Tag: Cochise County

Marble Memories: Tale of the Gadsden Hotel’s graceful stairs Picture of the Week - Douglas, Arizona

Marble Memories - Immerse yourself in the timeless elegance of the Gadsden Hotel's grand marble staircase, inviting you to step into a world of architectural splendor.
Marble Memories – Immerse yourself in the timeless elegance of the Gadsden Hotel’s grand marble staircase, inviting you to enter a world of architectural splendor.

Welcome to our wrap-up of May’s Orphan Photo Project. I hope you’ve been enjoying the show so far. This week’s episode takes us back to Cochise County and the border town of Douglas. Like several towns along our southern border, it has only a quarter of the population of its southern sibling—Agua Prieta. Unless you’re on a mission to score some cheap Kahlua, mescal, or prescription drugs, there are not many reasons to go to Douglas, but a stop at the iconic Gadsden Hotel is one of them.

Yes, I have uncovered another grand hotel from Arizona’s mining days—so indulge me. It was built at the turn of the 20th Century by mining corporations to satisfy old fat cats that traveled here to inspect the books. They couldn’t be expected to sleep in tents like the commoners they paid. These tycoons needed a place to smoke cigars and sip cognac while stuck in the wild.

The Gadsden Hotel’s architecture reflects the elegance and grandeur of the time, with its ornate facade and intricate details. It was designed to provide a luxurious experience for its guests, offering luxury accommodations, fine dining, and entertainment. It was among the first to provide in-room toilets, fresh air ventilation (yes, that sounds like open windows to me, too), and an elevator that stopped on each of its floors. Today, I’m not going to waste time gushing over this fabulous hotel; I’d rather gossip about some of its guests. That’s where all the fun is.

In the early 1900s, during the tumultuous Mexican Revolution, battles often spilled over into the border towns of Arizona. Douglas was no exception. One day, as the sounds of gunfire echoed through the streets, the guests of the Gadsden Hotel sought refuge on the rooftop to witness the spectacle. Among them was the notorious revolutionary leader, Pancho Villa.

In an audacious display of bravado, Villa rode his horse into the hotel and galloped up and down the magnificent staircase that graces the lobby. The clatter of hooves and the cheers of onlookers reverberated throughout the grand halls, creating an unforgettable moment in the hotel’s history.

Legend has it that the spirited Villa, with his characteristic wide-brimmed hat and commanding presence, left a lasting impression on the staff and guests who witnessed this daring act. It became a story that would be told and retold, forever etching Villa’s name into the annals of the Gadsden Hotel. Today’s Gadsden visitors still search for a legendary chip in the white marble.

You want to know what I think. I think Pancho got bored fighting with the Federalies in Agua Prieta and decided to take a break. He rode across the border to enjoy a frozen Margarita at the Gadsden bar—after all; it was May 5th. When the bartender tried to explain that the Margarita hadn’t been invented yet, Pancho went ballistic. He went outside and untied his horse— Siete Leguas—from the parking meter and road back inside in an attempt to trash the place. You know, rock stars. That’s what they do.

In the 1920s, famed radio evangelist Amy Semple McPherson captured the nation’s attention with her charismatic preaching and healing services. However, her life changed dramatically when she mysteriously disappeared from Los Angeles. Authorities launched a widespread search, and the public anxiously awaited any news of her whereabouts. Eventually, Amy reappeared in Douglas—of all places.

There were conflicting accounts and rumors surrounding Amy’s disappearance and reappearance. Some sources suggested that she was kidnapped and held for ransom, while others speculated that she had run off with a lover to a secluded location. According to her account, she claimed to have been abducted and held captive. My legal staff told me there is no historical evidence to put Amy inside the Gadsden, but after being released from the local hospital, where else would someone with all that wealth and fame stay—it certainly wasn’t the YWCA.

The Gadsden Hotel has welcomed several less controversial personalities throughout its history. Among them, aviator Amelia Earhart graced the hotel with her presence during her visits to Douglas in the 1930s. The iconic actor John Wayne frequented the Gadsden Hotel in Arizona. Presidents Franklin D. Roosevelt and Lyndon B. Johnson also left their mark on the hotel during their travels in the Southwest. These visits, spanning different eras, have contributed to the Gadsden’s rich history and enduring allure.

