SASCO

“Turning to my AI helpmate for assistance, “Miss Purdy” had things figured out in seconds.”

Arizona ghost towns are perhaps the most celebrated of all, especially in old western movies. I’ve been hooked ever since I saw my first tumbleweed blowing through a deserted main street, always passing in front of an empty saloon. There’s just something ominous about the sound of whistling wind and rolling tumbleweeds on the big screen.

Sasco, Arizona, has its share of tumbleweeds these days. At one time, a thriving town in conjunction with a large smelter operation, designed to process the silver ore from Silver Bell Mine, both places are now reduced to a few crumbling structures sprayed with graffiti. The former town is located 35 miles northwest of Tucson.

Someone named Mina mailed a postcard with a picture of the Sasco smelter to Mr. A.Z. Bradley in January of 1911. The forwarding address says, A.Z. Bradley. Box 276. San Dimas, Cal. The correspondence was short and inquisitive:

 “Dear Az, How are you. Haven’t heard from you for about two weeks. I began to feel uneasy. Thought maybe you were sick. We are well. Have had some awful cold days but it is warmer now. We are still at Arrell’s. Now write soon. Mina”

The front of this postcard shows a picture of the large silver ore smelter with nomenclature underneath saying: “Sasco Smelter seen from Red Rock, AZ.” Smoke can be seen billowing from six smokestacks. Sasco is an acronym for the Southern Arizona Smelting Company. Sasco was basically a company town with a few stores and a saloon. Red Rock was a short distance away.

The place came to life around 1906, but by 1921, it was deserted. Sadly, the Spanish flu swept through the area in 1918 and 1919, with many people dying. Sasco Cemetery is said to be filled with folks who succumbed to this terrible disease. Ruins of the Hotel Rockland are still visible.

Finding out who Mina and A.Z. Bradley were was quite simple. Both Alfred Z. Bradley and Mina Ellen Honeyman were born in Kansas. The couple married in Payne County, Oklahoma, on December 19, 1900, living in this area for a short time before moving to San Dimas, California. There, they owned a ranch and farm where they had a small dairy, grew cotton, nuts, fruit, and other crops.

The Bradleys had one daughter, Lena. Mina died in 1954, while A.Z. outlived his wife, passing away in 1968. They’re both buried at Hillcrest Cemetery in Porterville, California.

The mystique of this Arizona ghost town postcard lay in where it was mailed. The cancelled postmark contained only three letters that I could make out: G, N, and E. There were gaps between each. I searched for hours through Arizona towns and cities, including those from California, Nevada, and Kansas, finding nothing.

Turning to my AI helpmate for assistance, “Miss Purdy” had things figured out in seconds. Glencoe in Oklahoma fits like a golfing glove, with the farming town located in Payne County, Oklahoma, where the Bradleys were married. They still had family there, and Mina was undoubtedly visiting them.

Ironically, I typed in Glencoe, Oklahoma, and another postcard popped up with the complete Glencoe, Oklahoma, postmark, sent to Mrs. Mina Bradley in San Dimas in 1908, from her brother, Brad Arrell.

I found my research interesting for a couple of reasons. I love Arizona ghost towns, and we have a well-known Bradley family living right here in Lake Havasu City. It makes me wonder if perhaps the two families aren’t related. That research, I’ll leave for someone else to perform.

SAYER SPRINGS

“On August 11, 1909, a shotgun that George used for protection accidentally discharged, killing him.”

I’ve been on an Arizona ghost town tangent here lately, and was given another assignment related to such. For those who are up to speed on my ghost town writings, I take vintage postcards mailed from these places and attempt to identify who the sender was, as well as the recipient.

I use archived newspapers to do my research, along with genealogical data, including historical records found online. Thus far, I’ve found some interesting tidbits of information, but nothing that’ll touch the latest postcard find. This card was going to be sent from a man calling himself A.M. Cameron, yet for reasons unknown, it was never mailed.

