In my initial launch of this blog, I asked for feedback as to how I could make it better. To my astonishment, people wanted to know more about me as a person and some of my history. Well, some things are best unpublished and left buried, but I have always wanted to record my life for my family and posterity so this gives me my perfect opening. I truthfully don't know how to proceed, so I have opened this category called "Recollections". There is no preconceived plan other than to state memories in a somewhat chronological order. I will attempt to not embellish or "create" history. The entry will be place and year and recollection as my memory serves me. The year in some cases will be best guess. Entries to the journal will not be all at one time, but rather sporadically as recollections come to mind. If anyone reading this remembers things differently, please let me know and we can share memories and sort it out. Years pass and memories can get fuzzy, so please keep that in mind.
Here goes:
Recollection Tucson, Arizona 1938
I might as well start here as I was born in 1938, in Tucson, Arizona, at St. Mary' hospital.
My parents gave me the regal name of Harry Edward Lundquist III.
However, the legend is that when my dad received the hospital bill, he said he was going to call me "Bill" until the bill got paid. Another story is that my aunt Opal said, "There's enough damn Harrys in that family, I'm calling him Bill." Whatever the truth is I only know I've been called Bill to this day. Draw your own conclusions.
I am a third generation native. My dad was named Harry
as was his dad, my paternal grandfather.
My dad's father was born in Central City, Colorado, which was a rough and tumble Colorado mining town with a railroad. My paternal great grandfather, Ed,
had migrated from Oskersham, Sweden, and was in charge of operating the Central City Roundhouse which was a big contraption that turned steam engines around so they could go the other way. Right next door to Central City was a small settlement named Nevadaville, where my paternal grandmother, Alice Weisbeck, was born.
My grandfather met Alice and they eloped to Willcox, Arizona, where my grandfather continued working for the railroad.
My mother, Edith Elnora Wootan,
was born in 1916 at Klondyke, Arizona.
and my dad was born in 1910 at Esmond, Arizona, a train water stop between Tucson and Benson run by my Grandfather, Harry.
My mother's mother (my grandmother), Laura Howard,
was born in Fort Thomas, Arizona, in 1892.
My mother's father, Thomas Kane Wootan (my grandfather),
was born in Llano County, Texas, in 1882. The Wootan clan led by my great grandfather and great grand mother, William E. Wootan and Sarah (Hickman) Wootan
eventually migrated to Arizona in the proverbial covered wagon in the late 1800s stopping for a spell in Solomanville and later settling in the Aravaipa valley where, among other things, they struggled along in the ranching business. The so-called town in the Aravaipa valley was Klondyke, a one store,
Recollection Globe, Az, 1956
TURNING POINT One fine day in my senior year, I was stopped in the hall of Globe high school and was upbraided by the typing teacher, Miss Hachtel, for some infraction I don't remember. After chewing me out, she took me to her room and wanted to know if I would be interested in an after school job. She said that First National Bank of Arizona was looking for a student for an after school, part time job and had come to her for candidate recommendations. I said "sure" and reported to the bank manager for an interview the next day. On March 1, 1956, he hired me as a trainee for $1.00 an hour. That began an association with the bank that lasted for 38 years. My first assignment was to kill flies. The manager, Max Decker, gave me a jumbo size can of Black Flag and sent me to the back room to do my duty. The room was filled with flies. It looked like a scene from the "Amityville Horror" movie. I survived gassing myself and began training as a bookkeeper. I graduated from high school in May and continued working at the bank throughout the summer, training as a bookkeeper.
TURNING POINT I had planned to go the the University of Arizona in Tucson since most of my family was there. The other reason was because it was the only university in the state. Arizona State College had not been granted university status nor had Northern Arizona College in Flagstaff. My plans changed when Bill Jenkins, assistant manager of the bank, invited me to come to dinner at his home. While his wife cleaned up the dishes, Bill and I went out on the porch to talk about my college plans. He was a graduate of ASC and felt it was a better school than UofA. I remember the analogy he used to describe Arizona State College's status. He showed that ASC had met all the requirements to become a university and the reason it wasn't was purely political. He said, "You can hang a sign around a bull dog's neck that says "Poodle", but it's still a bulldog". He felt that within a year or two it would be a university. He asked if I had any money or scholarships. I told him about the $500 my dad had given me and a small art scholarship I had received from Valley National Bank which wouldn't even cover the books. He said I would need a job and wanted to know if I had any prospects. I didn't so he got up and went into the house for a piece of paper and a pen. He came back out and wrote a short note. Bill then said if I change my mind and would want to try ASC, I should take the paper to his best friend, Ed Carson,
at the Main Office of First National Bank of Arizona in Phoenix. It was an introduction letter. Ed was Bill's best friend and had even introduced Ed to his now wife, Nadine. Ed 's title as I remember was Chief Clerk. Ed rose in the organization through the passing years to the position of Chairman of the Board of First Interstate Bancor which was the holding company for First Interstate Bank (now Wells Fargo). His office was in the circular tower of the First Interstate Bank building in Los Angeles and his home is in Beverly Hills. The Carson Athletic Center which one walks through when going into Kush Field at Sun Devil Stadium is named for Ed and Nadine Carson.
Recollection Phoenix, 1956
The prospect of a job was good enough to make me change my mind and enroll at Arizona State College. TURNING POINT I went to see Ed Carson straight away because I was flat broke. Ed read the note and picked up the phone. A few minutes later a skinny man named Dave Messersmith came to Ed's desk. Ed asked him if he had any openings on the Night Transit crew. Dave said no and Ed informed him that he was now overstaffed. I started immediately. The job's regular hours were brutal from 4pm to 10pm but many times the hours were much longer. Not very conducive to college studies and good grades. The good news was that I was making $1.10 an hour! It was tough working and going to school, and though I finally got my diploma it took me 12 years and a lot of intervening interruptions like marriage and the United States Army.
Recollection Tempe, AZ, 1956
I came to ASU from Globe with a dormitory assignment. The name of the dormitory slips my mind. I was wandering around campus looking for the dorm and stopped to ask a girl where it was located. I told her I was going to be living there but was totally lost. She gave me a strange look but gave me directions. The dorm was located on the site presently occupied by Grady Gammage Auditorium. When I began to check in I noticed a sign that said if I was to have any overnight guests I was required to register her name with the office. I thought that this college living sounded pretty good. It should have dawned on me that there were no other guys around. It seems that I had been assigned to a girls' dorm by mistake. They all got a good laugh out of it at my expense.
Recollection Phoenix, Arizona, 1958
TURNING POINT While getting my hair cut I was reading the Arizona Republic when I came upon an article by Don Dedera called "Coffee Break"
concerning a shoot-out that occurred in a remote Arizona canyon cutting through the Galurio Mountains in 1918. The crux of the story was that two men had been in the Arizona State penitentiary for over 41 years for killing three law officers in that shooting, and he felt that maybe it was time that Arizona re-examined the case with the ultimate goal of parole for the killers. After all, 41 years is a long time. At the time of the article, the average length of prison stay for murder was only 7 years! Something must be wrong according to the author. The article caught my immediate attention because my grandfather was one of the deputies killed in that fight. Dedera concluded by saying that this was the first in a series of articles on the subject shoot-out. It was his goal to dig deep into the case and present information discovered in future articles. The series was about ten articles spanning the next six years which I digested thoroughly. Dedera was giving out information that I didn't know about. My mother had always been very tight-lipped about the affair so I knew practically nothing.
The case concerned a mountain family known simply as the "Powers" by the people of Klondyke. They lived far back in the rugged Galiuros in a log cabin shown in this photo taken in 1985. The photo shows the cabin and the surrounding wilderness.
The family operated a struggling gold mine. The family consisted of the father, Jeff, known as "old man Power", a daughter named Olla and three sons, Tom, John and Charlie.
They were considered to be "hillbillies" who ventured into Klondyke rarely usually to go to the small store for supplies. World War I was fully engaged and America was going to join the fight against the Huns. Tom and John Power were in their mid-twenties and had received their draft notices which were ignored. Charlie volunteered for service and went into the Army. "Old Man Power" was not going to let his sons go fight in a foreign war while they were needed to tend to the mine. It was during this time that the daughter, Olla, mysteriously died at Powers Garden where she lived with her grandmother. The family was not discussing the death with anyone so rumors of all kinds began to abound. Was she murdered? How did a young girl just suddenly die? It caused the Sheriff, Frank McBride, to decide to go into the mountains to question the family. About this time a federal marshall named Frank Haynes arrived on the scene. He wanted to find someone who could guide him to the remote cabin. It was his intention to serve arrest warrants on Tom and John Power for failure to appear for the draft.
Recollection Phoenix, Az, 1959
I remember the first time I ever heard of Viet Nam. By this time, I was what was called an Admin NCO.
Fancy name for a senior clerk and Company Commander's gofer. One of my jobs was to process all NCO's (non-commissioned officers) into Headquarters Company pending further assignment. After meeting with me for the initial in-processing paperwork, an in-coming staff sergeant was leaving my office when I noticed the butt of a pistol sticking out of his back pocket. I told him to come back and give me the pistol as it was a company violation to have a personal weapon on his person. He was very apologetic and handed over a small snub-nosed .38. He explained that he had just returned from Viet Nam where he had been a military advisor. The pistol had been part of his everyday uniform just like socks. He told me all about this mysterious place called Viet Nam and predicted we would be at war there soon. I gave him back his pistol and sent him on his way.
It was after my discharge from active duty from the U.S. Army that the most satisfying event of my overall military experience occurred.
Following my discharge I was placed in the Reserves which required my participation in two weeks "training" each year for two years. Somehow, I got lucky again and was sent to the Presidio in San Francisco for my annual "summer camp". The bank completely approved of my reserve obligation and cooperated without complaint. After surviving a harrowing train ride from Phoenix to San Francisco during which my bags got detoured to another destination, I finally arrived and was checked in. I was assigned to an administrative unit that was manned almost entirely bb civilian women. My "boss" was a long time civil servant who didn't quite know what to do with me. My first assignment was to put stack of 4" x 6" cards in alphabetical order. I was given a room with a large conference table where I could work in private so as not to be interrupted. It took about 10 minutes to complete the difficult task of alphabetizing the cards. I took the clerk by surprise when she looked up and found me back at her desk so soon. She told me to go back to the room and wait for her to give me my next assignment. I did as I was ordered and warmed a chair in the conference room for a while but soon got bored. I noticed the walls were lined with four drawer filing cabinets. They were unlocked. I began pulling files and reading them to pass the time. It was shaping up to be a long two weeks. The cabinets were full of officer personnel files and proved to be fascinating reading. Private stuff that the officers surely wouldn't want a reservist like me perusing. I felt like a "peeping tom" but kept reading anyway. Soon I opened one drawer that had a lot of parchment-like papers stuffed in back of the file-ender. I pulled one out and flattened it on the conference table. It was a citation for bravery in combat for a helicopter pilot. He was being awarded a Bronze Star for actions in Viet Nam. Viet Nam had begun to heat up by this time. I removed the rest of the papers and found that they were all citations for bravery. There were 23 of them. They were mostly Bronze Stars and Air Medals, but included in the group was one Distinguished Service Cross and a Silver Star awarded to a medic for some really incredible acts of bravery. Then I noticed that there were small boxes in the back of the drawer also. They were the medals. I smoothed out each of the citations as best as I could and arranged them on the table. I was beginning to get a bad feeling. I opened each box to determine the type of medal and placed the box on a corresponding citation. They matched perfectly.
I asked the "boss" clerk to come in and explain to me what I had found. Her explanation was appalling. She said they had a very heavy workload and had not had time to get to those citations. In fact, she had forgotten they were even there. My performance in keeping my cool would have won an Oscar, and I politely asked if I could see that these medals got the the various commands of the individual award winners since she didn't have anything else for me to do at the moment. I was familiar with the protocols and the various levels of authority through which these citations would have to pass. She in effect said, "Be my guest".
The chain of command that would have to endorse the citations included the Commanding General of the Presidio. The first day I prepared about a half dozen transmittals and sent them his office for endorsement. The following day, as I suspected it would, the caca hit the fan. A Lieutenant Colonel from the Commanding General's office was standing in front of my boss's desk bright and early demanding to know where these medals and citations had been and why they had been so badly mishandled and delayed. The Commanding General was "mad as hell" and wanted all of the citations on his desk that afternoon. My thoroughly frazzled "boss" burst through the conference room door with a clerk in tow carrying the General's directive. The clerk was to give me whatever assistance I needed to get the medals out and on their way. My new assistant and I went to work. In the due course of our efforts, I told her that it was ironic that the only medal I ever was awarded was the Good Conduct Medal, and that only way I knew about it was by reading the fine print of my discharge orders. No medal was included. If I really wanted it I could go to the PX and buy one. That seemed kind of tacky so I never did. She thought that was pretty funny. We got the job done and the medals went on their way. The boss was so happy to have that thorn out of her side she gave me the rest of the two weeks off. I think she just wanted me out of her sight. So, I just lazed around the City by the Bay until it was time to go home.
About a month after coming home, I received a package in the mail. It was from my "assistant". It was a Good Conduct Medal. I framed that medal, and it hangs in my home today. I wish I had kept her letter as it was a special event to me and now I can't even remember her name.
The final chapter in this episode came about two months later as I was reading the Arizona Republic one morning. There was a story and picture of a Flagstaff native receiving the Silver Star for his actions in Viet Nam. The Citation was printed in its entirety. He was my medic from the back of the drawer. I sometimes wonder how long those citations and medals would have stayed hidden away if it hadn't been for this nosey "two-weeker".
With flashlight in hand I began heading in the direction taken by Jim and Scott. I was shouting their names but received no response. Then suddenly Scott and his horse showed up in my flashlight beam. He was just sitting there on his horse like he was waiting for us to show up. I asked him of Jim's whereabouts and he nonchalantly told me that his dad and the horse had fallen off the mountain. This was alarming news! Scott told me that he thought his dad was OK because he could hear him down below. I hurried to the edge of the ridge but could see nothing but black in the canyon. I yelled at him and he immediately replied and said he was fine but he wasn't so sure about the horse. It sounded like they were about 50 feet below me.
I began picking my way down the steep mountainside in the dark. Jim had a large bag of supplies tied to his saddle the contents of which were scattered everywhere. I remember seeing bacon hanging from the limbs of a small pine.
