michaeldexterhankins

TALMAGE, KANSAS, DILEMMA

“During the early days, in rural Kansas, settlers relied upon wood, coal, and buffalo chips to burn for heat.”

When I lived in Alaska, I recall one winter in the 1980s when the winds caused a widespread power outage, including our neighborhood, that lasted for several days.

We still had natural gas to run the furnace, but no electricity to turn on the blower fan. Thankfully, I had a small generator installed the summer before to run it, including the refrigerator, lights, and even a television set.

During the early days, in rural Kansas, settlers relied upon wood, coal, and buffalo chips to burn for heat. Buffalo chips are remnants of buffalo dung containing mostly grass. These chips were gathered up in the summer when it dried out.

The winter of 1909 – 1910 was an especially bad one, lasting through March. Wood must’ve been scarce, with buffalo chips no longer found. The beastly animals been pretty much killed off by then. A postcard mailed from Talmage, Kansas, to Mr. Walter School in Lawrence highlights the trouble a couple of guys were having rounding up coal. I transcribed it as written:

“Sam and I came to Talmage looking for coal and every body is out so we will have to go on to Manchester. You will have to excuse writing as my hand is numb. We just now got here. We got 42 + 3 cottons coming to town. I will be home when I return so don’t look for me.”

There was no signature to the letter, and I had to do some digging in an attempt to find out who Sam and the other guy were. More on that later. Talmage, Kansas, is a place where I’ve been several times, but I know little about it.

It’s a small unincorporated community located in Dickinson County in the central part of the state. Established in the late 19th century, Talmage owes its origin to the expansion of the railroad, which played a significant role in shaping many rural Kansas towns.

The arrival of the railroad brought new opportunities for settlers, allowing local farmers and ranchers to transport their goods to broader markets. Over the years, Talmage became a modest hub for agricultural commerce, supporting grain elevators, general stores, and a post office that served the surrounding farming community.

While the population has remained small, Talmage has witnessed the evolution of rural life in Kansas, from the era of buffalo chips and coal heating to the modernization brought by electricity and improved infrastructure.

The town’s resilience can be seen in stories like the winter of 1909-1910, when settlers struggled to find fuel and faced harsh conditions, relying on resourcefulness and community ties to get through difficult times. The winter of 1912 was even tougher.

Today, Talmage stands as a testament to the perseverance of Kansas’ rural communities and their ability to adapt to changing times.

Walter Adam Schaal was born in Abilene, Kansas, on April 14, 1888. His parents were Adam and Elizabeth Schaal. Walter attended business college in Lawrence, Douglas County, and worked there afterwards in the banking industry.

On June 25, 1919, he married Goldie Fern Hyre, with no record of children. Walter passed away at the age of 70 on December 2, 1958. He’s buried in Lawrence. Goldie Fern Schaal died on February 26, 1974. She was 83.

Try as I did, I could not identify Roy, one of the two people searching for coal. I assume the travelers were friends of Walter, from Abilene, and knew that their pal would be concerned after not hearing from them.

The winter of 1909 – 1910 resulted in considerable snow, so it’s logical they eventually had to hunker down somewhere until the storm passed. Abilene is 11 miles from Talmage, with Manchester only 8 miles away, but either town would be quite a journey via horse and wagon in frigid weather.

If that was 45 pounds of cotton they were also picking up, the two guys could’ve sheltered under it.

ST. PETER, KANSAS

“There aren’t many people living in St. Peter today, with the latest count showing 47.”

The earliest white settlers to Kansas came by covered wagon, settling in places close to water and having fertile ground to plant their crops. A postcard mailed from St. Peter, Kansas, to Jamestown, Kansas, in 1910, was sent by one of these earliest pioneers. The message this elderly woman wrote in shaky handwriting was very simple:

“I am getting along OK. I was up last night. R.L.”

The card recipient is Mrs. E.M. Taylor. She, too, was an early-day Kansas resident and one of the first families in Cloud County. I had no problem identifying Taylor, but the two initials took some Dick Tracy sleuthing to solve.

I finally nailed things down with only two people having those initials in the St. Peter area. One of them had died before 1910. I’ll fill you in on Mrs. E.M. Harris and R.L. after telling a bit about the towns they lived closest to.

Hoganville, or St. Peter, Kansas, is a small rural community located in Graham County in the northwestern part of the state. Like many towns in western Kansas, its history is deeply intertwined with the expansion of the American frontier during the late nineteenth century.

The area that would become Hoganville was settled by European immigrants, primarily of German-Russian origin, who were drawn to the region by the prospect of agricultural opportunities and the availability of land following the Homestead Act of 1862.

