by Parker Anderson

Downtown Prescott needed a parking garage and South Granite Street was the site chosen. When an area is sited for construction, it is required by Federal and State Law that an archaeological investigation be done. In late 2002, Granite Street was bustling with archaeologists and volunteers recovering thousands of artifacts prior to the building of the parking garage. It is evident from the findings, and from historical accounts, that the area was Prescott’s "red light district." The prostitutes living and practicing there when it was a legal profession (prior to 1918) were hidden from the patrons of Whiskey Row, yet readily accessible to the cowboys, miners and locals. Annie Hamilton owned and operated the largest such "house of ill repute."

In 2003, Sharlot Hall Museum’s Blue Rose Theater renewed interest in Annie Hamilton with the play, "Annie’s Fallen Angels" by Jean Lippincott. The play, performed at the Elks Theater, was a speculative account of life inside Annie’s house. It was well received and spurred new interest in the madam of Granite Street.

Annie Hamilton owned a large two-story house and was considerably wealthier than most habitues of this profession. The 1880 census lists her as owner of the two-story house on South Granite Street and lists eight prostitutes living with her.

So, whatever became of her? In those days, the deaths of prostitutes went largely unnoticed and many were simply buried in unmarked pauper’s graves. But it was a bit different with Annie Hamilton. There have been some later reports that she sold her big house to Prescott Mayor Morris Goldwater and moved on in 1889. But why would a man as esteemed as Goldwater buy property in such a seedy, disreputable neighborhood?

In actuality, Annie Hamilton had died two years earlier, in 1887, in her home on Granite Street. The May 11, 1887 issue of the Journal Miner reported she was unconscious and near death, and that parties unknown had taken this opportunity to steal her valuable diamonds. A week later, the Journal Miner reported her death, offering few details, due undoubtedly to her profession.

In those days, when an individual died leaving no survivors, a probate judge would appoint someone to dispose of the deceased’s estate and property. It is much the same today. After the death of Annie Hamilton, Yavapai County Probate Judge William O. "Bucky" O’Neill received two applications from people desiring to administer her estate. One was from ex-County Coroner Patrick Ford; the other was from Louis Wollenberg, who represented Annie’s creditors. The Madam had apparently died leaving considerable debt.

Ultimately, Judge O’Neill appointed Wollenberg to dispose of Annie’s estate. Patrick Ford, instead, became administrator of the estate of the notorious miner and businessman Charles P. Stanton who had been murdered several months earlier leaving no survivors. Ford, along with his son, would later be arrested for arson for burning down Stanton’s old house. Both men were convicted and did time in Yuma Territorial Prison. Wollenberg wasted no time in holding an estate sale out of Annie’s house on Granite Street to pacify her creditors. Her belongings were quite impressive; they consisted of seven bedroom sets in black walnut and ash; seven spring hair top mattresses; seven curled hair top mattresses; one hundred pounds of feathers in pillows and bolsters; sheets; pillow cases; blankets; quilts; three parlor sets; a piano; two French plate mirrors; oil paintings; water color paintings; etchings; steel engravings; chromos in walnut and gilt frames "in endless variety," parlor, hall, and stair carpets; cooking stoves and parlor stoves; trunks, valises; ice chests; diamonds; earrings; finger rings; breast pins; a fur cloak and cape; dresses and much other clothes; dining-room and kitchen furniture; and so on. The madam had done very well for herself.

The only remaining record of a purchase from Annie Hamilton’s estate sale is that of Mrs. Archibald, mother of future Prescott Chief of Police Miles Archibald. She bought the grand piano as a gift for her daughter Maggie.

Annie’s two-story house, the only one of its size on Granite Street, was demolished many years later and she was quickly forgotten after her death.

(Parker Anderson is an active member of Sharlot Hall Museum’s Blue Rose Theater)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(st192p)
Reuse only by permission.

This photo, taken from atop the courthouse looking west c.1879, shows the businesses along Whiskey Row with the two-story home of Annie Hamilton on South Granite Street in the rear.

By Edna Ballew Patton

(Edna Mae Ballew Patton lived in Skull Valley for over 60 years. In the late 1990s, she committed many of her memories to paper. Following are her writings. Mrs. Patton died on July 31, 2008, only five days after meeting with Sharlot Hall Museum volunteer, Parker Anderson, and giving permission for her memoirs to be published.)

My husband Warren and I arrived in Prescott with a very sick son on March 31, 1940. That summer, Warren asked me to fix a picnic lunch. He said he had something he wanted to show me. We picnicked in the woods and then drove out on the narrow ledge road above Copper Basin. He pointed out the tiny buildings in the valley to the west and said it was Skull Valley. He said it was the prettiest little place and he would be happy to spend the rest of his life there. On the hilltop there was a big tree with a board set all around it that the CCC boys had built back in the 1930s. Warren carved his initials in the tree and they are there to this day.

Warren got a job in Bill Clive’s Service Station in Prescott. While working there, he met Karl Fackler whose car was too heavy to lift in the shop. Warren asked him what he had in the trunk. Karl opened the back and it was loaded with rock ore samples. Warren told him if he ever needed help, he would be glad for the job. A few days later Karl came to the house and Warren was hired to work at the Logan Mine in Skull Valley.

For a while, Warren drove to and from Prescott, except in winter when he boarded with Pearl and Wily Coughran (parents of Hulda Christopherson) in Skull Valley. The road to Skull Valley was only paved to Iron Springs (five miles). The rest of the way was narrow, rough and crooked. I was working at J.C. Penney on North Cortez Street and while working there I met the K. L. Pearsons from Skull Valley. They had bought some baby chicks and they kept me posted on the chickens’ growing progress. They said, "When they are frying size you folks come down for fried chicken." Finally, chickens were ready and our chicken dinner at their place was the beginning of a long friendship.

In late July 1942, we moved to Skull Valley to an old house near where Pearl and Wiley Coughran lived (since torn down). Karl Fackler was a partner with our old geologist, a Mr. Bartholomew. They lived in the little Bochat house where Jack and Patty Lemon’s store/house is today. This Mr. Bartholomew would not let anyone into the house who smoked, so Warren threw his cigarettes away as he came in the gate in front of the house. There was a horseshoe game going anytime Mr. Bartholomew could find a willing partner. He even tolerated me and sometimes I could beat him! Any day Mr. Bartholomew would come to me and ask if I would come help him with something. Of course I was willing. I followed him over to his house one day and there was a swarm of bees. Mr. Bartholomew had a hive under a tree limb. He said, "Now I’m going to shake this limb, and you put the top on the hive when they go in." I said, "No, Bartholomew, I’ll shake the limb and you put the top on." I came home not knowing whether he ever caught the bees!

