules. In their game a skip straight beat a flush. Twos and threes paired made twentythree and topped a full house.

Screw-Jaw dropped better than $200 as a tuition fee for learning the new rules. At the end of three hours he was plunging desperately. By bulling the game he drew nearly $300 into the pot. He was called. He threw down his hand defiantly. The king of spades, the jack of diamonds, the eight of hearts, the nine of clubs and the deuce of spades.

Screw-Jaw reached out one big hand and raked the winnings his way. "What kind of hand is that?" one of his opponents who had a full house demanded. Old Screw-Jaw looked up and regarded his questioner with exaggerated innocence. His right hand came into position on the table top and the nose of his hogleg wavered with no preference from one to the other of his opponents.

"That," he said, "is a blaze." Using the barrel of his six-gun as a rake, he pulled in the pot. - Stephen Shaddegg

THERE'S MORE THAN ONE WAY TO DISCOVER ORE

Excerpted from "Ghost Town" in the October 1944 issue Globe was the hub of one of the most colorful "Helldorado Days" boom towns. In the year 1870, one Charles McMillan, a "desert rat" from Nevada and a prospector of the old school, and Dory Harris, a tenderfoot, a combination which was not uncommon in those days, left Globe to prospect in the White Mountains. They were mounted and had three pack mules to carry their supplies.

McMillan, who had been irrigating himself with "tarantula juice" at Globe for some days back halted the outfit where the train ran through a group of shady trees, and as the day was hot, the temperature made him drowsy, and he lunged from his horse to an inviting shade and was soon in a deep sleep. Harris, cursing his inebriated partner, tied the stock to a tree and sat down upon a moss-covered ledge. They were about two miles from a spring where they had intended to camp. There had seemed no good in prospecting along the way and Harris was berating his drunken partner for quitting the trail so soon. While he fumed and fussed he picked into the moss-covered ledge, when to his surprise, his pick held fast and upon prying it out, he beheld a metal which he did not recognize. He pondered over it for a while, and then going to McMillan, aroused him from his drunken stupor and showed him the ore. Angry at being awakened, McMillan told him to go to blazes, and that he didn't give a whoop for ore of any kind, but on catching a glimpse of the metal, he sobered up instantly.

There had seemed no good in prospecting along the way and Harris was berating his drunken partner for quitting the trail so soon. While he fumed and fussed he picked into the moss-covered ledge, when to his surprise, his pick held fast and upon prying it out, he beheld a metal which he did not recognize. He pondered over it for a while, and then going to McMillan, aroused him from his drunken stupor and showed him the ore. Angry at being awakened, McMillan told him to go to blazes, and that he didn't give a whoop for ore of any kind, but on catching a glimpse of the metal, he sobered up instantly.

"Where did ye git this?" he roared. "Over there," Harris answered, pointing to the spot.

The old prospector rushed to the place and upon picking some more, he yelled, "By the Eternal Graces, Harris, we've struck a bonanza! It's native silver." Thus, by booze, drunken stupor and anger, the famous Stonewall Jackson silver mine was discovered.

Nine cords of wood to be delivered to the Gird mill," said the judge. Court had convened and adjourned all in one breath. The man had no show at all to argue. His wagons held nine cords of wood exactly as Judge Burnett's trained eyes well knew. The wood was delivered to the mill and Judge Burnett was paid for it. On another occasion the keeper of one of the resorts got drunk and loud-mouthed. The judge and Charleston's lone constable proceeded there and court opened and closed immediately by Burnett saying, "The fine will be fifty dollars." On being paid the fine, Judge Burnett sat into the poker game and lost the fifty dollars in short order. One time a bunch of county officials came down here from Tombstone and wanted to audit Judge Burnett's books. "Gentlemen, this is a self sustaining office. I never ask anything from the county and I never give the county anything," was Burnett's answer for an accounting.

The Tombstone ores were fabulously rich and even though the first crude smelter at Charleston lost large amounts of values in the process of smelting, the returns were immense. Gird was virtually broke financially when the strike was made and he had to keep going with the equipment he had in order to acquire means to repay the sums he had borrowed to start his mine and build the smelter. Since then the tailings and slag from the first mill have been reworked five times, each time at a profit, so rich was the original ore.

