I like to write junk…

John Steinbeck’s famous book, “The Grapes of Wrath, tells a poignant story of the Joad family as they leave Oklahoma during the Great Dust Bowl in the 1930s. The struggling Joads crammed almost everything of value they owned into a 1926 Hudson 6 sedan cleverly modified into a truck. These items included a kitchen sink, which was actually a metal wash tub.

The book quickly became a movie, with both entities still getting significant reading and playing time. I’ve read the novel only once, yet viewed the film numerous occasions, always finding something new in it that I hadn’t caught earlier, such as that wash basin. Henry Fonda, Jane Darwell, and John Carradine were the big stars.

In this movie, the Joads cross the Colorado River at Topock on their way to California. The original bridge they drove on is still there, although it now holds a natural gas pipeline instead of cars. That bridge is called the Old Trails Bridge, named after Old Trails Road, which eventually became part of Route 66.

I’ve always thought of Topock as a turning point as I drive to Laughlin or Bullhead City, and also a great place to stop and eat BBQ sandwiches, while watching lengthy trains roll by outside the restaurant window.

Topock was originally called Mellen, named after Captain “Jack” Mellon, a Colorado River steamboat captain. Why the town was misnamed Mellen is still a mystery. A post office was located in Mellen from 1903 until 1909, until the community officially became Topock.

Recently, I came across a couple of old picture postcards, one of which highlighted the famous arched bridge and a small segment of the now-razed town of Topock. The other card has a good photograph of the community itself, with it never having been used, unlike the first. This unblemished card shows a Chevron gas station, towing service, and a cafe owned by Les Crinklaw.

On July 15, 1928, someone named Ansel sent the now 97-year-old bridge postcard to Mrs. Laura Hannah in Ariel, Washington. The name E.M. Strait is on the receiving end of the card underneath Laura’s name. I had my work cut out identifying all three people, especially Ansel.

This postcard simply reads with no grammar corrections:

“Topock, Ariz

July 15

Just a card to let you know I am well still haveing some summer weather. Ansel”

As things turned out, the trio had something in common with the fictional Joads from “The Grapes of Wrath,” in that they were all family and farmers. Ansel Hannah was the son of Laura Jane Strait-Hannah, with E.M. (Eugene) Strait being Laura’s younger brother.

Laura Strait-Hannah’s husband, Benjamin Franklin Hannah, had died five years before the postcard was sent. Records show that Benjamin fought in the American Civil War for the Union Army. Laura was now a widow, and her son, Ansel, was fatherless. The Strait and Hannah families both moved to Washington State from Missouri, where they lived until they died.

Laura Jane Strait-Hannah was born in 1848 and died in 1945. She was 97. Her brother, Eugene Strait (E.M.), was born on March 20, 1860, and died on August 6, 1937. He was 77.  Ansel Hannah was born on November 25, 1882, and passed away on July 28, 1955.

Ansel was 72 and had driven a school bus in his later years, besides farming. All three, including Benjamin Franklin Hannah, are buried in Lone Pine Cemetery in Ariel, Washington. My research found no surviving kin to either last name.

What’s especially strange and humorous about the bridge postcard is that someone, evidently having bad eyes, attempted to cut out the old postage stamp, yet left part of the stamp still affixed to the card. Only a senior citizen minus their bifocals seems capable of such a careless blunder.

On a sad note, regarding Les Crinklaw, the businessman in Topock who operated the Chevron gas station mentioned earlier in the other postcard. Les was walking on the railroad tracks on October 15, 1950, when he apparently didn’t hear a train approaching. The Topock resident was struck and instantly killed.

Several years ago, I went to move our trash receptacles out to the street as I do each week. That thankless job takes place Sunday night. Spotting a small lizard, I was cautious not to hurt it with the large plastic wheels.

Lifting one can and ready to roll it away, the lizard scurried to safety, leaving its tail behind. This tail was wiggling like a tiny snake. Thinking that I accidentally ran things over and severed his shapely body part, I felt bad, wondering if my little buddy would soon die.

Since that time, I’ve always been more careful when doing anything in that area of the yard. This morning, I observed a lizard run underneath the blue recycle bin. Gently moving it to the side, I was astonished to once again find a wagging tail but no lizard.

Feeling quite startled as I had years previously, I told my wife this strange tale, with her suggesting that I research whether lizards can live a tailless life. The answer was absolutely amazing.