Karl Fackler received money from a gold mine in Washington State. When the price of gold was frozen and gold mines were closed, Karl’s income was gone. He and Warren went to Camp Wood and worked for a while for a Mr. Joy in a mine. This left my son, Daryl, and me here in Skull Valley. I didn’t know many people and didn’t have any money. When Warren came home one weekend, I told him I was going to move back to Prescott. Now he didn’t pay me any mind. So after he left on Monday, I caught a ride to town, got back my job at J.C.Penney, rented an apartment and got a babysitter lined up. On Friday morning, I caught Daryl Christopherson in his dump truck and moved into town. That night someone knocked on my door. It was Warren all shook up. He said he had no idea I meant to move. Next day he got Walt Coughran and his pick-up and moved Daryl and me back to Skull Valley. He told Mrs. J. H. Warren about his wife not being happy and wanting to make a little money, so she said she had a job for me. It was cleaning her house! House cleaning along with washing dishes is something you do when you can’t put it off any longer!

Happ Ogden, clerk at Skull Valley store for many years, quit; and I became the clerk on January 2, 1943. Being the new clerk in the Skull Valley store was news. Mrs. Josephine Shupp, in her 90s (Chester Shupp’s mother) insisted she meet the new clerk. He brought her in and we chatted together at the store. She wanted to know all about me and my family, why we came, and where we came from. I don’t know whether I passed the test or not, but to me it was something I’ll never forget. To think that I talked to a lady who was one of the first settlers and who had even seen the first train come through! While I worked there, Uncle Frank Ehle, Alf Stapp, and Chester Shupp would sit on the bench in the front of the store and tell some of the most wonderful stories. Isn’t it a shame I didn’t keep a diary then? These men were all sons of the first settlers.

Karl Fackler and Warren soon went to work for Fred Schemmer at the old, commercial, low-grade copper mine in Copper Basin. Karl eventually went back to Washington State, but Warren drove the mine truck for seven years. Warren’s truck usually had a heavy load of ore and the truck wasn’t pulling right. So he drove forward and really gave it the gas and the truck landed in a railroad car at the ramp. He caught a ride to the mine and asked Mr. Schemmer where he wanted to ship that truck – he had it loaded! Schemmer brought the entire crew down and they jacked the truck up and put it back on the ramp.

Warren was driving truck down the hill from the mine one day and there was a man lying in the road. He put on all the brakes he had and jumped out. It was Luther Kester. Mr. Kester had a hernia and had lain down in the road to fix his brace! He and his brother, Frank, lived in Skull Valley for years. Frank lived in a cabin and Luther in a tent house. These brothers got crossways with each other and wouldn’t speak, so, when it was necessary to communicate, they wrote notes. Frank died, and I don’t remember the circumstances, but Luther continued to live in his tent house. He often would catch a truck coming into Skull Valley and send his list of groceries down to the store. We would fill his order, and I would ask any of the men sitting on the bench in the store to go with me to deliver the groceries. Sometimes Uncle Frank Ehle, Alf Stapp or Bill Basye would go. They all said I asked them to go along just to open gates!

There used to be a railroad stockyard close to the section house. I remember one trainload of cattle coming in and cowboys herding them around the store. We have had many nice people live in the bunkhouse and work on the railroad. One family was the Cheramiahs, an Indian family. The mother, Margaret, came from an eastern Arizona tribe and one summer she took her youngest son, Andy, home for a visit. They weren’t there long before he began to cry. She asked him what was wrong. The little boy said, "Mama, let’s go home. These are all Indians here." Another railroad worker, Hex Welch and his family once lived at the railroad bunkhouse. One day his wife came running into the store carrying their baby. She said their oldest boy of 8 or 9 had fallen while playing on the corral fence and had cut his leg real bad. I drove the store truck to the old county hospital where the doctor sewed up his leg while I held the baby. The store in Skull Valley was the hub of all activities.

When we first came to Skull Valley, Angora goats instead of cattle were the rancher’s source of money. There were three big ranchers: John Resley, now the Bud Webb ranch; Jack Medd, now A-bar-V; and Sam Raney. Mr. Raney had a saying, "More people every day, but no more land." Mr. Raney owned where the Rosalie Gordon Ranch is today. He had a triangle of land he couldn’t use because the main road came straight across behind where the church is and cut across where Dick Warner lives now. Mr. Raney put a fence across the road and made two right angle curves making it what it is today. Mr. Schemmer came down from the mine and made Mr. Raney take it down, but in the night he put his fence up again. He gave the church a place to build and the church members thought they had the big triangle, but Mr. Raney put up another fence and sold five acres to Ray Shook. Now, in old times, this was not accepted. That road had been there from the beginning! Alf Stapp and Mr. Raney even came to a fistfight. Alf said, "I was getting the best of him until Granny Raney laid a fence post across my cheek." It even had a nail in it. That was the end of that fight.

During deer season while World War II was going on, ammunition was hard to get. Hunters really counted their shells. Someone in the basin shot his deer then stuck the head up on a post where people out hunting would see it. Men shot that head all to pieces thinking they had spotted a live deer. When they found out it was a joke, they thought it wasn’t funny at all.

Thed Delk was cattle inspector and had one of the two telephones in Skull Valley. He and his wife, Genevieve, had gone to Bagdad one day and took the shortcut up from Pike’s place. The next afternoon Fred Schemmer and another man were coming home. It was a hot summer day, Fred could only see the back of a car and license plate and he recognized it and backed up. He found Thed dead and Genevieve badly hurt. They pulled her out and stopped at the store to tell Mrs. Irving to call the hospital. Genevieve lived but had a long convalescent period.

Johnny Warren was a delight to know. He always had a twinkle in his eyes. He helped me in the store sometimes when Mrs. Irving was away. Once I had to go to the basement for something and he accidentally locked the door on me. There I sat on the basement step when I was supposed to be running the store and post office. Another time we were running things, Mr. Shupp brought in eggs in cases holding 30 dozen. At certain times of the year, chickens lay lots of eggs. Johnny stacked these cases 8 or 9 high. We heard a noise and those cases had arched over and hit the door going out into the storerooms. The two outside doors were always locked so there wasn’t any way of getting in the back. I suggested we break a window, but Johnny said, "No." He went out and got a ladder and put it up to a tiny window high up in the feed room. How that big boy ever got himself through that little window is a mystery. He pushed the stack of cases upright so I could get in. We didn’t break too many eggs. We cleaned that mess up and, by mutual agreement, didn’t ever tell what had happened.

My husband, Warren, leased the Skull Valley Station April 1, 1953. He also bought our home in July the same year. His first customer was Alf Stapp. He opened the station at 6:30 a.m. and came home at 6p.m. I fixed supper one night and waited for him to come home. Finally he came, bringing a young couple with a little baby clad in just a diaper. Our grandson, Larry, was two, so I sent down to Shirley’s (Daryl’s wife) and got his baby clothes. With the help of my tea towels, we clothed that little baby boy. These people didn’t get their car running until late the next day. That little baby boy would be a man of 28 now. Another young couple’s truck broke down and they had a little baby girl. After giving them money for groceries, they pushed the truck into the garage and locked the family in. Next day, Warren got the man a job at the mine and they rented the house north of the station. They stayed here for a year or more. Their name was Blackburn.