Once I was satisfied that Jim wasn't injured we started assessing the situation to determine what to do next. The only thing that was certain was that we were not going back up the same way he came down. There was no choice but for Jim to remain on the ledge with the horse until morning. It was getting very cold as the night grew deeper. I climbed back up through the brush and pines and returned to camp leaving Scott where he was so I could find my way back and reported the state of affairs to Marshall and Gary. I gathered some food and a bedroll and returned to where I had left Scott. Down the hill again I went and delivered the bedroll to Jim. I offered to stay with him, but he wouldn't hear of it. I went back to camp with Scott where we ate and discussed Jim's calamity. No solution was evident because we really did not have all the facts.
As the dawn was beginning to show in the east, Marshall, Gary, Scott and I started the little trek back to Jim's ledge. While Gary, Marshall and Scott stayed on top, I made my way back down the steep incline to Jim. He and his horse had slid and tumbled down the mountain for about 100 feet before coming to rest on the ledge. Jim had already been considering the options and the assessment wasn't good. It was too steep to get back up the mountain. Going over the ledge meant a drop of about 50 feet so that was out. The ledge petered out up against the mountain on the right side of the steep slope. No go that way either. On the left end of the ledge was a small cut about three feet deep. Beyond the cut was the mountain side with a slightly gentler slope that the one Jim had fallen down. It looked the most promising even though it was covered with loose shale and rock together with a couple of small pine saplings. Jim took stock of our choices: 1. Just leave the horse to fend for itself; 2. Shoot the horse; 3. Try to get a helicopter in to hoist the horse off the ledge; 4. Try to coax the horse into making a short run for it. He would have to jump the cut and through sheer strength and determination fight the shale and scramble his way to the top. We agreed the first three choices were impossible on any number of levels. So we decided to urge the horse to make the run of its life. He would have to start from a dead standstill, make a one stride run for the cut, jump the cut and somehow fight his way up the shale to the top. We called up to Marshall and told them of the plan. Marshall, Scott and Gary made their way to the hillside where the horse would make his run. Marshall made his way down the hill until he was about ten yards above us by a little pine. Gary was posted a little further up the hill. Both had ropes to help with the extraction.
After salvaging what we could from Jim's downhill fall and having breakfast, we began the trip down into Rattlesnake Canyon to the creek bottom and on for a few miles to Powers Garden wondering "what next". That leg of the trip proved uneventful and we arrived at Powers Garden where the horses were put away in the corrals and we spent the night. The cabin had several box springs scattered around but no mattresses. The next day we saddled up and continued for another five miles to the Power Mine and the cabin where the 1918 shoot-out occurred.
Our little band explored and examined everything we could find and tried to figure out what had occurred there so many decades earlier. Marshall had satisfied his curiosity and we decided to climb out of the canyon and make our way back to the trucks since it was still early in the day. It was a long trip and my butt was already pretty sore since I was not used to riding that much. The agony grew worse with every mile. There came a time when we finally crested the mountain and started down the other side. We could see forever from that lofty position. The Aravaipa Valley and Mount Graham were right there in front of us and it was spectacular. The mountain side was very steep and we made our way through tall pines on a narrow trail. I think I was in the lead, but in any case, I was ahead of Jim. A large pine had fallen across the trail. It appeared to have been lying there for many years. Now, there were two choices of how to get around the dead tree. We could go up the hill and around it or go downhill and get around it that way. It looked to me like previous travelers had opted to go uphill so I started up that way. Jim decided to be contrary and go downhill. Big mistake! Huge! As he rounded the end of the tree, firm footing gave way to steeply slanting rock. Jim's horse's legs flew out from under him and gravity took over. The horse landed heavily driving his nose into the hard rock. Then he began to slide down the rock on his side. There was a steep drop of 10 to 20 feet at the end of the rock and the horse and Jim were heading right at it . Deja Vu all over again! Luckily, Jim was not injured and the horse stopped his slide about 15 feet from the edge. We were unsure if the horse was badly hurt or not. He was lying on his side breathing heavily and had a bloody mouth. Jim tried to get him to his feet, but he seemed content to stay right where he was. There was concern that he might continue his slide if he tried to get up. Marshall got his rope out and tied it around the horses's neck then around a small tree. After considerable urging and cussin' the horse scrambled to his feet and headed for Marshall again! Marshall dodged him and the horse was stopped be the rope and Jim. His examination of the horse showed that the bit had been bent into the mouth causing some injury to the gums. Jim was able to bend the bit back to its original position relieving the horses's discomfort. Aside from an assortment of new scratches the horse was ready to ride. Fortunately, there were no more incidents and we were able to get to the trucks and make it back to Phoenix in one piece more or less.
Pinetop, Arizona, 1987
The bank manager of the Pinetop office announced his retirement and Ed said the job was mine if I still wanted it. After discussing the offer with Bonnie, we decided to make the move. I spent several years in Pinetop while I was with First Interstate Bank. After a few months as manage they made me a District Manager. I was responsible for the branch offices in Pinetop, Showlow, Springerville, Payson, Globe and Safford. We lived in Pinetop Country Club and had a nice place deep in the pines. I had a large studio with a pot-bellied stove and a great adjustable skylight. I spent a lot of time in that room.
as was his dad, my paternal grandfather.
My dad's father was born in Central City, Colorado, which was a rough and tumble Colorado mining town with a railroad. My paternal great grandfather, Ed,
had migrated from Oskersham, Sweden, and was in charge of operating the Central City Roundhouse which was a big contraption that turned steam engines around so they could go the other way. Right next door to Central City was a small settlement named Nevadaville, where my paternal grandmother, Alice Weisbeck, was born.
My grandfather met Alice and they eloped to Willcox, Arizona, where my grandfather continued working for the railroad.
My mother, Edith Elnora Wootan,
was born in 1916 at Klondyke, Arizona.
and my dad was born in 1910 at Esmond, Arizona, a train water stop between Tucson and Benson run by my Grandfather, Harry.
was born in Fort Thomas, Arizona, in 1892.
My mother's father, Thomas Kane Wootan (my grandfather),
was born in Llano County, Texas, in 1882. The Wootan clan led by my great grandfather and great grand mother, William E. Wootan and Sarah (Hickman) Wootan
eventually migrated to Arizona in the proverbial covered wagon in the late 1800s stopping for a spell in Solomanville and later settling in the Aravaipa valley where, among other things, they struggled along in the ranching business. The so-called town in the Aravaipa valley was Klondyke, a one store,
one school house, one small church kind of place. The name, Klondyke, was supposedly given to the settlement by my great uncle, Frank Wootan. Thomas Kane Wootan and Laura had five children, Chris, Opal, Vera, Edith and Thomas Kane (born after my grandfather died). This family picnic photo shows Kane, Laura and the four daughters. My mother, Edith, is sitting in front eating watermelon.
Recollection Tucson, Az, 1939
My cousin, Jim Shepard ,
was born on August 18, 1939, to my Aunt Opal.
She was my mother's older sister. Jim had no brothers or sisters nor did I. He was my first playmate and has remained my close friend now for going on 79 years. The following photos show the two of us as little kids and as current fishing buddies.
Recollection Globe, Az, 1943
My earliest memories are of getting an electric train for Christmas. Royal Blue in color. It was a passenger train and I was a little disappointed as I wanted a freight train. My cousin Jim got a really neat freight train, which I thought was a lot more exciting than the passenger train. About that time I also had my tonsils taken out. My first trip to the hospital. I can still remember the doctors putting me to sleep for the surgery.
Recollection Willcox, Az, 1944
I attended Kindergarten in a small one-room building made of red brick. Funny how you can recall things. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Eikenberry. My mother worked as a waitress at the Marilyn Cafe. Before she left for work, she would make a fried egg sandwich for my sack lunch. I walked to school. Imagine that, I walked to school at the age of 5. Today, my mother would have been thrown in jail for child neglect. The world is changing every day and sometimes not for the better. Enough philosophy. One of my friends was a little Mexican boy. I don't remember his name. He seldom had a lunch and I would give him half my egg sandwich. Sometimes when he did have something to eat we would swap. He really liked those egg sandwiches.
This is about the time that I can recall stories from my mother, aunts and uncles concerning how my grandfather was killed by WWI draft dodgers.
They never elaborated much, but I knew the villains were locked up somewhere and they were never going to be released. Being five years old, it never really registered on me at the time.
was born on August 18, 1939, to my Aunt Opal.
She was my mother's older sister. Jim had no brothers or sisters nor did I. He was my first playmate and has remained my close friend now for going on 79 years. The following photos show the two of us as little kids and as current fishing buddies.
Jim will pop up frequently in these recollections.
Recollection Globe, Az, 1943
My earliest memories are of getting an electric train for Christmas. Royal Blue in color. It was a passenger train and I was a little disappointed as I wanted a freight train. My cousin Jim got a really neat freight train, which I thought was a lot more exciting than the passenger train. About that time I also had my tonsils taken out. My first trip to the hospital. I can still remember the doctors putting me to sleep for the surgery.
Recollection Willcox, Az, 1944
I attended Kindergarten in a small one-room building made of red brick. Funny how you can recall things. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Eikenberry. My mother worked as a waitress at the Marilyn Cafe. Before she left for work, she would make a fried egg sandwich for my sack lunch. I walked to school. Imagine that, I walked to school at the age of 5. Today, my mother would have been thrown in jail for child neglect. The world is changing every day and sometimes not for the better. Enough philosophy. One of my friends was a little Mexican boy. I don't remember his name. He seldom had a lunch and I would give him half my egg sandwich. Sometimes when he did have something to eat we would swap. He really liked those egg sandwiches.
This is about the time that I can recall stories from my mother, aunts and uncles concerning how my grandfather was killed by WWI draft dodgers.
They never elaborated much, but I knew the villains were locked up somewhere and they were never going to be released. Being five years old, it never really registered on me at the time.
Recollection Willcox, Az, 1944 -
My dad got a job as an automobile mechanic in San Leandro, Ca. He left my mother and me in Willcox and went to California. I remember him hugging me and crying because he had to go. Mom and I followed him later that year making the journey by train. I remember that the train was crammed with soldiers, sailors and Marines. I had a little toy airplane made of paper. It was a P-38.
We had a lot of paper toys then because most metals were going to make bullets and bombs for the war effort. On the train, we were seated with a lot of servicemen. I remember one of them telling me all about the P-38 and how it was helping to win the war. It's like it was yesterday.
Recollection San Leandro, California, 1945
My dad got a job as an automobile mechanic in San Leandro, Ca. He left my mother and me in Willcox and went to California. I remember him hugging me and crying because he had to go. Mom and I followed him later that year making the journey by train. I remember that the train was crammed with soldiers, sailors and Marines. I had a little toy airplane made of paper. It was a P-38.
We had a lot of paper toys then because most metals were going to make bullets and bombs for the war effort. On the train, we were seated with a lot of servicemen. I remember one of them telling me all about the P-38 and how it was helping to win the war. It's like it was yesterday.
Recollection San Leandro, California, 1945
We were called out of class to the playground and were told President Roosevelt had died. Classes were canceled for the rest of the day. I was in Second Grade. Everyone was very sad and we were excused for the rest of the day.
Recollection San Leandro, California, 1945
My dad came home from work early one day and told us the war was over. That day we drove up to Napa to see my Aunt Vera and Uncle Wallace and their two girls, Phillis and Rene. We went through San Francisco, and I can remember all the celebrations that were going on at the time. A sailor was waving at us from a passing bus when the wind blew his hat off. My dad stopped the car to pick up the cap which he gave to me. I had that cap for many years. I often wonder what happened to it. If I ever get to Heaven, I'm going ask to see all the stuff I've ever lost. I bet the pile will be as big as a mountain!
Recollection Monterey, California, 1946
Dad had taken a new job in Monterey, so we packed up and moved again. Dad rented a house at 146 Hawthorne in an area called New Monterey although there was nothing new about it. I made a friend down the block who had the odd name of Rasmoe.
This time we stayed in the same area for five years. It was a fun time in my life as there were so many neat things to do most of which had something related to the ocean. The canneries were in full operation and we lived about three blocks from Cannery Row. It was a very odoriferous (assuming that is a real word) place. The smell of fish processing is not pleasant! However, fishing was a major industry for the area and the smell was really the smell of money!
Recollection Pacific Grove, California, 1948
We moved again about a mile down the road to Pacific Grove, one of the nicest places on the planet. Dad rented a little house at 420 E. Eardly Ave.
No liquor stores allowed in the city limits but there seemed to be a church on every corner.
Recollection Pacific Grove, California, 1949
TURNING POINT My fifth grade art teacher had each of us try to do a self-portrait from a small mirror. She gave me an A+. She probably gave everyone the same grade, but I was very pleased and couldn't wait to get home and show my parents. My Dad was very supportive. He immediately went to the drug store and bought some typing paper and a small set of colored pencils. I began copying the pictures in a "Red Ryder" comic book.
I couldn't wait for the next issue to come out so I could draw some more. In time, I could draw Red Ryder, Little Beaver, the Duchess and Red's horse, Thunder, as well as the author and artist, Fred Harman, did in the comic strip. I was hooked. I have been drawing and painting ever since.
Recollection Florence, Arizona, 1950
My Dad moved us back to Arizona. He had took a job with my uncle Buck (Jim Shepard's dad) at Baker's Garage in Florence. Florence was a far cry from Pacific Grove. Its main industry was the State Penitentiary where my grandfather's killers were permanent residents. I entered elementary school in the middle of Sixth Grade. I had to take Spanish because it was required. Having arrived in the middle of the year, I was at a real disadvantage, but my teacher, Mr. Ortega, had pity on me and passed me anyway. A few years ago I met a fellow Arizona State University alumni named Ed Mendoza who, as it turned out, was in my 6th grade class in Florence. One of those "small world" things. A good thing about being in Florence was being close to Jim. Jim is the subject of my painting, "Waiting His Turn"
Recollection San Leandro, California, 1945
My dad came home from work early one day and told us the war was over. That day we drove up to Napa to see my Aunt Vera and Uncle Wallace and their two girls, Phillis and Rene. We went through San Francisco, and I can remember all the celebrations that were going on at the time. A sailor was waving at us from a passing bus when the wind blew his hat off. My dad stopped the car to pick up the cap which he gave to me. I had that cap for many years. I often wonder what happened to it. If I ever get to Heaven, I'm going ask to see all the stuff I've ever lost. I bet the pile will be as big as a mountain!