A Glimpse of Grandeur: The Gadsden Hotel's Captivating Facade - Behold the captivating exterior of the Gadsden Hotel, a timeless landmark that exudes elegance and preserves the rich history of Douglas, Arizona.
A Glimpse of Grandeur: The Gadsden Hotel’s Captivating Facade – Behold the captivating exterior of the Gadsden Hotel. This timeless landmark exudes elegance and preserves the rich history of Douglas, Arizona.

We hope you’ve enjoyed hearing the fascinating Arizona stories as we end our journey through May’s Orphan Photo Project. As usual, you can see the larger version of Marble Memories by following this link to the web page: (). As we bid farewell to the Gadsden Hotel, we invite you to join us next week when we embark on a new adventure. Until then, thank you for joining us on this journey, and Queen Anne and I can’t wait to share more with you soon.

Until next time
jw

Technique

Capturing the essence of Gadsden’s famous staircase presented a unique challenge. Instead of the typical head-on view, I wanted to emphasize the polished marble steps and the potential hazard they posed to Pancho Villa’s horse, Siete Leguas. To achieve this, I opted for a wide-angle lens and positioned myself low at the left side of the marble waterfall, shooting upwards towards the bank of stained glass windows. The dim lighting inside the Gadsden lobby required a higher ISO of 2500, and I stopped down the lens to f/6.3 to ensure everything was in focus. I captured a handheld shot at 1/15th of a second in the low light conditions. Remember to hold your breath to minimize camera shake in challenging situations like this.

Vintage Charm: A Festive Window Display Bisbee, Arizona

A festive window display showcasing a vintage Chambers gas stove and Christmas decorations.
Vintage Charm – Step back in time with a charming window display featuring a vintage Chambers gas stove and festive Christmas decor.

Prepare to embark on a mouthwatering adventure as we take a bite out of Bisbee’s culinary scene. My first visit to the old mining town was on a double date with another couple. In the Phoenix paper, we read a feature story about the Copper Queen Hotel restoration that convinced us to explore it firsthand. After checking into the hotel, Dick and I went out to find a beer while the girls refreshed themselves. We only walked a block to the Brewery Gulch corner before we were overcome with the aroma of tortillas fresh off the press. We went inside the tortilleria and bought a half dozen—still warm—a couple of Fantas and a stick of butter. Since there weren’t any tables, we sat on the front stairs, let the butter melt on the warm corn delicacies, and then wolfed them down in a few bites. That delightful moment sealed my love affair with Bisbee.

Let’s be honest; I’m a foodie. I know that because when we redid our kitchen, I insisted on a six-burner gas stove; I replaced my college-era Farah Fawcett poster with one of Alton Brown; I buy cookbooks and never use them. My cupboard is full of spice jars arranged in alphabetical order. Maybe, one of the reasons why Queen Anne and I have stayed together for 35 years is a vow that she cooed on a date, “You cook, and I’ll clean.” By sharing my dirty little secret with you, I hope you’ll understand why we try to discover the best local cuisines during our overnight photo trips. As I’ve previously written, it disappoints us when our choices are limited to Burger King, Taco Bell, or Pizza Hut. Bisbee doesn’t disappoint.

When I checked TripAdvisor this morning, there were over 30 Bisbee restaurants, and the list didn’t include the dozen or so food trucks operating in Cochise County. That’s too much food for one man to tackle, so I’ll share a selection of places that Queen Anne and I recommend.

Breakfast— Bisbee Breakfast Club (TripAdvisor #3): Start your day with a hearty breakfast at the Bisbee Breakfast Club, a must-visit spot. This local favorite serves delicious breakfast and brunch options, including pancakes, omelets, and breakfast burritos. The Breakfast Club is down Highway 80 in Lowell at the head of Erie Street.

Lunch—Le Cornucopia Café (TripAdvisor #1): An American café that features soups and sandwiches. Its customers rave about the fresh ingredients, generous proportions, and friendly staff. The café is located downtown on the main street (In last week’s picture, it’s the third building from the left). They’re open for lunch on most weekdays, dinners on Friday and Saturday, and Sunday Brunch.

