I like to write junk...

NUMBER PLEASE

“What seems so unreal is that I still remember part numbers from my days working at an automotive parts store.”

I’ve always had a good memory, remembering small things from long ago. I chalk it up to never being dependent on recreational drugs or alcohol. Lately, what I seem to forget more than anything else is connecting names with faces.

I’ll watch an old movie and when some well-known actor comes on scene, oftentimes his or her name is on the tip of my tongue yet I can’t spit it out. This can be irritating, with it having me wonder if I’m becoming senile.

Whenever this happens, I quietly ask myself, “What is the firing order of a Chevrolet V-8 engine. Thus far, I’ve been able to rattle off 1-8-4-3-6-5-7-2 without hesitation. Car guys and gals know what I’m talking about here. As long as I get those numbers right, I have to assume all is good upstairs.

Last winter, I was with some friends at the Desert Bar near Parker. The name of this place can be misleading for those who’ve never been there. The rustic establishment is built around a former gold and silver mine, and it’s totally off-grid. I view it as more of a ghost town with a live band. It’s definitely family-friendly.

There are antique cars and old rusty mining stuff to be seen, including an awesome replica western day church, complete with a steeple. Yes, weddings can be arranged. The food is good, and I always make sure to bring cash because they don’t take checks or credit cards. Beer is served, but for guys like me, they have soft drinks as well.

On this last trip, a fellow and his wife walked up and recognized me. They knew my name and started up a conversation. All during that time, my brain was going, “I know these folks, but for the life of me, I don’t recall their names.” Seeing that I was confused, they helped give my memory a jumpstart.

Walking back to our table and repeating their names over and over, wanting them to permanently sink in, I informed my wife about my memory lapse. I told her that I’d make sure to remember their names next time. I have been doing so for several months now, even writing them down on a piece of paper. That paper is now hiding somewhere, and I don’t recall where I put it. 1-8-4-3-6-5-7-2.

They’re a nice couple, much younger than us, snowbirds, they come from Minnesota each winter, owning a home here. I can remember almost the whole conversation we had over coffee at Bashas. We planned on getting together when they came back and going metal detecting.

What seems so unreal is that I still easily recall part numbers from my days working in an automotive parts store. That was 40 years ago. The Spicer number for a 1975 Chevrolet Blazer constant velocity centering joint is 210782X. The Standard ignition number for Chevy points is DR2270P. Ford points are FD8183V. I could go on and on.

Why is it that I can still relate numbers to parts, yet faces to names is now escaping me? How do older ministers handle this problem? I suppose calling everyone brother or sister works, at least for a while.

Taking the herb Ginkgo biloba is supposed to help in the memory department, or at least a friend told me that eons ago. I believe at this point it’d do little good, and besides, one of my doctors said it’s not good to take this if you’re on blood thinners. Mark that off my list.

They say AI technology can recognize facial features. The police and other protective agencies have been using such for years. I believe the answer for older folks like me is for everyone to have a barcode stamped on their forehead. Keeping a scanner in my back pocket, I could then scan and say without embarrassment, “Hello, Joe, how are you doing today?”

I’m only joking here, but in reality, the world could be coming to that!

SELMA TO ENGLAND – 1943

“My research shows that 2nd Lt. Robert L. Young Jr. got his wish.”

Craig Air Force Base in Selma holds a special place in my heart, as does the city. My father was stationed there for several years. When I came across a vintage postcard from Craig Field showing an AT-6 trainer airplane, I decided to investigate and see who the sender and recipient were. Before I proceed, it is worth noting that Craig Field was renamed Craig Air Force Base in 1947.

The postcard is postmarked “Craig Field, May 3, 1943.” This was a Monday, and World War II was still raging. Air Cadet (A/C) Robert Young mailed the card to someone named Nathan Dodge in South Tunbridge, Vermont. The postcard was then forwarded to the Randolph, Vermont, Hospital.