There were three men who came to town and lived in the old cement house across from Tiger Mine. They worked a gold mine. Each time they came for groceries, they showed me the most beautiful pieces of rock with gold showing. There was a Mr. Freeman and Mr. Coonrod. I don’t remember the name of the third man. They worked for months carrying the ore down to their house on their backs in sacks. Finally they had a dickie-truck from Hillside come and haul their ore down to the south of the state to a mill. These men were hungry. Warren grubstaked them. Warren asked if they would sell. Five hundred dollars changed hands and we had a paper that said we owned two claims: Yellow Jacket No. 1 and No. 2. As soon as the check came these men disappeared. We went to a lawyer and found out these men did not own anything. Also, there were no Yellow Jacket No. 1 and No. 2 claims. We had been stung! These men did not pay for even the hauling of their ore. We found out later they had shipped 16 tons of ore and received $35,000.

There are few trails or roads in Copper Basin we have not slipped, slid or crawled over in the jeep. One Sunday we came upon an old cabin that had been fixed up like new. These people had built a beautiful barbecue and tables between trees and they and their friends from Phoenix were having the best time. Warren asked them how they bought the cabin and they said from a Mr. Coonrod who told them he owned everything as far as the eye could see! A week or two later, two women came to the station and asked to be taken to an old mine. Warren had me take them in the jeep. When we got there, these ladies had flashlights; and they flashed them on all this sparkling ore. These ladies thought they were rich, that all they had to do was gather up a sack of gold any time they needed money. I asked them where they got this mine and, again, it was Mr. Coonrod!

Daryl, our only child, was only six years old when we came to Skull Valley. He grew up playing in the creek, hunting and fishing. His first project in 4-H was rabbits. He made the mistake of playing with the little ones. It got hard for him to kill them to sell them. His next project was an Angus calf. About this time he went up to Uncle Fred and Aunt Margaret Patton’s and helped build corrals on the Dr. Linton Smith ranch (now Bud Webb’s). He wanted a little mare that was on the ranch. She cost $35. He kept on working and earned $50, which he took over to Uncle Ed Coughran’s and bought his saddle. So now he had a $50 saddle on a $35 mare. Fred Patton took him hunting the first time. He killed a deer, and Fred hung it up and skinned it for him. The next year he shot a deer, and Fred hung it up and showed him how to skin it and went home. When I got home that night, Daryl said he was not going hunting anymore. That was too much work! Daryl’s second 4-H calf, when he sold it, turned into four wheels – his first car.

I used to go to Sunday School here in the community hall once in awhile. We watched them build the first little church, and I attended quite often. However, after we moved across the road, I had an added motivation. If I didn’t go to church, Brother Merle would knock on my door to see if I was sick.

Ray Shook was working in Wickenburg and would come home for the weekends. One Friday, Warren saw an old man get out of Ray’s truck and go down under the bridge. Next day, Clayton Vincent, who had leased the A-bar-V Ranch, came to the station and asked if Warren knew of anyone he could get to help for a while. Warren went down under the bridge and asked this man, whose name was Mr. Butler, if he would work. He said he would. He liked Skull Valley so well he rented the little Bochat house. One summer he raised a big garden and sold vegetables. He laid the vegetables out and just put up a sign with the prices and a money till so people could wait on themselves. We were all so proud that people on the road were honest, but along came that one bad apple that took all Mr.Butler’s produce and all his money. He was out of business! Years later a nice car pulled into the station and, in the front seat sat Mr. Butler all dressed up. His son had found him after many years. His son told Warren his dad had been a well-respected man until his wife died and he just fell to pieces. He drank and wandered all over the country.

Warren had the habit of going over and checking on the station each Sunday morning. Then he usually drove around the valley just enjoying it. But this particular morning he was gone much longer than usual. When he came home he was a little more than excited. He said, "You won’t believe this." His office door was unlocked and on the car seat by the stove was a young woman wrapped in a fur coat. He helped her find her contact lens. She told him she was coming from Phoenix and at Wickenburg a car started following her. She turned off at Kirkland Junction, then at Kirkland and then on Ferguson Valley Road. She got stuck in a sand wash. It was in the middle of the night, very cold; and she was scared to death. She climbed a tree and watched two men hunt for her. When she felt sure they had given up she walked to Skull Valley. She tried Warren’s office door, and it opened! He evidently had forgotten to lock it. Warren pulled her car out of the sand and she went on her way. Her father was a doctor in Chicago.

Warren was proud of his station and kept it clean. I scrubbed and waxed his floors, washed his windows and wiped his shelves. His restrooms were always clean. He and Bob Kukal, who owned the general store with his wife Mary, even swept the streets. His office was hot in the winter, and school kids were welcome to wait for their buses in there.

I mentioned the Cheramiah family before. The oldest boy, Angus, helped Warren at the station. Warren really liked Angus. One day a horse trailer came in and got gas. Now you know what was left when the horse left. Warren said, "Angus go get the shovel and clean that mess up." Angus said, "Mr. Ballew, if you want that cleaned up, you clean it up yourself." It shocked Warren. He didn’t realize he was insulting Angus.

Warren sold the station to Forrest Brown (Brownie) and his wife, Pat, June 19, 1978. We had been to town and all the papers were signed. We were in the office taking inventory when down the road came Larry Ballew on a borrowed motorcycle with fire shooting out all around him from something leaking in the cycle. He came to the station instead of going to the creek to put out the fire. We dropped pencils and paper, grabbed the fire extinguisher and put it out before Larry was hurt. Only thing I was thinking about was the service station and all the explosive fuel around.

Like all people who retire, we thought we could play. But that was not to be. Few people loved Skull Valley like Warren Ballew. My husband passed away, and I later married Fred Patton who grew up in Skull Valley and ran the Bud Webb ranch for many years. My son, Daryl Ballew, continues to have his excavation business in Skull Valley – "Cat Ballew."

"Don’t worry about the future. The present is all thou hast. The future will soon be present, and the present will soon be past." My advice: if you can’t grow old gracefully, do it any way you can.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(pb015a75-350n). Reuse only by permission.

Skull Valley in the 1940s.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(db330f200). Reuse only by permission.

Fred and Edna Mae (Ballew) Patton, 1988.

by Jeb Stuart Rosebrook, Ph.D

(The following article was adapted from an article initially published by the Society for American Baseball Research in "Mining Towns to Major Leagues: A History of Arizona Baseball." It is re-printed by the author’s permission.)

In January 1873, a Prescott paper, the Arizona Miner, reported one of the first games played in the Arizona Territory, a Christmas day match at Camp Grant in southeastern Arizona. "In the afternoon, an exciting game of base ball took place. This occupied the attention, [of] both of the combatants, until one o’clock, when the welcome call to dinner was wafted to our ears, and readily responded to." No score or outcome of the game was reported. With the first professional league organized in the East in 1871, and baseball being played in the far corners of the Western Territories, the game of baseball was on its way to becoming ingrained in America’s consciousness – and Arizona’s – as the national pastime.

