events

A Small-town Fourth of July

Softball, Rodeo, Homemade Apple Pie and the Firing of the Anvil text by Janet Webb Farnsworth photographs by Bernadette Heath

Softbal Rodeo Homenpple Pi

Ten-year-old Wacey Hancock circles the Taylor rodeo arena at a slow lope, carrying a softly waving flag. The crowd stands silent, hats off, hands over hearts, as Charlene Sherman, here from Missouri to visit her parents, sings "The Star-Spangled Banner." Then with a whoop and a holler, the rodeo takes off.

This small town puts on one big Fourth of July Celebration, and photographer Bernadette Heath and I have come to see it all. Approximately 4,500 visitors attend Taylor's biggest event of the year.

Like the rodeo, Taylor blends tradition and excitement. Located in eastern Arizona's high country 15 miles north of Show Low, with a population of 2,655, Taylor remains about as traditional as a town can. Founded in 1878 by Mormon settlers, the place has maintained its small-town ambience. Sheets flap on clotheslines, a woodpile stands behind nearly every house and gardens bristle with corn and tomatoes. Black-and-white Holstein cows graze peacefully in green fields scattered throughout the town. Silver Creek, almost 5 feet wide, winds through the center of Taylor on its way to join the Little Colorado River. It provides irrigation for the fields and fruit orchards, and a spot for kids to chase frogs and get muddy. Taylor's economy stays down-to-earth, too, with agriculture remaining prominent along with a sand-andgravel business. A family-oriented place, the school district provides many jobs.

Locally quarried sandstone, called flagstone, appears in "Welcome to Taylor" signs, decorates the church-front and serves as headstones in the cemetery. Smooth-cut and sealed flagstone makes desktops and coffee tables, while other pieces form picture frames, sculptures and paintings. Barbara Chartrand, owner of Southwestern Stone, says, "This is one of the longest continuously operated businesses in Taylor. It has been here on Main Street for 52 years."

Taylor seems a peaceful, laid-back town but come the Fourth of July, it lets loose. Sirens scream, dogs bark, children cover their ears and a tremendous bang sends an anvil flying into the air. Catastrophe? Nope, just Taylor's version of an old-fashioned down-home celebration.

Tradition reigns during the excitement. That anvil came west with the Mormon Battalion, finally ending up at Joseph Smith Hancock's local blacksmith shop. When the new town didn't have a cannon to fire on Independence Day, residents placed the anvil on the ground, put a newspaper on top, added a pile of gunpowder, topped it off with another anvil and struck a match to the whole thing. With a deafening bang, the top anvil flew more than 3 feet into the air, leaving the bottom anvil on the ground. From then on, the "firing of the anvil" became a Taylor tradition.

Battalion, finally ending up at Joseph Smith Hancock's local blacksmith shop. When the new town didn't have a cannon to fire on Independence Day, residents placed the anvil on the ground, put a newspaper on top, added a pile of gunpowder, topped it off with another anvil and struck a match to the whole thing. With a deafening bang, the top anvil flew more than 3 feet into the air, leaving the bottom anvil on the ground. From then on, the "firing of the anvil" became a Taylor tradition.

The town's celebration begins the night before with cowboy poetry and country music, but Bernadette and I start earlier at another town tradition Trapper's Cafe. Located across the street from Southwestern Stone, Trapper's is famous for barbecue and homemade pie. Townsfolk swear you're downright un-American if you don't eat a piece of Trapper's pie on the Fourth.

The evening Cowboy Poetry and Country Music Show at the rodeo grounds uses a flatbed trailer for a stage and local talent to keep the crowd laughing and toes tapping. Announcer Rolf Flake, a rancher, tells the audience, "These cowboy poets don't exaggerate. They just remember big." A magnificent purple and magenta sunset provides a dramatic backdrop to the tall tales.

Ray Hancock, great-grandson of Joseph Smith Hancock, owner of the infamous anvil, performs his own poetry and songs in the show. His mother, Velda, with tears in her eyes says, "You know, I didn't know Ray could even sing until two years ago. I was just flabbergasted."

Ray works for Abitibi Consolidated's papermill, but his first love is bull-riding. At 46 years old, he performs on the Pro Rodeo Cowboy Association's Senior Circuit. All five of his sons rodeo, too, and Cody, age 23, ranked fifth in the world in the Pro Rodeo Cowboys Association this year, before he broke his ankle. Cody says he'll be back on bulls in a month. We'll see more of Ray and his sons tomorrow. Hancocks and bull-riding are another town tradition.

It's 4 A.M., still dark outside, when a siren shrieks, followed by an explosion and a flying anvil. Happy Fourth of July, Taylor-style. An informal parade haphazardly criss-crosses town. We ride atop the fire truck followed by a gaggle of pickups, ambulances, kids on bicycles, dogs and two trailer loads of the Jennings Family Band loudly trumpeting patriotic songs. The band, made up of town pioneer Cyrus Jennings' descendants and their friends, includes a drum with a history. That drum beat time in the Nauvoo Legion Band in the Mormon city of Nauvoo, Illinois, before traveling to Salt Lake City on the back of Brigham Young's wagon, then on to Taylor in the 1870s.

