Loophole in the law saved man from hangin’ tree

By Parker Anderson

The mountain town of Jerome, today a quiet, tourist-oriented hamlet, was a wild and wooly mining camp in the late 19th century. A vast array of respectable and not so respectable characters congregated there. Among them a barber named Richard Cross.

Very little is known of his background, except that he hailed from Illinois. Why he ended up in Jerome is also unknown. What is known is that, while he was there, he became infatuated and/or obsessed with a woman who did not return his love.

The woman in question is identified in surviving court papers as Effie Folds, but aside from that, nothing is known about her, expect that she was apparently involved romantically with Bryon Jones, a bartender at the St. Elmo Saloon in Jerome. This was too much for Richard Cross.

On March 13, 1897. Richard Cross murdered Byron Jones in a fit of jealous rage. He waited most of the night for Jones to leave Effie’s room, and gunned him down in the doorway around 3 a. m. After his deed was done, he fled into the mountains.

Yavapai County Sheriff George C. Ruffner issued a reward proclamation for Cross, and instantly struck a trail in pursuit of the Jerome murderer. Cross managed to elude Ruffner, and made it to the south side of Prescott, where he had the misfortune of being overpowered by a miner who recognized the murderer’s description from a dispatch in the Courier. The miner was able to hold Cross until Deputy Johnny Munds could be summoned, and Cross was lodged in the Yavapai County Jail.

The slaying case of Byron Jones was mostly open and shut, and it seemed certain that Richard Cross would be on his way to the gallows, except for fate.

Yavapai County’s representative in the Territorial Legislature, John W. Norton, pushed a bill through apparently at the behest of special interests that legally redefined the act of murder. Exactly why it was felt this was needed is unknown, but the passage of the Norton Act left open a gaping loophole.

The Norton Act was poorly worded, and as a result, it had the following effect: Any murderer arrested before the passage of the Act, but not yet convicted, could not be charged with murder! The most such killers could be charged with was manslaughter. Reportedly as many as sixty murderers benefited from the Norton Act in Arizona, including Richard Cross, and outrage over this legal gaffe was widespread throughout the Territory.

Murder charges had to be withdrawn against Richard Cross, and in accordance with the loophole in the Norton Act, he was charged with manslaughter, which carried a much lighter sentence. Deciding not to press his luck, Cross pleaded guilty to the lesser charge, and was sentenced to ten years in Yuma Territorial Prison, the maximum sentence for manslaughter.

A note of bitter irony to this story: By happenstance, Cross was in the Yavapai County Jail at the time when outlaw James Parker, Louis C. Miller, and Cornelia Sarata made their legendary jailbreak, in which Parker gunned down Deputy District Attorney Lee Norris. This incident happened only about a month after the passage of the Norton Act, so Parker did not benefit from its loophole, and he went to the gallows in June of 1898. Richard Cross had committed his murder of Byron Jones before the Act’s passage, saving him. Literally a few weeks meant the difference between life and death for the two murderers who were in jail together.

When Louis C. Miller was brought to trial, Richard Cross was called to testify about any advance knowledge he may have had of the jailbreak. On the stand, he claimed that Parker and Miller had offered to let him go with them, but that he had declined.

During his unusually brief stay at Yuma Territorial Prison, Cross became the prison barber, the warden apparently deciding to take advance of the killer’s knowledge of the tonsorial profession. In 1903, after serving 6 1/2 years of his sentence, Richard Cross became eligible to petition the Territorial Governor for a pardon, which he received. Contrary to the image of frontier justice, pardons and paroles were surprisingly easy to obtain during this period.

On Christmas Eve, 1903, Richard Cross walked out of Yuma prison a free man. He had served 6 years for a murder that was, if anything, far more premeditated that the one that Parker was hanged for. Today, the average person believes that legal technicalities that free criminals are a fairly recent phenomenon. A story like this shows that this is not the case.