The community was officially established in the late 1800s, named Hoganville, with the founding of a Catholic parish—St. Peter’s Church—serving as the focal point for the settlement. The church provided not only spiritual guidance but also a sense of identity and unity for the early settlers.

As more families arrived, the town developed around the church, with homes, a school, and essential businesses forming the nucleus of the community. Hoganville was eventually changed to St. Peter.

In its early years, St. Peter thrived as an agricultural center. Wheat, corn, and other crops were cultivated, and farming remained the backbone of the local economy. The town’s population consisted mainly of farming families, and daily life revolved around the rhythms of planting and harvest, church services, and communal events. The schoolhouse played a vital role in educating the children of the area, preparing them for both farm life and the broader world.

St. Peter’s residents maintained strong cultural ties to their European roots, especially through religious festivals, traditional foods, and language. The community’s German-Russian heritage influenced everything from church architecture to holiday celebrations. Social gatherings, often centered around the church or school, provided opportunities for neighbors to support one another and foster a sense of camaraderie.

Like many rural communities in Kansas, St. Peter faced challenges such as droughts, economic downturns, and the gradual migration of younger generations to urban areas.

Over time, improvements in transportation and technology changed the way people lived and worked. As the population declined, some institutions—such as the local school—were consolidated or closed, but the church often remained as a symbol of continuity.

Today, St. Peter is a quiet, close-knit community that continues to honor its heritage. While the population is smaller than in its early days, the legacy of the original settlers endures through the enduring presence of St. Peter’s Church and the memories of generations who called the town home. St. Peter stands as a testament to the perseverance and faith of rural Kansans and remains a cherished part of Graham County’s history.

Jamestown, Kansas, located in Cloud County, was established in the late 19th century during a period of rapid settlement throughout north-central Kansas. The town was officially founded in 1878 and named after James P. Pomeroy, an early settler and prominent figure in the area’s development. Like St. Peter, Jamestown quickly grew as families arrived to farm the fertile prairie lands, with wheat and corn becoming staple crops that supported the local economy.

The construction of the railroad was a pivotal moment for Jamestown, boosting commerce and helping the town thrive as a center for trade and agriculture. The community developed around institutions such as churches, schools, and small businesses, all of which played vital roles in shaping daily life. Residents of Jamestown often gathered for social events, religious festivals, and communal activities, fostering a strong sense of unity and shared heritage.

Throughout its history, Jamestown faced challenges typical of rural Kansas, including droughts, fluctuating crop prices, and a gradual decline in population as younger generations moved to urban centers in search of new opportunities.

Despite these difficulties, the town has remained resilient, adapting to changes in technology and transportation. Today, Jamestown continues to honor its agricultural roots and community spirit, standing as a testament to the perseverance of its residents and the enduring legacy of small-town Kansas.

Mrs. E.M. Harris was Hulda Sarah Beatty-Harris. Her husband was Edwin Maxwell. Edwin, born in 1848 in Mansfield, Ohio, came to Kansas in 1871 with his brother. In 1874, Edwin married Hulda Sarah.

The newlyweds moved to the Jamestown area in 1878. Like most settlers, they undoubtedly lived in a sod house at first until finally constructing a simple one of wood.

Despite the hardships inflicted upon them by drought, weather, and pests such as grasshoppers eating their crops, the couple endured, raising six children. Edwin Harris was out working in his garden one day with one of his daughters when he fell dead of apoplexy or a cerebral hemorrhage. The most common name, stroke, is most often used here. This incident happened on April 3, 1906. Edwin’s buried in the Fairview Cemetery.

Edwin’s wife, Hulda, was born on September 9, 1844, in West Virginia, before her family relocated to Iowa. It was only five years later, on May 4, 1911, that she too passed away, leaving the children to run the farm. This was only one year after receiving the postcard.

R.L. is Rachel Bennett Lank. Several history books show it as Lang, but they’re incorrect. Rachel was married to Elza Samuel Lank. Elza was born on September 28, 1856, in Dallas, Iowa. He married Rachelle Bennett somewhere around 1883. The Lank’s are on a list of the first white settlers coming to the Hoganville/St. Peter’s area. An Iowa connection is probably how the Taylors and Lank’s knew each other.

Rachel was born in Dunkirk, Ohio, in October 1857, although the exact date is unknown. She died on April 8,1936, at the age of 79, while her husband, Elza, had passed 12 years earlier, on April 21, 1924. The couple had four children, two of them died during their early years: Blanche at two years of age and Kenneth at three.

There aren’t many people living in St. Peter today, with the latest count showing 47. There are a few vacant and crumbling buildings left, including the St. Anthony Catholic Church. A once beautiful building, neglect, and a leaking roof have doomed the structure.