I had to search WWII records to find a pilot named Robert L. Young. Being such a common name, only one person fit the bill. Robert Lincoln Young was the only son of Robert Lincoln Sr and Kathryn Young of New Jersey. The postcard he mailed to Mr. Dodge contains the following message as written with no corrections:

“A/C Robert L. Young 43-F

Dear Mr. Dodge, May 2, 1943

Another spring rolls around and I naturally think of the Tunbridge Hills and wonder how everything is going. I hope all is well with you and Mrs. Dodge. It is rare that I hear from folkes in Tunbridge because I was there hardly long enough to become acquainted. Bob O’Brien is now overseas as a bombardier and I hope I am successful here so I can finish training and take to the sky. With every good wish.

Sincerely, Robert Young”

My research shows that 2nd Lt. Robert L. Young Jr. got his wish. He completed 14 successful missions as navigator on the B-24 Liberator named ‘Ready Willing and Able’. During this time, he was awarded 2 medals, the Purple Heart and Oak Cluster.

Mission number 15 was a risky one, as groups of bombers were destined to fly into dangerous German territory before dropping their bombs on Berlin. Heavily damaged, ‘Ready Willing and Able’ successfully dropped its load and headed back to Wendling Field in England, where the crew was based.

As it flew overhead, circling the runway waiting to land, the twin-engine airplane suddenly exploded in a huge ball of fire, killing all 11 crewmen on board. 2nd Lt. Robert Lincoln Young Jr. is buried at Cambridge American Cemetery and Memorial. This place of internment lies in Cambridge, England.

Nathan Dodge, the person that Robert Young sent the card to, was a teacher and administrator, and also a farmer. It’s fair for me to assume that Mr. Dodge had been Robert’s teacher.

As previously stated, the postcard that Young mailed to Nathan Dodge was postmarked May 3, 1943, with the educator sadly passing away 16 days later on May 19 of the same year. It’s unlikely the young man knew of Nathan’s illness while he was in Selma. Nathan Dodge’s unfortunate death came from a case of appendicitis.

An obituary for Nathan Dodge painted a picture of him being a great instructor and a person deeply concerned for his students. One line from this lengthy article pretty much sums things up here.

“Mr. Dodge never failed to give good and wise counsel to young men who brought their problems to him like a big brother.”

Robert Young thought highly enough of his former teacher to take the time and write a letter. I doubt many students do this these days. The young man was undoubtedly counseled on his entering military service by Nathan Dodge.

There is one additional person mentioned on the postcard by Robert Young, Bob O’Brien. This fellow was probably a classmate of Young and a student of Dodge. Bob O’Brien took the most research to pin down, but thankfully, Robert Young mentioned the guy as being a bombardier, and that helped me immensely.

1st Lt. Robert Emmett O’Brien served as a bombardier on a B-24 Liberator in WWII and made it back home alive. After finishing up his education, he started a successful business with his wife, called KOB Carpet in Atlanta, Georgia. After retirement, he and his wife lived in Pompano Beach, Florida, for a spell. Bob O’Brien died in 2007, at the age of 84, and is buried in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Group of B-24 Liberators on a bombing mission

Crash site of “Good Ready and Able” (41-29427)

Cambridge American Cemetery and Memorial

THE WATCH TOWER

My mother made it a point to always mail family and friends, postcards, whenever she traveled. I kept a few of these cards to pass on to my grandchildren. This was quite common back in the day, but not as many people have followed through on the tradition these days. It’s much like Christmas cards.

The featured postcard in this writing is one from the Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona. It shows a building called The Watch Tower. I remember this structure from visiting the place almost 38 years ago, and I was quite impressed with it. The tower was very busy, and we had to wait in line to go in. The rock and steel structure is also known as Desert View Watchtower and Indian Watchtower.

The late Jimi Hendrix had a hit song called “All Along The Watchtower.” Released in 1968, yet written in 1966 by Bob Dylan, this was some 48 years after the Grand Canyon tower was constructed.

I doubt this song was written about Dylan’s visit to the national monument, but he did spend considerable time in the state, living in Scottsdale with his wife. Some say that the tune has Biblical meaning, with Isaiah 21:5-9, mentioning such a dwelling. “Watchtower” is also the name of a magazine published by the Jehovah’s Witnesses religious organization.