After his release from Yuma Territorial Prison, Richard Cross moved to Los Angeles, where he reportedly married. He lived quietly for several years, but he resurfaced in 1907 when he was arrested for attempted murder in the shooting of his wife. He was sentenced to two years in the California State Prison in Folsom. His whereabouts after his release from that facility are unknown.

This coming weekend (August 3,4,5) and the one following that (10,11,12), the Sharlot Hall Museum’s Blue Rose Theater will Present "Murder Dismissed," the story of Cross and the Norton Act. For more information and tickets, contact the Museum at 445-3122.

(Parker Anderson is a playwright and actor with the Blue Rose Theater)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(h104pc). Reuse only by permission.

Richard Cross escaped the fate that Jim Parker met here on the gallows in 1898 because of a loop hole in the law. The Norton Act basically reduced his sentence from death for murder to 10 years for manslaughter. His story has been written into a play that will be at the Sharlot Hall Museum over the next couple of weekends.

By Leo Banks

A Hualapai Indian murderer was hung outside Prescott in 1925. The now-forgotten case was extraordinary for its drama and absurdity. It was a frontier hanging in the age of the telephone and Model-T.

The killing of cab driver A.M. Cavell by George Dixon Sujynamie aroused deep passions in Prescott. The white population hollered for the head of the 19-year-old Indian, while members of the Hualapai tribe reportedly held war councils and threatened reprisals if the government went through with the execution.

The murder took place in April on the Fort Whipple Military Reservation. Sujynamie, a stockily built man who spoke in a strange musical voice, had been in love with a Yavapai girl from the Indian camp at Whipple.

Sujynamie wanted to marry her, but the men of the tribe turned her against him, in part because he was considered strange, but also because he was Hualapai, a traditional enemy of the Yavapai.

In despair, Sujynamie hired Cavell to drive him to his ex-girlfriend’s camp. His plan was to murder her, and the men who interfered with their love, then commit suicide.

But when he learned the girl was gone from the camp, Sujynamie inexplicably killed Cavell, striking him on the head 15 times with an iron bolt, and returned to Kingman in Cavell’s Ford.

He was quickly arrested, found guilty and sentenced to hang. U.S. officials ordered the construction of a gallows stockade at Whipple, north of Prescott, within sight of where Cavell’s body was discovered.

Fearing that angry Hualapais would burn down the structure before the October 10 hanging, officials hired two men to guard it.

Cowboys Billy Simon and Pearly Morris needed the money and didn’t count on having to do much more than sleep under the gallows to get it.

Simon didn’t own a car and rode to Whipple on horseback. Morris drove in his Model-T Ford, a jalopy that only started when shoved down a hill.

The stockade was 20 feet square and situated in a hollow surrounded by high ridges. It had partitions on four sides, a narrow entry door, but no roof. The two men spread their bedrolls inside the walls and set up tarps for protection against the rain.

"While there, before we went to bed, we set around talking," said Simon in a 1972 interview. "Then I guess these Indians decided they’d scare us off."

Hualapais lit fires on the ridges around the gallows and began howling, then drove loose horses toward the stockade. In his interview, published in AFFword, a defunct folklore magazine put out by Northern Arizona University, Simon said:

"Now these horses had bells on, and they were making quite a racket – the bells were – and we figured out that the Indians were making this racket so’s they could get up close and maybe take us, see.

"All we had was six-shooters. So I told Pearly Morris, ‘Your little car is up there on top of this little knoll, and you get in it, and I’ll give you a push, get you started, and then you go up to the sheriff’s office and bring back two 30-30s, and a bunch of cartridges.’

Pearly returned shortly with rifles, "so we started having a little target practice, shooting up at where these fires were on the ridges. That put a stop to that."

Two nights before the execution, in what had to be one of the strangest parties ever held, some of Simon’s cowboy friends dropped by to celebrate his birthday. They carried a cake with a full complement of candles, hot chocolate and other festive victuals.

According to the Prescott Journal-Miner, "The party sat around in the solemn stockade and regaled themselves," while listening to the chants of Wallapais who’d traveled from Kingman to support Sujynamie.

