Vintage Red Crown Gas Pumps: Oatman’s Route 66 Treasures Pictrure of the Week - Oatman, Arizona

Vintage Red Crown gas pumps in Oatman, Arizona, along the famed Route 66, evoking the golden era of American road travel.
Time-Standing Still: Vintage Gas Pumps of Oatman – Step back in time with these meticulously preserved ‘Red Crown’ gasoline pumps, a vibrant reminder of Route 66’s golden era, now standing proudly outside Oatman’s antique store — a treasure trove awaiting its next collector.

Let’s talk about a little thing called ROI, or return on investment. In layperson’s terms, it’s like this: if your piggy bank’s diet consists more of withdrawals than deposits, it’s time to put that cash-chewing pastime on a strict no-spend regimen. It’s a handy rule of thumb for deciding whether that avocado toast obsession is a splurge too far and for the bigwigs running the corporate circus. They don’t just steer the company ship; they’re the jugglers, tightrope walkers, and lion tamers tasked with keeping the ROI roaring so the shareholders don’t start looking for a tamer’s head to put in the lion’s mouth.

In the harsh and unforgiving world of mining towns like Oatman, hitting the ROI redline means ‘game over’ for the local economy. The investors pack up their checkbooks, the mines shutter faster than a camera at a ghost sighting, and the workers scatter like tumbleweeds in a dust storm. The town’s pulse slows, and those left behind are like the band on the Titanic—playing on bravely, knowing the finale is nigh.

The tale of Oatman follows a script as predictable as the instructions on a shampoo bottle—minus the rejuvenating wash. It’s a cycle as old as time: boom, bust, and echo. The brightest stars eventually fizzle out, and Oatman’s star, once a beacon of the Gold Rush, was no exception. And just like a one-two punch in a heavyweight bout, Oatman’s knockout came swiftly. First, the mines dried up, and then Route 66 got a face-lift that sidestepped the town altogether. Modern progress, they said, but for Oatman, it was more like a step into obscurity.

The new road followed the railroad’s less adventurous path, leaving Oatman off the beaten path and out of the family vacation route. From the Clampetts to the Griswolds, no one was clamoring to visit an old shanty town at that time—and the Department of Transportation—forgot. Oatman became the town overlooking Mohave Valley with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung on its door.

As the rest of the world hurtled forward into the mid-20th century, Oatman seemed to hit the pause button. The once frenetic streets, echoing with the din of prosperity, fell silent, leaving only the whispering desert winds to tell their tales. For the few who chose to stay, life became a study of survival and simplicity. Oatman’s dwindling population, a patchwork of tenacious old-timers and resourceful souls, found a way to eke out a living from the sparse offerings of a town that had given its all to the golden days of yore.

The rustic sign of Judy's Saloon and Pool Hall under a wall-mounted American flag on the historic Main Street of Oatman, Arizona.
Judy’s Saloon: Echoes of Oatman’s Vibrant Past – Under Oatman’s azure skies, the worn sign of Judy’s Saloon points the way, juxtaposed with a rustic American flag, to a place where the spirit of the West is not just remembered but still lives on.

The rhythm of life here was no longer dictated by the pulsing promise of gold but by the sun’s arc across the sky. The remaining residents turned to the land, coaxing modest gardens from the arid soil, trading with neighbors, and gathering at Judy’s Saloon for some, reliving the glory days in stories told and retold like cherished family heirlooms. They adapted, repurposing old mining tools for mundane tasks and transforming abandoned structures into homes and makeshift businesses that catered to the occasional traveler, lost or adventurous enough to stray from the new Route 66.

In this era, Oatman’s heartbeat was a subtle one, felt rather than heard, in the stoic persistence of its people and the silent dignity of its weathered buildings. The community’s fabric was tightly knit, each person a thread bound to the other by shared history and collective tenacity. Life in Oatman wasn’t about thriving; it was about enduring, about preserving the essence of a town too proud to fade away.

The gasoline pumps featured in this week’s picture tell a story that’s as much about progress as it is about preservation. Red Crown gas, a blend marketed by Standard Oil (now Chevron), was the fuel of choice during the era these pumps would have served. Picture this: classic cars now wear the badge of ‘vintage’ had a dial for drivers to adjust the timing advance. A tank full of high-octane Red Crown meant more zip without the dreaded engine knock. Nowadays, that’s a job delegated to the computers in our cars.

But take a closer look at these gravity-feed pumps. Their pristine condition raises a question—have they stood the test of time, or are they beautifully restored pieces of history? It’s a bit of a mystery, much like the stories they hold. And for my eagle-eyed followers, yes, you’ve already noticed the white roof of the Diner Car peeking out on the left.