Recollection Monterey, California, 1946
Dad had taken a new job in Monterey, so we packed up and moved again. Dad rented a house at 146 Hawthorne in an area called New Monterey although there was nothing new about it. I made a friend down the block who had the odd name of Rasmoe.
This time we stayed in the same area for five years. It was a fun time in my life as there were so many neat things to do most of which had something related to the ocean. The canneries were in full operation and we lived about three blocks from Cannery Row. It was a very odoriferous (assuming that is a real word) place. The smell of fish processing is not pleasant! However, fishing was a major industry for the area and the smell was really the smell of money!
Recollection Pacific Grove, California, 1948
We moved again about a mile down the road to Pacific Grove, one of the nicest places on the planet. Dad rented a little house at 420 E. Eardly Ave.
No liquor stores allowed in the city limits but there seemed to be a church on every corner.
Recollection Pacific Grove, California, 1949
TURNING POINT My fifth grade art teacher had each of us try to do a self-portrait from a small mirror. She gave me an A+. She probably gave everyone the same grade, but I was very pleased and couldn't wait to get home and show my parents. My Dad was very supportive. He immediately went to the drug store and bought some typing paper and a small set of colored pencils. I began copying the pictures in a "Red Ryder" comic book.
I couldn't wait for the next issue to come out so I could draw some more. In time, I could draw Red Ryder, Little Beaver, the Duchess and Red's horse, Thunder, as well as the author and artist, Fred Harman, did in the comic strip. I was hooked. I have been drawing and painting ever since.
Recollection Florence, Arizona, 1950
My Dad moved us back to Arizona. He had took a job with my uncle Buck (Jim Shepard's dad) at Baker's Garage in Florence. Florence was a far cry from Pacific Grove. Its main industry was the State Penitentiary where my grandfather's killers were permanent residents. I entered elementary school in the middle of Sixth Grade. I had to take Spanish because it was required. Having arrived in the middle of the year, I was at a real disadvantage, but my teacher, Mr. Ortega, had pity on me and passed me anyway. A few years ago I met a fellow Arizona State University alumni named Ed Mendoza who, as it turned out, was in my 6th grade class in Florence. One of those "small world" things. A good thing about being in Florence was being close to Jim. Jim is the subject of my painting, "Waiting His Turn"
Recollection Coolidge, Az 1951
My dad and my uncle Buck both moved to Coolidge where they found work at auto repair shops. As I recall, Uncle Buck worked for the Nowell Ford garage and my dad worked for the Sizer Chevrolet Garage. I enrolled in the Seventh Grade.
Recollection Globe Az, 1952
My dad got a job at the Ford Garage in Globe so we packed up and moved to the mining country of Globe where I enrolled in the eighth grade. The main industry in Globe was copper mining so the air was usually kind of chewy with the taste of sulfur. That was a good thing, though, because like Monterey with its fish smell the smell of sulfur meant the mines were operating and people had money to spend. We stayed there throughout my high school years.
Recollection Globe, Az, 1953
A high school classmate noticed me drawing and brought it to the attention of the editor of the Globe High School newspaper, "The Papoose". The editor's name was Cynthia Dodge. She later became one of my closest friends. She asked if I would draw a tiger for the cover of one of the issues. I did so and became instantly "famous" so to speak. From then on everyone who had a drawing issue would come to me for the problem's resolution. Ironically, I was never enrolled in any of the art classes in high school.
Recollection Globe, Az, 1954
One of my good friends loaned me the book, "Smoky", by Will James. I was immediately captivated by the pen and ink illustrations of Will James. The responsive way he used the medium to capture the feeling and action of cowboys and their horses made me want to do the same. I began copying the drawings and fumbled my way to a darn good proficiency with the pen. I continued to buy Will James' books and was drawing a lot. Later, when I became familiar with Charles Russell's work, I could see where James got his inspiration. Pen and ink is still one of my favorite mediums, although I don't do enough of it anymore.
Recollection Globe, AZ, 1954
My mother gave me the mackinaw coat that my grandfather had been killed in back in 1918. It had a small bullet hole in the back and a big hole in the front. The caked blood was still evident. By this time, I pretty well knew the story of how he was killed. He was helping to arrest two WWI draft dodgers named Tom and John Power at a remote cabin when a gunfight erupted and he was shot along with the sheriff and another deputy. I actually wore the coat on occasion and showed it off, not really knowing all the story. It wasn't until years later that I became more intrigued and began to dig deeper into the story.
Recollection Globe, Az, 1953
A high school classmate noticed me drawing and brought it to the attention of the editor of the Globe High School newspaper, "The Papoose". The editor's name was Cynthia Dodge. She later became one of my closest friends. She asked if I would draw a tiger for the cover of one of the issues. I did so and became instantly "famous" so to speak. From then on everyone who had a drawing issue would come to me for the problem's resolution. Ironically, I was never enrolled in any of the art classes in high school.
Recollection Globe, Az, 1954
One of my good friends loaned me the book, "Smoky", by Will James. I was immediately captivated by the pen and ink illustrations of Will James. The responsive way he used the medium to capture the feeling and action of cowboys and their horses made me want to do the same. I began copying the drawings and fumbled my way to a darn good proficiency with the pen. I continued to buy Will James' books and was drawing a lot. Later, when I became familiar with Charles Russell's work, I could see where James got his inspiration. Pen and ink is still one of my favorite mediums, although I don't do enough of it anymore.
Recollection Globe, AZ, 1954
My mother gave me the mackinaw coat that my grandfather had been killed in back in 1918. It had a small bullet hole in the back and a big hole in the front. The caked blood was still evident. By this time, I pretty well knew the story of how he was killed. He was helping to arrest two WWI draft dodgers named Tom and John Power at a remote cabin when a gunfight erupted and he was shot along with the sheriff and another deputy. I actually wore the coat on occasion and showed it off, not really knowing all the story. It wasn't until years later that I became more intrigued and began to dig deeper into the story.
Recollection Globe, Az, 1956
TURNING POINT One fine day in my senior year, I was stopped in the hall of Globe high school and was upbraided by the typing teacher, Miss Hachtel, for some infraction I don't remember. After chewing me out, she took me to her room and wanted to know if I would be interested in an after school job. She said that First National Bank of Arizona was looking for a student for an after school, part time job and had come to her for candidate recommendations. I said "sure" and reported to the bank manager for an interview the next day. On March 1, 1956, he hired me as a trainee for $1.00 an hour. That began an association with the bank that lasted for 38 years. My first assignment was to kill flies. The manager, Max Decker, gave me a jumbo size can of Black Flag and sent me to the back room to do my duty. The room was filled with flies. It looked like a scene from the "Amityville Horror" movie. I survived gassing myself and began training as a bookkeeper. I graduated from high school in May and continued working at the bank throughout the summer, training as a bookkeeper.
My parents then moved back to Coolidge and I moved into the Pioneer Hotel in Globe for $9 a week. It was a typical run-down hotel room only without the charm. My dad cashed in a life insurance policy that had a cash value of $1000 and gave me $500 to cover my college expenses before they moved. Good luck!
TURNING POINT I had planned to go the the University of Arizona in Tucson since most of my family was there. The other reason was because it was the only university in the state. Arizona State College had not been granted university status nor had Northern Arizona College in Flagstaff. My plans changed when Bill Jenkins, assistant manager of the bank, invited me to come to dinner at his home. While his wife cleaned up the dishes, Bill and I went out on the porch to talk about my college plans. He was a graduate of ASC and felt it was a better school than UofA. I remember the analogy he used to describe Arizona State College's status. He showed that ASC had met all the requirements to become a university and the reason it wasn't was purely political. He said, "You can hang a sign around a bull dog's neck that says "Poodle", but it's still a bulldog". He felt that within a year or two it would be a university. He asked if I had any money or scholarships. I told him about the $500 my dad had given me and a small art scholarship I had received from Valley National Bank which wouldn't even cover the books. He said I would need a job and wanted to know if I had any prospects. I didn't so he got up and went into the house for a piece of paper and a pen. He came back out and wrote a short note. Bill then said if I change my mind and would want to try ASC, I should take the paper to his best friend, Ed Carson,
at the Main Office of First National Bank of Arizona in Phoenix. It was an introduction letter. Ed was Bill's best friend and had even introduced Ed to his now wife, Nadine. Ed 's title as I remember was Chief Clerk. Ed rose in the organization through the passing years to the position of Chairman of the Board of First Interstate Bancor which was the holding company for First Interstate Bank (now Wells Fargo). His office was in the circular tower of the First Interstate Bank building in Los Angeles and his home is in Beverly Hills. The Carson Athletic Center which one walks through when going into Kush Field at Sun Devil Stadium is named for Ed and Nadine Carson.
Recollection Phoenix, 1956
The prospect of a job was good enough to make me change my mind and enroll at Arizona State College. TURNING POINT I went to see Ed Carson straight away because I was flat broke. Ed read the note and picked up the phone. A few minutes later a skinny man named Dave Messersmith came to Ed's desk. Ed asked him if he had any openings on the Night Transit crew. Dave said no and Ed informed him that he was now overstaffed. I started immediately. The job's regular hours were brutal from 4pm to 10pm but many times the hours were much longer. Not very conducive to college studies and good grades. The good news was that I was making $1.10 an hour! It was tough working and going to school, and though I finally got my diploma it took me 12 years and a lot of intervening interruptions like marriage and the United States Army.
Recollection Tempe, AZ, 1956
I came to ASU from Globe with a dormitory assignment. The name of the dormitory slips my mind. I was wandering around campus looking for the dorm and stopped to ask a girl where it was located. I told her I was going to be living there but was totally lost. She gave me a strange look but gave me directions. The dorm was located on the site presently occupied by Grady Gammage Auditorium. When I began to check in I noticed a sign that said if I was to have any overnight guests I was required to register her name with the office. I thought that this college living sounded pretty good. It should have dawned on me that there were no other guys around. It seems that I had been assigned to a girls' dorm by mistake. They all got a good laugh out of it at my expense.
Recollection Phoenix, Arizona, 1958
TURNING POINT While getting my hair cut I was reading the Arizona Republic when I came upon an article by Don Dedera called "Coffee Break"
concerning a shoot-out that occurred in a remote Arizona canyon cutting through the Galurio Mountains in 1918. The crux of the story was that two men had been in the Arizona State penitentiary for over 41 years for killing three law officers in that shooting, and he felt that maybe it was time that Arizona re-examined the case with the ultimate goal of parole for the killers. After all, 41 years is a long time. At the time of the article, the average length of prison stay for murder was only 7 years! Something must be wrong according to the author. The article caught my immediate attention because my grandfather was one of the deputies killed in that fight. Dedera concluded by saying that this was the first in a series of articles on the subject shoot-out. It was his goal to dig deep into the case and present information discovered in future articles. The series was about ten articles spanning the next six years which I digested thoroughly. Dedera was giving out information that I didn't know about. My mother had always been very tight-lipped about the affair so I knew practically nothing.
The case concerned a mountain family known simply as the "Powers" by the people of Klondyke. They lived far back in the rugged Galiuros in a log cabin shown in this photo taken in 1985. The photo shows the cabin and the surrounding wilderness.
The family operated a struggling gold mine. The family consisted of the father, Jeff, known as "old man Power", a daughter named Olla and three sons, Tom, John and Charlie.
They were considered to be "hillbillies" who ventured into Klondyke rarely usually to go to the small store for supplies. World War I was fully engaged and America was going to join the fight against the Huns. Tom and John Power were in their mid-twenties and had received their draft notices which were ignored. Charlie volunteered for service and went into the Army. "Old Man Power" was not going to let his sons go fight in a foreign war while they were needed to tend to the mine. It was during this time that the daughter, Olla, mysteriously died at Powers Garden where she lived with her grandmother. The family was not discussing the death with anyone so rumors of all kinds began to abound. Was she murdered? How did a young girl just suddenly die? It caused the Sheriff, Frank McBride, to decide to go into the mountains to question the family. About this time a federal marshall named Frank Haynes arrived on the scene. He wanted to find someone who could guide him to the remote cabin. It was his intention to serve arrest warrants on Tom and John Power for failure to appear for the draft.
He spoke to Sheriff McBride who was mulling over the wisdom of going up there to investigate Olla's death.
They decided to form a small posse consisting of Marshall Haynes, Sheriff Frank McBride,
Deputy Martin Kempton
and my grandfather, Kane Wootan.
Kane was deputized on the spot and recruited because he knew how to navigate the rugged and foreboding Rattlesnake Canyon that led to the Power mine and cabin. Thus, they set off on horses and a mule on a snowy February night to make the 20 plus mile trip to the cabin.
It took them all night to reach the mine. At daybreak, they decided to surround the cabin and call for the Powers to come out peaceably. Legend has it that the posse spooked a horse that had a bell hung around its neck. As the horse galloped by the cabin clanging out an alert, Old Man Power appeared in the cabin doorway with a rifle in his hands. Someone in the posse yelled, "Throw up your hands!" The battle then commenced. Some 60 shots later the Sheriff and both deputies lay dead and Old Man Power was sprawled in the yard mortally wounded. Marshall Haynes was positioned behind the cabin and was unable to see most of the action. When he realized his posse was down he was all alone he wisely mounted his horse and started back to Klondyke to spread the alarm. Both Tom and John Power were wounded having had wood splinters and flying glass penetrate their eyes. John and Tom both sustained serious eye injuries. Also in the cabin at the time was an old army scout named Tom Sisson. He was uninjured. The three men carried the father to the mine where he died later that day. The three desperate men then made a fateful decision. They fled. Each of the three men they killed had large families and were well respected in the Safford area. It did not take long to form a large posse to pursue "the Power Gang" as they quickly became known. The Powers knew the mountains well and were able to evade capture for over a month when they finally surrendered in Mexico.
The pursuit became the largest manhunt in Arizona history.
Upon capture they were incarcerated in the Clifton jail to await trial. Even though all the evidence was circumstantial, it did not take long for a jury to come in with a guilty verdict. It meant life in prison. Shortly prior to this case the death penalty has been outlawed in Arizona. It was not long after the sentence that public outrage and the leadership of Governor George P. Hunt
led to the reestablishment of the death penalty. So, the brothers and the hapless Tom Sisson went to prison and there they stayed for over 40 years. For Sisson, life in prison became a reality when he died in his cell at the age of 55. He is buried in the prison cemetery. At the time of Don Dedera's article, Tom and John had the lowest ID numbers of the entire prison population.