Every couple of blocks the parade stops, the anvil is unloaded, primed with powder and set off amidst a cacophony of cheers, honking horns and car alarms, while the old elementary school bell clangs away from the back of Tom Wing's Model-A Huckster truck. Wild-eyed cows watch horses buck in the fields and dogs howl at the ruckus. There's no sleeping late here on the Fourth of July.

Mayor Gordon Thornhill, a great-grandson of John Henry Standifird, one of the town founders, is in charge of the flying anvil. He says, "I hope we can keep this tradition going for many more years."

When I get a turn at firing the anvil, I'm told to hold the long torch to the newspaper until it ignites. "Then don't run," C.H. Packer, owner of the local Radio Shack, warns me. "Just duck your head, hold still and the concussion will blow right over you." Trusting Packer knows what he's

Hot Dogs

(ABOVE, FAR LEFT TO RIGHT) Wacey Hancock carries the flag in the rodeo's opening ceremonies. Author Janet Farnsworth clicked the shutter while photographer Bernadette Heath fired the anvil. Softball figures prominently in the festivities. Accompanied by Joe Baer on guitar, Tawna Flake, a symphony violinist in her "other life," fiddles on the Fourth. Kaj and Siri Johnson, great-great-great grandchildren of pioneer Cyrus Jennings, prepare for a loud noise.

talking about, I gingerly set the paper on fire and brace myself. At the boom, I jump, then yell "Happy Fourth of July!" along with everyone else. We head to the crowded patriotic program at the Mormon church. The Jennings band plays, Mayor Thornhill inaugurates two couples into Taylor's Hall of Fame and Congressman Matt Salmon reminds us why we are celebrating, after which the crowd cheers and sings.

A softball tournament is in full swing at the ballpark. The free games played six nights a week during the summer draw all ages. Teenagers flirt, neighbors visit and children romp in the playground while the game goes on.

At noon we line up for barbecue and beans served at the picnic area by the rodeo grounds. We're advised to catch an afternoon nap, and warned, "You don't want to miss that evening rodeo." Ray Hancock says, "I've rodeoed all my life and Taylor is the best one-day rodeo anywhere, bar none. The stands are packed, and the electricity of the crowd is unbelievable."

We take that nap advice seriously, then head back to the rodeo just before sundown. Cowboys mill around, straightening their hats, stretching their stirrups and stiff legs. The dress code is Wranglers and bright shirts; George Strait music blasts from the announcer's booth. Nervous bulls circle pens while anxious cowboys check the draw-list to see which critter they'll ride. Rodeo clowns apply outlandish makeup, and an ambulance pulls in closer to the gate.

Several cowboys are on crutches and I admire Cody Hancock's skill on his. Swinging easily along with his dad, brothers and his grandfather, Bob, Cody leads the way for three generations of Hancocks to assess the bulls. The men all have the thin, wiry build of cowboys with rodeo in their blood.

With a loud bang, the anvil fires a final time, and the rodeo excitement starts with the bronc-riders, followed by calf-ropers and barrel-racers. Then, the crowd stands silent, hats removed, tears in many eyes, as a horse with an empty saddle is led around the arena, a tribute to Glen Reidhead, a local cowboy who recently died.

From the announcer's booth, I look directly down on the narrow chutes where Brahma bulls snort and twist as bull-riders ease down onto their backs. To make a qualified ride, a cowboy must stay on for 8 seconds, holding on with one hand to a "bull rope" cinched around the bull's middle. If he's tossed off one-hundredth of a second too soon, the cowboy's eliminated from competition.

Ray Hancock unselfishly gives his bull to Shawn, his 15-year-old son, who begs to ride. This will be Shawn's first "real" ride and his mother, Twyla, joins us in the announcer's booth. Tension mounts as Shawn tries to get on Smokin' Joe, a mean-looking Brahma. Repeatedly, Shawn lowers himself but Smokin' Joe, a chute fighter, twists and bucks until the youngster gets jerked back up on the fence. Twyla stays calm, but I'm a nervous mama. When the judges disqualify Smokin' Joe, Shawn tries another bull, Pretty Boy Floyd, and finally gets a good hold on the rope. The chute gate swings open disgorging Shawn and the bull. He doesn't make it the full 8 seconds, but tonight only one bullrider manages to make a qualified ride. Shawn performs as well as the experienced cowboys, promising there will be a Hancock in the Taylor rodeo for years to come.

Fireworks provide a fitting finale for the event. The crowd oohs and aahs as multicolored lights spray the sky. Taylor's celebration starts and ends with a bang, and there's plenty of fun, patriotism and tradition in between - a perfect small-town Fourth of July.