I hope you enjoyed this stroll down the quieter lanes of Oatman’s history, but don’t pack away your walking shoes just yet. Next week, we’re dusting off the fairy tale books for Oatman’s own Cinderella story—a happy ending sure to sparkle. If your curiosity about those Red Crown pumps is ticking like a Geiger counter in a gold mine, here’s your treasure map: links to my web page < Jim’s Site> and the Fine Art America page <FAA Link>. And hey, if you find yourself meandering through Oatman in the next few months, pop into that antique store and snoop around for the price tag on those pumps. Don’t forget to spill the beans in the comments below—I think they’d make a lovely gate for the end of my driveway.

Till our next adventure, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw

Techniques: Mastering the Art of Symmetrical Composition

This week’s photo ventures into symmetrical composition, a method that, admittedly, I usually give a wide berth. Symmetry in photography is all about balance, akin to placing two candles at either end of a mantle for that classic, mirror-image elegance. But who says rules can’t be bent for a bit of creative flair?

Regarding the Red Crown gas pumps, symmetry was the starting point, not the destination. I aimed to capture both pumps in a single frame, spaced evenly from the frame’s edges to create a sense of balance. However, I opted for a slight twist rather than a straight-on, textbook symmetric shot. By shifting my position to the right, the pumps became natural frames for the ‘Antiques’ sign in the background, adding layers and depth to the image. It’s like setting those candles at different heights on the mantle; it catches the eye, creates tension, and makes you look twice.

The result? A photo that adheres to symmetry principles while stepping out of the conventional bounds, making for a more intriguing and dynamic composition. Sometimes, bending the rules just a little can lead to a more compelling story being told through the lens. What’s your take on it? Traditional symmetry or a dash of asymmetrical intrigue?

Hidden Americana: Oatman’s Retro Diner Discovery Picture of the Week - Oatman, Arizona

Vintage red and white diner trailer tucked away in an alley of Oatman, Arizona, along historic Route 66.
Retro Diner Charm in Oatman’s Alley – Discover the charm of a hidden vintage diner trailer in Oatman, AZ, a nostalgic slice of Americana nestled in the heart of historic Route 66.

Let’s embark on a journey back to school for a moment. Picture yourself seated in an Arizona grade-school classroom, pencil in hand and a fresh sheet of paper on your desk. Today’s lesson begins with a pop quiz, a staple of any Arizona curriculum. The question: What are the ‘5 Cs’ of Arizona? If you’re rattling off Copper, Cotton, Cattle, Citrus, and Climate, you’ve hit the nail on the head. But let’s add a twist for the history buffs among us. How about substituting with these: Cactus, Canyons, Crackpots, Computer-Chips, Construction, or Canadians?

The original five Cs were, of course, the most significant revenue producers in the state. But that was so 1950s. Although they still bring substantial money into Arizona, they’re a fraction of their past in the new millennium. For example, when I moved to Phoenix in 1972, the Valley of the Sun was wall-to-wall orange groves. Today, they’ve been replaced by tract homes with a token grapefruit tree in the backyard. The cotton fields stretching from Tolleson to Buckeye have suffered the same fate. The stockyards that fowled the air at the east end of Sky Harbor’s runways are now a parade of gleaming corporate offices.

That leaves climate as the surviving C-word, which brings in the Canadians, and we need to build something to keep them occupied while we crackpots are hard at work making computer chips and constructing new houses. This shift from the agricultural and raw materials of yesteryears to the high-tech and tourist-oriented economy of today mirrors the transformational stories of many Arizona towns. Among these tales of change, one town stands out as a vivid illustration of the state’s rich history and relentless march into the future: Oatman.

This once-thriving gold rush town, nestled in the Black Mountains of Arizona, is a relic of an era that defined the state and the American West. The story of Oatman begins with glittering prospects and dreams of fortune as miners flocked to its hills spurred by the promise of gold. The narrative takes us through the wild roller coaster of economic booms and crushing busts. It paints a picture of the indomitable spirit that characterizes so much of Arizona’s history.

As we dive into the tale of Oatman, we find not just a story of a mining town but a reflection of the more extensive American experience—one marked by hope, struggle, and resilience. So, let’s leave the modern suburbs of Phoenix behind for a moment and journey back to when gold was the C-word that captured everyone’s imagination and set the wheels of destiny in motion for places like Oatman.