Mr. Cameron had written a name and address on a photo postcard that showed a recently constructed water well in Sayer with a group of goats standing around it. Having water readily available was a big deal back then, as it is now.

Next to the picture is written, “This is the well that was dug last year by J.C. Bradbury.” Water was important to Mr. Bradbury because he had several mining interests in the area. He was also the former county recorder for Yavapai County for several years.

The card is made out to someone named Joseph Witterman in Montrose, New Jersey. It was being sent from the now ghost town of Sayer, Arizona, yet a stamp was never placed on the back.

Sayer, Arizona, or Sayer Springs, as it is often called, was a small supply depot for mines in and around the Wickenburg area. George Sayers had a store there, and thus the town name. On August 11, 1909, a shotgun that George used for protection accidentally discharged, killing him. Sayers is supposedly buried near Sayer Springs, although no tombstone has been located.

Researching A.M. Cameron, his full name is Allen Myers Cameron. Allen’s father, John F. Cameron, was captain of the 154th regiment, Tennessee Zouave Guard, during the American Civil War.

Allen Myers (A.M.) Cameron left Tennessee as a soldier in the Union Army to serve in the Philippines, and for a short time became a US Cavalry pony soldier in Arizona. Leaving the service because of poor health, he quickly recuperated and went in search of gold.

Initially working at Crown Point Mine for Governor Brodie, Cameron found a vein of the precious metal on his own near the Black Rock District of Wickenburg, and then, after staking a claim, he sold his mineral rights to a larger mining outfit for a good price.

Relocating to Sayer, A.M. Cameron accepted a job as caretaker of the Walnut Grove Water Supply dam, while he also began raising goats. His neighbor was a man named Leonard White. Mr. White was a miner, well-liked, and had many influential friends. White’s mining ventures lay all along the dammed-up Hassayampa River.

Leonard and A.M. Cameron didn’t see eye to eye, and newspaper accounts had them arguing over frivolous things. One thing not mentioned is that A.M. Cameron undoubtedly had some control over how much water was released from the dam for mining interests. This would’ve been a hot topic for all miners as it is today.

A practice that Leonard didn’t approve of was Cameron setting poisonous bait throughout the area. This poison had killed more than one of Leonard’s dogs. Undoubtedly, it killed other animals and birds besides the dogs and coyotes.

A lawsuit was filed by a man named Howard Draper after one of his pet dogs died, with A.M. Cameron admitting in court to setting at least 2500 of the traps in a 3-mile radius of Sayer, as a means of killing off coyotes and dogs. He told the court that these coyotes and dogs had been after his goats. Allen Myers Cameron was found guilty and fined $50.

On June 16, 1913, Leonard White unexpedtedly confronted Cameron in front of the Sayer post office and shot him dead. Six witnesses said that A.M. Cameron was unarmed. White was arrested and taken to jail, where he awaited trial. Allen Myers Cameron was 45 years old, while Leonard White was 48.

After the court proceedings ended, and nearly 40 hours of deliberation by the jury behind locked doors, on September 18, 1913, Leonard White was found not guilty. Newspaper accounts of the ruling make it seem as if even White couldn’t believe the outcome.

The Sayer postcard I mentioned was never stamped and mailed. I believe Allen Myers Cameron wrote it right before he was killed. Stretching things a bit here, it might’ve been on him at the time of death, because there appear to be a few spots of blood on the picture.

The card was undoubtedly found in his possessions afterward and packed away by who knows who, only for me to discover it 112 years later on eBay.

I never located the intended recipient, a Joseph Wilterman living in Moorestown, New Jersey, and it’s highly possible, this name is wrongly transcribed. I’ll keep working on the spelling with a high-power magnifying glass.

What I find most intriguing about this card is the picture of the simple water well. Water is still a precious commodity in not only the Sayer and Wickenburg area, but Arizona as a whole, including Lake Havasu City.