Between the founding of Arizona as a territory in 1863 and 1873, baseball had transformed from a gentleman’s amateur game to a professional game with an official league and salaried players. During those ten years, with the assistance of the U.S. Army, settlers and families began to transform the Arizona Territory from army camps to town squares. Fortune seekers came from around the nation and the world staking out their fortune in mining and ranching; homesteaders and railroaders, merchants and bankers followed, with farms and towns dotting up across the rugged territory. While history records the infamous activities of the territorial mining and railroad towns of Arizona as denizens of drinking and gambling halls, Arizona’s miners and cowboys did put their cards and whiskey down long enough during holiday celebrations to play the occasional "pickup" game of baseball, especially on Christmas Day.

As communities in Arizona Territory developed in the 1870s and early 1880s, baseball became evident in many of Arizona’s young communities as a fixture at Fourth of July and Christmas Day celebrations, or as a leisure activity in mining and military camps. With the heat of the Sonoran Desert dictating much of day-to-day life in the lower elevations of Arizona, early baseball matches in the territory tended to be played in the winter or early spring. Christmas seemed to be an especially favorite day for baseball.

By the mid-1870s, baseball games were reported regularly in the newspapers of Yuma, Prescott, and Phoenix. Yuma was witness to one of the earliest matches with a game played on Main Street in February 1874. In Phoenix, following a Christmas Eve of dancing, celebrating, and feasting, the Norvall Club of McDowell and Phoenix Club played on Christmas Day 1880, with Phoenix winning 13 to 9. The game was described as "well played by both clubs, and was witnessed by a large audience, many of whom were ladies." A box score accompanied the brief article. The organization of baseball clubs in the youthful town of Phoenix was fleeting for the following year there is no mention of a baseball match on Christmas Day. While professional baseball was decades away from being organized in the Southwest, baseball in Arizona would eventually follow New York’s evolutionary progression from pickup teams, amateur clubs, and semi-pro squads to professional teams and leagues.

In 1880, Arizona Territory had a scant 40,441 residents, less than half of the 118,430 located in its eastern neighbor, New Mexico. In the West, only Idaho (32,611), Montana (39,157), and Wyoming (20,788) had fewer settlers. As Arizona grew in the 1880s, so did the organization of baseball clubs across the territory. Baseball and the creation of local clubs became one of the cultural icons of Americanization in territorial Arizona and baseball teams organized in Prescott, Phoenix, Tombstone, Tucson, and Yuma.

By the time the Apache wars ended in September 1886, two transcontinental railroads had been built through the territory, attracting more American settlers and immigrants from Europe, Asia, and Latin America to seek their opportunity in Arizona. Town boosters, newspaper editors, railroaders, and moneyed investors promoted the territory and the future wealth of the region as a wholesome, safe place to settle your family. At the same time, baseball’s popularity spread across America and settlers of all ages brought the love of the game to the growing territory.

One match in Phoenix in April 1887 appears to have been inspired by a championship series in St. Louis. On April 8, 1887, the Arizona Gazette reported that a baseball championship series had begun in the "Gateway City" between St. Louis and Chicago. At the first game, 8,000 kranks (as 19th century fans were nicknamed) were present at the match with Chicago winning 6 to 3. Four days later, on April 12, 1887, the Arizona Gazette published that on the previous Sunday, April 10, the Phoenix baseball club, with a number of its players from Ft. McDowell, played Fort Lowell from Tucson at the territorial fairgrounds with an audience of around 200 people. Scheduled to begin at two o’clock, a severe wind and sand storm delayed the match for a half hour, and blowing sand remained a problem during the first few innings. The Phoenicians, outfitted with "considerable good material here in ball tossers" defeated the "boys in blue" 14 to 7. At one point in the eighth inning, the crowd, surrounding the field, made so much noise, the local players couldn’t hear their coaches’ directions and instead of scoring a possible three runs only marked a single tally. The box score reported player’s last names, positions played, runs scored, score by innings, and the name of the umpire and scorers.

The excitement which surrounded such a successful match, in which the paper anticipated more games at the fall fair, ended in tragedy. Three Phoenix players were from Fort McDowell and upon return to their camp on Tuesday morning, one of the men, Muntz, who had played third base, was thrown from his galloping horse, which had slipped on a steep incline after crossing the bridge across the Maricopa canal. The shortstop, Cody, also on horseback and the second baseman Casey and his wife followed in a carriage. Unfortunately, Muntz suffered a terrible blow to the head which proved to be a mortal wound.

From 1890 to 1900, Arizona remained a territory struggling to become a state. For baseball promoters in Arizona, the national pastime remained a very competitive club sport which saw communities around the territory playing each other in popular challenge matches. Professional baseball scores from around the country were regularly published in the newspapers and in most springs, baseball clubs organized in every town. Local boosters issued challenges between communities, usually settling the grudge-match on the Fourth of July. By 1900, however, amateur football had also become popular across the United States, and in Phoenix, football replaced baseball as the traditional game played on Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Baseball grew both in Arizona and on the West Coast during the first decade of the new century. Across the desert territory, baseball operated on a semi-pro and amateur level while in California the major leagues had started spring training in 1903 and the Pacific Coast League had established the highest standards for minor league competition in the nation. As baseball gained popularity, the national scores were even published on the front pages of Arizona newspapers. In one instance, local baseball clubs held a charity game to raise money for the residents of San Francisco after the devastating earthquake of April 18, 1906. On March 30, 1909, the first major league exhibition was played in Yuma beginning the tradition of spring training matches in Arizona. The Chicago White Sox, en route back to the Windy City from their spring training home in San Francisco, played the Commercial Club of Yuma for the fee of $300, winning in front of a thousand fans, some of whom had come as far as El Centro, Calif., to watch the south side nine play the local boys from Yuma.

In 1912, the year of Arizona and New Mexico statehood, every region of the country had a recognized minor league baseball circuit except the youthful Southwest. Leaders of the neighboring states understood the importance of baseball to their communities and their national image. If they had a sanctioned professional minor league in their states, their growing towns would receive national publicity in the sports pages across America. Leaders in Douglas clamored for a professional team but promoters in New Mexico succeeded in joining the first professional league in the Southwest.

The Rocky Mountain League, a ‘D’ class circuit was located along the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains in east-central Colorado. Initially, New Mexico did not have any entries into this ill-fated league, but as teams ran into financial difficulties, the Canon City Swastikas moved their home to Raton, New Mexico on June 4, 1912. Three days later, the Colorado Springs Millionaires moved to Dawson, New Mexico. The two other teams, the La Junta Railroaders and the Pueblo/Trinidad/Cheyenne Indians, made up the remainder of the league, which collapsed and folded on July 15, 1912. While unsuccessful in their first venture, New Mexican boosters were ready to try again and so were Arizonans. They would soon receive their second chance when baseball promoter and Texas league founder, John McCloskey, organized the Rio Grande Association, a ‘D’ class circuit that would begin play in 1915 across three states, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas. Phoenix dubbed the Senators or "Solons" would retain that nickname for most of its history as a miner league team. Unfortunately for local baseball fans, Arizona’s first professional circuit did not survive the heat of its first summer and folded in mid-July.