In the early 20th century, Oatman was awakened from its sleepy existence by a glint of gold, setting the stage for transforming into one of Arizona’s most prosperous boom towns. It all began with prospector Johnny Moss, who first mined the area in the 1860s, staking claims to two mines, one of which bore his name and the other named after Olive Oatman, a young girl with a dramatic story of survival in the Wild West. However, it wasn’t until the early 1900s that Oatman’s destiny as a gold rush town was firmly sealed. The Vivian Mining Company started operations around 1904, and the discovery of significant gold deposits at the Tom Reed Mine in 1908 led to a frenzy of activity. By 1909, the once modest mining camp officially adopted the name Oatman, and the town was on its way to becoming a symbol of the American dream.

Oatman’s heyday spanned the 1910s and 1920s, marked by bustling streets, saloons filled with hopeful miners, and the constant clatter of activity. The town’s population swelled, and the promise of fortune lured people from all walks of life. The construction of Route 66 through Sitgreaves Pass in 1926 further cemented Oatman’s status. The new highway brought a steady stream of travelers, enhancing the town’s prosperity. During these golden years, Oatman was more than a mere mining town; it was a community brimming with hope and vibrancy, where the American spirit of adventure and pursuit of fortune shone brightest. But as with many boom towns, this period of prosperity would not last, setting the stage for the eventual decline that would transform Oatman into a poignant symbol of the transient nature of boom and bust cycles.

An abandoned house with broken windows, standing desolate along Route 66, symbolizing the unfulfilled dreams of past migrants.
Deserted Dreams: The Abandoned Houses of Route 66 – Amidst the whispers of the desert wind, this abandoned homestead on Route 66 stands as a stark reminder that not all journeys along the famed road lead to a promised land.

Each visit to a town steeped in history like Oatman becomes a treasure hunt for me, a quest for the extraordinary hidden amidst the ordinary. It’s not the overt that catches my eye—the comical store signs and typical tourist fare—but rather the subtle whispers of history that resonate most. This penchant for the historically authentic led me down an unassuming alley in Oatman, where the unexpected sight of a diner trailer captured my curiosity. At first glance, its vintage charm made it resemble a repurposed streetcar, but the presence of a hitch told a different story.

This intriguing relic was shrouded in mystery, nestled quietly away from the main thoroughfare. Questions swirled in my mind: When had this diner seen its heyday? Was it a festive cornerstone during Oatman’s booming past, rolled out for special occasions to serve hungry miners and travelers? Or perhaps it’s a more recent addition, a nostalgic nod to the town’s storied history? And who were the faces behind its service window? I could only hope this article might reach someone holding the keys to its past, someone who could unravel the tales this diner trailer has to tell.

Thanks for stopping by and visiting this week. If your curiosity has the better of you (and you’re not a cat), I have larger versions on my site < Jim’s Web Page> and a page on Fine Art America <FAA Link> for closer examination. We’d love your comments about the dinner or other Oatman experiences in the section below. Come back next week when we discuss what happens at the end of good times.

Till next time, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw

Techniques: The Wide-Angle Lens or How to Save a Marriage

Picture this: there I am in Oatman, trying to frame the perfect shot of the diner, and suddenly, I’m playing a game of sardines with my camera. I’m backed up as far as I can go without turning into a human pretzel, and still, the ‘Diner’ sign is playing hard to get with my lens. At that moment, I realized that my lens wasn’t just wide; it was a regular Houdini, adept at escaping tight spots. However, even Houdini met his match, and so did my lens.

Here’s a secret between us (and please, if you ever meet Anne, mum’s the word): I’ve got my eye on a new-to-me wide-zoom lens. How, you ask? Let’s say I’ve recently saved someone from the clutches of the Maytag Man’s bill. My heroic washing machine repair has earned me some unspoken brownie points, which I intend to cash in for a shiny, used lens. My plan? To casually drop hints about this fantastic eBay find, nudging Anne into believing it’s her brilliant idea for my birthday gift. Genius, right?

With this new addition, my camera bag will boast a triumphant trio of lenses stretching from 16 to 200 millimeters, ready to tackle anything from ant-sized armadillos to gargantuan giraffes. So, stay tuned for my next eBay adventure, where I’ll be the stealthy bidder in the shadows, armed with a pocketful of washing machine savings and a dream.

Cool Springs Route 66: Relics and Flags Picture of the Week - Oatman, Arizona

Vintage cars parked under a waving American flag at Cool Springs Station on Route 66, Oatman, Arizona.
Cool Springs Route 66: Relics and Flags – Echoes of the Past: Vintage cars sit silently under the vibrant hues of the American flag at Cool Springs Station, capturing the enduring spirit of Route 66.

The things you do for love. We don’t often get company, but when we do, Queen Anne transforms into a machine as she attempts to disinfect the house from top to bottom. My best chance of staying out of the trash bin or sucked into one of her vacuums is to lock myself in my office. That’s what happened the first week of December. Anne’s sisters came out for a long weekend visit, meaning that she spent the entire month of November scrubbing the walls. She only put down her Comet can for our traditional Thanksgiving dinner at Denny’s.