In a 1941 song by the Sons of the Pioneers, titled “Cool Water,” the beginning lyrics go like this: “All day I’ve found a barren waste, without the taste of water, cool water.” That tune was written with Arizona in mind because the songwriter, Bob Nolan, composed it in high school, while he was living in Tucson.

Water’s such a valuable resource that the time will soon arrive when it outshines gold. Perhaps we’re already there!

June 21, 1913 – “The Parker Post” – They had Cameron’s age wrong.

SMILE AND WAVE

“How many of you have watched someone attempt to pull a large boat through a drive-thru?”

Boat trailer hitting the curb at Starbucks

It’s almost time for RVers to start rolling through town. For some folks, the “er” in RVers simply means “Errrr!,” as in being upset. I’m not one of those people. Even though I don’t own a business, I still view RVs as a boost to the local economy.

These RV owners, depending on the size of the rig they drive or tow, toss cash out to retail establishments like Santa Claus does candy in a parade, with Lake Havasu City no exception. If fast food joints in town had larger parking lots, you’d see them patronizing these places more.

During the summer months, trucks pulling boats would do the same, which brings me to this question. How many of you have watched someone attempt to pull a large boat through a drive-thru? It happens more than you think.

 

My wife and I sat in the Del Taco parking lot one day, eating our In-N-Out burgers, when a young fellow from California attempted such a stunt. He shut that drive-thru down for close to an hour, trying to maneuver his way back out. It was only after someone else took the wheel that they were successful.

Back to RVs, I watch to see how many side-by-sides and boats these vehicles can pull. Some of the rigs tow two trailers. In the 18-wheeler world, this is called a “double.” Many truckers hate RVs with a passion. I know this because I’m a member of a trucking group on Facebook, having joined a bunch of groups, 305 to be exact, just because they asked me to.

I’m a member of the Professional Trucker’s Group, Newbie And Fulltime RVers Group, Checker Cab Group, Hardy Boys Fan Club, Oilfield Professionals, Hondo Boats, Canadian Things, Hellcat Community, Kansas Barns, Life In Alabama, The Official Leave It To Beaver Fanclub, Old Junkyards, AZ Jeep Junkies, Historic Route 66, Sweet Home Alaska, to name a few.

The comments left in the Professional Trucker’s Group are how I know they have a disdain for RVs and especially RV drivers. Most of the complaints revolve around them having to maintain a CDL driver’s license, while the driver of a million-dollar Prevost coach pulling a trailer full of off-road vehicles doesn’t. Griping seems to be an inherent trait for some people, with truckers no exception.

Getting back to RVs wheeling through Havasu, headed to Quartzite, Bouse, and Yuma. I watch to see what states they’re from, and try to read the many decals dotting the backsides of their vehicles. Good Sam Club is seen on a good many. I attempted to join a Good Sam Club on Facebook to see what they’re all about, but this particular club had disbanded.

Searching online, I found that Good Sam was founded in 1966 to foster camaraderie and mutual assistance amongst RVers. It’s now the world’s largest RV club, offering places to camp, fuel discounts, products, and services with substantial savings. It was started by a guy named Art Rouse, and I can only assume that Sam was his dog.

My wife and I have an old RV that we use for road trips. I looked to see what it costs to join the Good Sam Club, and for no more than we stay in designated RV parks, it’d be better to just buy a decal off eBay and act like we belong. Taking time to look through the website, eBay has many different types of RV and trucking decals for sale.

I saw one that’d be perfect for that guy attempting to back out of Del Taco. For only $5, he can have a yellow and black sticker that says: Caution – Driver Does Not Know Which Direction Trailer Will Go When Backing Up.

I’ll be watching for that snowbird caravan as it winds its way back through town. Rather than give it the middle finger salute like so many folks, I’ll just smile and wave like Skipper the Penguin does from the cartoon movie, “Madagascar.”