Despite the early failure of the professional game in Arizona, baseball remained a popular community sport during Arizona’s early years. As the twentieth-century progressed, baseball became America’s pastime and an integral part of our popular culture, a recognized symbol of community identity, success and pride. In the decades following statehood up to the present, boosters across Arizona have turned to baseball again and again as a way to bring national attention to our desert state and assure the rest of the world that Arizona is more than a land of cactus and sand, but a championship state of diamonds in the desert.

(J. Stuart Rosebrook, Ph.D., will present "Diamonds in the Desert: Arizona, Baseball and America in 1928" on Saturday, October 25th at 1 p.m. in the Sharlot Hall Museum Lawler Gallery. The lecture is presented in conjunction with the Arizona Vintage Baseball Classic October 26th, 2008 at 1 p.m. at Ken Lindley Field)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(misc107p)
Reuse only by permission.

The Prescott baseball team shown here lost the game to Flagstaff on September 7, 1893.

by Ken Edwards

A squatter is an individual who settles on property belonging to someone else or to the government. After a certain period of occupancy he may claim the property as his own. In so doing, he is claiming squatters’ rights or the right of adverse possession. The legal requirements for claiming a tract of land in this manner vary from state to state, but the laws are, in general, still on the books. In the early days of the United States and, in fact, in colonial days, squatting was very common. Most of the land in the young nation had not been surveyed, and squatting was a common way of acquiring property. Squatting was later largely supplanted by homesteading throughout the country.

If you’ve ever thought of squatting on the Prescott Courthouse Plaza, perhaps you should reconsider. It’s possible that you could be run out of town. At least that is what we might conclude from a little-known historical event that occurred in Prescott many years ago.

In 1864, John Goodwin, Arizona’s first Territorial Governor, decided to locate the new capital in the beautiful valley along Granite Creek. Robert Groom mapped out approximately 320 acres for the new town site named Prescott. With great foresight, Groom set aside two 4

by Parker Anderson

It was June 6, 1898. The dust had not yet settled from the hanging three days earlier of legendary Yavapai County outlaw James Parker, when the still of everyday Prescott life was shattered by the sound of gunfire on North Cortez Street. Soon, Dr. John Bryan McNally, one of Prescott’s most prominent physicians (and remembered yet today as a great Prescott pioneer) staggered out into the street with a gunshot wound. It was nothing short of a miracle that McNally was alive, for, as the Arizona Journal-Miner reported: "The bullet struck a watch in Dr. McNally’s pocket, glancing off and then passed through the fleshy part of the left arm between the elbow and wrist."

Dr. McNally said that he had been shot by a deranged prospector named Frank Stewart in a dispute over a bill of $5.00. Stewart, who would later be properly identified as A. A. Stewart, had escaped toward the Verde Valley, but would later double back toward the Hassayampa River. Yavapai County Sheriff, George C. Ruffner, quickly formed a posse and struck the trail after A. A. Stewart.

As a fleeing outlaw, Stewart proved to be as resourceful and vicious as previous outlaw Parker had been. At one point, Ruffner sent an Indian ahead of him to trail Stewart. The Indian later returned on foot, having been bushwhacked and his horse stolen by Stewart. The insane prospector also shot and wounded a country settler named William Deering and stole his horse. Then, when that horse also tired out, Stewart stole one from a country slaughterhouse, all the while staying ahead of Sheriff Ruffner’s posse.

Along the trail, the Ruffner posse discovered that Stewart had broken into a number of vacant cabins apparently looking for food. His trail was fairly easy to follow, as the shooter wore a pair of uncommon hobnailed shoes. At one point, the sheriff went on ahead of the posse and came across Stewart, who proceeded again to escape in a hail of gunfire, with one bullet actually passing through Ruffner’s hat, according to the Journal-Miner.

After several days without food or sleep, A. A. Stewart had enough. He stopped a country settler and told him to go and inform the Ruffner posse that he was ready to surrender; he couldn’t go on any further. On the way back to Prescott, Stewart told Deputy Jeff Davis that one night he had Davis in point-blank range but didn’t shoot when he realized the deputy was not alone.

If this story sounds familiar to some readers, it is because a slightly different version of it exists in local oral and written folklore. In this version, the shooter’s name has been inexplicably changed to "Bugger Bennett," with other things in the story changed as well. The folklore version seems to have originated in an inaccurate biography of George C. Ruffner, written by pulp writers Robert and Toni McInnes for a long-defunct periodical, Sheriff Magazine. It has since been widely repeated in that form, but a thorough check of criminal records of the period reveals that no one named Bennett was ever indicted for shooting a doctor during George Ruffner’s tenure as sheriff. The "Bugger Bennett" legend is unquestionably derived from the story of A. A. Stewart.

A. A. Stewart was convicted of attempted murder and sentenced to fifteen years in Yuma Territorial Prison. There, he was a troublesome prisoner. He was repeatedly put in solitary confinement for assaulting and threatening prison guards, and once for digging a hole in his cell. At one point, he was judged insane and sent to an insane asylum, but was later returned to the Yuma prison.

On November 10, 1900, A. A. Stewart escaped from Yuma Territorial Prison by means of a rope ladder he had somehow acquired or made. He was never seen again, despite extensive manhunts. Two prison guards were fired for negligence over the incident.

As for Dr. John Bryan McNally, he continued his successful medical practice in Prescott until his death in 1928. One has to wonder how many nights of sleep he lost over the years, wondering if the psychotic prospector was coming back for him.

The watch that saved his life in 1898 still exists. It is in the possession of Gerald McNally, the doctor’s grandson. See photo below.

(Parker Anderson is an active member of Sharlot Hall Museum’s Blue Rose Theatre.)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(A. A. Frank Stewart) Reuse only by permission.

Photo of convict A. A. Stewart, courtesy of Yuma Territorial Prison State Historic Park, taken in 1898, after he was convicted of attempting to kill Prescott’s Dr. John B. McNally.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(2008-6-21-15-37-45) Reuse only by permission.

Current photo of the gunshot damaged pocket watch that saved the life of Dr. McNally, now in the possession of his grandson, Gerald McNally of Prescott.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(po0120p)
Reuse only by permission.

Dr. John Bryan McNally, c1890s.

by T. Stone

(In Part I, we learned that the 1918 Spanish flu arrived in Prescott on October 2, 1918 and the spread of infection rose and fell like a scythe cutting ripe wheat.)

By October 8th, Prescott was shut down but not yet officially quarantined. The newspaper warned that there should be "no public gatherings of any sort." In Jerome, approximately 20 cases of influenza were reported. In the predominately Mormon town of Snowflake, the only physician, Dr. Caldwell, became an early influenza fatality, causing the community of 900 people to put out a call for another doctor.

On October 9th, the Prescott Journal-Miner reported only 1 new case at Whipple with an article entitled "Spread of Flu is Halted at Fort Whipple." Two days later there were 18 new cases at the post.

By October 12th, over 400 cases of flu were reported in Flagstaff, 300 cases in Williams, and Winslow suffered with 375 cases. In Winslow alone, at least 17 people had already died. Fort Whipple had about 75 patients. As for sick Prescottonians, the local paper had little to say.