After I had read all of Dedera's articles my interest in knowing more became almost an obsession.
They decided to form a small posse consisting of Marshall Haynes, Sheriff Frank McBride,
It took them all night to reach the mine. At daybreak, they decided to surround the cabin and call for the Powers to come out peaceably. Legend has it that the posse spooked a horse that had a bell hung around its neck. As the horse galloped by the cabin clanging out an alert, Old Man Power appeared in the cabin doorway with a rifle in his hands. Someone in the posse yelled, "Throw up your hands!" The battle then commenced. Some 60 shots later the Sheriff and both deputies lay dead and Old Man Power was sprawled in the yard mortally wounded. Marshall Haynes was positioned behind the cabin and was unable to see most of the action. When he realized his posse was down he was all alone he wisely mounted his horse and started back to Klondyke to spread the alarm. Both Tom and John Power were wounded having had wood splinters and flying glass penetrate their eyes. John and Tom both sustained serious eye injuries. Also in the cabin at the time was an old army scout named Tom Sisson. He was uninjured. The three men carried the father to the mine where he died later that day. The three desperate men then made a fateful decision. They fled. Each of the three men they killed had large families and were well respected in the Safford area. It did not take long to form a large posse to pursue "the Power Gang" as they quickly became known. The Powers knew the mountains well and were able to evade capture for over a month when they finally surrendered in Mexico.
The pursuit became the largest manhunt in Arizona history.
Upon capture they were incarcerated in the Clifton jail to await trial. Even though all the evidence was circumstantial, it did not take long for a jury to come in with a guilty verdict. It meant life in prison. Shortly prior to this case the death penalty has been outlawed in Arizona. It was not long after the sentence that public outrage and the leadership of Governor George P. Hunt
After I had read all of Dedera's articles my interest in knowing more became almost an obsession.
Recollection Phoenix, Az, 1959
Received my first promotion at First National Bank to Supervisor of the Night Transit Department for the princely sum of $315 per month.
Recollection Phoenix, Az, 1961
Mr. Gorbachev put up the Berlin wall and President Kennedy drafted me into the Army to go protect the Berliners. I was working for the First National Bank of Arizona at the time and was married. TURNING POINT About a month before I was to report for induction, one of my fellow bankers invited me down to his office. His name was Mack Duett, and he was an old ex-marine. He had participated in the D-Day invasion of Normandy having been on one of the destroyers that came within foundering distance from Omaha beach to shell the German gun emplacements that had been murdering Americans on the sand which allowed our men to make it off the beach.
Mack brought me into his little office and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels from the bottom drawer of his desk and proceeded to pour us each a drink in paper cups. Yes, what you see on Mad Men is true. It wasn't uncommon to have liquor in the office. Mack was a retired Warrant Officer and I really respected his opinion. He told me that when I arrived at the Basic Training camp my group would be greeted by a big tough Sergeant. He would ask if any of us had any ROTC training. Mack knew I had taken the mandatory ROTC training at Arizona State University so he emphasized that I should step forward and answer in the affirmative. I asked why I should volunteer such a thing and he said, "Trust me". On September 23, 1961, I was placed on Military Leave from the bank. After induction into the Army, I made the train trip to Fort Carson, Colorado, in a private compartment courtesy of the U.S. Army. Fort Carson is located just outside of Colorado Springs. After picking up several carloads of draftees from Texas, we arrived on September 30, 1961. Upon stepping from the bus, sure enough, we were greeted by a big tough sergeant. After properly dressing us down and telling us we would all be shipped to Berlin where we were all going to die at the second Alamo (you see, Berlin was surrounded by about 50 armored Soviet divisions), he asked the question! "Have any of you sorry sob's ever had any ROTC training?" Two or three of us stepped forward and were immediately made Squad Leaders with all the honors and respect attached thereto. We were given arm bands with Corporal stripes and assigned to private rooms. Squad Leaders being the lofty warriors they were did not have to do menial tasks like KP or walk guard duty in the freezing cold Colorado nights. Mack Duet has been one of my favorite people ever since. Six weeks of basic training started immediately.
Mr. Gorbachev put up the Berlin wall and President Kennedy drafted me into the Army to go protect the Berliners. I was working for the First National Bank of Arizona at the time and was married. TURNING POINT About a month before I was to report for induction, one of my fellow bankers invited me down to his office. His name was Mack Duett, and he was an old ex-marine. He had participated in the D-Day invasion of Normandy having been on one of the destroyers that came within foundering distance from Omaha beach to shell the German gun emplacements that had been murdering Americans on the sand which allowed our men to make it off the beach.
Mack brought me into his little office and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels from the bottom drawer of his desk and proceeded to pour us each a drink in paper cups. Yes, what you see on Mad Men is true. It wasn't uncommon to have liquor in the office. Mack was a retired Warrant Officer and I really respected his opinion. He told me that when I arrived at the Basic Training camp my group would be greeted by a big tough Sergeant. He would ask if any of us had any ROTC training. Mack knew I had taken the mandatory ROTC training at Arizona State University so he emphasized that I should step forward and answer in the affirmative. I asked why I should volunteer such a thing and he said, "Trust me". On September 23, 1961, I was placed on Military Leave from the bank. After induction into the Army, I made the train trip to Fort Carson, Colorado, in a private compartment courtesy of the U.S. Army. Fort Carson is located just outside of Colorado Springs. After picking up several carloads of draftees from Texas, we arrived on September 30, 1961. Upon stepping from the bus, sure enough, we were greeted by a big tough sergeant. After properly dressing us down and telling us we would all be shipped to Berlin where we were all going to die at the second Alamo (you see, Berlin was surrounded by about 50 armored Soviet divisions), he asked the question! "Have any of you sorry sob's ever had any ROTC training?" Two or three of us stepped forward and were immediately made Squad Leaders with all the honors and respect attached thereto. We were given arm bands with Corporal stripes and assigned to private rooms. Squad Leaders being the lofty warriors they were did not have to do menial tasks like KP or walk guard duty in the freezing cold Colorado nights. Mack Duet has been one of my favorite people ever since. Six weeks of basic training started immediately.
Recollection Fort Irwin, California, 1962
Returning from leave after basic training was completed at Fort Carson, Colorado, I was no longer a squad leader but just a soldier waiting to be assigned somewhere. I was hoping for France or England or anywhere other than Berlin. So many guys were being drafted at that time that they were just piling up at the training centers. So I was given my first KP duty. I was assigned pots and pans the dirtiest of all the KP duties. It was very early in the morning and I was happily scruffing off the crud when the Master Sergeant in charge of the Mess Hall called my name and told me to put down my scrubbers and report immediately to the First Sergeant. I did so post haste. The First Sergeant asked me if I would like to leave the frozen wastelands of Fort Carson and spend the next ten weeks in sunny southern California. It was January and below zero outside so I jumped at the chance to go. Another soldier, Jim Shipman, was also going and we piled into his 1960 Austin Healy and headed for California. I had never met Jim before but we became close friends during our California adventure. The car had a faulty heater and we had to put a large piece of cardboard over the radiator to keep the engine hot. We made our way south through New Mexico and Arizona stopping once at the New Mexico boarder where we took this picture.
What we found when we got there was that Fort Irwin was in the middle of the Mohave Desert 38 miles from the nearest town and the nearest town was Barstow! Well, there wasn't any snow! There weren't any trees or birds either save two black crows that perched on the tank cannon barrels. I don't think they left because they didn't know where to go. Tanks were what Fort Irwin was all about. It was an armored training base. They could fire those cannons in any direction and not worry about hitting anything. To say there was nothing to do during the off hours was putting it mildly. When the two of us checked in we were assigned to a barracks where we found a circle of guys on the floor trading rocks. "Hey, that's a great agate! Trade you this red beauty for it!". We thought they had gone 'round the bend'. By the end of the ten weeks, we both had our own little pile of rocks. One of the guys was a pretty good cartoonist. I really liked to watch him draw.
Soon I had some drawing stuff and began drawing small portraits of the guys. They began giving me five bucks for the drawings and soon I was drawing their girlfriends, wives, daughters or whoever. I was augmenting my $78 per month private's pay which sorely needed a boost. That started a small business which I continued throughout the two years I was in the Army.
Recollection Fort Carson, Colorado, 1962
When we returned to Fort Carson, we were once again placed in a holding company pending our next assignments. Mine came fairly quickly with an assignment to Signal School in Fort Gordon, Georgia. While I was mulling this over and scratching my head trying to figure out the Army's reasoning for doing this, I was temporarily billeted with Headquarters Company and the U.S. Army Garrison of Fort Carson. TURNING POINT When I checked in to the Sergeant admitting new troops and getting my bed assignment, a corporal at a desk behind the sergeant suddenly spun around and asked me if I could type. When I replied in the affirmative he grabbed the Sergeant by the shoulders and shouted, "He can type, he can type!" The sergeant looked at me again through squinty eyes and asked if I wan any good at typing. Sensing a breakthrough here I told him I got "A's" in my high school typing class which was pretty much a bald faced lie. He immediately had new orders cut for me assigning me to a permanent clerical position at the garrison. I found out that this corporal was within 90 days of his discharge and the sergeant had told him that if he (the corporal) could find his replacement he could goof-off for the remainder of his enlistment. So it came to pass that this office in beautiful Colorado Springs is where I spent the rest of the Berlin crises. This photo shows him in the foreground sunbathing on the roof of our barrack.
I began painting portraits ($15!!!) and was in Fat City. My reputation grew and I was soon painting Officer's wives, etc. These following photos and some examples.
I was paid the staggering sum of $25. I bought the beer that night.
It was October and my buddy, Terry Degross, and I were playing pool in the barracks day room while in the corner a TV was broadcasting a not so high-definition, black and white program wherein President Kennedy was making some kind of sober announcement about Russian missiles being found in Cuba. We had stopped to listen when our First Sergeant burst into the room looking for Terry. I didn't see him again until late that night when he came back to the room and threw the keys to his '57 Chevy to me and said he was leaving to an unknown destination to something secret and that he didn't know when he would be back. I didn't see or hear from him for 6 weeks. I had a ball in that Chevy! Of course, the whole base was on high alert and we were told we would probably be going to Cuba. I wasn't too worried because of my job was a company clerk, and somebody would have to do the paperwork at the home base. That sense of well being changed when I was ordered to get a yellow fever shot (you see, they have yellow fever in Cuba) and was given an issue of field gear. Fortunately, back door diplomacy was successful and we didn't go to war. When Terry finally returned he told a tale of working in the war room in a bunker in Norfolk, Virginia. He said we were within the width of a nat's eyebrow of pulling the trigger. My cousin, Jim, was a captain with the airborne army rangers stationed in Panama at the time. He told me his company was sitting on the tarmac in full combat gear waiting for the orders to go in with an airborne assault.
They expected 80% casualties. That was as close to combat as I ever got. I was an "in-betweener". Too young for WWII and Korea and discharged before Viet Nam.
Returning from leave after basic training was completed at Fort Carson, Colorado, I was no longer a squad leader but just a soldier waiting to be assigned somewhere. I was hoping for France or England or anywhere other than Berlin. So many guys were being drafted at that time that they were just piling up at the training centers. So I was given my first KP duty. I was assigned pots and pans the dirtiest of all the KP duties. It was very early in the morning and I was happily scruffing off the crud when the Master Sergeant in charge of the Mess Hall called my name and told me to put down my scrubbers and report immediately to the First Sergeant. I did so post haste. The First Sergeant asked me if I would like to leave the frozen wastelands of Fort Carson and spend the next ten weeks in sunny southern California. It was January and below zero outside so I jumped at the chance to go. Another soldier, Jim Shipman, was also going and we piled into his 1960 Austin Healy and headed for California. I had never met Jim before but we became close friends during our California adventure. The car had a faulty heater and we had to put a large piece of cardboard over the radiator to keep the engine hot. We made our way south through New Mexico and Arizona stopping once at the New Mexico boarder where we took this picture.
What we found when we got there was that Fort Irwin was in the middle of the Mohave Desert 38 miles from the nearest town and the nearest town was Barstow! Well, there wasn't any snow! There weren't any trees or birds either save two black crows that perched on the tank cannon barrels. I don't think they left because they didn't know where to go. Tanks were what Fort Irwin was all about. It was an armored training base. They could fire those cannons in any direction and not worry about hitting anything. To say there was nothing to do during the off hours was putting it mildly. When the two of us checked in we were assigned to a barracks where we found a circle of guys on the floor trading rocks. "Hey, that's a great agate! Trade you this red beauty for it!". We thought they had gone 'round the bend'. By the end of the ten weeks, we both had our own little pile of rocks. One of the guys was a pretty good cartoonist. I really liked to watch him draw.
Soon I had some drawing stuff and began drawing small portraits of the guys. They began giving me five bucks for the drawings and soon I was drawing their girlfriends, wives, daughters or whoever. I was augmenting my $78 per month private's pay which sorely needed a boost. That started a small business which I continued throughout the two years I was in the Army.
Recollection Fort Carson, Colorado, 1962
When we returned to Fort Carson, we were once again placed in a holding company pending our next assignments. Mine came fairly quickly with an assignment to Signal School in Fort Gordon, Georgia. While I was mulling this over and scratching my head trying to figure out the Army's reasoning for doing this, I was temporarily billeted with Headquarters Company and the U.S. Army Garrison of Fort Carson. TURNING POINT When I checked in to the Sergeant admitting new troops and getting my bed assignment, a corporal at a desk behind the sergeant suddenly spun around and asked me if I could type. When I replied in the affirmative he grabbed the Sergeant by the shoulders and shouted, "He can type, he can type!" The sergeant looked at me again through squinty eyes and asked if I wan any good at typing. Sensing a breakthrough here I told him I got "A's" in my high school typing class which was pretty much a bald faced lie. He immediately had new orders cut for me assigning me to a permanent clerical position at the garrison. I found out that this corporal was within 90 days of his discharge and the sergeant had told him that if he (the corporal) could find his replacement he could goof-off for the remainder of his enlistment. So it came to pass that this office in beautiful Colorado Springs is where I spent the rest of the Berlin crises. This photo shows him in the foreground sunbathing on the roof of our barrack.
I began painting portraits ($15!!!) and was in Fat City. My reputation grew and I was soon painting Officer's wives, etc. These following photos and some examples.
Here I am showing off one of my paintings for my roommates and barracks buddies.