Dinner—Café Roka (TripAdvisor #2): Known for its upscale dining experience, Café Roka offers a seasonal menu featuring creative fusion cuisine. Their dishes incorporate local ingredients and flavors, resulting in a memorable culinary experience. This is my go-to spot for an upscale dinner in Bisbee. While it leans toward the pricier side, it’s a YOLO experience. Café Roka is also on Bisbee’s main street, almost directly across from Le Cornucopia.

Bar Food— Old Bisbee Brewing Company (TripAdvisor # 8): If you’re a beer enthusiast, stop by Old Bisbee Brewing Company. This local brewery offers a range of handcrafted beers, including IPAs, lagers, and seasonal brews. Pair your beer with their pub-style food for a satisfying meal. The brewing company is a short walk-up Brewery Gulch.

Mexican—If you’re looking for authentic Mexican food, Douglas and Agua Prieta are only 30 miles away, and Naco is even closer. You can’t get any more authentic Mexican food than in Mexico—where they just call it food. As a word of caution, stay away from unbottled water and ice, and wear a bulletproof vest.

Before I move on, there’s one more place I think you should experience. It’s the Spirit Room at the Copper Queen Hotel. The restaurant is low on the TripAdvisor totem pole because the food isn’t inspiring, but I feel that the hotel’s grand history and mystique are food for the soul, so you should try it at least once.

You may wonder what sparked our appetite to delve into the delectable world of Bisbee’s culinary scene. Well, let me introduce you to this week’s featured image—Vintage Charm: A Festive Window Display—a captivating glimpse into the heart of Bisbee’s gastronomic heritage. This charming image invites us to take a step back in time, where the centerpiece is an old Chambers 36″ wide gas stove, an emblem of vintage cooking prowess. With its unique features, including the pointed handles and the accompanying seasonal cookware, this snapshot serves as a delicious reminder of the rich traditions and joyous moments associated with home-cooked meals. Wouldn’t this be the perfect gift for a chef with a retro kitchen?

The historic Phelps Dodge Company Store, an Art-Deco gem, with an American flag waving proudly.
Art-Deco Delight: The Historic Phelps Dodge Company Store – A glimpse of the historic Phelps Dodge Company Store, a stunning Art-Deco building adorned with an American flag.

As we bid farewell to Bisbee’s culinary adventure, we end our month-long exploration of this charming town. We’ve taken a Technicolor stroll down Tombstone Canyon, delved into the fascinating history of Bisbee’s Pythian Castle, immersed ourselves in the vibrant art scene, and marveled at the exhilarating coaster races and stair climb. It’s been a captivating journey filled with diverse stories and visuals. But fear not; our exploration doesn’t end here. Next week, we’ll embark on a new project, uncovering the secrets and wonders of a different location and theme. So stay tuned for more exciting adventures! In the meantime, don’t forget to check out the larger version of the captivating Vintage Charm: A Festive Window Display photo on its webpage by clicking here. We hope you’ve enjoyed our Bisbee tour and that it inspired you to visit this great town.

Till next time
jw

Heart of Bisbee Bisbee, Arizona

A view of Bisbee's Main Street, with its colorful storefronts, snow-capped mountains, and decorative lights.
Discover the heart and soul of Bisbee on its Main Street, where history, culture, and charm come together uniquely and unforgettably.

You should know that I may be a sports legend of sorts. When my family moved to California in 1960, we lived in a rental home in Sylmar. Our street was at the west end of the San Gabriel Mountains, and it was so steep we couldn’t play ball sports because any balls that got away rolled down into the San Fernando Valley and wound up in Hansen Dam Lake. So, we played a lot of tetherball and invented our fun.