The Grand Canyon tower was conceived by Mary Holter, an employee of the Fred Harvey Company. It was completed in 1932, becoming a major attraction to park visitors. It was designed by Mary Holter to resemble an ancient Puebloan watchtower, but the overall size is much smaller than the real thing.

Today, the lower floor is a gift shop, while the upper is designed for tourists to take in the spectacular view. Millions of visitors over the years have visited this structure and undoubtedly came away awestruck. The canyon itself had a lot to do with that.

Someone named Henri visited the Grand Canyon in 1947. He mailed this postcard to The Waxman’s in Kansas City, Missouri. As I always try to do with addressed and cancelled postmark cards. I attempt to track down the sender and recipient, with it not always being easy.

In this case, the recipients were Meyer & Fannie Waxman. They lived at 2404 E. 29th Street in Kansas City. I can visualize Meyer retrieving the card from his mailbox, with Fannie reading it out loud to her husband.

“Sunday

El Tovar Hotel

Grand Canyon, Arizona

Am staying here longer so send me a line soon

Have a sun tan already

Having such a wonderful time

Love Henri”

Afterwards, the Waxmans talked about how they should visit Arizona before getting too old. Maybe they already had? It was only 9 years after getting the card that Meyer died in 1956. Fannie outlived him another 41 years, living to be 103.

Unfortunately, for now, Henri will have to remain a mystery in my postcard history.

YOU PEOPLE!

“Our letter must’ve touched a frayed nerve on this subject.”

I’ve heard the phrase “you people” for a good part of my life, although I’ve observed it used more often these past 20 years. Generally, the words pop up when someone is angry. Young folks have been known to use such language when talking about the older generation, and vice versa.

My AI helpmate, the lovely, but imaginary, Miss Purdy, tells me the following about what ‘you people’ means:

“You people is a phrase that can be interpreted in many ways, but it often carries negative connotations, especially when used to refer to a specific group of people, like an ethnic or racial group. It can create a sense of distance or division, implying an ‘us vs them’ mentality.

Miss Purdy went on to say this happens quite often on Facebook, with me not even realizing she was on social media. She went on to explain that the phrase, while not inherently offensive, its usage is often viewed as disrespectful, condescending, or even racist, depending on the context and the speaker’s intent.”

Years ago, my wife and I mailed out Christmas cards with a religious message, as we always do. Several weeks later, our card and letter came back from one individual, all marked up in red ink with negative language. The words ‘you people’ were included several times in their scathing remarks.

Our letter simply stated what Joleen and I, along with our children, had been doing. I didn’t brag or boast, basically talking about what the kids were up to in college. We ended it with God Bless and have a Happy New Year, as we’d done for perhaps 30 years.

The recipient made it clear that they didn’t think we practiced what we preached regarding how a Christian should act. Our letter must’ve touched a frayed nerve on this subject. They made sure to end things by saying, “Never send me one of these hypocritical letters again!”

After reading things, with the hair on the back of my neck standing at full attention, recklessly on my part, I fired a scathing reply back via our postal service. It was like tossing gasoline onto an already burning fire. Thinking about things later that night, I wished that I could’ve stuck my hand in the mailbox and retrieved that angst. I believe many people have done the same.

Looking back on the incident with a bit more wisdom, I should’ve waited, digested exactly why this person was upset, and then perhaps called them instead. Eventually, this did take place over the phone, although permanent damage had been done. Our relationship was never the same, with bipolar disorder on their part a big reason why.

The other day on television, I watched an agitated older actor use the term,” You people!” He was directing it at MAGA supporters. Robert DeNiro’s message wasn’t taken as offensive like I might’ve viewed it only a few years ago. I actually chuckled—seeing it as more of a compliment than an insult.

Getting back to that person belittling our family card and letter at Christmas in 2002. Had I been tuned in to the Bible more than I was, I would’ve seen that Jesus has an answer for such in Matthew 5:11. “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.”

Had that Biblical lesson been known by me, I would’ve refrained from retaliation. My hasty action and need to ‘speak my mind’ were far more damaging to this person than her angry words to me.