Unless the St. Anthony Church of St. Peter Preservation Society is successful, it will eventually be razed like hundreds of other Kansas churches of all denominations have suffered. Should that happen, all that will be left of this town are memories and a few picture postcards.

St. Anthony Catholic Church – St. Peter, Kansas

CARNIERO, KANSAS

“The history of Carniero revolves around sheep.”

A postcard sent by Myrtle Harris on May 15, 2015, to her friend, Effie Bruck, in Wilson, Kansas, has three Kansas town connections. On the front of the card is an unusual saying,

“You won’t be bashful long if you come to Carniero, Kansas. It’s a sure cure.”

There’s a humorous picture at the bottom showing a young fellow dressed to the hilt attempting to kiss or hug some young gal. She’s smiling, so all must be okay. This card was postmarked and mailed from Kanopolis, Kansas. Carniero is only 11 miles from Kanopolis and 30 miles from Wilson. These three towns were all connected by rail.

Kanopolis is a small village-like locale located in Ellsworth County, in the central part of the state. Known today for its proximity to Kanopolis Lake and the scenic Smoky Hill region, Kanopolis has a rich and unique history shaped by its role in the development of the American Midwest.

The area that would become Kanopolis was originally inhabited by Native American tribes, including the Pawnee and Kansa. In the mid-19th century, settlers began moving into central Kansas, attracted by the opportunities presented by the Homestead Act and the promise of fertile land.

Kanopolis was officially founded in the late 1800s, with its plat filed in 1886. The city was named after the state (“Kan”) and the Greek word ‘polis’ meaning city, symbolizing aspirations for growth and civic pride.

The arrival of the Union Pacific Railroad was a pivotal moment in Kanopolis’ history. The city became a hub for commerce and transportation, serving as a shipping point for agricultural products, cattle, and supplies. The railroad also spurred population growth and the development of new businesses, schools, and churches.

In the mid-20th century, the construction of Kanopolis Dam and Lake transformed the area into a popular recreational destination. Built by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and completed in 1948, Kanopolis Lake offers fishing, boating, camping, and hiking opportunities, contributing to the city’s identity and local economy.

I’m not familiar with Kanopolis, but I am with Wilson, stopping there several times to pick up jars of their local honey.

Wilson is located approximately 30 miles from Kanopolis, a small town with its own distinct and vibrant history. Established in the late 1860s, Wilson became known as the “Czech Capital of Kansas” due to the significant number of Czech immigrants who settled in the area, bringing with them their cultural traditions and community spirit.

The town’s growth was closely tied to the expansion of the railroad, which made Wilson an important stop for commerce and transportation in central Kansas.

Throughout its history, Wilson has maintained a strong agricultural base, with farming and ranching serving as the backbone of its economy. The community is also celebrated for hosting the annual After Harvest Czech Festival, which honors the town’s heritage with music, food, and traditional festivities.

Today, Wilson is recognized for its historic limestone architecture, friendly atmosphere, and commitment to preserving its unique cultural legacy. Effie Bruck evidently went to school in Wilson, while the postcard sender, Myrtle Harris, attended a Kanopolis school. The two girls only lived 21 miles apart.

I’m very familiar with Carniero, Kansas, having spent some time there photographing the old buildings. It’s a ghost town these days and has been for quite a while. In the 1990s, the Carniero School was in good shape, with someone living there.

Today, the roof has caved in and is no longer inhabitable. A photograph I came across shows a large owl looking out of a classroom window. The history of Carniero revolves around sheep.

Carniero is a small, now-abandoned place with a history closely tied to agriculture, particularly sheep ranching. In its early years, Carniero thrived as a rural community, with its residents engaged primarily in raising sheep and supporting related agricultural activities.

Over time, however, population decline and changes in the agricultural industry led to Carneiro’s gradual abandonment, turning it into a ghost town. The only thing left of it are those old buildings, a cemetery, and a few mementoes like Effie Bruck’s postcard. Effie’s friend, Myrtle Harris, must’ve picked the card up while stopping in Carniero.

Myrtle Mae Harris was born in Empire, Kansas, in 1902, to parents Marida and Katie. She attended various schools during her early life, including the one in Kanopolis, where she finished her education in the 8th grade. Myrtle had eight siblings. The fledgling teenager was 13 in 1915 when mailed her card.

Myrtle Mae married Clifford B. Lindquist in 1921, moving to Ellsworth, Kansas, where “Cliff” was a farming implement salesman. It appears the couple divorced around 1940, with Myrtle resuming her maiden name. Myrtle Mae Harris died in 1990 at the age of 88. She is buried in Brookville Cemetery with a majority of her family.