AUNT GRACE

“Sadly, that vow doesn’t seem to mean as much as it did 100 years ago.”

I mentioned in an earlier column that I like to take vintage postcards and attempt to resurrect the history between the person who sent it and the recipient. It’s like putting a puzzle together, although the missing pieces are obtained from old newspapers, internet history, including genealogical data.

The last one I successfully mastered was a 1911 postcard sent from Oatman, Arizona, by a young lady named Rae, to her mother in Michigan. Over 12 hours were spent attempting to find Rae’s maiden name, including her married name, or in this case, names. That story can be found in its entirety on my blog under “Out Oatman Way.”

Being a fan of ghost towns, Oatman piqued my interest more so than if the card was sent from Phoenix or Tucson. When my wife asked me to try and do the same with an old 1923 postcard she came across from Jerome, Arizona, I hesitated at first.

Observing that this card showed a horse-drawn wagon going down a steep hill, while hauling passengers from the town center in Jerome to the rail station, one mile away, caught my immediate attention. The picture’s not in the greatest shape, with plenty of folds, cracks, and blemishes, but thankfully, I could still read everything on the opposite side.

This postcard is addressed to Mr. Glenn Henninger, Brooklyn Station, RFD #1, Cleveland, Ohio, Box 400. The short message is as follows: “Dear Glenn, I guess this blob means a big kiss for you.  How are you and little sister. Aunt Grace.”

Knowing that it came from Jerome, a notable ghost town like Oatman, and the sender was named Grace, I agreed to give things a whirl. You see, Grace is the name of one of my granddaughters.

The blob that Aunt Grace mentions is ink, and appears to be deliberate, perhaps first made in the shape of a heart until it muddled into an ink puddle. That’s what helps make this card so unique to me.

Glenn Henninger was quite easy to find, and from there on, everything pretty much fell into place. Glenn’s little sister was named Janice, while Aunt Grace was Glenn’s mom’s only sister. Glenn was born in 1918; thus, he would’ve been 5 when he received the card. His sister, Janice, was the only sibling. She’d just turned one.

Grace was born in 1893, and her maiden name was Woolf until she married Clayton Heideloff in 1921. Clayton served as a first sergeant during WWI. He died in 1949 at age 54, while Grace Woolf-Heideloff lived to be 88, passing away in 1981. She never remarried.

I didn’t find anything controversial about Grace’s life, like I did Rae’s in that Oatman postcard. Undoubtedly, she was in Jerome with her husband on a sightseeing trip. WWI ended in 1918, so perhaps they were making the most of his coming back alive.

The most interesting thing I found during my research was that the Henninger men knew how to pick not only beautiful, but faithful wives. Glenn’s father, Edwin, married Nellie Woolf, a former beauty pageant winner, in 1912. Edwin and Nellie remained together for 64 years.

Glenn’s wife, Evelyn Marie Bertlesbeck, was Miss Cleveland in 1938, including winning other Ohio beauty contests. She was a freelance model and a stewardess for Pennsylvania Central Airlines. The couple married in 1941 and remained together for 66 years.

Father and son believed in the marriage vow, “Until death do us part.”

Sadly, that vow doesn’t seem to be used as much during wedding ceremonies. Where marriage is concerned, perhaps things will once again return to the way they were in the old days, when couples at least tried to stay together. There’s nothing fuddy-duddy about that!

OUT OATMAN WAY

“I wanted to find out why a young lady named Rae was out Oatman way.”

A colorized version of the mentioned postcard showing the bakery and other businesses.

I give credit for this story to Leanne Toohey and Andy Sansom. Leanne is the moderator of a great Facebook site called “Oatman Tailings of Time History,” while Andy is a frequent contributor. You must be a member and follow the guidelines set by Leanne to participate. She has a wealth of knowledge about Oatman at her fingertips, while members contribute a nice amount of material as well, especially pictures.