By October 14th, 125 people had the disease in Jerome, filling the rooms at the United Verde Hospital. Temporary hospital beds had to be placed in the public school’s annex buildings. Prescott and Winslow also used their public schools as makeshift hospitals. As in the regular hospital facilities of that era, people of Mexican heritage and other "coloreds" were kept segregated from the white patients.

By October 16th, 21 people in Jerome were dead from the disease. Armed guards were stationed on every road leading into Jerome to insure a strict quarantine. The Verde Copper News listed the dead, all between the ages of 25 and 32, including a young Mexican couple leaving two small children.

The Prescott papers were fairly tight-lipped about how the influenza was spreading among the civilian population. There was hardly any mention of the fact that the entire town was shut down and that people were requested to wear gauze facemasks in a vain attempt to filter out the virus. Instead, the local Journal-Miner printed benign features about the soldiers at Whipple: "Because of the fact that most of the afflicted men have been placed on diet, it is necessary for the inspectors to go through all of the parcels which come to the boys each day in the mails, and take out all of the contraband food articles. Most of the soldiers have friends and relatives who keep them supplied with all sorts of delicacies, including candy, cake, chocolate, and many other dainties which are alright for a well man but not exactly the proper food for a man who is in bed with the flu. Consequently, each morning a large pile of pastry, candy, etc., accumulates in the postal department…yesterday morning a big sack of these good eats was turned over to the nurses and to the soldiers who are not suffering from the influenza." The Flagstaff, Winslow, and Jerome newspapers printed a more straightforward accounting of the flu, while the Prescott paper somewhat downplayed it.

In Winslow, where at least 30 people were now dead, every public school teacher volunteered to help the sick. Gallup, NM (on that fateful Santa Fe line) was claiming 100 dead. In Flagstaff there were 80 dead. In Prescott, so many people were sick that the newspaper asked for men to volunteer as nurses at the temporary hospital at the Washington School.

The Journal-Miner, on November 1st, reported, "After having been dormant for nearly a week, the influenza epidemic flared up again at Fort Whipple and, as a result, more than 20 new cases were reported last night by Colonel Holmberg." At least to the press, Col. Holmberg claimed that none of the new cases appeared to be serious.

On November 5th, the Journal-Miner tried to explain why it believed the epidemic didn’t seem as bad in Prescott as in other locales: "Since the influenza made its appearance in Prescott, there are said to have been 125 cases reported with a total death list directly attributable to the disease of some 12, which is less than one percent of the number of cases reported. With the general use of masks and other preventive measures taken, together with the good expected to be accomplished in the expenditure of the funds voted yesterday by the supervisors, it is not believed that Prescott will suffer as greatly from the malady in proportion to population as other places of the state, owing to its comparative freedom from Mexican and foreign population, among which class of residents in other cities the toll has been heavy because of their disinclination to take precautionary measures." One might point out that 12 dead out of 125 cases is actually about a ten percent death rate.

World War I ended on the 11th of November, while the flu continued its advance. While some places such as Jerome and Clarkdale were lifting their quarantines, other towns were still in the grip of the fever. In mid-November, Seligman, for instance, reported 150 cases of influenza with 15 deaths. The Coconino Sun reported on November 22nd that the disease had been devastating to the Apache tribe. "So terrible has the influenza become on the San Carlos Indian Reservation that it is impossible to build coffins in which to bury the dead."

In Phoenix, a rumor spread suggesting that dogs carried the flu virus, causing much of the canine population there to be indiscriminately killed by fearful citizens. The Phoenix Gazette worried that the city would "soon be dogless."

By December, it seemed the rate of illness was truly in decline, at least in Prescott and Jerome. Although the schools and churches were still closed, the stricter quarantine policies were lifted and most people looked forward to the coming holidays.

Certainly Col. Holmberg had plenty to feel thankful for. The World War was over, the flu was all but gone, and the soldiers at his post were rapidly returning to good health. No more quarantine was necessary. The officers of Fort Whipple planned a formal ball to be held on December 21st. The soldiers were allowed to accept Christmas dinner invitations in Prescott.

But the influenza again flared up along the Santa Fe line. "As in the early stages of the disease it is traveling westward from Albuquerque and practically every point on the Santa Fe is being attacked." The week before Christmas, Fort Whipple was once again placed under quarantine. The soldiers lost their town privileges and could no longer accept dinner invitations in Prescott homes. The officers, however, managed to have their ball before the quarantine went into effect.

On December 23rd, Holmberg fell ill with a fever of 106 degrees. From the Journal-Miner: "As several cases of flu are reported to have had their inception at the ball given by officers at Fort Whipple on Saturday night last, it is likely that this is where he (Holmberg) contracted the influenza." As usual, the newspaper suggested that this particular strain of flu was probably less virulent than previous cases.

Carl Edward Holmberg spent the last week of his life bed-ridden and attended by nurses. Eight months earlier he had moved to Arizona from New Mexico to manage the hospital facilities and soldiers of Fort Whipple. Now he was a hospital patient realizing that he would not get to celebrate the New Year. On Wednesday, January 1, 1919 at 11 a.m. Holmberg died. The post flag was lowered to half-mast. His body was shipped back to his parents’ home in Saginaw, Michigan for burial.

The Spanish flu plagued Arizona until the spring of 1919, affecting every town and nearly every family. But like all viruses, this one eventually burned itself out. After almost six months, the residents of Arizona could get on with their lives without the fear of another Spanish flu outbreak. When spring arrived, the scythe was stilled.

(Terrance L. Stone is the author of "Grave History: a Guidebook to Citizens’ Cemetery, Prescott, Arizona.")

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(Photo courtesy of the Jerome Historical Society) Reuse only by permission.

Jerome 1918. By mid-October 1918, 125 people had the flu in Jerome and 21, between the ages of 25 and 32, were already dead from the disease despite quarantines, canceled town functions and wearing gauze masks.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(Photo courtesy of the Jerome Historical Society) Reuse only by permission.

Jerome 1918. World War I ended on the 11th of November but the Spanish flu plagued Arizona until the spring of 1919, affecting every town and nearly every family. When the rooms at the United Verde Hospital filled in Jerome, temporary hospital beds had to be placed in the public school’s annex buildings.

by T. Stone

Ninety years ago, the world, in the final throes of the Great War (known today as World War I), was confronted with an influenza pandemic that ended up killing more than 50,000,000 people worldwide; a number at least twice the number of those soldiers who died in battle during the war. Some called it the "plague" but most called this contagion the Spanish flu because it was first reported as a pandemic in Spain. War hysteria initially laid the blame on the Germans for concocting this pestilence. But, as research has now shown, the Spanish influenza originated in the United States, unknowingly incubated on Kansas farms by Kansas poultry, passed on to nearby army camps and then spread worldwide by American soldiers scattered to all parts of the U.S. and stepping off the boats in Europe. War always has unexpected consequences.

Annually in the United States today, approximately 36,000 people die from influenza while another 200,000 are hospitalized with complications. But the Spanish influenza of 1918 killed over 675,000 Americans. And millions were hospitalized!