Many types of lizards have a fascinating defense mechanism: when threatened, they can lose or “drop” their tails. This process, known as autotomy, is an evolutionary adaptation that helps lizards escape predators and survive in the wild.

Lizards possess special fracture planes within the bones of their tails. When a predator grabs them or when they feel threatened, muscles contract and the tail breaks off cleanly along these fracture lines. The detached tail often continues to wriggle and move, distracting the predator long enough for the lizard to make its getaway.

The main reason lizards shed their tails is to escape predators. The moving tail can capture the attention of the attacker, giving the lizard time to flee. Losing a tail is a last-resort tactic. While it can save the lizard’s life, it comes at a cost, as the tail stores fat and nutrients important for the lizard’s health.

After losing its tail, a lizard is not permanently harmed, but it does experience some disadvantages. The lizard may move more slowly and lose an important fat reserve. Over time, many lizard species can regrow their tails, although the new tail is often different in color, texture, or structure from the original.

Tail loss in lizards is a remarkable survival strategy. This natural adaptation allows them to escape dangerous situations, although it comes with certain risks and costs. The ability to regrow the tail helps lizards recover, demonstrating the resilience and ingenuity of these unique reptiles.

I’ll keep my eyes peeled for my tailless friend, hoping that he’s able to survive. Had it been a snake hiding behind those cans, like the large rattler ready to strike me not that long ago, things would be different.

This large Diamondback came at me, prepared to sink its fangs into soft flesh, yet thankfully, it missed. Running to the garage, I returned with a dull tile scraper and a load of adrenaline, not only severing the snake’s tail, but his ugly head as well. Our neighbor kept the 13 rattles as a souvenir, which was fine with me.

Unlike the lizard, I know for a fact this venomous snake didn’t live another day without its missing body parts. Despite this knowledge, there hasn’t been a time since when I didn’t take a closer look before moving the cans. Should I spot another rattler, I’ll quickly move my own tail out of harm’s way!

This will be my last postcard to go through and analyze the backgrounds of both the sender and the card recipient. It’s been an absolute hoot to do this, merely for something to kill time during the heat of summer rather than being a specific mission.

My Aunt Dora did crossword puzzles to keep her memory sharp, and this postcard searching does much the same for me. Dora lived to be 99, and hopefully my body will last nearly that long.

Wanting to choose a card that has a history that I can relate to, one from Craig Field in Selma, Alabama, does just that. My father was stationed at Craig Air Force Base for several years, with my brother and me going to Southside School, close to the base, as well as learning to swim in the Craig pool. The base name change came about in 1948.

Private Harold Calvin Peck sent the picture postcard to Miss Annie Quartz and Miss Gertrude Smith in Plymouth, Massachusetts, on November 6, 1942. Pvt. Peck was stationed at Craig, undergoing training, and was about to enter WWII service, which was taking place across the ‘big pond’ as the English called it. His message to Annie reads as follows:

“1942

Dear Auntie –

Thanks for the ‘Old Colony Memorial’, it’s sure is good to see where some of my friends are stationed. Everything is swell here & I am enjoying Army life. I am getting along fine as a photgrapher and it sure is exciting. Our field here is very nice & I’ll be here for quite some time. I hope you are feeling well and enjoy your new home.

Pvt. Harold Peck

US Army Air Force

57^th Air Base Hdqtrs Sq

Craig Field, Ala.”

This postcard was sent to:

Miss Annie Quartz

Hamilton Street

Plymouth, Mass

% Miss Gertrude Smith

Harold Peck was born on August 31, 1921; thus, he would’ve been 21 when he enlisted on February 16, 1942. When he was discharged from the Army Air Corps, Peck had attained the rank of Sergeant. Harold died on February 15, 2013. His wife, Eileen, preceded him in 1984. The following detailed obituary was on Harold’s gravesite information card.

“Harold C. Peck, a lifelong native of Plymouth, died on June 15, 2013. He was preceded in death by Eileen W. Peck, his spouse for thirty-nine years, and by Ms. Rita Smith, his life companion and friend for twenty-three years. Rita and Harold had resided in Englewood, Florida. Harold was born on August 31, 1921, in Plymouth to Warren H. and Mary (Costa) Peck.

He graduated from Plymouth High School in the class of 1939. Harold was one of four brothers: the late Warren Peck of Largo, Florida, the late Kenneth W. Peck of Plymouth, and Ronald R. Peck and his wife Bonnie of Plymouth. At the age of 21, Harold enlisted in the United States Air Corps and, in 1942, was assigned to the Photographic Section (stationed at Craig Field), Selma, Alabama.