As the word got around about the new local artist in residence, my skills came to be in demand. Like the saying goes, "In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is King". I was commissioned by the post Commanding General to paint a portrait of the retiring Post Chaplain. I got to go the the ceremony and even got my picture taken with the chaplain and a Colonel Donovan.
I was paid the staggering sum of $25. I bought the beer that night.
It was October and my buddy, Terry Degross, and I were playing pool in the barracks day room while in the corner a TV was broadcasting a not so high-definition, black and white program wherein President Kennedy was making some kind of sober announcement about Russian missiles being found in Cuba. We had stopped to listen when our First Sergeant burst into the room looking for Terry. I didn't see him again until late that night when he came back to the room and threw the keys to his '57 Chevy to me and said he was leaving to an unknown destination to something secret and that he didn't know when he would be back. I didn't see or hear from him for 6 weeks. I had a ball in that Chevy! Of course, the whole base was on high alert and we were told we would probably be going to Cuba. I wasn't too worried because of my job was a company clerk, and somebody would have to do the paperwork at the home base. That sense of well being changed when I was ordered to get a yellow fever shot (you see, they have yellow fever in Cuba) and was given an issue of field gear. Fortunately, back door diplomacy was successful and we didn't go to war. When Terry finally returned he told a tale of working in the war room in a bunker in Norfolk, Virginia. He said we were within the width of a nat's eyebrow of pulling the trigger. My cousin, Jim, was a captain with the airborne army rangers stationed in Panama at the time. He told me his company was sitting on the tarmac in full combat gear waiting for the orders to go in with an airborne assault.
They expected 80% casualties. That was as close to combat as I ever got. I was an "in-betweener". Too young for WWII and Korea and discharged before Viet Nam.
On November 4, 1962, I was promoted to Specialist Fourth Class (Corporal)
Recollection Fort Carson, Colorado, 1963
Recollection Fort Carson, Colorado, 1963
I remember the first time I ever heard of Viet Nam. By this time, I was what was called an Admin NCO.
Fancy name for a senior clerk and Company Commander's gofer. One of my jobs was to process all NCO's (non-commissioned officers) into Headquarters Company pending further assignment. After meeting with me for the initial in-processing paperwork, an in-coming staff sergeant was leaving my office when I noticed the butt of a pistol sticking out of his back pocket. I told him to come back and give me the pistol as it was a company violation to have a personal weapon on his person. He was very apologetic and handed over a small snub-nosed .38. He explained that he had just returned from Viet Nam where he had been a military advisor. The pistol had been part of his everyday uniform just like socks. He told me all about this mysterious place called Viet Nam and predicted we would be at war there soon. I gave him back his pistol and sent him on his way.
Towards the middle of summer a directive was received by my Commanding Officer, Captain Glennan, from the Post Commanding General requesting that he submit the names of five outstanding soldiers from Headquarters Company to compete with five outstanding soldiers from the First Infantry Division for the ultimate selection of the two Outstanding Soldiers of Fort Carson. The reward would be a trip to Chicago to attend the 18th Annual Armed Forces Benefit Football Game at Soldiers Field. Captain Gordon gave me the order and asked that I select five soldiers I thought were worthy of the honor. When I gave him back the list my name was on it. He looked at it then at me. I expected to get chewed out, but he just grinned and endorsed back to the Commanding General. What followed was a round of competition among all the selected soldiers. Fort Carson was divided between the Headquarters Garrison and the home based First Infantry Division. I was chosen from Headquarters Company and another sergeant was selected from the First Infantry Division to represent Fort Carson at the Fifth Army Headquarters in Chicago. The judges were officers selected from throughout Fort Carson. The actual competition was not what I expected. I already had a medal awarding me the designation of "Expert" with the M-1 Rifle so I studied up on the bursting radius of various grenades, the Ten General Orders, Chain of Command, etcetera, etcetera and so forth until I figured I knew it all. The panel consisted of about a half dozen officers, the highest ranking being a full Colonel. There were no questions about weapons or tactics. Instead, the questions were more of a political nature. One question I remember was, "What if, in a combat situation, you found that you had to share your foxhole with a black soldier"? There were other personal conduct type questions that I felt could be answered to the satisfaction of the panel by anyone with an IQ of a Orangutan. It was pretty easy to see where they were going in their line of questioning. I won the competition for Headquarters Company and on August 29, 1963, we flew via Military Transport to Chicago.
What a kick that trip turned out to be. We met the Commanding General of the Fifth Army Division in addition to attending a baseball game at Wrigley Field and the football game at Soldiers Field between the Chicago Bears and the Cleveland Browns. It was a great finale to my active duty term.
What a kick that trip turned out to be. We met the Commanding General of the Fifth Army Division in addition to attending a baseball game at Wrigley Field and the football game at Soldiers Field between the Chicago Bears and the Cleveland Browns. It was a great finale to my active duty term.
On September 16, 1963, I rejoined First National Bank as Head Bookkeeper at the Main Office. My salary was $375 per month. Two months later I was promoted to Assistant Operations Officer. My new boss was Lew Montgomery who became a life-long friend.
Recollection Phoenix, AZ, 1964
By action of the Executive Committee in February, I became a bank officer with the exalted title of Assistant Cashier, Assistant Operations Officer. In September, Ed Carson asked Lew to make me the department head of the Commercial Note department. In that position, I became Secretary of the Commercial Loan Committee. All I did was take the minutes and the votes of all participants. The members were the senior loan officers of the bank. They would approve new loans and discuss problem loans and strategies for getting out of them. It was an incredible learning experience to be able to sit and listen to these senior loan officers. I was able to get personally acquainted with all of them.
Recollection San Francisco, 1965
It was after my discharge from active duty from the U.S. Army that the most satisfying event of my overall military experience occurred.
Following my discharge I was placed in the Reserves which required my participation in two weeks "training" each year for two years. Somehow, I got lucky again and was sent to the Presidio in San Francisco for my annual "summer camp". The bank completely approved of my reserve obligation and cooperated without complaint. After surviving a harrowing train ride from Phoenix to San Francisco during which my bags got detoured to another destination, I finally arrived and was checked in. I was assigned to an administrative unit that was manned almost entirely bb civilian women. My "boss" was a long time civil servant who didn't quite know what to do with me. My first assignment was to put stack of 4" x 6" cards in alphabetical order. I was given a room with a large conference table where I could work in private so as not to be interrupted. It took about 10 minutes to complete the difficult task of alphabetizing the cards. I took the clerk by surprise when she looked up and found me back at her desk so soon. She told me to go back to the room and wait for her to give me my next assignment. I did as I was ordered and warmed a chair in the conference room for a while but soon got bored. I noticed the walls were lined with four drawer filing cabinets. They were unlocked. I began pulling files and reading them to pass the time. It was shaping up to be a long two weeks. The cabinets were full of officer personnel files and proved to be fascinating reading. Private stuff that the officers surely wouldn't want a reservist like me perusing. I felt like a "peeping tom" but kept reading anyway. Soon I opened one drawer that had a lot of parchment-like papers stuffed in back of the file-ender. I pulled one out and flattened it on the conference table. It was a citation for bravery in combat for a helicopter pilot. He was being awarded a Bronze Star for actions in Viet Nam. Viet Nam had begun to heat up by this time. I removed the rest of the papers and found that they were all citations for bravery. There were 23 of them. They were mostly Bronze Stars and Air Medals, but included in the group was one Distinguished Service Cross and a Silver Star awarded to a medic for some really incredible acts of bravery. Then I noticed that there were small boxes in the back of the drawer also. They were the medals. I smoothed out each of the citations as best as I could and arranged them on the table. I was beginning to get a bad feeling. I opened each box to determine the type of medal and placed the box on a corresponding citation. They matched perfectly.
I asked the "boss" clerk to come in and explain to me what I had found. Her explanation was appalling. She said they had a very heavy workload and had not had time to get to those citations. In fact, she had forgotten they were even there. My performance in keeping my cool would have won an Oscar, and I politely asked if I could see that these medals got the the various commands of the individual award winners since she didn't have anything else for me to do at the moment. I was familiar with the protocols and the various levels of authority through which these citations would have to pass. She in effect said, "Be my guest".
The chain of command that would have to endorse the citations included the Commanding General of the Presidio. The first day I prepared about a half dozen transmittals and sent them his office for endorsement. The following day, as I suspected it would, the caca hit the fan. A Lieutenant Colonel from the Commanding General's office was standing in front of my boss's desk bright and early demanding to know where these medals and citations had been and why they had been so badly mishandled and delayed. The Commanding General was "mad as hell" and wanted all of the citations on his desk that afternoon. My thoroughly frazzled "boss" burst through the conference room door with a clerk in tow carrying the General's directive. The clerk was to give me whatever assistance I needed to get the medals out and on their way. My new assistant and I went to work. In the due course of our efforts, I told her that it was ironic that the only medal I ever was awarded was the Good Conduct Medal, and that only way I knew about it was by reading the fine print of my discharge orders. No medal was included. If I really wanted it I could go to the PX and buy one. That seemed kind of tacky so I never did. She thought that was pretty funny. We got the job done and the medals went on their way. The boss was so happy to have that thorn out of her side she gave me the rest of the two weeks off. I think she just wanted me out of her sight. So, I just lazed around the City by the Bay until it was time to go home.
About a month after coming home, I received a package in the mail. It was from my "assistant". It was a Good Conduct Medal. I framed that medal, and it hangs in my home today. I wish I had kept her letter as it was a special event to me and now I can't even remember her name.
The final chapter in this episode came about two months later as I was reading the Arizona Republic one morning. There was a story and picture of a Flagstaff native receiving the Silver Star for his actions in Viet Nam. The Citation was printed in its entirety. He was my medic from the back of the drawer. I sometimes wonder how long those citations and medals would have stayed hidden away if it hadn't been for this nosey "two-weeker".
Recollection Phoenix, AZ, 1967
On March 14, I became a Commercial Loan Officer even though I had never made a loan in my life. TURNING POINT Lucky for me a man named Bob Duckworth came over from Arizona Bank and took the desk right behind me. He kind of took me under his wing and kept me from getting into too much trouble. Bob also became a life long friend.
Recollection Phoenix, 1969
My next promotion came on January 22 to Assistant Department Head of the Real Estate Department under an old seasoned mortgage lender named Ken Brown. I was kind of forced on him by Ed and I don't think he was too happy about it. Over time, he saw that I was a quick learner and we became good friends and worked well as a team. The Real Estate Department handled all residential loans. The commercial loans were handled by the Commercial Real Estate Construction Loan Department
Recollection Phoenix, 1972
Recollection Phoenix, 1972
The big day for this year was my promotion on June 27 to Vice President and Head of the Real Estate Loan Department.
Recollection Roland Jones Ranch, New Year's Day, 1972
I can remember being invited to New Year's day "breakfast" at Roland Jones ranch out on highway 60 just north of Globe in the mid-70's. Each year Roland and his old friend, Pickett Hinton, would sit down around the tiny kitchen table and tell tales about the early days in Globe. "Breakfast" was a bottle of Jack Daniels and glasses without ice. Both Roland and Pickett were old cowboys in their 80's and I had become well acquainted with Roland and felt honored being invited to this annual event. I just wish I had recorded all the tales because I could have written a screenplay. Anyway, Roland told Pickett about me being related to the Wootans of Klondyke. Pickett's eyes got real big and he asked if it was the same Wootan that was killed up in Rattlesnake. When I assured him that Kane was my grandfather he became very animated and proceeded to tell me that he was in the posse that went up to the cabin the following day and actually saw the bodies as they lay. I don't remember all of his details. After all, "breakfast" of Jack Daniels does not promote good memory. I do remember that he thought the whole scene was puzzling and hard to figure out. It just didn't make any sense to him. All he knew at the time was what was told to him by others in the so-called posse. The boys were "slackers" from the draft and the Sheriff wanted to discuss other matters with the family. Just a guess but I suppose it was about Olla's death.
Recollection Phoenix, Arizona, 1974
I can remember being invited to New Year's day "breakfast" at Roland Jones ranch out on highway 60 just north of Globe in the mid-70's. Each year Roland and his old friend, Pickett Hinton, would sit down around the tiny kitchen table and tell tales about the early days in Globe. "Breakfast" was a bottle of Jack Daniels and glasses without ice. Both Roland and Pickett were old cowboys in their 80's and I had become well acquainted with Roland and felt honored being invited to this annual event. I just wish I had recorded all the tales because I could have written a screenplay. Anyway, Roland told Pickett about me being related to the Wootans of Klondyke. Pickett's eyes got real big and he asked if it was the same Wootan that was killed up in Rattlesnake. When I assured him that Kane was my grandfather he became very animated and proceeded to tell me that he was in the posse that went up to the cabin the following day and actually saw the bodies as they lay. I don't remember all of his details. After all, "breakfast" of Jack Daniels does not promote good memory. I do remember that he thought the whole scene was puzzling and hard to figure out. It just didn't make any sense to him. All he knew at the time was what was told to him by others in the so-called posse. The boys were "slackers" from the draft and the Sheriff wanted to discuss other matters with the family. Just a guess but I suppose it was about Olla's death.
Recollection Phoenix, Arizona, 1974
On January 1, I became Assistant to the Department Head of Commercial Banking namely, Bob Duckworth, and continued in that position for two years. It was a staff position and really not all that satisfying, but working with Bob was a great experience.
I had been interested in a group known as the Dons Club around this time. It was a group of 50 business and professional men dedicated to preserving the legend and folklore of the Southwest and Arizona in particular. A founding member once said the Dons were a collection stubborn individuals each a screwball in his own right. One couldn't just knock on the door and say he wanted to become a member. An invitation by an existing member had to be extended. My boss, Ken Brown, and another bank associate, Ray Stocker, were members and with a few questions I made them aware that I was interested in the Dons. Ray extended the invitation which began a very complicated acceptance and initiation process. It was mandatory of all new members that they give a program at a regular meeting telling one's life story with special emphasis on why the member was interested in the history of Arizona and its preservation. My deep Arizona roots were of great interest to the members and my telling the story of the Power Brothers shoot-out gave me instant credibility. The telling of the tale rekindled my desire to find out more about the incident.
My pursuit of the facts had been delayed for over a decade since first reading the Dedera articles back in 1958-64. With my renewed interest I began making trips to the state archives located in the basement of the state capitol building. With the help of the woman in charge, I started making copies of all the newspaper article of that time detailing shooting, manhunt and eventual capture of the outlaw gang.