Proverbs 12:18. “The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”

FLORENCE PATRICE’S HAND

“Valdez has changed considerably since this postcard was made.”

Valdez, Alaska street scene – circa 1915

Researching Valdez, Alaska, during its early years, I came across an old postcard showing a street scene, which I believe to be either early morning or late at night, during the summer when the sun hardly goes down. Enlarging the picture, I was able to count only 4 people walking on the boardwalks in front of businesses.

My mother had a saying that fits this picture well. “They roll the sidewalks in at night!” As a kid, I didn’t know the meaning until I finally asked her. Mom’s reply was that after 6 o’clock, activity in small towns all but dies as the people seemingly disappear. She was talking about small towns in Alabama, not Alaska, as this postcard depicts, yet I suppose the same principle applied anywhere.

This vintage postcard was mailed from Ketchikan, Alaska, to a J.E. Steyer in Westminster, Maryland. It’s postmarked February 19, 1915. On the correspondence line, the following was written nicely in cursive:

“This is a street scene in Valdez Alaska

Florence Mercer

PO Box 127

Ketchikan, Alaska”

I researched Florence Mercer, finding she was the daughter of Anson Cary Mercer and Myrtle May Mercer. Florence Patrice was born in Spokane, Washington, on January 20, 1900. She lived in Ketchikan for a while, including Juneau, where she attended school. The young lady would’ve only been 15 when she mailed her postcard off.

In 1919, at the age of 19, Florence married George Francis Forrest Jr. Her spouse’s father, George Francis Forrest Sr., was one of early-day Juneau’s movers and shakers, being involved in many business endeavors as well as local politics.

The elder Mr. Forrest eventually sold all business interests in Alaska, relocating to Seattle, where he had a new business going there. His son and daughter-in-law eventually followed.

Unfortunately, not long after moving, the elder Forrest died of a heart attack at the age of 56, on July 31, 1925. His death certificate says that the cause was acute indigestion, but the man was known to have serious heart trouble.

George Francis Forrest Jr. evidently didn’t have the business savvy of his dad, not taking over where the old man left off. The younger son worked as a stevedore at the Seattle docks until retirement. Florence Patrice Forrest died in 1954, with her husband passing 2 years later in 1956.

Valdez has changed considerably since this postcard was made. The Good Friday, March 27, 1964, earthquake all but destroyed Old Town Valdez. My family visited in 1967, still able to see the massive destruction. The city was rebuilt in another location.

The memory of Florence Mercer still lives on courtesy of this postcard and my research. As to the recipient of the card, J.E. Steyer of Westminster, Maryland, there are too many possibilities to pin any one person down here. I guess it’d be safe for me to say—J.E. is the young man who didn’t get Florence Patrice Mercer’s hand.

CLAY CENTER SPINSTER?

“That may be a good reason she never married.”

I came across an old picture postcard from Norton, Kansas, that had me giving it a second look. The photo on the front of the card shows the largest assemblage of horse-drawn buggies that I’ve ever seen. Today, one might think it’s a meeting of the Amish or Mennonites, or perhaps an early Amway convention.

Norton, Kansas, was founded in 1872 by a man named N.H. Billings. The town name came from Captain Orloff Norton, who was in Company L – 15th Regiment- Kansas Volunteer Cavalry. Captain Norton was killed at Cave Hill, Arkansas, in 1864. Today, it is a laid-back community of approximately 1,700 residents.

The only explanation for the mass group of carriages is a printed caption on the front, which reads: “A busy day, Norton, KS, photo by Reed.” That information tells me little. After conducting some research based on the sender of the card, I concluded that it was a religious gathering of a large proportion, as Amway wasn’t founded until 1959.

What’s even more intriguing is that both sides of the postcard were written on with double postmarks, one from Herndon, Kansas, and the other from Clay Center.

Backside of the card is addressed to:

Miss Geneva Alquist

Clay Center Kansas

The Clay Center postmark is 12 AM, May 12, 1907, while the Clay Center is 4 PM, May 17 of the same year. The correspondence section of the card reads without grammar correction:

“I have a chance to go to Atwood 20 miles west next Tuesday + I think I shall improve it. Hope to have some Atwood view cards to send you there. If I go it will be with brother A Alson who is going in his buggy. Greet your folks. Your friend J.P.E.