Myrtle misspelled the last name of her friend. It’s Effie Brack instead of Bruck. Effie was born on April 13, 1903, to George and Elizabeth Brack. Like her friend, Myrtle, she also came from a large family, having 6 siblings. Effie was 12 when she received Myrtle’s postcard.

In 1919, at the age of 16, Effie married Emanuel Schlegel, who was a farmer. The couple had three children. When Emanuel passed away in 1957, Effie wed G.C. “Willie” Clymer. Effie died in 1967 at the age of 64. She’s buried in Garden City.

Returning to the postcard that Myrtle sent Effie, with Carniero identified during my research as a sheep town, I couldn’t help but think of a more fitting saying regarding shyness than the one used. Mine would read like this:

“You won’t be baaa-ashful long if you come to Carniero, Kansas. It’s a sure cure.”

MOTORING ALONG

“The Coachlight has left a lasting impression on all who have passed through its doors.”

My wife and I enjoy driving the back roads and trails of Arizona, searching for interesting things to see and places to eat. Our Jeep is currently enabling us to comb the desert in comfort, not having to breathe dust like the open-cab ATV, which is a big plus. Desert dust is bad for the lungs, with desert fever a possibility.

Arizona is a great place for tooling around the country, but I like investigating Kansas just as much. The small towns there are full of old buildings to snap pictures of, with the people generally polite and nice. Heeding “No Trespassing” warnings while on their turf keeps them happy.

Some of the best places to eat are the mom-and-pop diners. Alta Vista has a good one, as does Simpson. Trapper House restaurant in Simpson serves the best ribeye steak I’ve ever had, next to the ones my friend, Tom Doupe, grills. The building is nostalgic, which adds to the ambiance. A restaurant in Longford tops them all in my book.

Nestled in the heart of Longford, the Coachlight Restaurant has served as a beloved dining destination and a social hub for both locals and travelers. Over the years, it has become more than just a place to eat; it stands as a testament to small-town hospitality, tradition, and community spirit.

The Coachlight Restaurant was established in 1976, during a period of growth and optimism in rural Kansas. The governor was there during the opening. Its founders sought to create a welcoming environment where families and friends could gather for hearty home-cooked meals.

The restaurant’s name, “Coachlight,” evoked an era of horse-drawn coaches and the warm glow of lanterns, reflecting its commitment to traditional values and comfort.

From its inception, the Coachlight became a gathering place for Longford residents and others. It hosted countless celebrations—birthdays, anniversaries, and community meetings. The restaurant’s staff, often local residents themselves, fostered close relationships with regular customers, further cementing its role as a community anchor.

The Coachlight Restaurant is renowned for its classic American fare, including fried chicken, homemade pies, and generous breakfast platters. Recipes were often passed down through generations, and the menu reflected the agricultural heritage of the region.

Seasonal specials and local ingredients ensured that the offerings remained fresh and relevant. People also come there from throughout the world, as I can attest to. I thumbed through their guestlist one evening and saw several from Canada.

Like many rural establishments, the Coachlight faced challenges over the decades, including economic downturns and changes in dining trends. However, through adaptability and the steadfast support of the Longford community, the restaurant continued to thrive. Renovations and updates to the dining area were made while preserving the charm and character that patrons cherished.

Today, the Coachlight Restaurant is remembered as a symbol of Longford’s heritage and resilience. For many, it evokes fond memories of family gatherings and friendly conversations. Even as times change, the spirit of the Coachlight lives on in the collective memory of Longford and continues to inspire pride in the community.

The history of the Coachlight Restaurant is intertwined with the story of Longford itself—a chronicle of tradition, perseverance, and the enduring power of shared meals. Whether through its inviting atmosphere or its home-style cuisine, the Coachlight has left a lasting impression on all who have passed through its doors.

The year 2026 marks the 50th anniversary of its opening. Our plans are to help them celebrate, while also celebrating my brother-in-law’s long-awaited retirement. I believe Calvin’s been with the United States Post Office for over 40 years. Hopefully, we can make a month of it.

While plans for next summer are currently being put on the calendar, we’ve still got lots of places to see and things to do this year in Arizona, with Skinny Al’s on our current list of places to eat, along with Roadkill Café. Of course, we pray daily that our health allows us to keep motoring along, as well as the same for our family and friends.

PASSING THROUGH SELMA

“Citizens were encouraged to write the soldiers for encouragement and to lift their spirits.”