Just recently, Andy Sansom posted an aged photo postcard of a portion of Oatman with some Ford Model Ts in the background, along with horses, mules, and wagons. The postcard is postmarked with what appears to be 1911, making this a very early specimen. Oatman was originally called Vivian, and from what I’ve read, the town name was changed somewhere around 1908. John B. Hughes was the Oatman postmaster at that time.

This postcard was mailed from someone named Rae to her mother, Mrs. A.E. Knight, in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The message was quite brief but conveyed a clear picture of the writer’s mood to me. I’ll transcribe it exactly as written, complete with sentence run-ons and lack of commas.

“Dear Mother, Just a view of the mining camp I’m in; but don’t expect to be here long will write again. This is the city of Oatman Arizona wild and wooly. If you and Mae had written to me when I was in Portland I would have come to Chicago but it’s too late now — Rae”

The card is addressed to Mrs. A.E. Knight, 11008 Doria, Grand Rapids, Michigan. There is a one-cent postage stamp on it with the round Oatman cancel affixed to it. The Oatman post office still uses this hand stamp.

Over the years, I’ve been able to take old postcards and, after conducting extensive research, add a tidbit of biography to either the sender or recipient. Some of that hidden information turned out to be quite interesting. I wanted to find out why a young lady named Rae was out Oatman way. She would’ve been 24 at this time.

Rae’s mother, Adeline E. Knight, was married to Benjamin Franklin Knight, her father. The couple had two sons and possibly four daughters. Jane Rae Knight was their youngest and perhaps the most rebellious. There had to be a valid reason to leave dad and mom and go live with her aunt in Los Angeles.

Rae went by the last name Haddox at this point, and it’s quite possible this was because of an early marriage that didn’t work out. Rae Haddox participated as a professional walker for several years in LA, entering marathon-type events with other young women. In one of them, her feet became so swollen she couldn’t continue.

Ms. Haddox’s occupation is eventually listed as a barber or beautician, and that line of work created a problem for her, but most especially for a possible suitor. Mr. J.C. Johnson worked as a bookkeeper for the Iver J. Rosten Company, a large railroad subcontractor. Somewhere along the way, J.C. met Rae Haddox in a barber shop in 1918 and was immediately smitten with her beauty. These are almost his exact words.

In an attempt to woo the gal, he began embezzling large sums of money from the company, using it to purchase extravagant gifts for his sweetheart, such as diamonds and sealskin jackets. In 1921, caught and prosecuted, he blamed the miscue entirely on Ms. Haddox, claiming that she had coerced him into altering the books with promises of marriage.

The court proceeding estimated that Johnson pilfered between $10,000 and $30,000 from the firm, with the value of that today, $166,000 – $498,000. J.C. Johnson told the court he really didn’t know how much he’d gotten away with, as he always gave Ms. Haddox cash.

Rae Haddox denied such allegations, although during this period, she was able to open a beauty shop of her own in Washington state, while also investing in other shops, undoubtedly with those illicit funds. J.C. Johnson, for his handiwork, was sentenced to six years in the Oregon State Penitentiary. There is no record of Rae being charged.

Nine years later, life changed for the better for Ms. Haddox when she married William Thomas Wallace, a master mechanic, in 1930. The couple moved from the Aberdeen, Washington area to Oceanside, Oregon, where they remained together until 1956. Rae died that year after a lengthy illness. I found no record of children, and had I done so, I probably would’ve elected to not publish as much information as I have.

Why was Rae Haddox in Oatman? There’s really no mystery here. Folks coming and going from Southern California used the National Old Trails Road, which later became Route 66.  This road went through Oatman. The vehicle in which Rae Haddox was traveling might’ve had mechanical problems, or an even more valid reason, perhaps she used her barber trade to trim up some of that wild and wooly mentioned in the postcard.

It appears Rae was upset with her mom and perhaps a sister by the curtness of her correspondence. I would’ve never thought about writing my own mom a postcard without signing love at the end. Adeline Knight passed away just five years after the postcard was received, at the age of 76.