My pursuit of the facts had been delayed for over a decade since first reading the Dedera articles back in 1958-64. With my renewed interest I began making trips to the state archives located in the basement of the state capitol building. With the help of the woman in charge, I started making copies of all the newspaper article of that time detailing shooting, manhunt and eventual capture of the outlaw gang.
It was around this time I decided to find and visit he actual cabin. The only reference I had at the time was Dedera's description and the newspaper clippings that said it was located deep in the rugged Galiuro Mountains in a place called Kielberg Canyon. Google was a resource that wouldn't come a long for another 30 years. Research was difficult as many of the court records didn't exist anymore. I bought some USGS topographical maps and was finally able to locate Kielburg Canyon, but that was as far as I got. I decided to call the U.S. Forest Service in Safford to see if anyone knew of the cabins location. The man I talked to was Chuck Duncan who knew the cabin very well and told me that it was still standing though he didn't know for how long it would continue to stand because the elements were taking their toll. Chuck was emphatic in describing the difficulty of getting into the mine and cabin. That just made me want to go even more. One day I was in my office at the First Interstate Bank home office at Washington and First Ave in Phoenix studying the maps of the area when a fellow banker, John Hazeltine, stuck his head in the door and was curious about what I was researching. I told him and he became very excited about the prospect of locating the cabin with me. John's family were Arizona pioneers who founded the Bank of Arizona in Prescott in the late 1880's. He is very knowledgeable about Arizona history. I showed him the area maps and the location where I thought the mine and cabin were located. He hurried up to his office and returned with some flight maps. John was a pilot and, at that time, owned his own plane. After some study of the maps, he told me to lock up the office and we were going to fly down there that very afternoon. And that is exactly what we did. We took off from Sky Harbor airport about 2 hours later after John finished his flight plan requirements. John's plane was a twin tail affair that had an engine in front that pulled the plane and another engine in the rear that was a pusher.
The Galiuro Mountains are a very forbidding range of escarpments extending roughly northwest from just east of the small settlement of Redington and continuing nearly to Winkleman where it is neatly cut in two by the Aravaipa Canyon. To the west of the Galiuro Mountains is the Santa Catalina Mountain Range that includes Mount Lemon. Separating the two ranges is a valley created by the San Pedro River. A road runs north out of Reddington for 24 miles along the San Pedro to the town of San Manuel where Highway 77 continues its journey from Oracle through San Manuel and on to Mammoth, Winkleman, Kearney and finally Superior. Dropping down from Oracle to San Manuel the traveler sees the imposing bulk of the Galuiros extending across the windshield. To the east of the Galiuros and separated by the Aravaipa Valley is the Pinaleno Mountain Range which includes Mount Graham and the the Steward Observatory. The Aravaipa River wanders up the Aravaipa Valley along the settlements of Bonita where Billy the Kid is thought to have killed his first man and Klondyke where my mother was born on a ranch owned by my grandfather. The three ranges runs parallel to one another. The city of Safford is about 20 miles norteast of the Pinalenos.
John flew his plane low over San Manuel into the Galiuros where it became very difficult to determine one canyon from the next. We finally spotted a structure about where we thought the cabin should be, but it was impossible to say for sure. What was really an eye-opener was just how difficult the terrain was going to be for any ground trip to the site. Upon return to Phoenix and the final approach to a landing at Sky Harbor, John shut down the forward engine without warning me of what he was doing. His doing that caused me a bit of concern. Seeing the propeller come to a dead stop with the ground coming up rapidly was unsettling. He finally told me that he only needed the rear engine for landing no doubt in response to my screaming.
Recollection The Galiuros and The Power Cabin, Nov. 1974
It was time to visit the site of my grandfather's shoot-out, the Power cabin. Again, I called Chuck Duncan with the U.S. Forest Service to get his thoughts on going into the cabin. He gave plenty of advice on routes and mode of transportation. First, all but about a ten mile long, 1/4 mile wide strip of land going through the Galiuros is Wilderness area making the only means of transportation hiking or horseback. That strip runs right up Rattlesnake Canyon. He recommended three routes. One would be by way of Rattlesnake Canyon but the distance would be about ten miles requiring many fords of Rattlesnake Creek. The second route would be over the mountain at Deer Creek as it would be a couple of miles shorter but would require horses. The route Duncan usually took was High Creek by way of Bonita. It would be shorter but rough and hard to follow. I called my cousin, Jim Shepard, to see if he would be interested in going in knowing he would jump at the chance. Jim's mother and my mother were sisters whose father was Kane Wootan killed in the gun fight. His mom had been old enough to remember many events of the day. My mother was only two years old and recalled very little. Jim owned a western wear store in Cottonwood, Arizona, but also worked the rodeos as a roper and owned the horses to be used on the journey. We began to seriously plan our trip. High Creek would be our route.
Jim and I got to High Creek by way of the Klondyke Road and Bonita. The road to High Creek heads west out of Bonita straight into the Galiuros. Towing a horse trailer, we drove to the end of the road. There we made a base camp and cooked some dinner which turned out to be the last hot meal we would have for two days. Later, we built a campfire, drank a little whisky and recalled old stories.
Early the next morning, we had breakfast and Jim saddled the horses.
Jim chose to let me have a big Appy blue roan called, "Spec". Jim's horse was a three year old AQHA gelding of Leo breeding, but as I recall not really experienced in the kind of hard riding we were about to undertake. To tell the truth, neither was I. We then set out on our adventure to find the cabin. The early November weather was chilly with a threat of rain. The leaves were turning to beautiful yellows, reds and oranges. It was a lot more difficult than we had imagined and we spent a lot of time studying maps.
For most of the day we wandered up the trails wondering if we were lost. Occasionally, we came upon trail sign but bears and lions had made them unreadable. Our journey had taken us several miles over a mountain and up a canyon that made a sharp turn to the right. At that point, we came upon a trail sign that pointed the way to the mine. The sign said that it was 1.3 miles to the left of the sign to the mine. To the right and continuing down what turned out to be Rattlesnake Canyon for 3.5 miles was Powers Garden. More on Powers Garden later.
The climb from the sign to the top of the hill and down into Kielberg Canyon was very steep. After topping the hill and continuing down the trail for about 1/4 mile we rounded a stand of low growing trees and there was the cabin.
It was a very erie feeling to be standing there looking at the still standing cabin after having heard and read about all that had happened there 56 years earlier. The canyon was very quiet as there was no one within 20 miles of where we were. The cabin was a one room affair with an interior door at one end leading to a makeshift lean-to that had served as an extra room.
It was from this extra room according to Marshal Haynes that Tom Sisson killed Sheriff McBride. There was a rock fireplace in the south end that was falling apart from age and disuse. The remains of a framed window to the left of the fireplace looked out on the trail we had just rode in on. According to Tom Power, this is the window through which he had shot our grandfather, Kane Wootan.
The floor boards were mostly torn up and blue sky could be seen through what
was left of the roof.
We went across the canyon for about 100 yards and found the mine.
The stories say that Old Man Power was taken to the mine by Tom and John Power and Sisson where he died several hours after the shoot-out. To our surprise, there was an ancient Ingersoll-Rand air compressor sitting near the mouth of the mine. It was a very large heavy piece of equipment and we wondered how on earth it had got there. By then, it was late in the day and we had planned to spend the night because it would have been impossible to find our way out at night. There was a dried-up stock pond right there so we decided to make camp and have a hot meal.
But first things first, it was time for happy hour and we drank a little whisky. Then we discovered that we had remembered the whisky but had forgotten the matches. Now, one has to realize that we were not neophytes to managing in the great outdoors. I had done a lot of hunting, backpacking, camping and exploring all my life as well as having the training I received in the U.S. Army. And, I was an ex-Boy Scout. Jim was an ex-Army Airborne Ranger with extensive training in jungle survival as well as a Viet Nam veteran with a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. And, he was an ex-Boy Scout. Well, we sat there staring at our big can of Hungry Man stew wondering how we were going to warm it up. Storm clouds had moved in and it was beginning to rain lightly. We jointly had a little conflab and called on all of our survival know-how skills and came up with a plan. In addition to bringing the whisky and Hungry Man stew we brought a .30-.30 rifle, a .41 Colt revolver and a .22 Colt pistol. I guess we thought we might run into some Power relatives or a bear. We concocted a plan the roots of which undoubtedly came from some old western movie we saw as kids. The scheme was to pry a bullet from its cartridge and dump the powder on some dry kindling (if we could find some in the rain) then fire a shot into the powder igniting same and making fire. The movie, "Dumb and Dumber" comes to mind. I don't remember which gun we used but suffice it to say the results were not according to plan. Our little pile of kindling was blown to smithereens. We learned that cold Hungry Man stew wasn't too bad.
The Galiuro Mountains are a very forbidding range of escarpments extending roughly northwest from just east of the small settlement of Redington and continuing nearly to Winkleman where it is neatly cut in two by the Aravaipa Canyon. To the west of the Galiuro Mountains is the Santa Catalina Mountain Range that includes Mount Lemon. Separating the two ranges is a valley created by the San Pedro River. A road runs north out of Reddington for 24 miles along the San Pedro to the town of San Manuel where Highway 77 continues its journey from Oracle through San Manuel and on to Mammoth, Winkleman, Kearney and finally Superior. Dropping down from Oracle to San Manuel the traveler sees the imposing bulk of the Galuiros extending across the windshield. To the east of the Galiuros and separated by the Aravaipa Valley is the Pinaleno Mountain Range which includes Mount Graham and the the Steward Observatory. The Aravaipa River wanders up the Aravaipa Valley along the settlements of Bonita where Billy the Kid is thought to have killed his first man and Klondyke where my mother was born on a ranch owned by my grandfather. The three ranges runs parallel to one another. The city of Safford is about 20 miles norteast of the Pinalenos.
John flew his plane low over San Manuel into the Galiuros where it became very difficult to determine one canyon from the next. We finally spotted a structure about where we thought the cabin should be, but it was impossible to say for sure. What was really an eye-opener was just how difficult the terrain was going to be for any ground trip to the site. Upon return to Phoenix and the final approach to a landing at Sky Harbor, John shut down the forward engine without warning me of what he was doing. His doing that caused me a bit of concern. Seeing the propeller come to a dead stop with the ground coming up rapidly was unsettling. He finally told me that he only needed the rear engine for landing no doubt in response to my screaming.
Recollection The Galiuros and The Power Cabin, Nov. 1974
It was time to visit the site of my grandfather's shoot-out, the Power cabin. Again, I called Chuck Duncan with the U.S. Forest Service to get his thoughts on going into the cabin. He gave plenty of advice on routes and mode of transportation. First, all but about a ten mile long, 1/4 mile wide strip of land going through the Galiuros is Wilderness area making the only means of transportation hiking or horseback. That strip runs right up Rattlesnake Canyon. He recommended three routes. One would be by way of Rattlesnake Canyon but the distance would be about ten miles requiring many fords of Rattlesnake Creek. The second route would be over the mountain at Deer Creek as it would be a couple of miles shorter but would require horses. The route Duncan usually took was High Creek by way of Bonita. It would be shorter but rough and hard to follow. I called my cousin, Jim Shepard, to see if he would be interested in going in knowing he would jump at the chance. Jim's mother and my mother were sisters whose father was Kane Wootan killed in the gun fight. His mom had been old enough to remember many events of the day. My mother was only two years old and recalled very little. Jim owned a western wear store in Cottonwood, Arizona, but also worked the rodeos as a roper and owned the horses to be used on the journey. We began to seriously plan our trip. High Creek would be our route.
Jim and I got to High Creek by way of the Klondyke Road and Bonita. The road to High Creek heads west out of Bonita straight into the Galiuros. Towing a horse trailer, we drove to the end of the road. There we made a base camp and cooked some dinner which turned out to be the last hot meal we would have for two days. Later, we built a campfire, drank a little whisky and recalled old stories.
Early the next morning, we had breakfast and Jim saddled the horses.
Jim chose to let me have a big Appy blue roan called, "Spec". Jim's horse was a three year old AQHA gelding of Leo breeding, but as I recall not really experienced in the kind of hard riding we were about to undertake. To tell the truth, neither was I. We then set out on our adventure to find the cabin. The early November weather was chilly with a threat of rain. The leaves were turning to beautiful yellows, reds and oranges. It was a lot more difficult than we had imagined and we spent a lot of time studying maps.
For most of the day we wandered up the trails wondering if we were lost. Occasionally, we came upon trail sign but bears and lions had made them unreadable. Our journey had taken us several miles over a mountain and up a canyon that made a sharp turn to the right. At that point, we came upon a trail sign that pointed the way to the mine. The sign said that it was 1.3 miles to the left of the sign to the mine. To the right and continuing down what turned out to be Rattlesnake Canyon for 3.5 miles was Powers Garden. More on Powers Garden later.
The climb from the sign to the top of the hill and down into Kielberg Canyon was very steep. After topping the hill and continuing down the trail for about 1/4 mile we rounded a stand of low growing trees and there was the cabin.
It was a very erie feeling to be standing there looking at the still standing cabin after having heard and read about all that had happened there 56 years earlier. The canyon was very quiet as there was no one within 20 miles of where we were. The cabin was a one room affair with an interior door at one end leading to a makeshift lean-to that had served as an extra room.
It was from this extra room according to Marshal Haynes that Tom Sisson killed Sheriff McBride. There was a rock fireplace in the south end that was falling apart from age and disuse. The remains of a framed window to the left of the fireplace looked out on the trail we had just rode in on. According to Tom Power, this is the window through which he had shot our grandfather, Kane Wootan.
The floor boards were mostly torn up and blue sky could be seen through what
was left of the roof.
We went across the canyon for about 100 yards and found the mine.
The stories say that Old Man Power was taken to the mine by Tom and John Power and Sisson where he died several hours after the shoot-out. To our surprise, there was an ancient Ingersoll-Rand air compressor sitting near the mouth of the mine. It was a very large heavy piece of equipment and we wondered how on earth it had got there. By then, it was late in the day and we had planned to spend the night because it would have been impossible to find our way out at night. There was a dried-up stock pond right there so we decided to make camp and have a hot meal.