Usually influenza victims are the very young or the elderly; middle-aged healthy people aren’t frequent causalities. However, the Spanish influenza was a distinctly unique strain of virus because it had a penchant for killing otherwise healthy adults. Why so many relatively young adults died can be explained simply enough: the flu turned the victims’ immune systems against themselves. Often, in infants and the elderly, the immune system is already weakened and has a difficult time fighting off infection, which explains why they succumb more readily to disease. But the 1918 influenza was so virulent that it forced naturally healthy immune systems to overreact and kill the very bodies they were trying to protect from the virus. This over-reaction of the immune system is called a cytokine storm.

In Prescott’s Citizens’ Cemetery there is a lone marble headstone simply inscribed: "Will King, Pvt., 317 Sup. Tn. 92 Div., March 17, 1918." Those carved letters and numbers suggest a complex and fascinating story that the casual observer might not appreciate. "317 Sup. Tn. 92 Div." informs you that Will King was a soldier in the United States Army who was a part of the 317th Supply Train for the 92nd Division, an ‘all colored’ division that was training in a segregated portion of the Camp Funston cantonment at Fort Riley, Kansas.

Then there is the significant date: March 17, 1918. That date coincides precisely with the beginning of the Spanish influenza that started its spread among the dirty tents and barracks of Camp Funston. The Prescott newspaper said that Will King died from pneumonia while he was training for war. Doctors, at first, did not understand that pneumonia was an aggravating factor of this new and deadly disease. Mr. King may well have been one of the very first people to die in what was to become one of the largest pandemics in history.

Col. Carl Holmberg was the newly appointed commandant of Fort Whipple at the time. He took over the post in May 1918, and went about organizing the hospital there, as well as involving himself with Prescott society. The Prescott Journal-Miner reported, "Colonel Holmberg found time to freely mingle with the local populace, attended the meetings of the Chamber of Commerce, and was willing and happy at all times to extend any courtesy or furnish any aid to the Prescott people." A young Army officer and physician, Holmberg, 38, undoubtedly saw his new command as a positive step in his military career.

The Spanish influenza rode into Arizona along the silvered rails of the Santa Fe Railroad. What had flared up among soldiers in the Midwest was now racing across the broad shoulders of Arizona. Holbrook, Winslow, Flagstaff, Williams, Ash Fork and Seligman fell one after the other to the virus. From Ash Fork, the train brought it to Prescott and Jerome. According to newspaper accounts, the influenza showed up in Arizona the first days of October 1918 and spread statewide in less than a week. In Prescott, the flu arrived on Wednesday, October 2nd in the lungs of soldiers transported from Camp Dodge, Iowa. Eight of these soldiers grew ill when they got to Fort Whipple.

Col. Holmberg initially wondered if these first cases warranted placing Fort Whipple under quarantine. He posted sentries at the doors to restrict people from entering the hospital. The next day, October 3rd, five more soldiers showed symptoms of the flu. On October 4th, twelve new cases broke out among the soldiery and Col. Holmberg decided the barracks must be quarantined. The Prescott Journal-Miner reported, "It is understood that there are a number of cases of ‘flu’ among the local civilian population, and closing the post was ordered partially as a protective measure for the benefit of the soldiers, the officers fearing that some of the boys might become infected while on a visit (to Prescott)." It is interesting to note that the blame for the contagion first went to the civilians! Also disturbing was that "all of the officers" from Whipple were exempt from the quarantine and traveled without restriction to town.

Like most social catastrophes unfit for political propaganda, the influenza arrived in Prescott heralded by soft words and denial. For the first week, even as the city closed down public entertainments such as the theatre, saloons and pool halls, the newspaper was careful to suggest that there should be no panic because this Prescott influenza appeared to be less dangerous than the one decimating the eastern seaboard. In fact, after warning its readers for over two weeks with front-page columns that the flu was on the way, the Journal-Miner only managed to mention the pandemic’s Prescott arrival on page three.

Across Arizona the influenza raged. People no longer loitered in crowds. Gauze masks were de rigueur for those who could get them. Schools, churches and pool halls closed down for two months. Besides the standard admonitions discouraging public gatherings, the Arizona State Board of Health requested that posters be placed in conspicuous places to warn citizens against the dangers of coughing, sneezing, spitting, handshaking and kissing.

Winslow and Flagstaff were hit especially hard by the epidemic. The copper towns including Bisbee, Globe and Jerome, where many impoverished miners lived in crowded rooms, suffered severely.

The influenza was unpredictable in the way it infected communities. Some days, several people would come down with fever. Other days, no one got sick. The spread of infection rose and fell like a scythe cutting ripe wheat. (Hence the reference to the "Scythe.")

(Terrance L. Stone is the author of "Grave History: a Guidebook to Citizens’ Cemetery, Prescott, Arizona")

Note: In part II, we will discover how the Spanish flu of 1918 affected many of the small towns of northern Arizona, including Prescott.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(Flu 2000-016-002a) Reuse only by permission.

Jerome, 1918. Photo courtesy of the Jerome Historical Society. Those who were lucky enough to avoid infection of the Spanish flu had to deal with the public health ordinances to restrain the spread of the disease. Gauze masks were distributed to be worn in public, stores could not hold sales, funerals were limited to 15 minutes and bodies piled up with a shortage of coffins, morticians and gravediggers.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(1918 flu) Reuse only by permission.

Those in close living quarters, such as mining and military camps, were most susceptible to the Spanish flu of 1918. An estimated one-third of the worlds’ population (or 500 million persons) was infected and had clinically apparent illness. It is referred to as the "mother of all pandemics."

by Pauline O’Neill (Edited by Parker Anderson)

(Note: The following composition by the widow of Prescott’s famed Buckey O’Neill first appeared in the San Francisco Examiner in 1898, shortly after Buckey’s death in the Spanish-American War as one of Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. The exact date it appeared is not currently known, although the data undoubtedly exists somewhere. -Ed.)

"When the Maine was blown up and the whole nation was discussing the question of the war that might follow, Mr. O’Neill felt that his country would demand his services. A meeting was held here in the Court House on the evening following receipt of the news. Mr. O’Neill again declared that he was ready and willing to shed his heart’s last drop for his flag, his country. He was then, as always, entirely devoid of fear. When the audience applauded his words, my heart sank, for I knew that in case of war, his honor would demand that he keep the promise so solemnly made to his fellowmen.

"Mr. O’Neill was always cheerful and happy at home, looking on the bright side of life on every occasion. He never wavered when he thought that duty called him to perform any task. Single-handed and alone, as Sheriff, he captured the hardest desperadoes. He was so gentle and kindhearted that he fainted at a hanging, because he saw the wife and children of the murderer who were left behind to be the by-word of an indignant populace. The wife was ill, and the children were so small and innocent that their future lot seemed an awful one to him. (Note: The hanged murderer was D.W. Dilda in 1885. – Ed.)