The front reads as follows, on top of the photograph, with the handwriting being the same as the flipside:

“Dear friend, Your card received. Thanks. I was very much pleased with the papers. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I’ve been out for an eight mile drive this afternoon to see a very sick man. He is not a Baptist but said that he is prepared to die. I thank god for this. Have now been here a week and haven’t had a touch of lonesomeness yet. That’s doing fine isn’t it?”

Carla Geneva Alquist was born in Kansas on September 13, 1882. Her parents had come to the area from Sweden, belonging to the Swedish Baptist Church, as did their daughter and three sons. The family owned Alquist’s Grocery in Clay Center; thus, they were well-to-do. Two of the sons were businessmen, while another became a dentist.

Miss Geneva Alquist was heavily involved in the ministry at an early age, with newspaper reports of her attending youth church meetings in towns throughout Kansas. There are 1,559 newspaper entries for her from 1891 all the way up until she died in 1965. She was a church women’s organizer while also holding down various bookkeeping jobs for various firms.

Geneva Alquist was a staunch supporter of the American Women’s League and undoubtedly suffered much flak from the opposite sex for doing so. That may be a good reason she never married. There are other valid explanations why, yet this one seems most plausible to me.

The American Women’s League pushed for areas of equality for women, especially where women’s suffrage was concerned, as well as having a strong political voice. Miss Alquist attended quite a few political meetings, judging by the many newspaper accounts of such with her name attached.

Records show that she lived with her parents until their deaths, with some folks undoubtedly negatively calling her a spinster behind her back. Was she actually a spinster or a soft-spoken Carrie Nation?

After reading about her involvement in religious, community, and national policies, I believe she was a woman of independence, with strong opinions and a calling from God. She seems to have had a drive for her cause much on the same level as Mother Theresa.

I found no plaque or statue in Clay Center for Miss Geneva Alquist’s contributions to the city, yet she wouldn’t have expected this. Geneva was justly rewarded when she got to Heaven in 1965, having spent 83 years as a voice for women in Clay Center.

So who was the mystery writer of the card, a person with the initials J.P.E.? They made absolutely sure that they acknowledged Miss Alquist in a friendly, yet serious, religious tone.

After much research, I came to the conclusion it could have only been Reverend John P. Endacott Jr. He’d come to Clay Center during this time as a minister with his wife, Ellen, both from England, preaching at other churches throughout the state until retiring and then passing away in 1934 at age 69. Mystery solved!

LAKE HAVASU CITY – 1970

“Regardless of no such amenities, the Smiths indicated they loved this place.”

Lake Havasu City isn’t an old community by any means, yet there were postcards mailed from here that are now over 50 years old. I came across a vintage one the other day, sent on August 22, 1970. We’re fast approaching the 55th anniversary of it leaving town.

The colorful picture postcard shows several boats fueling up at a “Site 6” Lake Havasu dock, with another one just leaving. It looks like a small convenience store is also located there.

A large van with the word ICE emblazoned in large letters on the side sits in the background with what appears to be a Karmen Ghia Volkswagen parked in front of it. Being a bit facetious here, I didn’t spot any federal agents standing outside with masks. Some of you will get the pun, if it can be called that.

The postcard I mentioned was sent to Jerry Smith at 1630 Prairie in Elkhart, Indiana. A stamp was only a nickel back then. It was mailed by his parents with a short note written in ink. I’ve left the language exactly as it is with no corrections. Look closely and you’ll see some humor in the wording. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.

“Hi Son – All I can say I wish you couldn’t have come with us. It is so pretty here and we are having a lovely time. I don’t no if we will get to see Linda or not. love Mother & Dad”

The Smiths passed through town just as the London Bridge was being finished. There were no Shugrues or Mudshark Pizza at that time, nor Holiday Inn Express. The closest McDonald’s was in Phoenix. Regardless of limited amenities, the Smiths indicated they loved this place.