After his tour of duty was completed, he returned to Plymouth, where he was a self-employed residential contractor and master carpenter for 46 years. After his retirement from the contractor business, Harold accepted a position with the maintenance department of Plymouth-Carver Schools. He retired from that position in 1986.

He continued his love of building and repairing by always being ready to help others with their projects. Harold and Eileen were very active in the American Legion Post 40. Harold was a past Commander of American Legion Post 40 and a past District 10 Commander of American Legion. He was a gold-life member and also belonged to AM Vets and Elks Lodge #2710, Rotunda, Florida. In 1989, Harold moved to Englewood, Florida, where he resided with his close friend, Rita Smith, until she died in 2012.

Harold is survived by his son, Kenneth, and wife Debbie, his granddaughters Laura Peck and Joanne Strohmann and husband Joseph, and his great-grandsons, Andrew and Ryan Strohmann. Cremation will precede a private interment in Vine Hills Cemetery.

In lieu of flowers, donations in Harold’s memory may be made to Cranberry Hospice, 36 Cordage Park Cir. Suite 326, Plymouth, MA 02360.”

Miss Annie Quartz was Harold’s aunt. She was born in Germany on March 29, 1872. Annie was a widow, with her husband having passed away in Germany before she came to America. Miss Quartz was 70 years old when Harold sent her the postcard. She died on May 4, 1965, in Plymouth, Massachusetts, at the age of 93.

Gertrude Smith was evidently a relative or friend of Annie. She was 45 in 1942, and perhaps helping take care of Miss Quartz. Gertrude never married and was living with her parents at the time Harold mailed his postcard. She worked as a stenographer.

Gertrude V. Smith was born on December 4, 1897, and died on June 27, 1991, at the age of 94. She’s buried next to her parents.

Craig Air Force Base was closed in 1977, with the property turned over to the Craig Field Authority. Selma, as a city, suffered greatly when this happened. Now, 48 years later, the town is still trying to recover.

I’ve had my encounters with ants over the years. The first incident that I recall was sitting on a bunch of fire ants on a playground in Selma, Alabama. I ran home screaming, with my brother helping me remove my ant-laden clothing. Calamine lotion was quickly brought out of the medicine cabinet by Mom and applied throughout my aching body.

In Selma, we had a run-in with tiny ‘sugar ants’ as Mom called them. Opening up a box of cereal one morning, it was full of the ingenious little devils. Mother couldn’t understand how they’d gotten into our trailer, with Dad finally figuring things out. A long line of them followed a copper water pipe into our home. I don’t recall how he took care of that problem, but I’m sure it involved fire.

It was in Selma that my father and a friend tried blowing up an anthill using an M-80 firecracker. Fireworks were much more explosive back then, and these fireworks are now illegal. We kids stood way back and watched as Dad’s friend lit the fuse. When it exploded, ants went flying everywhere, some landing on my father and his pal.

Incurring several bites, they eventually took care of their ant problem with a can of gasoline. Ethyl was only 19 cents a gallon back then. I’m talking tetra-ethyl leaded gasoline here and not Ethel from the “I Love Lucy” television series.

With gas poured down the hole and then a lit match tossed on top, the ensuing inferno baked a good many into well-done steaks for hungry birds to dine on. I’d imagine fire-in-the-hole did the same to those trying to escape.

Fire ants in San Antonio and Lubbock, Texas, were some of the biggest I’ve ever seen. Viewing them as fair game, I often brought out my magnifying glass and, using rays from the sun, fried the things alive. Just like Rice Krispies, listen close enough—with no background noise—they’d “Snap, Crackle, and Pop.” My son, Gunnar, was taught how to hunt ants this way early on.

Large black carpenter ants in Alaska ate small holes through the plywood T111 siding on our house. They hid out in the grooves, and when confronted, were hard to eradicate.

Woodpeckers eventually came along, trying to help me out, leaving shotgun-reminiscent damage throughout the back wall. I finally got rid of both pests by eliminating rotten wood that was stacked in the backyard. Automotive Bondo was used to patch the damage, and then it was painted over.

Arizona is home to some of the largest ant hills I’ve ever had to destroy. After our house was built, mounds would appear randomly throughout the yard. The residents inside these dwellings were plump red fire ants, which were very fast runners. It was hard keeping these pests under the deadly beam of my magnifying glass. Eventually, a cup of gasoline and a match took care of them just as it had for the old man.