On execution eve, they again packed the surrounding hills, determined to drive Billy and Pearly away. "We could see the light of the big fires and hear them sing this death chant all night long," Simon said. "One Indian in particular was the most persistent howler I ever heard in my life."

The gallows were state-of-the-art, equipped with three starter pedals inside a small shanty within the larger stockade. The pedals were wired to a motor that would start when the correct pedal was pushed, opening the gallows trapdoor.

Only one pedal was active and nobody was supposed to know which one. But Billy and Pearly couldn’t resist testing them by putting a big rock on the trapdoor. The live one was in the middle.

Three men were asked to work the fatal pedals. One was Billy’s friend Roland Mosher, who was part Yavapai Indian. But he refused, saying "Any man that does get that live pedal, he’ll be dead inside of six weeks.’"

Gun salesman Bill Stich filled in for Mosher. "I’ll step on that pedal. I don’t care which one I draw," Stich boasted.

On the streets of Prescott, the goings-on at the death stockade came to be called Mauk’s card party. U.S. Marshal George Mauk had the unique idea of issuing signed playing cards as invitations to the hanging, to be witnessed by 52 people.

Newspapers made much of the prisoner’s coolness, attributing it to his tribe’s ancient rituals. They called Sujynamie the "Wallapai mystic," and reported, based on the testimony of Lee Johnston, his cellmate, that Sujynamie spent his time beating a death chant on the walls of his cell.

Sujynamie’s only white advocate, William Light, superintendent of the Truxton Canyon Indian Agency, called that a lie. "I doubt if Johnston can understand five words of the vernacular of the Wallapai, and those would express the fact that he had liquor to sell them," Light said.

The Superintendent wrote numerous letters in an effort to have Sujynamie’s sentence commuted to life. But President Calvin Coolidge denied the request.

With carbine-armed officers, including Morris, on the hilltops around the stockade, deputies escorted Sujynamie up the gallows steps. He was smiling and clutching a bouquet of flowers he wished to be buried with.

"Well," continued Simon, who was riding his horse around the stockade, still expecting trouble, "the Indian walked up the 13 steps, and he got on the trap door. The sheriff had a 30-30 in one hand and a bottle in the other, and he was crying. Tears were running down his face."

After a final statement, declaring that he held no grudge against the white people who’d gathered to watch him die, Sujynamie was hung. As for Mosher’s prediction about the man who got the live pedal, it might’ve come true, depending on whether one believes there is a statute of limitations on curses. Stich didn’t die within months, as Mosher predicted; he lived another seven years.

But he did die young, at age 48, of a sudden heart attack, giving believers in bad spirits reason to believe that Mosher had been right after all.

(Leo W. Banks, a Tucson-based writer, is a frequent contributor to Arizona Highways magazine. He also has written several books of history for Arizona Highways’ book division. These include Never Stand Between a Cowboy and his Spittoon and Rattlesnake Blues. Banks will be presenting to the Prescott Corral of Westerners in August)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(bub8193pf). Reuse only by permission.

This photo, taken in the mid 1920s from the hill that now holds the Prescott Resort, shows the Whipple Barracks and barely shows the region that the Yavapai were living on that was part of the Military Reservation. In 1925 an inexplicable murder took place here. The hanging of the accused happened only a few feet from where the murder took place.

by Larry Schader

In 1947, Warner Brothers Studio made a movie titled, "Dark Journey", starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Near the end of the film, Bogart goes into a bus depot in San Francisco to buy a ticket to "Benton, Arizona." The ticket clerk consults his tariff and tells him he can go by way of Ash Fork, Prescott, Skull Valley, and Wickenburg. Thus, for one brief shining moment, the community of Skull Valley was thrown into the worldwide movie spotlight. One can only wonder what went through the minds of the viewers if they were quick enough to catch that brief mention of a town called Skull Valley. Was it the image of a dark and foreboding scar on the landscape? Or did they think, "What a great place for a Halloween Party!" The reactions, if any, were probably as varied as the explanations that exist today for the origin of the name.