I researched the couple, and it was Jerry Garnett Smith Jr. and his wife Irene Margaret Smith who visited LHC. They were impressed with the scenery, as most people are, and it piqued my curiosity to see if they might’ve eventually relocated to our city like so many snowbirds do.

Research shows they remained in Indiana, as did their 18-year-old boy, at that time, Jerry G. Smith III. Sadly, all three of the Smiths have since passed away, with their son succumbing to cancer in 2022. He was a year older than me.

When my wife and I first began visiting Havasu, we purchased a few pieces of property from those folks who had flown here on one of Robert McCulloch Sr’s free flights. These people had plans to build their dream homes, yet things never materialized.

Selling their prized lots to us, with them holding the note, a couple of older sellers passed away before we paid things off and obtained the titles. Our monthly payments then went to beneficiaries.

Rotary Park is loaded with memorials to these “early visitors,” and I often take time while walking through to read their plaques. It’s sobering to see so many, knowing that someday Joleen and I will be joining them.

With no way to stop time, realizing that we’ll be leaving paradise for an even grander place, this knowledge always puts my mind at rest.

BOGUS STUFF

“He sounded above board, at least for a few minutes.”

My wife and I sat down the other evening and came across a YouTube video titled, “17 Miners Vanished – The Truth No One Wanted Told.” Further explanation went on to claim, “In 1962, 17 miners walked into the Blackwater coal mine and never came back. The official report said that it was an accident.”

This headline was written strongly enough to draw us in, with the person doing the storytelling supposedly a sheriff in some rural West Virginia town. Sheriff Danny Morrison sounded above board, at least for a few minutes.

The fellow, in an authoritative voice, said that he’d always wanted to dig into the mine disaster, because he had suspicions that there was more to the tale than what he’d been told. Continuing on, he mentioned that while doing research on the accident, he discovered that there was a cover-up.

The miners hadn’t been in an explosion—they’d been murdered! At this point, I told Joleen that this video was BS. “Really?” she replied. Before I go further, my meaning of the acronym BS is bogus stuff and not cowpies, as most would think.

For someone who didn’t look into how this could’ve happened, which I immediately did, they might’ve sat there and come away misinformed. I had it pegged as make-believe when he told viewers that the miners’ families were paid $5000 each by the Blackwater Mining Company as compensation. Going online, I found nothing about 17 miners losing their lives in 1962. The only site that relayed such news was YouTube.

Just for grins, we continued watching until the end. It turned out that Sheriff Morrison’s grandfather had been one of those killed. He, along with 16 others, had been murdered by government henchmen because they saw that there was something far more valuable in that hole besides coal. I won’t tell the ending because, for those wanting to watch the whole video, the entertainment value alone is worth the wasted time.

I’m a skeptic of things seen on television. The other day, a fellow was hawking a device the size of a briefcase that he claimed could cool down a sizable room. Supposedly, the inventors were former NASA engineers who’d come across the idea during their research. I told my wife, “Ching ching!” using that saying quite often to highlight bogus stuff. It’s the sound of coins dropping into a cash register.

There are many such advertisements, designed to lure in suckers and lighten up their purses and wallets. P.T. Barnum had a description for these folks, claiming that, “A sucker is born every minute.” While many folks believe P.T. Barnum coined the popular phrase, Professor Nicholas DiFonzo of the Rochester Institute of Technology says that it was a cigar manufacturer named David Hannum.

In 1869, the clever Mr. Hannum took a large block of coal and chiseled the petrified corpse of a 10-foot giant man from it. His creation was named, Cardiff Giant, and it was so realistic that folks bought into the hoax. Things haven’t changed in this arena, as there are people out there believing those infomercials claiming that a certain facial cream will erase wrinkles.

I’m perhaps the world’s biggest skeptic about most anything I see on mainstream media. Much of what they say is nothing more than hot air. Sharks are operating within these organizations with one primary motive: to mislead and sway the public with biased reporting and inaccurate facts. For that reason alone, I don’t believe everything I read on Wikipedia or Snopes either.