SECRET WALL PANELS HOUSED THE SILVER

The richness of the district had attracted gunmen, bandits and crooks from all over the West and even the entire world. It was here at Charleston, the crude ore was converted into shiny bars of rich metal. Naturally, it was here, where the booty was greatest, the various gangs of hold-up artists came. Gird built an immense office building of adobe with walls almost three feet thick. In it he installed an immense steel safe, or vault, to protect the precious bars while they awaited shipment to the United States Treasury. Inside of this building the walls were papered with regular wallpaper to hide the ugliness of the adobe mud.

bandits and crooks from all over the West and even the entire world. It was here at Charleston, the crude ore was converted into shiny bars of rich metal. Naturally, it was here, where the booty was greatest, the various gangs of hold-up artists came. Gird built an immense office building of adobe with walls almost three feet thick. In it he installed an immense steel safe, or vault, to protect the precious bars while they awaited shipment to the United States Treasury. Inside of this building the walls were papered with regular wallpaper to hide the ugliness of the adobe mud.

As a matter of fact, the much advertised safe never held a bar of the precious metal. It was only a bluff. Hiding places for the smelted bars had been dug out of various places in the walls and holes hidden with movable panels covered with wallpaper like the rest of the room.

TEXANS BREAK UP FREE BLUE-COLLAR PARTY

The task of freighting the ore from Tombstone to Charleston was a problem in those days of small outfits. Finally a man named Durkee took over that contract in a big way at a big price. At the end of the first year, his books showed an immense profit, so he decided to throw a party. He hired the biggest saloon in Charleston, bought all the liquor in the joint and had more sent in from the railroad. The girl entertainers were engaged at a fixed price for the night. All the gaming tables were reinforced with huge stacks of freshly minted dollars. A large orchestra was brought in. Only working men were invited. In those days both miners and freighters universally wore blue flannel shirts. Thus a blue flannel shirt was the ticket of admittance. All the white collared higher-ups, officials, bookkeepers, and tin horns were barred from even approaching the place. It was a large night. Everything was free. When the crowd had finished off the imported wines and brandy and rum, they started in on common "soldier" whiskey. This class of whiskey was always sure to knock a man sideways at sixty yards without a miss. Then the fun began. As the men far outnumbered the hostesses, the latter complained they were being danced to death. The amateur croupiers and game tenders lost immense sums to the players. And joy reigned supreme until some time after midnight. Then the freighters, who were mostly Texans, had to tell the others about the woes of their native state during the Reconstruction period. The miners, who were mostly Irish and English, advised them to forget it and enjoy the night. What? Forget Texas? No more dastardly proposition could be offered man. Thus the ruction started. Luckily, everyone had been searched for guns on entering earlier in the evening, but table legs, cuspidors and bottles made punishing weapons in such hands. Finally the Texans were heaved into the outer darkness and the party was over.

in those days of small outfits. Finally a man named Durkee took over that contract in a big way at a big price. At the end of the first year, his books showed an immense profit, so he decided to throw a party. He hired the biggest saloon in Charleston, bought all the liquor in the joint and had more sent in from the railroad. The girl entertainers were engaged at a fixed price for the night. All the gaming tables were reinforced with huge stacks of freshly minted dollars. A large orchestra was brought in. Only working men were invited. In those days both miners and freighters universally wore blue flannel shirts. Thus a blue flannel shirt was the ticket of admittance. All the white collared higher-ups, officials, bookkeepers, and tin horns were barred from even approaching the place. It was a large night. Everything was free. When the crowd had finished off the imported wines and brandy and rum, they started in on common "soldier" whiskey. This class of whiskey was always sure to knock a man sideways at sixty yards without a miss. Then the fun began. As the men far outnumbered the hostesses, the latter complained they were being danced to death. The amateur croupiers and game tenders lost immense sums to the players. And joy reigned supreme until some time after midnight. Then the freighters, who were mostly Texans, had to tell the others about the woes of their native state during the Reconstruction period. The miners, who were mostly Irish and English, advised them to forget it and enjoy the night. What? Forget Texas? No more dastardly proposition could be offered man. Thus the ruction started. Luckily, everyone had been searched for guns on entering earlier in the evening, but table legs, cuspidors and bottles made punishing weapons in such hands. Finally the Texans were heaved into the outer darkness and the party was over.

The next day, Durkee paid for the plate glass mirrors and other fixtures that suffered in the melee without any hesitation, but, although he made a lot of money in future years, he never threw another party.