Those of us, who have lived in this area for any time at all, have undoubtedly heard that the settlement was so named because of the piles of skulls and bones littering the landscape when the first settlers arrived. As to how they came to be there, many theories have been advanced. The most popular seems to be that they were the result of intertribal warfare among Yavapais, Apaches, Maricopas, and Mohavas. Added to the mix are stories of encounters between the army and marauding bands of Indians. On May 8, 1962, the Santa Fe Railroad ran an advertisement in the Los Angeles Times for the newly opened Abra-Skull Valley cut off which shortened the mileage and time between Ash Fork and Phoenix. It also bypassed Prescott. Appearing at the bottom of the ad was a paragraph titled in bold print, "The Story of Skull Valley." It went on to state that according to legend, a battle occurred in the middle of the 1800s between Mexican troops traveling North, and Indians; the bones being those of the combatants that were killed during the skirmish. Recently, a radio commercial airing in Prescott purported the bones were the result of an Indian attack on a party of Mormon settlers en route to the Colorado River. A Prescott resident informed me that the bones were not human, but those of a herd of buffalo slaughtered by Indians.

In the absence of concrete evidence, this becomes a classic example of the old saying, "you pays your money and takes your choice". On the other hand, if you don’t like any of the existing theories, put your imagination to it and develop an explanation of your own. In any event, the beautiful, pastoral community of Skull Valley today belies the bloody explanations of its name.

The only disturbance to the tranquility of present day Skull Valley is the rumbling of the freight trains as they pass through four to six times a day going both ways between Phoenix and Ash Fork.

It wasn’t always so tranquil. In 1864, the first settlers started arriving. They were drawn to the area by its fertile soil, abundant water, mild climate, and natural beauty. It soon became a stopping place for freight wagons between Prescott and La Paz on the Colorado River as well as a stage stop between Wickenburg and Prescott.

The arrival of The Santa Fe, Prescott, and Phoenix Railway in 1894 marked the beginning of a new era in Skull Valley. It became a stop for both passenger and freight trains. The settlers’ needs became more available, and a reliable method of distribution of their agricultural products to both Prescott and Phoenix was provided. An 1898 Santa Fe passenger timetable lists No.1 leaving Ash Fork at 12:35 P.M. daily, and arriving at Skull Valley at 4:35 P.M. for a dinner stop. However, as it left at 4:55 p.m., 20 minutes later, this has to be construed as the epitome of early days’ ‘fast food.’

In the same year, the depot became the defacto Post Office. Mail was delivered to the station agent by train for distribution. This practice continued for 18 years until the Post Office was moved to the Skull Valley Store.

The original depot, built in 1898, remained in service for 28 years at which time it was converted to living quarters for the agent. Mary Kukal, Past President of the Skull Valley Historical Society, states in her history of Skull Valley, that in 1941 it was sold for $50.00 and the wood used to build a storage shed and barn on the property of K.L. Pearson.

In 1926, the Santa Fe R.R. moved a larger depot, also built in 1898, from Cherry Creek (Dewey) to Skull Valley. This is the depot that still stands today. The move was necessitated because of the growing demand for passenger and freight service in the area. Over the years that demand fluctuated, but remained relatively strong until after World War II. As the trucking industry moved from inner city, to intrastate, to interstate, rail freight shipments from Skull Valley steadily declined. With the increasing popularity of automobile travel, demand for passenger service declined dramatically. And so it was that passenger service was discontinued in 1962, and freight service in 1969.

Today, the little red and white depot stands as a proud reminder of the time when it was a center of activity in the community. The two passenger trains that served the Valley are long gone. The freight trains still rumble up and down the line, but no longer stop there. Inside, nearly everything remains that was necessary to run an agented station. As one enters the waiting room, the original bench, wood-fired stove, and ticket counter stand in their original positions. The passenger Arrival and Departure board hangs on the wall. One must surmise that when the station was moved from Cherry Creek, no change was made in its directional headings, as they still read east and west bound. Timetables on the Skull Valley line indicate north and south bound trains. The station agent’s desk still sports the tools of his trade; a telegraph key, an antiquated typewriter, and ticket stamp. Nearby, on the wall, a crank-type telephone supplied a direct link to the Ash Fork office.