A picture postcard showing an Army Air Corps training airplane on the front was sent to Miss Sue Howard of Mt. Vernon, Illinois, on September 16, 1942. The sender was Private Anthony “Tony” J. Infantino, who was at the base during this time. Infantino’s postcard has a Selma postmark. His message to Sue was a polite and cordial one.

“Stopped here and will soon be on our way to Texas by plane. Will write later. Your pal, Tony”

Craig Field, located near Selma, Alabama, was a significant military airfield during World War II. Established as part of the United States’ rapid expansion of air training facilities, Craig Field played a vital role in preparing pilots for combat and supporting the broader war effort. This overview explores the history, operations, and legacy of Craig Field during the WWII era.

The base was constructed in 1940 as the threat of global conflict grew and the United States recognized the need to train a vast number of aviators. Named in honor of Lieutenant Bruce K. Craig, a military aviator who lost his life in service, the field became operational in early 1941. Its primary mission was to serve as an advanced pilot training base under the Army Air Forces’ Southeast Training Center.

During WWII, Craig Field was primarily dedicated to advanced flight training. Cadets, having completed basic flight instruction elsewhere, arrived at Craig for rigorous, comprehensive training on advanced aircraft.

The base specialized in transitioning pilots to operate single-engine fighter planes and multi-engine bombers, crucial to the Allied air campaign. Training included instrument flying, formation maneuvers, navigation, and aerial combat tactics.

Thousands of American and Allied pilot trainees passed through Craig Field during the war. The influx of personnel brought economic growth and increased activity to the surrounding Selma community. The base employed both military and civilian workers, fostering a sense of shared purpose in the national war effort.

Craig Field operated a variety of aircraft, including the North American AT-6 Texan, which was widely used for advanced pilot training. The field was equipped with modern runways, hangars, and support facilities, reflecting the technological advancements of the era. The curriculum emphasized proficiency in the latest aviation technology and combat readiness.

The pilots trained at Craig Field went on to serve in every theater of World War II, flying missions over Europe, the Pacific, and North Africa. The field’s rigorous training programs ensured that aviators were well-prepared for the challenges they would face in combat. Craig Field thus played a pivotal role in the overall success of the U.S. Army Air Forces during the war.

With the end of WWII, Craig Field continued to serve as a training and operational base, adapting to the needs of the emerging U.S. Air Force. Its contributions during WWII are remembered as a key chapter in the history of American military aviation, and the field’s legacy endures in both the region and the broader context of air power development.

Craig Field’s history during World War II is marked by its critical function as a center for advanced pilot training, technological innovation, and community involvement. Its legacy reflects the determination and teamwork that underpinned the Allied victory in the air war.

At Craig Field for a brief time, Pvt. Anthony Infantino was probably on his way to Randolph Field near San Antonio for further training. He was born on July 22, 1919, in New York. Enlisting in the Army at the age of 23, tragically, Tony was killed in action (KIA) while parachuting into enemy territory in the Netherlands.

This happened on March 24, 1945, with his remains not brought back to the States until 1948, where it was interred in his hometown of Pawling, New York. Flags were lowered to half staff, with quite a few residents turning out for the service. Tony’s young friend may have never known.

Sue Howard was much younger than Tony, and judging by the context of the postcard message, their relationship was strictly one of friendship. Perhaps she was more of a pen pal than anything. Citizens were encouraged to write the soldiers for encouragement and to lift their spirits. This nationwide campaign was called V-MAIL, or Victory Mail.

Miss Betty Sue Howard married Eugene L. Delves on March 27, 1954. The couple stayed together until their deaths. Eugene passed away in 2011, and Betty Sue, seven years later, in 2018.

JACK ASS ACRES, ARIZONA

“Jack Ass Acres was founded in the mid-20th century, when automobile travel was becoming more accessible and popular.”

Postcard created by Frank Kocevar showing how it once looked

There are many places in Arizona I’ve never been, and this one is on my bucket list. Most of the locales require a Jeep or ATV to get there, but not Jack Ass Acres. It’s located right off Interstate 17.

Jack Ass Acres, Arizona, is a name that might draw a chuckle or a raised eyebrow. Once a quirky and beloved roadside attraction, Jack Ass Acres played a unique role in the cultural and social history of the Arizona desert.

Located along Interstate 17 north of Phoenix, its story is one of entrepreneurial spirit, roadside Americana, and the changing landscape of travel and business in the American Southwest.

Jack Ass Acres was founded in the mid-20th century, when automobile travel was becoming more accessible and popular. The stop was originally established as a gas station and convenience store, serving travelers making the long journey between Phoenix and Flagstaff. Its name, chosen for its humorous and memorable appeal, quickly made it a landmark for those passing through the area.

Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, Jack Ass Acres developed a reputation for its kitschy decor, unusual souvenirs, and friendly service. It was common for travelers to stop just to take photos with the sign, which became a symbol of road trip nostalgia. The business embraced its quirky identity, with merchandise and advertising that leaned into the humor and charm of its name.

As interstate travel evolved and larger, more modern travel centers opened along the highways, small stops like Jack Ass Acres found it difficult to compete. The rise of corporate chains and changing consumer preferences led to a decline in business. Eventually, Jack Ass Acres closed its doors, and the property was left abandoned for many years. The sign, however, remained a local landmark, drawing occasional visitors and photographers.

Though Jack Ass Acres is no longer in operation, its legacy lives on through memories, photos, and stories shared by those who visited. It embodies a chapter of Arizona history marked by the freedom of the open road and the spirit of small business.

The site, while now little more than a memory and a faded sign, continues to symbolize the quirky, independent charm of American roadside culture. Today, it serves as a reminder of the unique stops that once dotted the highways and the importance of preserving local history.

The story of Jack Ass Acres, Arizona, is one of humor, hospitality, and the changing tides of travel. Its rise and fall mirror the evolution of roadside America, and its memory endures in the hearts of those who stopped for a tank of gas, a cold drink, or simply a good laugh at its unforgettable name.

WHY, ARIZONA?

“Why, Arizona, is often featured in compilations of unusual place names.”

On May 20, 1969, the first Battle of Hamburger Hill during the Vietnam War took place. This battle, officially known as the assault on Hill 937, involved U.S. Army and South Vietnamese forces fighting North Vietnamese troops in the rugged terrain of the A Shau Valley.

The fierce combat lasted for ten days and became highly controversial due to the heavy casualties and the strategic value of the hill. The battle drew considerable attention from the American public and contributed to growing debates about U.S. involvement in Vietnam.

Also on that day, the Wismans sent a picture postcard to Mr. and Mrs. H. Cheatham in Yuma, Arizona. On the front of the card was a photo of an ocotillo cactus. The simple message inside reads:

“Thank you for your card and the info about the raffle. Maybe I can find some in Mex. Quite warm here – in the 100s. Feels so good. Not many here in Organ P. right now – 13 at last count. Guess they will close down the park June 1st. If we come to Yuma will stop by & say hello. Will be here to June 1^st. Bye for now. The Wisman’s.”

The Wismans were staying at an RV park in Ajo, Arizona, at the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. Why, Arizona, is only a stone’s throw from there, a distance of 11 miles. This traveling couple evidently picked up their card while visiting Why.

Why, Arizona is a small, unincorporated community located in the southwestern part of the state, near the junction of State Routes 85 and 86. Its unusual name has sparked curiosity and amusement among travelers and locals alike. The story behind the name “Why” is as unique as the town itself, reflecting both geographical circumstance and creative thinking.

The origin of Why, Arizona’s name dates back to the 1950s. At that time, two major highways—State Route 85 and State Route 86—intersected at a Y-shaped junction. The site became a natural stopping point for travelers heading south to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument or west toward Ajo and other destinations.

As a community began to form around the junction, residents needed a name for the new settlement. They chose “Y” to represent the shape of the intersection that gave the location its identity.

Although “Y” seemed logical, Arizona law required that town names have at least three letters. This rule was meant to standardize naming conventions and avoid confusion. Facing this restriction, the community members had to think creatively.

Rather than abandon the reference to the iconic highway junction, they simply spelled it out as “Why.” This clever solution satisfied the legal requirement and preserved the original inspiration for the town’s name.

Today, Why remains a small but memorable stop for travelers exploring southern Arizona. The original Y-intersection no longer exists in its original form due to highway realignments for safety reasons. Still, the town’s quirky name continues to attract attention and serves as a reminder of its unconventional beginnings.

Why, Arizona, is often featured in compilations of unusual place names. Its story is a testament to the resourcefulness and humor of its founders, and it stands as a symbol of the American Southwest’s distinctive character. Visitors frequently stop for photos with the town sign and share tales of their travels to “Why.”

The history of Why, Arizona, is both simple and remarkable. It began with a practical need to name a community and ended with a solution that has become a source of pride and amusement. The town’s existence is a reminder that sometimes, the answer to “Why?” is itself a story worth telling.

There’s no way for me to identify the Wismans, as these folks didn’t say in their postcard where they were from. Why? Only they know the answer to this, along with the Cheatham’s, At this point, none of them are talking.

Harold G. Cheatham, a WWII veteran, died on New Year’s Day, January 1, 1971, in Phoenix. His wife, Floda K. Cheatham, passed away 18 years later on December 11, 1989.