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

“With electricity extremely high in our state, I’d imagine they wanted to keep them closed to maintain coolness.”

I recently read that the Lake Havasu City Council met behind closed doors to discuss airport growth. Some residents are being vocal, saying that shows a lack of transparency on their part.

The late country singer, Charlie Rich, sang a song titled “Behind Closed Doors.” This tune first came out in 1973, one year after I graduated from high school. I was quite naive at that stage and wasn’t totally sure what he was singing about, although I had a vague idea. Part of the lyrics were quite suggestive back then, and I suppose still are in certain circles.

“And when we get behind closed doors.

Then she lets her hair hang down.

And she makes me glad I’m a man.

Oh, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors!”

I highly doubt the closed doors that city council members relied upon during this airport meeting meant the same. With electricity extremely high in our state, I’d imagine they wanted to keep them closed to maintain coolness. Why anyone would be upset with that is questionable, as it seems like common sense to me.

Actually, I’m being facetious here. Undoubtedly, the city council needed a meeting without interruption or potential disruption from citizens. Sometimes that’s the only way to get things done. As the article states, public input will be allowed at a later date.

One of the things we do around our house to conserve energy is to keep from unnecessarily opening doors, especially the garage doors. Our garage is air-conditioned, and I like to keep it as cold as possible, especially when I’m working out there.

No longer do I have to change oil with a bandanna wrapped around my head to keep sweat from getting in my eyes. It took us 10 years to make the plunge, and I’m glad we did. I’m sure our vehicle echoes the same.

Another thing we do to keep costs down during summer is to use as few lights as possible and to keep the blinds shut, which helps immensely. You can tell the difference, especially in the living room and kitchen.

Getting back to Charlie Rich and his song. I was 19 in 1973, with Mr. Rich being what I would consider over the hill at that point. Although he was only 41, his long silver hair made him appear to be an old man. In actuality, Charlie was around the same age as my parents. That’s what made this song somewhat repulsive to me.

 If I could’ve added extra lines to the song lyrics, it would’ve been two at the end.

“And when we get behind closed doors

Then she lets her hair hang down.

And she makes me glad I’m a man.

Oh, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors.

For that, I’m quite happy,

No one sees me in my Superman jammies.”

Charlie Rich

KNOW IT ALL

“I’ve come across some intelligent people in my life, but never anyone bragging or exploiting their intelligence to impress me.”

Professor Kelp and Miss Purdy (“The Nutty Professor” – 1963)

I wanted to write a short piece about what a “know-it-all” is. I’ve heard family, friends, and strangers refer to individuals with this personality trait, yet I’ve never met a person labeled as such. I’ve come across some intelligent people in my life, but never anyone bragging or exploiting their intelligence to impress me.

Wanting to dig further on this subject, a little voice in the back of my head kept saying, ask Miss Purdy to give you her definition. For those who don’t know her, Miss Purdy is my AI writing helpmate. Thus far, I’ve only used her talents for grammar corrections and to point out my typos and word misspellings.

The Miss Purdy namesake hails from the 1963 movie, “The Nutty Professor,” starring comedian Jerry Lewis as Professor Julius Kemp, and beautiful actress Stella Stevens as the gullible yet intelligent Miss Purdy. This was one of my favorite movies from back then, and what red-blooded American boy didn’t want a blonde-haired Miss Purdy teaching them?

Instructing my helpmate to come up with a condensed explanation for a know-it-all, she offered the following.

“To be called a ‘know-it-all’ is to be recognized as someone who seems to have an answer for everything—often delivered with unwavering confidence, whether or not it’s actually correct. This trait can be both endearing and exasperating, as the know-it-all’s eagerness to share facts may overshadow others’ voices. At its heart, being a know-it-all is less about omniscience and more about the irresistible urge to prove one’s breadth of knowledge, sometimes at the expense of humility or open-mindedness.”