The freight room walls are covered with the scrawled names and dates of the men who worked there. Some go back to the turn of the century. The platform that ran along the outside of the depot is gone now, but, standing there in the shadow of the old depot, one can almost sense the bygone activity of unloading and loading freight shipments, of excited passengers dressed in their finest detraining and boarding with great expectations of a better life or an adventuresome vacation. The ghosts are there. All one needs to do is listen.

If you have not visited the , now a museum, you are missing a rare opportunity to step back in history to a time when the railroads were the binding that held America together, not just the big cities, but small towns and hamlets like Skull Valley. The museum is open from 2:00 to 4:00 P.M. every Sunday through the summer.

(Larry Schader has been in theater for many years. He directs for the Prescott Fine Arts Association. He writes Melodramas including "Midnight Train to Skull Valley", which will be presented at the Sharlot Hall Museum Blue Rose Theater on July 20, 21,22, 27, 28, and 29, 2001. Call the Museum at 445-3122 for show times and to get ticket information.)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(pb015a75-322n). Reuse only by permission.

The was the center of life in the area since it served as the transportation and communication link to the world. The essence of railroad life in Skull Valley is captured in a play to be presented at the Sharlot Hall Museum in July 2001. Call the Museum for complete details.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(rr235p)
Reuse only by permission.

The in the height of it’s activity in 1910.

By Dorothy Chafin

When my family first moved to Prescott, the population was 4,500. Was it a dull, small town? Nope. It was the county seat and always had activity.

Shopping was better than it is today: Bashford Burmister carried everything from furniture to designer dresses and suits with famous labels; Agnes Todd had a dress shop just across the alley from the Elks theatre and restocked several times a year from her trips to California and other cities. She would also do shopping for her customers, always knowing what they would like. Later on, the Goldwaters opened a store in Prescott, making it possible to offer ready to wear clothes on short notice. Samuel Hill’s Hardware store carried not only nails and screws and other hardware, but quality dishes, silver, and linens too.

The courthouse square was the center of activity in the summer with band concerts and community sings. We lived at the top of the hill on Union Street in the Lawler house, a duplex with each side having two stories, one side occupied by John Lawler and his mother and the other by our family. It was in back of the high school where one of the county buildings now stands. My sister could wait until the last bell, then walk across the street to her class. We could sit on the porch and hear the bands and the community concerts instead of walking the one and a half blocks to the plaza. Of course, it was much more fun to go down to visit with friends while being entertained.

During the winter months, all social activities of importance were held at the Hassayampa Hotel, such as: dinners, banquets and dancing with Leonard Ross and his orchestra. Some time after prohibition was thrown out, public dances were out and places that served liquor were in. So our group formed a club-the 20-30 Club. We had our own dances and hired an orchestra, often, Leonard Ross. The girls brought cakes for a midnight supper. No liquor was served, but of course a few sneaked-out to drink from their own bottles. The number one entertainment in those days was dancing. We were all friends so we had a wonderful time.

When I first arrived in Prescott, I didn’t appreciate it at all. Where we had been living, Hayden, Colorado, was basically dry and Republican while Prescott was wet and Democrat. It took me some time to realize Prescott had many well-educated, sophisticated people, with as many churches as there were bars. And, having a street named Whiskey Row was an asset. The diversity of people and activities made it a very interesting town in which to live.

So interesting, that I never wanted to leave. When offered a job in the Los Angles area at three times what I was making here, I went over for an interview.

But, it didn’t take long to decide that the money didn’t compensate for the loss of small-town life. As my family members moved away, I didn’t consider leaving.

The Smoki people were one of the most interesting groups. Structured as an Indian Tribe, the men elected a chief and council. The "squaws" had their own group, electing a chieftess and council subject to the approval of the men. The wives and daughters of Smoki members could be invited to join but you could not apply for membership. It was by invitation only.