Before leaving to pick them up from the airport, imagine my surprise when she handed me a crisp $20.00 bill and told me, “Find someplace to spend the night.” It was predictable because we haven’t had enough beds for multiple guests since we sold our Casita (don’t remind me). I decided to drive over to the river and lose my newfound wealth on the Craps table. Since I was going in that direction, I thought I could get some Route 66 shots. And there, my friend is the story of how Oatman became January’s photo project.

In Arizona, there are two long stretches of the original Mother Road. The first and longest is the Seligman – Peach Springs – Kingman section. The other runs from Kingman, through Sitgraves Pass, to Oatman, and then the old bridge crossing the Colorado River. Since I have very few photos of Oatman, I took this route on my way home from Laughlin. I’m glad I did.

The only other time I drove this section of Old Route 66 was during the pandemic. At the time, we were avoiding people, so we didn’t stop to shoot any roadside attractions. However, the Cool Springs Station burned a hole in my lens, so it was a required stop on this trip.

Cool Springs Station and vintage gas pumps along Route 66 with Thimble Mountain in the background in Oatman, Arizona.
Cool Springs: Route 66’s Desert Jewel – Stepping back in time at Cool Springs Station, an iconic stop along Arizona’s stretch of Route 66, nestled against the majestic backdrop of Thimble Mountain.

You’ve likely seen pictures of this place in books or videos about Route 66. With its classic shiny red Mobil gas pumps (there’s a rusty one, too), it’s a perfect backdrop for motorheads to snap a portrait of their car. It hasn’t always been this gleaming jewel on the Mohave Desert floor. It has a history.

Nestled against the rugged backdrop of the Black Mountains, Cool Springs Station has stood as a silent witness to the ebb and flow of Route 66’s storied past. Established in the mid-1920s, Cool Springs was built to serve the burgeoning car culture of America, providing fuel, refreshments, and a welcome respite to weary travelers making their way through the Sitgreaves Pass. Its distinctive stone façade and gleaming gas pumps quickly became a symbol of the optimism and adventure spirit embodied by the Mother Road.

However, the passage of time and the shifting sands of progress were not always kind to Cool Springs. In the late 1960s, as the new interstate system redirected traffic away from Route 66, the station saw a decline, eventually falling into disrepair and was nearly forgotten. It wasn’t until 2001 that Ned Leuchtner, a Route 66 enthusiast, recognized the cultural and historical importance of Cool Springs. He undertook the painstaking task of reconstructing the station, using vintage photos as his guide to ensure authenticity. Today, the station has been restored to its former glory, complete with those classic red Mobil gas pumps and the original stone masonry, standing as a tribute to the enduring legacy of Route 66.

My picture of the month isn’t of the station but the yard art off to the side. The image is a trio of old car shells clustered under an American flag, with the Black Mountains as a background. Although these vehicles are historic, if they had any value, some collectors would have snatched them long ago.

The thing that made me choose this week’s photo is the flapping flag. I shot this midday with lighting that blends the cars and mountains into a bland porridge. The flag becomes the image’s star. It’s almost like the flags that fly over our national cemeteries. The picture says, “These are the fallen heroes of the long Route 66 history.”

We’re tickled that you started this year by spending time with us. If you want to see a larger version of this month’s photo, they are online on my website < Jim’s Page> and Fine Art America <FAA Link>. If you want to buy the Chevy Truck, you can contact Uncle Jim’s Cherry, One Owner, Used Car Emporium by leaving a comment below.

We look forward to your comments, so don’t be bashful. We’ll return with more Oatman and Route 66 photos next week, so don’t touch that dial.

Till then, keep your spirits high and your humor dry.
jw

Techniques: Waiting for the decisive moment.

You might think snapping a flag is a breeze, but let me tell you, it’s more like herding cats on a windy day. I aimed for a balance—not too limp and not overly taut—to convey a sense of movement and life. This required patience and timing, like capturing the peak moment in sports photography. With the wind’s whims as my conductor, I played a game of red and green light, waiting for Mother Nature’s perfect cue—talk about being at the mercy of the elements. In retrospect, a tripod would have saved me from the armache of holding steady through the breezes.

For the technically curious, this was a dance of light and speed. I shot in Aperture Priority mode with an f-stop of 6.1, relying on the bright midday sun to provide a fast enough shutter speed. My main concern was keeping the truck headlights and the flag’s stars and stripes in sharp focus. Choosing the correct f-stop or waiting for the wind is like deciding on the right spice for a stew or the right socks for sandals—not always obvious, but oh-so-important!