Seeing that interpretation, certain political figures instantly came to mind, yet for the sake of keeping this article free of bias, I’ll not name those elected officials I see fit to wear the title. Readers can fill in the blanks with public servants they view as being know-it-alls, and I’ll use as an example, Minnesota Governor Tim Walz.

Thanks to AI helpmates like Miss Purdy, know-it-alls are now becoming more acceptable in society, with my wife unknowingly being one, in a good sense of the definition. Not owning one of those smartphones, I merely ask Joleen for the answer to a question, and within a few seconds, she has it, after tapping in a few words on her miniaturized keyboard to a non-left-leaning search engine.

No longer can I impress her with bogus information regarding most subjects, as the correct data is readily available at her fingertips. It’s caused me to softly say, “I’m not sure?” instead of shooting from the hip and constantly getting things wrong.

Looking back at Miss Purdy’s explanation of a know-it-all, especially the part about certain people tossing out bogus information like hand grenades, it appears I might’ve known one of these windbags after all, and he’s wearing my pants.

 

HONORARY LOSER

“Getting anything published is reward enough for me.”

Dale Earnhardt

Forty years ago, my wife brought home an entry form for a poetry contest. A friend of hers at work had given it to Joleen. The rules called for submitting as many poems as you like, and that the winning ones would be included in a new book.

At the prodding of her and one of our friends, I mailed in three entries. A few weeks later, I was informed via an official-looking letter that all of my poems were exceptional and that they would be included in this collector’s book.

It was suggested by them that I purchase several to give as gifts to friends and family. Joleen decided on how many, seven in total, at $35 a pop. A check was then mailed off by me.

Months later, with the check being cashed and no poetry books having arrived, I decided to investigate. Turns out the address that the illicit contest hailed from was no longer occupied. It was a tiny cubicle in a group of similar offices.

The phone number was also invalid, and I was told by the police sergeant in that town that this contest was a scam. Thousands of suckers like myself had been conned, and the postal service was looking for those responsible. I told myself that’d never happen again, and it hasn’t.

A few years after that episode, I was taking creative writing classes under Professor Michael Burwell at the University of Alaska – Anchorage. A student brought in an “Anchorage Daily News” newspaper, with it showing they were putting on a creative writing contest. At the insistence of Professor Burwell, he encouraged us all to enter the college student category.

I submitted a story called “Fishin’ With Mike.” It was a non-fiction piece about me taking my Uncle Noel fishing to Jerome Lake on the Kenai Peninsula. Uncle Noel and Aunt Gay were visiting Alaska, from Alabama, that summer, with him looking forward to catching some prize Alaskan fish.

Unbeknownst to me, Jerome Lake had more chiggers than fish, and my uncle was almost eaten alive by the invisible bugs. There wasn’t enough Calomine Lotion in the house to go around after he got back to our place.

That story made the rounds of family members for some time. Mom was upset at me because, during the whole time Noel was walking through the weeds casting his line, I’d slept like a baby on a flat rock.

When the “We Alaskans” section of the newspaper came out telling who’d won the writing contest, my name was listed under “Honorary Mention.” A few friends, including my wife, thought that was great. As somewhat of a joke, I framed the certificate sent to me and kept it on my office wall.

What Joleen and others failed to recognize at the time was that I’m a car guy. Those of us bestowed that title see anything less than first place as unworthy. The late and great NASCAR racer, Dale Earnhardt, coined the phrase, “Second place is the first loser!” In all essence, my honorary mention in writing was the same as an honorary loser.

On the positive side of things, many years later, I submitted that same story to an Alaskan magazine, and it was published. Getting anything published is reward enough for me. You see, I only want people to read my junk, and I ask for nothing more.

These days, having six books under my belt, I receive at least three phone calls a week from people saying that they want to help me market my material. They leave messages, most of them in a foreign-tinted accent, asking that I call them back.