TRUCKER TORPEDOES

“This is one of those subjects I was reluctant to touch, as it’s a nasty one, yet one of my pet peeves.”

Driving on Interstate 40, I often see something that totally disgusts me. It’s generally where tractor-trailer rigs park for the night, although I’ve seen them lying along the highway, glistening in the sun, most likely chucked out of a rolling truck window.

Modern-day long-haul tractor-trailer rigs have nice compartments to rest and sleep in, with microwave ovens and other comfort amenities. It’s rare that one has a restroom. You probably know where I’m going here.

This is one of those subjects I was reluctant to touch, as it’s a nasty one, yet one of my pet peeves. The more I thought about things, I came up with a plan on how to write my composition sensitively, avoiding disgusting words and descriptions that might offend some.

The terms piss jugs, trucker bombs, and trucker torpedoes refer to something commonly associated with long-haul truck drivers. This activity has only gotten worse over the past 10 years. I’ve changed the commonly used description here of, piss jug, to something more palatable to the ear, urinottle.

Due to the demanding schedules, limited access to restrooms, and the need to keep moving to meet tight delivery deadlines, some truckers resort to using urinottles inside their vehicles. These bottles are then sometimes discarded along highways, leading to environmental and public health concerns.

A urinottle is typically an empty plastic bottle—often a large soda bottle or milk jug—used by a truck driver to relieve themselves when a restroom is not available or when stopping is not practical. The term trucker torpedo is often used when a urinottle is thrown out of a truck window and left on the side of the road.

The disposal of urinottles as trucker torpedoes has several negative consequences:

Environmental Pollution: Plastic bottles filled with urine contribute to litter and can contaminate soil and water sources.
Health Hazards: The contents can pose biological risks to those who must clean up the mess.
Public Nuisance: Roadside litter creates unpleasant and unsanitary conditions for other travelers.

Various organizations, trucking companies, and highway maintenance crews have sought to reduce the prevalence of trucker torpedoes. Solutions include constructing more rest areas, providing education to drivers about proper waste disposal, and enforcing littering laws. Urinottle disposal sites (UDS), such as mailboxes placed in strategic locations along the interstate, are one solution.

Urinottles and trucker torpedoes are an unfortunate byproduct of the realities faced by long-haul truckers. Addressing this issue requires a combination of infrastructure improvements, behavioral changes, and enforcement to protect the environment and public health.

Until that happens, always exercise caution while driving behind or beside one of these rigs.

NOTHING, ARIZONA

“The unusual name has made Nothing something of a pop culture curiosity.”

This is my 600th blog piece, and I wanted to make sure the subject matter was something of great significance. I could’ve picked from several areas, such as politics, religion, family, favorite restaurant, or even pets that I once owned. For whatever reason, I bypassed all of those and chose Nothing.

Nothing, Arizona is one of those places that ignite curiosity with its evocative name and mysterious reputation. While many have heard whispers about this peculiar locale, its story is a blend of fact, myth, and the American penchant for the unusual. That’s why I’m writing about an unposted postcard most likely purchased from a Nothing store when it was still open.

The name “Nothing” is emblematic of small, remote, and often overlooked towns that dot the American landscape. According to local tales, the area was so sparsely populated and off the beaten path that early settlers or travelers would joke that they were “going nowhere.” Eventually, the name stuck and became official through local usage and various maps.

Nothing is an unincorporated community located in La Paz County, Arizona. It sits near the eastern end of Alamo Lake Road, not far from Alamo Lake State Park. The area is characterized by arid desert scenery, rugged terrain, and a sense of isolation that matches its name. Sadly, desert rats seem to use the outskirts of Nothing to dump large items, such as mattresses and appliances.

Unlike many towns in Arizona that began as mining camps or railway stops, Nothing never developed into a bustling settlement. There are no records of significant gold rushes, railroad construction, or agricultural booms that shaped the histories of other Arizona communities.

Instead, Nothing remained a quiet spot, occasionally serving as a waypoint for travelers and outdoor enthusiasts headed toward Alamo Lake. A towing service was available for vehicles that broke down along the way.

The unusual name has made Nothing something of a pop culture curiosity. It has appeared on lists of odd place names, inspired writers and road trippers, and become a favorite stop for those seeking novelty photographs with the town’s sign.

Stories about ghostly encounters, eccentric residents, and mysterious happenings abound, though many are the products of local legend rather than documented history.

Today, Nothing remains mostly a dot on the map, with few permanent residents or businesses. However, its proximity to Alamo Lake State Park brings occasional visitors, especially those interested in camping, fishing, and desert exploration. The spirit of Nothing endures as a symbol of the quirky, rugged, and sometimes lonely character of Arizona’s backcountry.