It was a great family organization. During the summer months, everyone went to the fairgrounds to practice for the August dance. As each group went through their routines, the others could visit while the children played. During the winter, dinners and dances were held each month. Invited speakers, both Indian and Anglo, brought much information on Indian customs and dances. I didn’t appreciate the Indian jewelry until I joined the Smoki. Then, since we wore it during the performance, all of us bought a lot of it.

Since the Prescott Rodeo was the oldest in the country, everyone joined in the celebration, creating an atmosphere of the old west. Many famous cowboys and movie stars performed in Prescott.

The lighting of the Courthouse at Christmas time with the parades, music, and decorations all over town also made the city a place of distinction and pleasant for all its activities. For more than forty years, it has brought many people to visit and some to move here.

Cattle ranching has contributed to the old west atmosphere. It has meant cowboys in Levis and western hats on the street rather than shorts and sandals. Also, an occasional horse has ridden into the Palace Bar.

Where did my home town go? As it becomes ‘everybody’s home town,’ it is filled with traffic, waiting lines, etc What can I do? When the ranches are gone and the open spaces are filled with houses, paving and people, should I move away? To where? Every small town is having the same problems. So, what I must do is stay and cope with whatever, to still love my hometown.

(Dorothy Chafin moved to Prescott in 1933 and is active in the local arts and music association in her hometown)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(citn268pg). Reuse only by permission.

Prescott was far from being "Everybody’s Hometown," in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Wonderful shopping, community sings, dance clubs, and the occasional horse in the Palace Bar all added up to making our hometown everyone’s hometown. But this author is left wondering what happened to her hometown.

By Ruth Noggle

(Last week the author told us about Joe Noggle, his family, and 1950s Prescott)

One of Joe’s favorite picnic areas was on the top of Mingus Mountain. Our family always looked forward to those occasions. He took us with friends and relatives and we enjoyed happy summer repasts. Sometimes, he drove slowly around Jerome’s curves retelling the true story of their sliding jail, the consequences of exploding dynamite. It was a ghost town then and Joe liked its mystique.

Other favorite picnic places were Wolf Creek off Senator Highway and Granite Basin Lake. Joe knew the history and some legends of these areas and we kids enjoyed his company. At home, Joe cooked pancakes and steaks on the outdoor fireplace’s big griddle. We also had marshmallow and wiener roasts there.

Our family attended the First Congregational Church on the corner of Gurley and Alarcon. Joe sang in the choir with a deep baritone voice. The Rev. Dr. Charles Franklin Parker missed him when he couldn’t come. Danny Freeman remembered him teaching a Sunday school class, using the kid’s wooden blocks to explain the building blocks of life.

The church had an unused room off the sanctuary full of old boards, wooden benches and tables. Joe helped form the Men’s Club and cleaned it out and laid a new floor. They hammered, nailed, sanded and sweated, laying narrow wood strips diagonally across the entire floor. It changed the room into a social showplace for the Women’s Club potluck dinner and Sunday fellowships.

The house on Whetstine grew smaller with growing kids. Joe remodeled it, building an additional lower room on the east side, the length of the house. A metal-hooded fireplace gave it distinction.

Joe served in Smoki for several years, working in the underground below the Rodeo Arena. When they needed a puff of smoke to hide or make a dancer appear, he knew how to use a black powder charge at the right time. He and his sons drove out into the Prescott ‘wilds’ and caught numbers of bull snakes for the Snake Dance. Our friend, Leroy Russell, who rescued injured animals, also helped.

1958 was the centenary of Theodore Roosevelt’s birth and the Arizona Game Protective Association (AGPA) planned a bronze plaque to commemorate his establishment of the Grand Canyon National Game Preserve within the present boundary of North Kaibab National Forest. William H. (Bill) Beers was AGPA president and they decided to place the plaque at Jacob Lake, a small town within Kaibab North. Bill owned and operated Beer’s Roofing and Insulation in Prescott.