But first things first, it was time for happy hour and we drank a little whisky. Then we discovered that we had remembered the whisky but had forgotten the matches. Now, one has to realize that we were not neophytes to managing in the great outdoors. I had done a lot of hunting, backpacking, camping and exploring all my life as well as having the training I received in the U.S. Army. And, I was an ex-Boy Scout. Jim was an ex-Army Airborne Ranger with extensive training in jungle survival as well as a Viet Nam veteran with a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. And, he was an ex-Boy Scout. Well, we sat there staring at our big can of Hungry Man stew wondering how we were going to warm it up. Storm clouds had moved in and it was beginning to rain lightly. We jointly had a little conflab and called on all of our survival know-how skills and came up with a plan. In addition to bringing the whisky and Hungry Man stew we brought a .30-.30 rifle, a .41 Colt revolver and a .22 Colt pistol. I guess we thought we might run into some Power relatives or a bear. We concocted a plan the roots of which undoubtedly came from some old western movie we saw as kids. The scheme was to pry a bullet from its cartridge and dump the powder on some dry kindling (if we could find some in the rain) then fire a shot into the powder igniting same and making fire. The movie, "Dumb and Dumber" comes to mind. I don't remember which gun we used but suffice it to say the results were not according to plan. Our little pile of kindling was blown to smithereens. We learned that cold Hungry Man stew wasn't too bad.
With pictures taken and explorations done we set off to find our way out. We had a pretty good idea of how to do just that. It was very wet and cold. I wore two pairs of levis, chaps, sweatshirt, ski jacket, gloves and boots and was still shivering. The trail wound up the side of a steep mountain. It was more of a game trail being very narrow and not big enough for two horses. Jim was leading and the little mare was not pacing as fast as Speck and seemed to be tiring. Speck just plodded along effortlessly faster than Jim's horse. It was trying to pass on the mountain side of the trail forcing Jim's horse off the steep side of the trail. I tried to pull back on Speck and he apparently thought I was trying to turn him around. I was probably giving him the wrong signal. As he turned around he stepped off the trail and we both went ass over teakettle down the hill. I remember going through a pine tree which probably broke my fall, but I kept thinking that Speck was going to land right on top of me. When everything was quiet except Jim yelling if we were OK. I checked myself out and found all the parts seemed to still be in the right place and I wasn't hurt. I think all the clothing had a lot to do with my lack of hurts. I looked around and saw Speck a few yards away eating grass like nothing had happened. After checking him out for injuries, Jim declared him ready for the trail and we continued on. The rest of the trip to the trucks proved uneventful until we hooked up the trailer and started home. We discovered we were very low on gas. It was 1974 and gas was hard to get and it was Sunday in Morman country so open gas stations might be a problem. The closest civilization was Bonita and we limped in to find they would only sell gas to locals due to the gas shortage. We had only one option and that was to make it to Safford over 50 miles away. We found a good part of the way was down-hill so we turned off the engine and coasted a lot of the time. Luckily, we did find an open gas station and were able to make it back to Phoenix.
Recollection Phoenix, 1976
I was assigned to the National Accounts Division as a Commercial Loan Officer and worked directly with the Senior Commercial Loan Officer, Ernie Gerrity. Ernie was a fabulous guy who besides being extremely knowledgeable about lending was one of the funniest people I have ever known. Even when he was deadly serious he could make you laugh. I did quite a bit of traveling around the country in this position because of the national aspect of our clients.
Recollection Phoenix, 1977
I was again reassigned to be Vice President and Head of the Real Estate Division. This position was in charge residential and commercial real estate lending both construction and permanent loans.
Recollection Phoenix, 1978
In the infinite wisdom of those folks with higher pay grades, it was decided that I could also handle the bank's Livestock and Agricultural Loan Department in addition to my responsibilities as the head of the Real Estate Division. At first I thought is was a joke because I didn't know a cow from a heifer or corn from milkweed. Lucky for me I had two old cowboys (both vice presidents) working for me who knew everything about the business. They would bring me a problem and I would ask what they would like to do about it and they always had a solution. I would say, "Do it". This was before Startrek or maybe I would have said, "Make it so!" Everything worked out fine and I got to become acquainted with John Wayne who was partners with Louis Johnson in the 26 Bar cattle operation. John was a remarkable guy who remembered my name from one year to the next. I would only see him at the cocktail party for the annual bull sale in Stanfield, but he would remember me and that was impressive.
Recollection Galiuro Wilderness - 1982
I was contacted by Marshall Trimble to see if I would be agreeable to another trip to Powers Cabin. Marshall had worked for me at First National Bank in the late 50's and was now a writer and a noted Arizona historian. He wanted to gather more material about the Power shoot-out for his books. Our little band of explorers included my cousin, Jim Shepard and his son, Scott, Marshall, Gary Schaeffer who was an anthropologist friend of Marshall's and me.
Our first stop was the Globe-Miami area where Marshall wanted to see some houses-of-ill-repute (long closed!) from the early days when Miami and Globe were in their rip-roaring hey-day. That didn't take too long and we made our way toward Safford turning off highway 70 just before Thatcher towards Klondyke. It is a 22 mile trip from the highway to the Klondyke/Bonita junction. Turning towards Bonita we traveled a couple of miles the turned west off the main road toward Deer Creek Ranch. It was a time-consuming trip to the ranch over a poorly maintained dirt road. We parked the trucks by the ranch corrals and proceeded to unload the horses and prepare for the trail ahead.
After saddling the horses and packing the supplies we left the trucks and corrals behind and began our ascent of the mountain. It was about 3pm and, as we were to fine out, much too late in the date to begin the trek. We had a long trail ahead of us to Powers' Garden and should have started several hours sooner. By the time we got to the top of the mountain to begin our descent into Rattlesnake Canyon the sun was going down. We couldn't see the trail because of the waning light. After a brief conflab, we decided to make camp and continue at sun-up. However, Jim felt that the trail was further down the ridge and struck out on his horse with Scott. We became very concerned when they had not returned by full dark.
With flashlight in hand I began heading in the direction taken by Jim and Scott. I was shouting their names but received no response. Then suddenly Scott and his horse showed up in my flashlight beam. He was just sitting there on his horse like he was waiting for us to show up. I asked him of Jim's whereabouts and he nonchalantly told me that his dad and the horse had fallen off the mountain. This was alarming news! Scott told me that he thought his dad was OK because he could hear him down below. I hurried to the edge of the ridge but could see nothing but black in the canyon. I yelled at him and he immediately replied and said he was fine but he wasn't so sure about the horse. It sounded like they were about 50 feet below me.
I began picking my way down the steep mountainside in the dark. Jim had a large bag of supplies tied to his saddle the contents of which were scattered everywhere. I remember seeing bacon hanging from the limbs of a small pine.
About fifteen minutes later I found both Jim and his horse standing on a narrow ledge about 5 yards wide. The bottom of the canyon was not visible in my flashlight beam as I looked over the edge. Jim appeared unhurt, but his horse was skinned-up and quite scared shaking constantly.
Once I was satisfied that Jim wasn't injured we started assessing the situation to determine what to do next. The only thing that was certain was that we were not going back up the same way he came down. There was no choice but for Jim to remain on the ledge with the horse until morning. It was getting very cold as the night grew deeper. I climbed back up through the brush and pines and returned to camp leaving Scott where he was so I could find my way back and reported the state of affairs to Marshall and Gary. I gathered some food and a bedroll and returned to where I had left Scott. Down the hill again I went and delivered the bedroll to Jim. I offered to stay with him, but he wouldn't hear of it. I went back to camp with Scott where we ate and discussed Jim's calamity. No solution was evident because we really did not have all the facts.
The night was extremely cold. The bedroll wasn't enough so I wrapped myself in an Army poncho which helped. I couldn't sleep well thinking of Jim and his horse on that narrow, cold ledge.
As the dawn was beginning to show in the east, Marshall, Gary, Scott and I started the little trek back to Jim's ledge. While Gary, Marshall and Scott stayed on top, I made my way back down the steep incline to Jim. He and his horse had slid and tumbled down the mountain for about 100 feet before coming to rest on the ledge. Jim had already been considering the options and the assessment wasn't good. It was too steep to get back up the mountain. Going over the ledge meant a drop of about 50 feet so that was out. The ledge petered out up against the mountain on the right side of the steep slope. No go that way either. On the left end of the ledge was a small cut about three feet deep. Beyond the cut was the mountain side with a slightly gentler slope that the one Jim had fallen down. It looked the most promising even though it was covered with loose shale and rock together with a couple of small pine saplings. Jim took stock of our choices: 1. Just leave the horse to fend for itself; 2. Shoot the horse; 3. Try to get a helicopter in to hoist the horse off the ledge; 4. Try to coax the horse into making a short run for it. He would have to jump the cut and through sheer strength and determination fight the shale and scramble his way to the top. We agreed the first three choices were impossible on any number of levels. So we decided to urge the horse to make the run of its life. He would have to start from a dead standstill, make a one stride run for the cut, jump the cut and somehow fight his way up the shale to the top. We called up to Marshall and told them of the plan. Marshall, Scott and Gary made their way to the hillside where the horse would make his run. Marshall made his way down the hill until he was about ten yards above us by a little pine. Gary was posted a little further up the hill. Both had ropes to help with the extraction.
We then turned our attention to motivating the horse to do the impossible. We expended considerable effort pulling on the reins, slapping him on the ass, pulling and shoving. He stood rock solid and looked at us with an expression that seemed to say, "Do I have stupid written all over my face?". After a while we sat down to rest because we were both pretty winded. While contemplating our next move, the horse took off like a rocket, soared over the cut and with shale and rock flying all over the place clawed his way up the hill. It took Marshall by complete surprise. Suddenly, he had a big supercharged horse coming right at him while he was sitting on the ground because of the unsure footing. The horse ran right over Marshall on his way to the crest and disappeared thereunto. Luckily, Marshall wasn't hurt just shook up. Jim and I were just sitting there on the ledge probably with our mouths hanging open in astonishment. We gathered up all of our stuff and made our way back up the mountain and on to camp. Gary had taken charge of the horse. It was just grazing on the mountain grass as though nothing had happened.
Our little band explored and examined everything we could find and tried to figure out what had occurred there so many decades earlier. Marshall had satisfied his curiosity and we decided to climb out of the canyon and make our way back to the trucks since it was still early in the day. It was a long trip and my butt was already pretty sore since I was not used to riding that much. The agony grew worse with every mile. There came a time when we finally crested the mountain and started down the other side. We could see forever from that lofty position. The Aravaipa Valley and Mount Graham were right there in front of us and it was spectacular. The mountain side was very steep and we made our way through tall pines on a narrow trail. I think I was in the lead, but in any case, I was ahead of Jim. A large pine had fallen across the trail. It appeared to have been lying there for many years. Now, there were two choices of how to get around the dead tree. We could go up the hill and around it or go downhill and get around it that way. It looked to me like previous travelers had opted to go uphill so I started up that way. Jim decided to be contrary and go downhill. Big mistake! Huge! As he rounded the end of the tree, firm footing gave way to steeply slanting rock. Jim's horse's legs flew out from under him and gravity took over. The horse landed heavily driving his nose into the hard rock. Then he began to slide down the rock on his side. There was a steep drop of 10 to 20 feet at the end of the rock and the horse and Jim were heading right at it . Deja Vu all over again! Luckily, Jim was not injured and the horse stopped his slide about 15 feet from the edge. We were unsure if the horse was badly hurt or not. He was lying on his side breathing heavily and had a bloody mouth. Jim tried to get him to his feet, but he seemed content to stay right where he was. There was concern that he might continue his slide if he tried to get up. Marshall got his rope out and tied it around the horses's neck then around a small tree. After considerable urging and cussin' the horse scrambled to his feet and headed for Marshall again! Marshall dodged him and the horse was stopped be the rope and Jim. His examination of the horse showed that the bit had been bent into the mouth causing some injury to the gums. Jim was able to bend the bit back to its original position relieving the horses's discomfort. Aside from an assortment of new scratches the horse was ready to ride. Fortunately, there were no more incidents and we were able to get to the trucks and make it back to Phoenix in one piece more or less.
Recollection Phoenix, 1983
I was made Division Vice President of the Metro East Division and reported to Harry Johnston. This was all new to me as usual. The responsibilities included the management of all the branch offices in Scottsdale, Tempe, Mesa and Gilbert. This was retail banking and I had zero experience with branch management. It seems I was always starting fresh. I had great managers and a very capable assistant which made the job so much easier. Harry was a great no-nonsense manager who became a close friend after he retired as President of First Interstate Bank.
Recollection Phoenix, 1983
In October, Bonnie Marie Anderson and I were married at the home of Chet and huge Knight in Carefree, Az. On December 28, Bonnie's daughter, Denise, was critically injured in a car accident that left her permanently impaired due to the extent of her injuries. This was a life-changing event for the family. Several years of therapy later there was no noticeable change in her condition. She had comprehension but could not speak, walk and had very limited use of her hands and arms. She was ultimately put in a nursing home. Denise remained in various nursing homes until 2012 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and passed away shortly after surgery.
At the time, Bonnie and I discussed reducing the daily stress of my activities at the bank by perhaps taking on the position of bank manager at a rural office. I subsequently discussed this with Ed Carson, who was by now President of the bank. Specifically, I asked to be considered for the managers job at Pinetop when the current manager retired. Ed understood and said my request would be noted.
Recollection Phoenix 1985
Harry Johnston asked me to take over the Bank Properties Management department. The department handled all bank land acquisitions, branch design down to the paintings hanging on the was, branch construction, bank property leases, bank maintenance including the main office, all branches throughout the state and the Tempe Operations Center. I thoroughly enjoyed my assignment in this department.
Pinetop, Arizona, 1987
The bank manager of the Pinetop office announced his retirement and Ed said the job was mine if I still wanted it. After discussing the offer with Bonnie, we decided to make the move. I spent several years in Pinetop while I was with First Interstate Bank. After a few months as manage they made me a District Manager. I was responsible for the branch offices in Pinetop, Showlow, Springerville, Payson, Globe and Safford. We lived in Pinetop Country Club and had a nice place deep in the pines. I had a large studio with a pot-bellied stove and a great adjustable skylight. I spent a lot of time in that room.