While Nothing, Arizona, doesn’t boast a rich tapestry of historical events, its very existence and the stories that have grown around it reflect the enduring American fascination with remote places and the power of a memorable name. Whether visited for curiosity or simply pondered from afar, Nothing truly is somewhere—at least in the imagination; a stretch of it at that!

SANTA CLAUS, ARIZONA

“One of the key attractions was the opportunity for children to receive postmarked letters from “Santa Claus, Arizona,” making it a unique holiday experience.”

I’ve driven through Santa Claus, Arizona, and didn’t blink an eye. It wasn’t until coming across a 1953 postcard sent from Jack and Delores to Ruth Ann Tandy in Aurora, Indiana, that I knew there was such a place. In front of the card is a large Santa sign advertising this Arizona location. The couple’s message to Ruth reads like this:

“Dear Ruth Ann,

We ate breakfast at Santa Claus, Arizona this morning. We will be in California tomorrow. I hope you got better and can be up again. We have really seen some beautiful scenery. Having a wonderful time.

Jack & Delores”

Santa Claus, Arizona, was founded in 1937 by Nina Talbot, a real estate developer from Los Angeles. Talbot had an ambitious vision: she wanted to create a Christmas-themed resort town in the remote Arizona desert. Her goal was to attract buyers for the surrounding desert land by giving the area a memorable and magical identity. She named the town “Santa Claus” and set about building a place that would capture the spirit of Christmas all year round.

Throughout the 1940s and 1950s, Santa Claus, Arizona, became a popular stop for travelers along U.S. Route 93, which connects Las Vegas and Kingman. The town featured several holiday-themed attractions, including a Santa Claus Inn, a post office where children could send letters to Santa, and whimsical buildings painted in red and white. Talbot promoted the town through travel guides and advertisements, and it became a beloved curiosity for families and tourists.

One of the key attractions was the opportunity for children to receive postmarked letters from “Santa Claus, Arizona,” making it a unique holiday experience. I believe I received one from there as a kid. The town also boasted a Christmas Tree Room and a gift shop where visitors could purchase toys and souvenirs, further enhancing its festive reputation.

Despite its initial popularity, Santa Claus, Arizona, struggled to attract permanent residents or sell the surrounding land plots as Talbot had hoped. After she sold the property in the 1950s, the town changed hands multiple times. The novelty began to fade, and by the 1970s and 1980s, most of the attractions had closed. Maintenance declined, and the buildings fell into disrepair.

By the early 2000s, all businesses had shuttered, and Santa Claus, Arizona, was effectively abandoned. Today, only a few dilapidated, graffiti-covered structures remain, and the site is considered a ghost town. It serves as a reminder of the era of roadside Americana and the dreams—sometimes fanciful, sometimes fleeting—that shaped the American West.

Santa Claus, Arizona, has left a quirky legacy in American pop culture. It has been featured in guidebooks, travel blogs, and documentaries as an example of the country’s fascination with novelty towns and roadside attractions. While the town itself no longer thrives, its story continues to spark the imagination of those who pass through the desert and stumble upon its strange, festive ruins.

When Jack and Delores drove through there and stopped, undoubtedly the first thing they did was purchase that Santa postcard to mail to their friend. In the card, Delores initially forgot who she was sending it to and wrote, Bettie Jo, before scratching through that name. She’d probably already made out a card to Bettie. I’ve unknowingly sent out two Christmas cards to the same person, having one of those senior moments.

Jack and Delores Tandy were more than just friends to Ruth Ann; they were blood relatives. That took me some time to figure out, with a big thanks to the Dick Tracy in me. Ruth Ann was Jack’s sister. In 1953, she wasn’t married, but on August 3, 1963, Ruth married Ernest Wood Whitaker.

It’s a good thing that Jack and Delores were vacationing in 1953, because in 1954, the couple opened a department store in Aurora, and over the following years, that business grew tremendously to include locations in other cities.

Delores Tandy was born on March 26, 1932, and died February 13, 2019, at age 86. A newspaper obituary paints a glowing picture of her as a loving wife, mother, and grandmother. She was actively involved in the Lutheran church. It appears that Jack Donald Tandy and his sister, Ruth Ann Tandy-Whitaker, are still living. I didn’t pursue them further out of privacy sake.

Fortunately for kids throughout the world, Santa might’ve shut down his operation in Arizona, but he still resides in the state during the summer months. The other day, Mrs. Claus was spotted in the Hospice of Havasu Retail Store looking for a wedding gift for one of their elves.

When asked where her husband was, she replied with a twinkle in her eye, “Playing golf with the boys.”