These two think tanks have been proven to be polluted with leftist philosophy. Even the co-creator of Wikipedia, Larry Sanger, claims that his site has become a propaganda platform for the “left-leaning” establishment and can no longer be trusted. I believe Sanger because I’ve seen this with my own two eyes.

My good friend Jeff Thimsen’s dad, Dean, used a saying that I haven’t forgotten. It’s helped me more than once to wind my way through all of the misinformation and lies out there, “If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is!”

Dean Thimsen had a lot of good advice back then; only Jeff and I were teenagers, believing that we knew much more than our parents. It wasn’t until we became much older that we recognized their wisdom.

SEARCHLIGHT, NEVADA

“When Lenora Wyatt wrote her 21-year-old son, Danny, on a picture postcard purchased from Searchlight on April 14, 1957, she didn’t tell him that the club where they ate that morning was also a brothel.”

Searchlight, Nevada, has a wild and crazy reputation. It was founded as a mining town in 1897, after miner George Colton discovered a vast amount of gold there. By 1907, 5,000 people were reported living in the area.

Respectable businesses were thriving, with women of ill repute quickly setting up shop, along with shady characters of all kinds trying to cash in on the action. Crime, as it always is with boom towns, was close at hand.

When a massive flood destroyed the railroad to Searchlight and gold and silver ceased to be pulled from the ground, by 1927, only 50 people still resided there. It was as close to being a ghost town as it could get.

When Lenora Wyatt wrote her 21-year-old son, Danny, on April 14, 1957, a short note on a picture postcard purchased from Searchlight, she didn’t tell him that the club where they ate that morning was also a brothel.

It’s probable, Thornton and Lenora Wyatt didn’t know it, as the El Rey Club in Searchlight, Nevada, owned by William “Willie” Martello, didn’t advertise the fact. Local residents knew, including those desperate men in need of such activity.

Lenora only mentions in the postcard that they dined there, but most likely they also stayed the night unless they were pulling a camper. Searchlight was a good 50 miles from the next closest communities, Boulder City. That’s where the card was mailed.

Whether or not the couple gambled was taken to their graves, but most folks walking through a casino cannot resist the urge to pull a slot machine handle, at least once. I see that on the same gambling level as buying a lotto ticket twice a year.

Willie Martello, a somewhat shady character himself, opened his El Rey Club shortly after World War II, in 1947. It quickly became a success, especially when he started flying people in for free from Las Vegas and Palm Springs.

Entrepreneur Robert McCulloch Sr. used this same marketing tactic in bringing prospective buyers of property to Lake Havasu City. It worked for him because these days, there’s hardly any vacant building lots to be had.

Willie Marcello raised the ire of East Coast mobsters with his gambling establishment, as well as the Nevada Gaming Board. Several complaints of rigged slot machines were reported, and Marcello was investigated for such. Mobsters were said to have harassed Willie Martello on occasion.

Hollywood elite came to Searchlight to gamble and party, with money rolling in hand over fist from the party crowd. This all came to a screeching halt 5 years after the Wyatts visited, when a fire on January 20, 1962, completely destroyed the El Rey Club.

It was rebuilt across the street, but unfortunately, Willie Martell didn’t get to enjoy the gala opening for very long. He died of a heart attack while playing golf on January 3, 1968.

On the positive side of this story, all seems to have turned out well for the Wyatts. Danny Wyatt wed Glenda Rose Batson in 1956, one year before getting his mom’s card. They remained married until he died in 2004.

Glenda passed away in 2024, with her obituary mentioning that she had 5 children, 78 grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren.

As far as the two Wyatt parents visiting Searchlight in 1957, Thornton Wyatt died on March 6, 2004, with Lenora passing away exactly 20 years later on March 6, 2024. The loving couple shares the same month and day, as if God intended things that way.

Searchlight now appears to be booming and is likely to remain that way for a long time. With new asphalt and a widened Highway 95 leading to and from the old mining community, traffic through town is reduced to 25 MPH. On average, I drive this direction three times a year, only stopping at McDonald’s for a Coke and to use their restroom.