One night around 3am, my wife, Bonnie smelled smoke and woke me up. She called the Volunteer Fire Dept while I went to find the fire. I was immediately engulfed in toxic smoke and could barely see that there was a fire in progress in the center of my studio where my easel stood. The studio was a separate room the entry to which was a door in the garage. There was a wash basin in the garage and some big buckets standing nearby. I started dousing the fire with the water buckets and had it knocked down pretty well by the time the firemen arrived. The aftermath was messy as one might imagine, but within a couple of months everything was back to normal. The cause of the fire was a plastic trashcan that I had next to the easel into which I would toss rags, paper towel and other highly combustible materials. I must have been keeping my head where the sun don't shine. Over time the rags reached a temperature that allowed spontaneous combustion. Fire needs three things to exist: heat, fuel and oxygen. Take any one of those ingredients away and there can be no fire. I now use a steel trash can and religiously make sure the lid is on before I leave the studio. This deprives the mixture of oxygen. There is a side note to this little disaster. At the time the fire occurred, I had been working on a three quarter length oil painting of a White Mountain Apache girl in all her buckskin clothing and beads. I had almost completed the painting and it was on the easel next to the trash can. The fire went right up the easel consuming it and most of the painting. I had painted the picture on a masonite panel rather than stretched canvas so the upper third of the painting was intact but a little dirty from the smoke. I pitched the remains of the easel and the painting in the trash bin along with a lot of other debris. As I looked at the painting lying there among all the garbage, I felt very sad. The girls eyes were looking at me. I fished the thing out of the trash and took it back in the studio where I scrubbed it with soap and water and sawed off the burnt bottom of the painting with a saber-saw. I finished the painting in due time. Rather than a three quarter length painting, it became a head and shoulders painting. It turned out very nice and hung in Pinetop Country Club for a while before being purchased by one of the members. My preference now is to paint on hard surfaces like wood or masonite. I never have forgotten how I was able to salvage that painting with a saber-saw. Here she is.
Recollection Pinetop, AZ, 1988
Bonnie and I adopted a beautiful little girl, Laura Kathrine, and picked her up at John C. Lincoln Hospital when she was three days old. She became a true delight in our lives.
Recollection Tucson, Az, 1992
Recollection Phoenix, Az, 1994
The rumor persisted that the bank was going to merge with either Bank of America or Wells Fargo. Amid these rumors came an announcement that early retirement packages would be forthcoming to all eligible persons. Finally the letter did come and the amount was based on months served. I had 38 years so the amount was enticing. I could retire and be able to be with my daughter during her formative years. I would also be able to really concentrate on my art. So, after discussing the possibilities with Bonnie I let my boss know I was going to accept the retirement offer. This came as a surprise to a lot of people and in short order I received a call from my boss's boss. He tried to persuade me to reconsider and offered me a district manager's position in Scottsdale which was a real plum. I thanked him and politely declined. My mind was made up.
I later received a letter from Ed Carson on his First Interstate Bancorp Chairman of the Board letterhead which said in part, "Somehow there is something wrong with this whole scene. I should be retiring before you do. Be that as it may, I envy you and wish you well. A lot of water has passed over the dam since you came down from Globe looking for a job. Nadine and I have always considered you as a good friend and we've been proud to work with you over these many years. Please give our best to Bonnie and do keep up with your art. Your talent is extraordinary."
So, with that fond farewell, I retired on June 1, 1994. It took me about 19 minutes to adjust to a life beyond banking. That was how long it took to drive from the bank back to my home.
Recollection Phoenix, Arizona, 2004
My dog Daisy died in September. She was the only dog I had owned since I was in high school. She was 9 years old. She came into our family in 1995. We had spent a Saturday evening at the McDonalds car show held at the Pavillions in Scottsdale. While walking around looking at all of the beautiful classic cars, we chanced upon a couple who had a Brittany Spaniel puppy. It was really cute and my daughter, Laura, who was seven at the time fell in love with it. The next day we scanned the Sunday Republic to find a breeder for Brittanys. We were in luck and made the trip out to Buckeye to look at puppies. The breeder showed the litter to us and Laura picked one right away. I asked a few questions about the breed and was told they were bred for bird hunting and were known for their pointer instincts. He said they were very friendly and made good pets but could be a handful. I paid the man $250 and we suddenly had a new member of the family. On the way home Laura named her Daisy. She was a great dog and a good friend. She also lived up to her "handful" description. I had a lot of fun times with Daisy. We would go on long walks in the desert which were really long pulls. She was always trying to go further than the leash would allow so I was kind of dragged along. Once, Daisy and I packed up the jeep and went on an excursion to Copper Canyon. It was a ghost town north of Mammoth, Arizona. My purpose in going was to do a little plein air painting and gather some new photo material. We had a grand old time. One memorable mishap occurred on that trip when she got entangled in a jumping cholla. She had pieces of cholla in her legs, body and the side of her head. She was really feeling sorry for herself but just whimpered patiently while I plucked out the thorns one by one using a comb and a pair of pliers. That night as we sat at the campfire and she laid her head in my lap. I felt she was grateful that I had taken away her pain. That was a great trip for just the two of us.
She would go into the back yard and look for lizards. It was her favorite pastime. She would flush one out and chase it till it stopped. Then she would strike a classic point pose and stare at her quarry until it decided to move on. On one hike on the Reach 11 trail I noticed her in her "point". She had her nose in a bush. When I investigated I found she was nose to nose with a Gila Monster.
She became ill quite suddenly and began passing a lot of blood. It was on a Sunday and we nursed her through the day but she became steadily worse. I spent the night lying with her on a pad in the back yard trying to comfort her in her misery. I knew what the new day would bring and we reluctantly took her to the vet who confirmed through tests that her vital organs were shutting down. It looked like poisoning and there was nothing that could be done. It was later confirmed that she had eaten a mushroom that had sprouted up in the back yard. We stayed with her while the doctor administered the chemicals that put her into her final sleep. She was a good dog. Mark Twain said that when he died he wanted to go to wherever the dogs went. I know the feeling
Recollection Phoenix, Az, October 2007
Nadine Carson passed away and I went to her services. I felt like I had lost a dear aunt. What a remarkable woman. Following the services I attended the reception at the Paradise Valley Country Club. After standing in a long line I was finally able to visit with Ed Carson for a few minutes. When it was finally my turn to see him he grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled my cheek down to his and thanked me for coming. It was really good to see him. He is a good friend
Phoenix, Arizona, 2007
My student, Betty, is trying to paint a picture of Wrigley Field in the 1920's. Betty is a very conscientious painter who is really trying to become a better artist. However, like most artists trying to learn, there is a tendency to bite off more that one can chew. As a result, the painting has become a joint venture and a fun one at that. Betty is doing most of the research and I am doing most of the painting with her excellent input of ideas. What did the fans wear in those days? Certainly not baseball caps and ski jackets! Photos of the games of the day show the fans wearing all the same stuff. The scene is outside Wrigley Field with the crowd moving in to buy their tickets. It is a cold, gray September day and the mood is very somber. Stirring up some excitement in the crowd is the challenge. How we make each gesture interesting and creative is a hoot! This is going to be a great painting! We may go into the business of painting stadiums!
Pagosa Springs, Colorado, 2007
I had the opportunity to go through the Fred Harman Museum in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. It really brought back a lot of memories. There were quite a few vintage comic books on display, and I was amazed to realize that I remembered some of the pictures.
Recollection Phoenix, Arizona, 2004
My dog Daisy died in September. She was the only dog I had owned since I was in high school. She was 9 years old. She came into our family in 1995. We had spent a Saturday evening at the McDonalds car show held at the Pavillions in Scottsdale. While walking around looking at all of the beautiful classic cars, we chanced upon a couple who had a Brittany Spaniel puppy. It was really cute and my daughter, Laura, who was seven at the time fell in love with it. The next day we scanned the Sunday Republic to find a breeder for Brittanys. We were in luck and made the trip out to Buckeye to look at puppies. The breeder showed the litter to us and Laura picked one right away. I asked a few questions about the breed and was told they were bred for bird hunting and were known for their pointer instincts. He said they were very friendly and made good pets but could be a handful. I paid the man $250 and we suddenly had a new member of the family. On the way home Laura named her Daisy. She was a great dog and a good friend. She also lived up to her "handful" description. I had a lot of fun times with Daisy. We would go on long walks in the desert which were really long pulls. She was always trying to go further than the leash would allow so I was kind of dragged along. Once, Daisy and I packed up the jeep and went on an excursion to Copper Canyon. It was a ghost town north of Mammoth, Arizona. My purpose in going was to do a little plein air painting and gather some new photo material. We had a grand old time. One memorable mishap occurred on that trip when she got entangled in a jumping cholla. She had pieces of cholla in her legs, body and the side of her head. She was really feeling sorry for herself but just whimpered patiently while I plucked out the thorns one by one using a comb and a pair of pliers. That night as we sat at the campfire and she laid her head in my lap. I felt she was grateful that I had taken away her pain. That was a great trip for just the two of us.
She would go into the back yard and look for lizards. It was her favorite pastime. She would flush one out and chase it till it stopped. Then she would strike a classic point pose and stare at her quarry until it decided to move on. On one hike on the Reach 11 trail I noticed her in her "point". She had her nose in a bush. When I investigated I found she was nose to nose with a Gila Monster.
She became ill quite suddenly and began passing a lot of blood. It was on a Sunday and we nursed her through the day but she became steadily worse. I spent the night lying with her on a pad in the back yard trying to comfort her in her misery. I knew what the new day would bring and we reluctantly took her to the vet who confirmed through tests that her vital organs were shutting down. It looked like poisoning and there was nothing that could be done. It was later confirmed that she had eaten a mushroom that had sprouted up in the back yard. We stayed with her while the doctor administered the chemicals that put her into her final sleep. She was a good dog. Mark Twain said that when he died he wanted to go to wherever the dogs went. I know the feeling
Recollection Phoenix, Az, October 2007
Nadine Carson passed away and I went to her services. I felt like I had lost a dear aunt. What a remarkable woman. Following the services I attended the reception at the Paradise Valley Country Club. After standing in a long line I was finally able to visit with Ed Carson for a few minutes. When it was finally my turn to see him he grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled my cheek down to his and thanked me for coming. It was really good to see him. He is a good friend
Phoenix, Arizona, 2007
My student, Betty, is trying to paint a picture of Wrigley Field in the 1920's. Betty is a very conscientious painter who is really trying to become a better artist. However, like most artists trying to learn, there is a tendency to bite off more that one can chew. As a result, the painting has become a joint venture and a fun one at that. Betty is doing most of the research and I am doing most of the painting with her excellent input of ideas. What did the fans wear in those days? Certainly not baseball caps and ski jackets! Photos of the games of the day show the fans wearing all the same stuff. The scene is outside Wrigley Field with the crowd moving in to buy their tickets. It is a cold, gray September day and the mood is very somber. Stirring up some excitement in the crowd is the challenge. How we make each gesture interesting and creative is a hoot! This is going to be a great painting! We may go into the business of painting stadiums!
Pagosa Springs, Colorado, 2007
I had the opportunity to go through the Fred Harman Museum in Pagosa Springs, Colorado. It really brought back a lot of memories. There were quite a few vintage comic books on display, and I was amazed to realize that I remembered some of the pictures.
Recollection Phoenix, Az, 2010
My old friend and mentor, Ed Carson, passed away at the age of 81. I attended his services. It seems I am attending too many funerals for old friends and relatives.
Recollection Roosevelt Lake, Az, March, 2010
Received a call from cousin, Jim Shepard, to invite me to go fishing at Roosevelt Lake. He had bought a bass boat on eBay and went all the way to Dallas to pick it up. I jumped at the chance to spend some time with him and have a little fun fishing which I had not done in a long time. We spent the weekend at the half-star Lake Roosevelt "Resort" and had a real good time. Caught a few fish and went in to Globe for a great mexican food dinner at the El Rey cafe one of my old high school haunts. The trip was the beginning of a regular fishing trip adventure we repeated many times over the next seven years.
Recollection Scottsdale - 2016
After having had a very nice (but small) studio on Thomas Road in Scottsdale for eight years, we received notice in November that Scottsdale Executive Plaza had been sold and we had until 3/31/16 to vacate the property. On February 1, 2016, I relocated the Working Artists Studio to 7745 E. Gelding Rd in the Scottsdale Airpark. The new studio is 1750 square feet and a marvelous upgrade. Besides being only 5 minutes from home, the studio is in the middle of convenient stores (Costco, Walmart, Home Depot, Kierland Commons and the Scottsdale Quarter) and a wide variety of restaurants. It is also nearer the majority of all my students. I have rented out space to four other artists and still have about 1000 square feet for my painting and drawing classes as well as my personal space. We also have a wonderful kitchen and two restrooms. Getting the new studio up to speed has been a tremendous amount of work but also great fun. It has opened the door to many other exciting opportunities that I am now exploring.
Recollection Roosevelt Lake, Az, March, 2010
Received a call from cousin, Jim Shepard, to invite me to go fishing at Roosevelt Lake. He had bought a bass boat on eBay and went all the way to Dallas to pick it up. I jumped at the chance to spend some time with him and have a little fun fishing which I had not done in a long time. We spent the weekend at the half-star Lake Roosevelt "Resort" and had a real good time. Caught a few fish and went in to Globe for a great mexican food dinner at the El Rey cafe one of my old high school haunts. The trip was the beginning of a regular fishing trip adventure we repeated many times over the next seven years.
Recollection Scottsdale - 2016
After having had a very nice (but small) studio on Thomas Road in Scottsdale for eight years, we received notice in November that Scottsdale Executive Plaza had been sold and we had until 3/31/16 to vacate the property. On February 1, 2016, I relocated the Working Artists Studio to 7745 E. Gelding Rd in the Scottsdale Airpark. The new studio is 1750 square feet and a marvelous upgrade. Besides being only 5 minutes from home, the studio is in the middle of convenient stores (Costco, Walmart, Home Depot, Kierland Commons and the Scottsdale Quarter) and a wide variety of restaurants. It is also nearer the majority of all my students. I have rented out space to four other artists and still have about 1000 square feet for my painting and drawing classes as well as my personal space. We also have a wonderful kitchen and two restrooms. Getting the new studio up to speed has been a tremendous amount of work but also great fun. It has opened the door to many other exciting opportunities that I am now exploring.
2 comments:
I'm glad I read this. Frank Wootan is my great, great grandfather. I have a massive binder put together by Millie Wootan. There are many many stories. My grandpa Dennis Medlock gave it to me.
I'm the granddaughter of Gladys Wootan. She passed in 2001, she and I were so very close. We still have #42/50 of Sky City you gave her.
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