Last Easter, my wife and I began purchasing candy two weeks in advance to send to our grandchildren in Minnesota. The chocolate bunnies, still in their plastic bags, would not all fit in the flat-rate box I had. Taking the foil-wrapped candy out of their protective plastic sacks and pouring them all into my container, sufficient tape was used to seal things up before adding the address label.

For whatever reason, three long weeks after they’d been mailed, a tracking number claimed that the box finally arrived. Expecting to receive a phone call from the kids thanking us, I got just the opposite from my daughter. “The kids opened their box and it was full of ants!”

I don’t know how that happened. Joleen’s brother in Kansas, Calvin, has been a postal worker for nearly 40 years. Telling him about the incident, not once has he run across ants in a package. He believes that wherever the box sat for an additional week, ants must’ve been in either that building, truck, or container.

With Halloween rapidly approaching, I purchased five bags of Brach’s Fall Mix candy: a bag each for the grandkids and their parents. Not wanting to disappoint them this year, 200 realistic small plastic ants were ordered from Amazon. I’ll glue several on the candy wrappers and then dump the remaining ones in the box just for effect.

Some might question the sanity of this joke, yet just like frying ants with a magnifying glass—sometimes a guy’s gotta do what he’s gotta do—merely for the sake of entertainment, or a good laugh.

I’m sure my grandkids will get a kick out of this, and hopefully, they’ll put the ants to good use afterwards, like their grandfather, by taking them to the school cafeteria, a friend’s house, or better yet, dropping a few on the table of a fine restaurant.

This is the type of thing they’ll be telling their own children and grandchildren about long after I’m gone. It’s called in certain circles, good memories!

This is the second vintage postcard I’ve come across that has the Hotel El Tovar featured on front. I thought about passing on researching the sender and card recipient, for redundancy factors of postcards alone.

After doing some spot checking of Mrs. Louis Oster and Mrs. J.B. Faubion’s backgrounds, there was enough interesting stuff found to move forward with the project. First, though, a rather detailed history of the world-famous Hotel El Tovar.

Standing regally on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, the Hotel El Tovar is both a monument to early 20th-century luxury and a living testament to America’s enduring fascination with its natural wonders. Since its grand opening in 1905, El Tovar has welcomed generations of travelers, celebrities, dignitaries, and adventurers, each drawn by both the breathtaking vistas of the canyon and the hotel’s matchless charm.

The story of El Tovar begins in an era when railroad expansion catalyzed tourism across the American West. The hotel was built by the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway, in partnership with the Fred Harvey Company, a hospitality company renowned for its “Harvey House” hotels and restaurants that catered to railroad travelers.

Railroad executives envisioned a destination hotel that would both entice and accommodate the growing number of tourists seeking the wild splendor of the Grand Canyon.

Construction commenced in 1903, with famed architect Charles Whittlesey at the helm of design. Whittlesey, influenced by European chateaux and Swiss chalets, created a structure that harmonized rustic log-and-stone exteriors with elegant, refined interiors.

Named after Spanish explorer Pedro de Tovar—who played a role in the Coronado Expeditions—the hotel was designed to evoke a sense of romantic adventure and old-world grandeur.

El Tovar opened its doors on January 14, 1905, instantly establishing itself as the premier lodging option at the Grand Canyon. It was considered one of the most opulent hotels west of the Mississippi, boasting amenities such as electric lighting, hot and cold running water, and a fine dining establishment with china and silver imported from Europe. Guests were greeted by uniformed staff and treated to an ambience of both comfort and sophistication.

The hotel quickly gained a reputation as the “Crown Jewel of National Park Lodges.” Its perch on the canyon’s edge afforded guests spectacular views mere steps from their rooms. In the years that followed, El Tovar became a magnet for high society and international travelers, with luminaries such as Theodore Roosevelt, Albert Einstein, and Bill Clinton among its distinguished guests.

El Tovar was instrumental in shaping the Grand Canyon’s status as a world-renowned tourist destination. The Fred Harvey Company coordinated with the National Park Service to offer guided excursions, mule rides, and informative lectures, using the hotel as a base for exploration. The railway brought visitors from across the nation, their journey culminating in the awe-inspiring arrival at the rim and the welcoming arms of El Tovar.