On a sunny summer morning, my friends on the block were hanging out in my front yard trying to fix my sister’s roller skates—the metal ones that you adjusted to fit on your shoes. One of them had come apart, and as hard as we tried, it wouldn’t go back together. One of the boys said, “I got an idea.” He ran to his garage and returned with a hammer, some nails, and a scrap piece of 2×4. He quickly nailed the skate halves to each end of the board. Once he secured the skate, he walked to the top of the street, sat down on the contraption, and tried to ride it down the sidewalk. Of course, he immediately fell off, but the game was on. We lined up for our turn to see who’d go the furthest before getting a personal dose of road rash—the red badge of courage. It’s a good thing that it never occurred to us to stand on the stupid thing, and that’s probably why I’m alive today. Within a month, pictures of missing roller skates appeared on milk cartons all over LA. For all I know, we may have been the brain trust that invented skateboards, but my real point is: You make do with what you have.

Think about it—it’s a worldwide truth. In the frozen north, they slide rocks across the ice to show people where to sweep. New Zealanders either race or jump off objects depending on whether or not the objects move. Scottish highlanders wear skirts so they can chuck telephone poles. So, it’s unsurprising that Bisbeeites turned their hills into sports fields.

Take this week’s featured image, called Heart of Bisbee. It was taken at the bottom of Bisbee’s Tombstone Canyon, looking up the hill. It’s a serene photo of Bisbee’s shopping district. There’s little traffic and just a few people walking. Imagine fully grown adults riding in gravity-powered oversized cigars hurtling around the corners, trying to achieve the fastest downhill time. That happens during Bisbee’s 4th of July celebrations, where the highlight event is the Coaster Race. Unfortunately, the race was suspended during the Covid pandemic and canceled in 2022 due to staffing shortages, but organizers are working hard this year to ensure the race returns.

The Coaster Race is an actual test of skill, courage, and homemade engineering. It has been a Bisbee tradition since 1969, making it the country’s second-oldest running soap box derby. The rules are simple: racers must build their cars from scratch and be powered only by gravity. The race begins at the top of Tombstone Canyon and winds down the steep and twisting street, with racers reaching up to 40 mph speeds. Spectators line the sidewalks to watch the cars zoom by, and the excitement is palpable.

Over the years, the Coaster Race has attracted some notable participants, including former Arizona Governor Bruce Babbitt and the late comedian Gallagher. The race has also had its share of mishaps and close calls. In 1980, tragedy marred the race when a racecar careened onto the sidewalk, killing two bystanders. In response, organizers revised the rules and shortened the course to prevent future accidents. Despite the dangers, the Coaster Race remains a beloved Bisbee tradition, and racers and spectators look forward to it yearly.

A staircase in Bisbee leading up to an adventure with railings on each side and a rosemary bush in the corner.
Bisbee is full of unique outdoor activities, including climbing up the many flights of stairs throughout the town.

But wait, there’s more. May I direct your attention to this week’s other photo— Bisbee’s Stairway Adventure—shows an absurd flight of stairs? You already know about my step affliction, so I won’t burden you with that tirade again. I’m out of breath just looking at it. They may seem innocent enough, but they’re only part of a sinister foot race called the Bisbee 1000 Great Stair Climb. The grueling event occurs on the third Saturday of October each year and consists of running up nine sets of stairs, totaling 1,034 steps, over a distance of 4.5 miles. The race starts in downtown Bisbee and winds up the steep hills and through the narrow alleyways of Old Bisbee. The race is so famous that the entries are limited to 1,500 runners. The current record holder is Eriks Zars, who, in 2016, managed to complete the race in less than 23 minutes. It’s an impressive feat that only the most dedicated or insane athletes attempt.

If you want something unique and exciting in Bisbee, consider planning your trip around the Coaster Race in July or the Stair Climb in October. These events are truly one-of-a-kind and will give you an unforgettable taste of Bisbee’s adventurous spirit. Of course, if you prefer a more relaxed activity, you can always try the annual Ghost Hunt. Whatever you choose, I’m confident you’ll enjoy visiting Bisbee and experiencing all it offers. And don’t forget to click here to see a larger version of Heart of Bisbee, and join us next week as we wrap up our April Bisbee tour.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

It’s only April, and we’ve already had our first snake sighting—well, sort of. Queen Anne found a shed snake skin on the side of the house on Saturday. It was so small you had to move rocks to see it, and it didn’t have a pattern, so I think it was from a Garter Snake. In any case, I’m hoping it’s our snake-in-the-yard for 2023.

Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon Bisbee, Arizona

Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon - A group strolling down the sidewalk on Bisbee's colorful main street-Tombstone Canyon.
Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon – A group strolling down the sidewalk on Bisbee’s colorful main street-Tombstone Canyon.

Welcome back to a new month and a new project! To play a joke on you, I almost sent out a blank post yesterday for April Fools. But, being the clever person you are, I deduced that you’d be too smart to fall for it. So then, I switched days on you and almost sent the prank out this morning, but I realized that you, a person of superior intelligence, wouldn’t be tricked by that ruse, either. Instead, I fooled you and wrote this new article, and you never saw it coming—HA! Inconceivable! Happy April Fools’ Day! – (thanks, Rob)

This month, Queen Anne and I will drag you back to Cochise County and Bisbee because we have a soft spot for this little mining town nestled in the Mule Mountains. Of all of Arizona’s ghost towns, Bisbee has been our favorite since our first visit, sticking with us like a catchy tune you can’t get out of your head. With its mile-high elevation, the weather’s usually pleasant, even in the hot summer months—as if Mother Nature herself turned down the thermostat. Instead of decaying wood shacks, Bisbee’s structures were built to last, and most of them are still standing, like proud survivors of a bygone era. The town boasts a thriving art community and a wide variety of shops, restaurants, and architecture. Oh, and let’s not forget the Copper Queen Hotel, once the poshest place to rest your head between St. Louis and San Francisco, where even its ghosts have high standards.

The Mule Mountains and Bisbee area have a rich natural and geological history. Millions of years ago, the mountains were formed through volcanic activity and shifting tectonic plates, resulting in deposits of copper and turquoise hidden beneath the surface—the juniper-covered Mule Mountains cradle Bisbee, nestled in the folds of its canyons. The region’s unique geological history has also led to the formation of these valuable deposits, shaping Bisbee’s identity as a mining hub. Anne and I enjoy capturing the breathtaking landscape and remnants of the town’s mining heritage. The area’s natural beauty and rich history have made it a true gem in the heart of the Southwest.

Long before the arrival of European settlers and the establishment of Bisbee, the Mule Mountains were already painting a masterpiece in vibrant hues of copper and turquoise, like a natural work of art that only the Hohokam, ancestors of today’s Tohono O’odham and Pima tribes, had the privilege of appreciating up close. These skilled farmers, traders, and artisans were the original caretakers of the land, leaving behind a legacy of pottery, petroglyphs, and other artifacts that offer a glimpse into their rich and colorful culture. The mountains were their muse, the copper and turquoise their paint, and the result is a stunning canvas that still takes our breath away today. The Mule Mountains had always held a special place in the hearts of those who called this land home long before Bisbee became the colorful town it is today.

Bisbee’s European history began in the late 19th century when prospectors discovered rich copper deposits in the Mule Mountains. The town proliferated, attracting miners, merchants, and entrepreneurs worldwide. By the turn of the century, Bisbee was a bustling hub of activity, with saloons, hotels, and shops lining its streets. Bisbee has had its fair share of both good times and bad. The town has a rich history, from its early days as a mining community to its recent incarnation as an artsy, quirky town. But with its history comes some dark moments, such as the Bisbee Deportation of 1917 and the Bisbee Massacre. These events left a lasting impact on the town and its residents, reminding us that Bisbee’s story is not just one of beauty and charm but also struggle and resilience.

This week’s photo is a street scene of Bisbee’s main street—Tombstone Canyon—lined with a row of historic buildings painted in various colors reminiscent of San Francisco’s Painted Ladies. As was expected before WWII, the shops share a common wall to maximize their interior space. The most colorful building is topped with a plaque identifying it as the Letson Block. A small group of pedestrians is walking down the sidewalk; perhaps they’re window-shopping tourists. On the otherwise drab street, reflections of the sun off windows create interesting random rectangles.

Dot's Diner - Don't care to stay in a stuffy ghost-laden hotel. Then head down to the cemetery and stop at Dot's, where you can book a night in an Airstream, Airplane, or Yacht. Besides, it's an excellent place for breakfast in the morning.
Dot’s Diner – Don’t care to stay in a stuffy ghost-laden hotel. Then head down to the cemetery and stop at Dot’s, where you can book a night in an Airstream, Airplane, or Yacht. Besides, it’s an excellent place for breakfast in the morning.

We hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s photo of Bisbee’s Main Street, showcasing Bisbee’s charm. You can view a larger version of Technicolor Stroll Down Tombstone Canyon on the official website by clicking here. Join us next week for another exciting photo and tale from our favorite ghost town. We can’t wait to share our enthusiasm for this quirky, historic town.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

I told you so. If you haven’t gotten out yet, you need to get going. The fields are awash with flowers now. Grab your camera and get out there.

Shell Station Lowell Arizona

Shell Station - A small Shell gas station is located at the north end of Erie Street in Lowell, Arizona.
Shell Station – A small Shell gas station is located at the north end of Erie Street in Lowell, Arizona. The 51 Chevy parked out front was a nice touch. The pumps are priced at 41 cents per gallon if you’re interested.

Maybe I’m doing this wrong, but I’m a photographer first and a storyteller second. When I’m out taking pictures in the field, I don’t have a story in mind that I have to illustrate. My stories come after I’m at my desk trying to explain why I bothered to snap the shutter. Some weeks I struggle to put together two pages of sensible words; other times, my thoughts fly at my keyboard, and my fingers seem to move barely.

When Queen Anne and I happened upon Lowell and made our unplanned stop, I hopped out of the car and started snapping pictures down one side of Erie Street and up the other. When I returned home and processed the images, it was like there was a story in me begging to be told—and these were the perfect pictures to hang them. Like the rest of February, this week’s featured image, Shell Station—has a built-in untold story about my first real job.

I never got an allowance when I was in high school. My dad paid me to work at his drapery factory after school and on weekends. It should have been the perfect arrangement because I was mostly alone. I hated it because it was repetitive work, and it had nothing to do with cars or girls—besides, dad always thought I was goofing off—which I was.

The summer of my graduation, Dave—a good friend of mine—asked if I’d be interested in working evenings at his brother’s gas station. George—the owner—was short a person and needed someone dependable. I went for an interview, and George wanted me to start that very Saturday so that he could learn-me-up on how to pump gas. On Saturday, I was still in bed when the phone rang, and I vaguely remember driving to Van Nuys half dressed.

George’s station was an Atlantic-Richfield (ARCO now) on the northeast corner of Van Nuys and Magnolia Boulevards. It was about three times the size of the Shell Station in this week’s picture. He had three gas islands and two service bays, open 24 hours daily. My salary was only 1.65/hr, but because it was a service station, we got a commission on everything but gas. That’s why we were so happy to wash your windows (blades), check your oil (air filter), and your tire pressure (if you sold a set of tires, you were golden). Although it was common then, we didn’t pressure the customers to buy anything—we’d show them the evidence and let them decide. It worked for me, and I could make an extra $5.00 weekly.

There was another significant aspect of George’s station. I don’t know if you did this in your part of the country when you were a teenager, but cruising was extensive on the west coast. Every Friday night, pimpled face adolescents from across the valley would pile into shiny cars and drive up and down Van Nuys Boulevard. The guys paired up in someone’s hot rod, and the girls rode around in daddy’s T-Bird. Our traffic pattern started in Panorama City, south through Bob’s Big Boy, a turn around at Magnolia, and drove back to the beginning. There wasn’t any point to it other than to see and be seen (and it annoyed older people). If you need an example, run to Blockbuster Video and check out the movie American Graffiti—that was us.

Our station was at the loop’s south end (less than a mile from Bob’s), and we’d have more traffic driving behind the gas station every Friday night than we did out front the rest of the week. Since we were convenient, the kids took advantage of our restrooms. From the horror stories I heard, I’m glad I wasn’t part of the Saturday morning crew that had to clean them.

As you’ve heard, everything shall pass, which also happened with George’s station. As property values rose in the San Fernando Valley, the gas station’s land was so expensive, Atlantic Richfield sold the land to a developer who built a high rise. George got an amicable settlement and a much smaller station in Reseda, which closed at 9:00 pm each day and didn’t open Sundays and holidays. I worked at that station until I got drafted. Besides getting my first drag racing ticket on my way home, I don’t have any interesting stories from there.