Roosevelt was revered in Prescott and the United States not only for his leadership with the Arizona Rough Riders during the Spanish-American War in 1898 and for being a Nobel Peace Prize recipient, but also for his aggressive conservation policies. During his two terms (1901-9), he set aside 120,000,000 acres of prime land that included the Grand Canyon Forest Reserve and the Game Preserve.

The AGPA contracted with George Phippen, a well-known western artist, to sculpt Roosevelt’s face in bas-relief. George was also a member of the Frontier Rotary Club. Joe Vest, a Prescott tool and die maker, supervised the casting. Joe Noggle designed the memorial plaque at his drafting table.

Time was short for the June 22 event and when no furnace large enough to melt 60 pounds of bronze was located, Joe decided to set-up a foundry in the flat, shady area of our backyard. He obtained a big crucible for the metal alloy of copper and tin with small amounts of zinc and lead. This produced art bronze.

Scrounging around town, Joe found the tin in a store basement in cooling coils from an old soda fountain. The plaque was sand cast in a white pine casting flask using very fine sand from the banks of the Verde River.

A granite boulder found near the base of Thumb Butte and weighing 9,500 pounds was trucked up to Jacob Lake. It rolled off the truck, landing on the right end and the plaque was bolted on. The artists, their families, government dignitaries and Sen. Barry Goldwater, the dedicatee, attended the ceremony and admired the first bronze casting made in Prescott.

Joe’s spirits soared and he decided bronze casting could help him and Prescott. He located an old livery stable with hitching rings in the walls on the corner of South Summit and Beach streets (now referred to as the Noggle building on the grounds of the Sharlot Hall Museum). The interior was a shambles, but with persistent work, the stable became the Noggle Bronze Works. It consisted of a foundry with an office, a mold and wax room upstairs, an oven and crucible furnace below, and a large finishing room on the driveway.

Along with Joe, his sons learned the exacting, painstakingly long, many-stepped process of the lost wax casting method that, depending on size, took a month or more to complete. I watched George Phippen at the touch-up bench as he used dental picks to dig out tiny details in his waxes and saw his originals travel through all the steps from beginning to end. Joe cast three of George’s pieces: Parade Marshall, Father Kino and Brush Poppers, among others.

Famous artists and interested people came to the shop to watch or learn the art of bronze casting or have their art cast. Among them were Jack Armstrong, Sandi Ashton, Joe Beeler, Hugh Cabot, Ted DeGrazia, Cleo Duggar, R. Farrington Elwell, Tom Emery, Walt Emory, Eugenia Everett, Bruce Fee, Hardy Grant, Lee Jones, John La Parade, Robert Mikulewicz, Jack Osmer, Loren Phippen, Frank Polk, Jack Price, Hank Richter, Cynthia Rigden, John Skurja, Dick Sloviaczek, Mrs. Tognoni, Russ Vickers, John Waddell, Nan Whitte and George Zabriskie.

Famous authors who visited the shop included LaVerne Harrell Clark, Gene Hoopes and Beth Landis.

With Joe’s artistic knowledge of each sculptor’s wishes for their art castings, both his and Prescott’s fame spread around the world in the 17 years between 1958 and 1975. He taught classes at the shop, "From Most Any Solid Medium to Bronze."

In the early 1970′s, Joe sculpted iris fountains and an Arizona roadrunner perched with its tail up, standing among cacti. He cast these himself.

Noggle Bronze Works ended in late 1975 when Joe married Beth Landis and moved to Sedona. Joe’s life and bronze foundry left their own famous legacies, not in dollars, but in rich stories, pictures, memories and hundreds of bronze castings, for his family and the people who knew him. He brought fame in bronze to Prescott and changed its history forever.

(Ruth Noggle is Joe Noggle’s daughter. She has recently donated many items to the Museum to better document the life of her father including a much longer version of this story.)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number: (Noggle collection). Reuse only by permission.

George Phippen (at the wax touch-up bench and near the wax melting stove), Carl Noggle and Joe Noggle work at the Noggle Bronze Works on Beach street. The foundry helped the community and was used by many famous artists and was noted for smelling of wax and synthetic rubber. Noggle Collection, Sharlot Hall Museum