Over time, El Tovar became a symbol of the symbiotic relationship between the hospitality industry and conservation efforts. The hotel was built with an eye toward sustainability and harmony with its surroundings—a principle that endures in its operations today.

El Tovar’s design is a master class in rustic elegance. Its exterior, constructed of Oregon pine logs and native stone, blends seamlessly with the landscape. Heavy timber beams, balconies, and dormer windows contribute to its chalet-like appearance, while inside, guests find a mix of Mission-style furnishings, Native American art, and touches of Edwardian luxury.

The hotel’s main lobby, with its stone fireplace and mounted animal trophies, offers a warm retreat from the canyon’s extremes. Guest rooms feature period antiques and original fittings, many with views that frame the ever-changing colors of the Grand Canyon below.

Over its century-long history, El Tovar has played host to a dazzling array of guests. Presidents, artists, explorers, authors, and entertainers have walked its halls. The hotel’s guest books tell stories of visits by luminaries such as Zane Grey, Paul McCartney, and Oprah Winfrey, each contributing to its lore.

El Tovar has also made appearances in literature and film, serving as a backdrop for countless stories set amid the grandeur of the canyon. Its presence is both iconic and evocative—a reminder of the romance and adventure that define the American West.

Recognizing its historical and architectural value, El Tovar was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1987. Preservation efforts have ensured that the hotel retains its original character, even as it adapts to the expectations of modern travelers. Renovations have been made with painstaking attention to detail, maintaining period features while updating amenities.

Today, El Tovar continues to operate year-round, welcoming guests from around the world. Its restaurant remains one of the finest in the region, offering local and international cuisine amidst panoramic canyon views. The hotel’s staff, trained in the Harvey tradition of attentive service, uphold the legacy of hospitality that has defined El Tovar for more than a century.

El Tovar is more than a hotel—it is a living museum, a retreat, and a gateway to one of the world’s greatest natural wonders. Its story is woven from the dreams of explorers, the ambition of railroad tycoons, and the enduring allure of the Grand Canyon itself. As it enters its next century, El Tovar stands as a testament to the spirit of adventure and the pursuit of beauty, continuing to inspire all who cross its threshold.

Irene Mae Snyder-Oster (Mrs. Louie Oster) was born on May 12, 1898, in Barton, Missouri. Louie and Irene married in 1923. She was the recipient of the El Tovar Hotel postcard sent from Mrs. J.W. Faubion in 1930. The Faubions, from Missouri as well, had moved to Prescott for John Wesley Faubion’s health.

Louis “Louie” George Oster, Irene’s husband, owned a small trucking firm in Lamar. Before opening his business, Louie was a farmer in Illinois. An interesting message in the Lamar newspaper had Louie walking out to his truck early one morning and finding a strange man inside.

With it being dark, and taking no chances, Louie quickly punched the guy in the nose, breaking it, also knocking this fellow to the ground. After the police arrived, it turned out the man was intoxicated and had climbed into the truck to sleep things off. In today’s leftist slanted court system, Louie would’ve been arrested instead of the drunk.

Louie Oster died on May 6, 1956, at the age of 58, while his wife, Irene Mae “Lou” Oster, passed away on August 15, 1990, at the age of 92.

The Faubions were simple dirt farmers, living clean lives away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. John was born on April 2, 1876. He attended school in Grant, Missouri, before finishing out his education at Albany Christian College.

J.W. Faubion was president of the local Grant Public School System. He married Lulu Mae Hendrickson on August 20, 1899, with them having four children. The couple remained married for 54 years.

When he incurred respiratory problems, at the advice of his doctor, he and his wife relocated to Prescott, Arizona, for what was supposed to be a short time. They likely visited the Grand Canyon while there, and that’s where they purchased the postcard.

With the clean air evidently helping with his recovery, they moved back to Missouri to be closer to family and friends. John died on November 2, 1953, at the age of 77.

A glowing obituary was written about him, with words describing the man as very humble, while living a life of simplicity. Lulu passed away three years later on May 23,1956, at the age of 79. She, too, was described as a dedicated Christian and loving wife. Both are buried side by side in the Grant City Cemetery.

Life was much simpler during the Oster and Faubion era. Technology and communication, in the form of social media and electronic devices, have actually destroyed much of the closeness people once felt for one another.

Postcards being mailed, such as the one Irene sent Lulu, have also gone by the wayside, including Christmas cards. What will things be like in another 25 years? Only God knows!