For those folks still wanting to gamble, Terrible Herbst has a sizable casino. Food and fuel are also available, including approximately 50 motel rooms to spend the night. Where brothels are concerned, I wouldn’t know.

ANN SANDERS-MYSTERY MAIDEN OF OPHIR, ALASKA

“During my research, I found Patricia Perry to be a professional dancer, while at the same time she owned the Patricia Perry School of Dance.”

I decided to try my investigative skills on an Alaska ghost town postcard, this vintage piece of paper featuring Ophir, Alaska. Ophir is an old gold mining town that’s now deserted, other than during the summer months.

A few outfits still mine gold in the area, with Ophir offering up the best airstrip for miles around. A friend and I landed there in his Aeronaca back in 2000. I haven’t returned since.

The Iditarod Sled Dog Race goes through Ophir every other year, where the checkpoint is a private cabin formerly belonging to Dick and Audra Forsgren. Their grandson, Kyle, now owns the rustic dwelling. That cabin has changed little since it was first built over 100 years ago.

Ophir was a bustling center of mining activity starting around 1906, but by 1955, things had pretty much come to a grinding halt. The abundant gold found there slowed to a dribble during the last 10 years as miners left for other locales. Because of this, businesses folded from a lack of customers, with imaginary ghosts taking over the dwellings.

The Ophir postcard I’m researching was postmarked on Sunday, March 30, 1941. This post office was permanently closed 16 years later in 1955, with letters and postcards having an Ophir postmark quite desirable amongst collectors.

A picture on the front shows stacks of hay covered with snow, along with an unusual title: Belated Harvest. Hewitt’s Drug Store in Anchorage was the postcard seller. On the back is written:

“Miss Ann Sanders – Ophir, Alaska. Dearest Miss Perry, At last I’ve found time to write to you and give you my address so that you can send me my shoes. Do you remember Barbara Weatherall a former student of yours. I met her brother yesterday. I’ll close hoping this finds you well and happy. Sincerely Ann Sanders Ophir Alaska”

The recipient address is:

Miss Patricia Perry

Textile Tower

Seattle, Wash.

During my research, I found Patricia Perry to be a professional dancer and performer, while at the same time, she owned the Patricia Perry School of Dance. Undoubtedly, those shoes Ann Sanders asked for were fancy dancing shoes. Of all places, Ophir wasn’t a dancing city like Seattle. Ann must have known she wouldn’t remain there long.

Barbara Weatherall went on to wed her high school sweetheart, Ivan Raymond Stafford, in 1957, only to become a widow by 1963. She then married Rick Mason, two years later, in 1965, and they stayed together until she died in 2012. Barbara’s brother, whom Ann mentioned in the letter, was George Weatherall. He has the most significance in Alaska’s mining and transportation history, where this postcard is concerned.

George Weatherman owned a freighting company based in Talkeetna, where he used dog teams, barges, and trucks to transport people and goods to places such as Ophir, Flat, Iditarod, Fairbanks, and other locales. The entrepreneur also had mining claims that he worked on with his son. Ann Sanders must’ve encountered the hard-working man when he passed through Ophir.

Finding out just who Ann Sanders is has been a tough nut to crack and still remains unbroken. She evidently tutored under Patricia Perry, only to move to Ophir soon after. Was she the daughter of a miner, or someone going there to help cook in the mining camp? Unlike other people I’ve searched for, so far, all of my resources have failed me here.

Single women were scarce in Alaska during the early years, with men competing for their hearts. As sexist as this may seem, if Ann could cook and keep a tidy cabin, that was more than enough to woo a lonely miner’s fancy.

When WWII began in 1941, mines throughout the country were ordered to shut down by the US War Production Board, with those mines in Alaska no exception. Many of the men who came to Alaska to work in the field soon left the state, leaving no forwarding address. Ann Sanders seems to fit that mold as well.

I’ll continue searching, believing that other newspapers in Alaska will eventually come online. Right now, there are only a few that are archived for review. Some of those that aren’t, languish in places that need to be personally visited.

For now, Ann Sanders will have to remain the mystery maiden of Ophir, Alaska.