You can see a larger version of Shell Station on its Webpage by clicking here. This completes our February visit to Lowell, so we’ll move on next week. Come back and find out where the road led us—won’t you?

Till next time
jw

BTW:

Did you work at a gas station? How do you think they compare to the self-service ones we have today? Do you feel the cars get as much care as they need?

Greyhound Lowell Arizona

Greyhound - An old Scenicruiser waits for passengers outside of the bus terminal.
Greyhound – An old Scenicruiser waits for passengers outside of the bus terminal. Note the prehistoric air conditioning in the window above the dog’s head.

I have ridden my share of buses in my life. I rode in school buses, metro buses, tour buses, trams, and trolleys, but the only time I was a passenger in a Greyhound Scenicruiser—like the one seen in this week’s image (titled Greyhound)—wasn’t one of my most pleasant memories.

That ride happened in 1967. Two other recent graduates and I were in the Army and on our way for a 13-month Korea tour. We flew commercially from Fort Holabird in Baltimore to Seattle on the first part of our journey. The sun was going down as we took off, so it was late in the evening when we landed at SeaTac. As we got off the plane, a military representative greeted us. He looked at our orders and directed us to the buses waiting outside. After retrieving our duffel bags, we headed out into the damp and chilly night.

We looked around and saw a line of Greyhound Scenicruisers. To keep the engines and interior warm, they sat idling at the curb and spewed plumes of white vapor from their exhaust. They looked like steam engines at a railroad depot. As we reached the lead bus, someone ordered, “Stow your duffels in the cargo bay and get on board.” Like good PFCs, we obeyed unquestioningly. Once seated, we waited, and waited, and waited for something to happen.

In case you don’t remember, in 1967, the U.S. was in the midst of the Vietnam War. The military was going through boys like Lucy and Ethel at the chocolate factory. The Army drafted kids off the street, trained them, sent them to Fort Lewis, and put them on the next plane crossing the Pacific. The Army ran an efficient system at SeaTac. They grabbed anyone coming off an airliner in uniform and stuck them on the bus.

We sat in that dark Greyhound for hours before it filled. The door closed, and—around midnight—it started on the short drive to Fort Lewis. I don’t sleep well in moving vehicles, so I was looking forward to a warm cot and sleeping till noon. Silly me; I forgot that I was in the Army. When we got to the base, we had to be processed, which meant we stood in line filling out forms until they handed us a pillow and assigned us a bunk.

I was in a deep sleep and busy sawing my way through a pine log when someone rousted me at 03:30 (I can still remember the military time). “Get up and get dressed. You’re on KP duty this morning,” a strange voice barked in the dark. After donning my last set of clean fatigues, I fell in with a group on their way to the mess hall. I guess someone has to peel enough potatoes to feed hash browns tor a hungry Army base. That morning was the only time I had to do KP in my military career.

We finished up our kitchen duty at lunch. I was dog tired and just wanted to flop on my bunk and recover, but when I got back to the barracks, I was told to change and pack my bag again. I was moving out in an hour. This time, there was no fancy civilian bus waiting. Instead, they loaded us in the back of a duce and a half for the ride to a military air base. As the sun went down again, the Army loaded us on a Northwest 707 that the solders affectionately dubbed the Big Red Tail. We knew and counted the days until we’d board the Red Tail to come home—some of us walked on, but Honor Guards loaded too many in the plane’s cargo bay.

The Scenicruiser in this week’s shot was designed and built by General Motors and was supposed to imitate the luxury stainless steel passenger train cars of the time. GM only manufactured them between 1954 and 1956, but Greyhound used them into the 70s. The buses were supposed to offer a luxury parlor experience and had an onboard toilet (RVs from the past). The early ones were delivered with whitewall tires. Their Achilles heels were that they were too long and too tall to be driven in some states. After Greyhound retired them, they started using ordinary buses that fit within the size restrictions and had enough cargo space for 50 passengers.