Most, if not all, cannot correctly say my name or the title of the book. Of course, these scammers want my money for their bogus assistance more than anything. They’ve even gone so far as to call my son, believing that they’re talking to me.

Forty years ago, I was bestowed the ASOTY award (Alaska Sucker of the Year) for sending that poetry outfit over $200. The last thing I want is the same title here in Arizona.

Joleen and I will continue to laugh out loud as these solicitors leave crazy messages on our phone recorder. I told her I can’t wait for them to try saying, Alaska Kemosabe, with that being the name of my last book. Life is always full of chuckles here in Lake Havasu City!

SELMA & LHC

“I’ve been asked numerous times over the years, “Do you remember seeing any discrimination?”

Selma, Alabama, and Lake Havasu City, Arizona, are comparable in two respects. Both populations are located near recognizable bodies of water, and each is home to a famous bridge. Havasu and Selma eventually became victims of a severe economic drought, although Selma’s has lasted much longer.

Craig Air Force Base was located in Selma, starting before World War II in 1941. When it closed in 1977, the area’s businesses suffered greatly. New home building all but came to a screeching halt. The Dallas County school system lost a significant number of students, and several teachers and administrators were eventually laid off.

Valiant efforts by politicians and businesspeople to address the issues helped some, yet the city never fully regained the financial stability it once had. From the outside looking in, it appears town leaders have yet to get a firm grasp on how to promote the historical and recreational potential of the area. It also seems, judging by crime statistics, that they’ve become somewhat lax on enforcing crime.

Lake Havasu City is known for the London Bridge and was home to the McCulloch Corporation, which employed hundreds of workers. It was the largest employer in town during that time. When the company moved its operation in 1988 to Tucson, those employees were left without jobs. Some of them relocated to the famous western town, with a significant number also staying in Havasu and toughing things out.

Our local economy was severely wounded for a few years, yet being a popular vacation destination helped overcome the downfall. Fishing and boating were major attractions. Sound conservative leadership from business and political leaders was a major factor in the success, and in the last 20 years, this city has prospered.

I lived in Selma, Alabama, from late 1958 to early 1963. This was right before the civil rights demonstrations and police brutality took place, which was witnessed by millions on mainstream news throughout the country. I’ve been asked numerous times over the years, “Do you remember seeing any discrimination?”

I was quite young, and the only thing I recall was a small ice cream and hot dog stand with a sign saying they did not serve negroes. I only use that word because it was on the sign. A small black boy walked up as we were parked there, and he, along with another child, was turned away.

Not knowing why, I asked my parents, yet I don’t recall their explanation. It wasn’t until later years that I discovered the serious discrimination that wasn’t observed by me as an adolescent.

We left Selma for Lubbock, Texas, in 1963, right before the famous 1965 march, which crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge and went a good 50 miles from Selma to Montgomery. Martin Luther King Jr. headed up that procession of approximately 25,000 protestors. On March 7, 1965, marchers were turned back from crossing the bridge, with that day now labeled “Bloody Sunday.”

The civil rights group walked along US Highway 80 directly in front of where we once lived. That road is now called the “Selma to Montgomery National Historic Trail.” It was on this stretch of asphalt that I remember “chain gangs” cleaning the right-of-way on each side. The workers consisted of both black and white prisoners.

I enjoyed living in Selma. We boated and fished in the Alabama River, with my family feeling safe and comfortable living there, just as I do now in Lake Havasu City. Having a local police force that takes a dim view of crime breakers is a major asset in helping keep things that way in Havasu.

Selma still has a solid place in my heart, and I’d love to see the rebirth of this once vibrant and prosperous city. If I were the mayor of Selma, the first thing I’d do is seek the advice of Lake Havasu City movers and shakers on how to fix things.

My father always told me, “If you want to be successful, emulate the traits of successful people.” I believe that advice directly relates to city leadership as well!