Click here to see a larger version of Greyhound on its Webpage. Next week we’ll finish our stroll down Erie Street and the memories it evokes. Be sure to join us then for another tale from Lowell, Arizona.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

Last week, I threw out a challenge for my gearhead friends that know 1957 Chevrolet trivia. Interestingly, all the commenters who had the correct answer (including myself) are older than dirt. Kids these days don’t have the passion.

Bel Air at the Gulf Station Lowell, Arizona

Bel Air at the Gulf Station - a 1957 four door Chevy Bel Air waits for gas at the Gulf Station in Lowell, Arizona.
Bel Air at the Gulf Station – 1957 four door Chevy Bel Air waits for gas at the Gulf Station in Lowell, Arizona.

My lifelong love affair with cars runs so deep I’m sure I was born wearing aviator sunglasses and a pair of black Italian leather driving gloves—the kind with knuckle holes. My earliest memories are of toy cars from my parents, the countless scale model kits I built in my room, and the peddle car I had when we lived on the steepest hill in Pittsburg. At age five, I learned to drive it with my feet off the peddles so it could go faster. I held on for dear life and eventually got around the corner at the bottom without lifting (for the uninitiated, that means not scuffing your shoes along the sidewalk). Of course, even then, I complained about the dreaded push back up the hill.

My dad and Uncle Bunny (Yeah, that’s right. His real name was Charles, but everyone called him Bunny) came home one Saturday when I was thirteen with a beater 51 Ford sedan. It was less than ten years old but already considered junk. Dad proclaimed, “If you can fix it, you can have it.” He handed me a pair of pliers and a flathead screwdriver. I had no mechanical training and no idea what to do. After unsuccessfully trying to remove one of the head bolts from the old flathead V8, I gave up. The coupe sat silently in our garage for years.

I did find a use for it eventually. One day I was walking in our alley from school when I spotted a trash can overflowing with Playboy magazines. I don’t know who threw them out, but it was a gold mine for a 13-year-old. I scooped up as many as I could carry and stashed them in the back seat of my Ford when I got home. My little friends and I spent countless hours pouring over those articles until we wore out the magazine staples. I suppose that’s when my dirty old-man training began.

I guess that’s why I’m so delighted to find a place like Lowell and its open air museum showcasing things from my past. For example, when I look at this week’s picture—called Bel Air at the Gulf Station—I see the 57 Chevy and remember cruising through Bob’s Big Boy in a 58 Ford my cousin drove that dad bought us. Clydie would pull a couple of plug wires off, so it had a loping idle. It didn’t bother him that the car reeked of unburned fuel or that the guys with real hot rods were wise to his scam. It was Clydie’s moment in the sun. There are so many stories about that 58 and my cousin Clydie it would fill a whole chapter in my autobiography.

We never had Gulf or Sunoco gas stations on the west coast. Our premium gas was Chevron Supreme. I became a fan-boy when Gulf sponsored the winning Fords and Porches at Le Mans. If there were a Gulf station within a hundred miles of my house, I would have gone out of my way to fill my tank. Unfortunately, Gulf Oil merged with Standard oil in 1986, and their stations are now Chevron and don’t sponsor racecars. Maybe that’s why there is a Chevron sign on the orange building, which otherwise seems out of place.

I feel there are a couple of errors in this presentation. The first is that Chevrolet is a four-door, and no self respecting greaser would own a four-door. Even our friend Fred once owned a 2-door (maybe he’ll share a photo with us). However, 57 Chevy’s are the pinnacle year for collectors, and they have cherry-picked them off the market. I doubt that there are any more hiding in barns somewhere in America.

The other error is a Pepsi and 7Up machine, but not a Coca Cola box. Unless you lived in Utah, no one drank anything other than Coke. Long before In-N-Out, Bob’s had a gorilla menu, and you could order a Coke with a shot of vanilla or cherry flavor. I knew all of that hip stuff.

You can see a larger version of Bel Air at the Gulf Station on its Webpage by clicking here. There’s more to see along Erie Street, so don’t forget to come back next week for another story.

Till next time
jw

BTW:

There is a gold star waiting for the foreheads of anyone —except for Fred—who can tell where the gas went into a 1957 Chevrolet.