"To me, he was always kind and loving-as much a lover in the last days as when he first courted me, twelve years ago. I held the first place in his heart always, for there were no living children who claimed a part of his love. To his adopted child, he has been more than a father, being a jolly comrade to the little fellow. He always wrote of the little child as the ‘Wild Man From Borneo.’

"Perhaps we were too happy, and that is why God saw fit to call him first.

"Wives, mothers, sweethearts, and sisters of our gallant boys, write to your loved ones; write to them daily if possible; fill your letters with the small home incidents that go to make up life. Make the epistles cheerful. Keep the agony of your writing in your own hearts, even though they break, for our soldiers have enough to contend with outside of the sorrow and agony of the loved ones left behind.

"Every day since our marriage, whenever we were separated, I wrote a letter to my beloved, and he always wrote to me one each day. Thus we were ever in touch with each other-no matter how far apart we were. His letters were sometimes short after he left, on May 4th, for San Antonio, for his duties as Captain kept him busy from sunrise until midnight, but he always reported, as it were, with a few lines to let me know that he was well.

"You ask me if I gave him up willingly to fight for our flag? No, a thousand times, no. Do we give up our heart’s blood, or our children, or our loved ones willingly? We, women of this world? Can we say ‘Go,’ when we feel there is no coming back in this world? Is it to be expected that we shall say, like the Spartan mother, ‘Return with your shield, or on it’? You men who clamored for war, did you know what it would mean to the women of our country, when strife and bloodshed should sweep o’er this land; when the shouts of victory would but ineffectually drown the moans of the women who mourned for the lives of those that were given to make that victory possible?

"When the news that Santiago de Cuba had fallen, after four days’ battle, with a death list of 2000 men, did you think for a moment how many homes were that day desolate and how many of us were sitting with tear-dimmed eyes and folded hands trying so hard to bear up under the burden of sorrow, while you celebrate your glorious victory?

"With these stern realities, can we make this sacrifice willingly? We would be less human and more divine if we could cheerfully say, ‘Yes,’ to a sacrifice that breaks our hearts and makes dreary and sorrowful the rest of our days.

"Until he received his commission, I would not believe that he was in earnest. He joked and laughed about going, and I thought that the idea that he was needed had left him. On the 28th of April, he returned from Phoenix with his Captaincy in his pocket, and the following day he was mustered in-the first volunteer in the whole United States to offer his services and his life, if need be, to his country. From that day on, my heart began to break, although I made no sigh.

"I went to the train on May 4th to see the gallant Rough Riders leave. My eyes were tearless, while my heart was wrung in agony-at the last good-bye, he said: ‘My dear, the war will not last long, and I will return in ninety days.’ But my heart kept repeating, ‘Forever, forever’!

"From that day on, the silver threads have crept into my hair, while my face has become hollow and old from worry and grief.

"Yet, despite my feelings, I have always endeavored to be cheerful in all of my letters, only occasionally letting my feelings reveal themselves. He, too. though he felt lonely and homesick, disguised his words. In one of his last letters, he even planned to have me visit him at Havana next winter.

"The last letter I received was written the day after the first fight, June 26th. It was short, and only written to let me know that he was still unharmed. He had to make the letter brief, because he wanted to help bury the dead.

"When the news of the next battle came, I was out of town, in a neighboring city, on business. Fortunately, the telegram did not reach me until I stepped off the train, when kind hands and loving hearts led me home. The agony was so great that I could not weep for days. Later reports say that he fell, killed instantly, as he was leading his men to victory. A second before he went to his death, he said to one of the boys that the Spanish bullet was not made that could kill him.

"And so it all ended. Of what use is the medal of honor that he was to have for trying to rescue the two soldiers, of what use the praise and the laurels, the undying glory of being a nation’s hero, the thanks of a grateful country-of what use to me, who has lost the most precious being of my life?

"Yet I am not alone, for thousands weep with me, and refuse to be comforted, while thousands of others are still waiting and praying that the dread news will not come to them.

"To you, grief-stricken ones, I say: ‘Let us pray that God will help us bear this heavy cross, and that He will some day show us why it was good that it should be so.’

"To you who will celebrate our nation’s success, when your spirits are raised in triumph and your songs of Thanksgiving are the loudest, remember that we, who sit and weep in our closed and darkened homes, have given our best gifts to our country and our flag. Patriotism, how many hearts are broken in thy cause"?

NOTE: Sharlot Hall Museum’s Blue Rose Theater will present, "They Called Him Buckey," written by Jody Drake, and depicting the lives of Buckey and Pauline O’Neill, on September 11-13 Call 445-3122 for tickets.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(po1115pb) Reuse only by permission.

Pauline O’Neill, wife of Buckey O’Neill, 1880.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(po1117p) Reuse only by permission.

Buckey O’Neill, 1898, after enlisting in the Roosevelt Rough Riders.

by AZ Cowboy Poets Assn. Committee

Whoever named the Las Vegas Ranch knew what they were talking about. In Spanish, Las Vegas means "the meadows." At one time, the ranch extended from Williamson Valley west to Camp Wood and was known as the Otis and York Cattle Company. It covered many sections of the most beautiful land in northern Arizona.

Located 17 miles northwest of Prescott, at an elevation of 4,600 to 5,100 feet, the Las Vegas sits at the very heart of Williamson Valley, in a sub-irrigated bottom with shallow and artesian wells. Water and grass are abundant with a wide variety of flora and fauna.

The Pierce family purchased the ranch in 1959. Delbert Pierce eventually moved his family to Prescott in 1962 and began efforts to purchase ranches adjoining the original Las Vegas Ranch. In 1972 Steve Pierce graduated from the University of Arizona with a degree in animal science. After college, Steve married Joan Reed. He was ready to return to the ranch and continue the tradition of ranching. At that time, the Pierce family purchased the Seven V Ranch, an historic property where Harold Bell Wright worked as a cowboy and wrote the novel "When A Man’s A Man."

Steve and Joan moved into the original house built by Barney York on the Seven V Ranch and raised their family of three sons and a daughter. They still live in this house they’ve called home for the past 33 years.

By 2004, through family business decisions, the ranch had evolved into the current location and boundaries. Steve’s son, Nelson, has returned to the ranch to help continue the family heritage and continuing the Hereford tradition so familiar to their area.

Records will show the first registered Herefords in Yavapai County grazed the pastures at "the meadow." Barney York purchased high quality animals from Albert K. Mitchell of the Tequesquite Ranch in New Mexico in the late 1920s. In the late 1970s, the Pierces decided to add some new blood to the herd with Carpenter-Williams cattle. Those cattle, with their inherent ability to grow and gain, plus good management practices brought to the ranch by Larry Stark, put the Las Vegas Ranch on the road to success. In the early 90s, Angus cattle were introduced due to demand from the buyers, and both breeds are raised on the ranch today.

Currently the ranch runs a commercial Hereford/Angus cross herd, a registered Hereford herd, and a registered Angus herd. Hay is their only supplement. In winter months, about a half ton of hay per cow is fed. Their meadow hay is primarily native grass of Kentucky bluegrass with some western wheat, alkali sacaton, sedge, birds-foot trefoil and clover.

The Pierces are among the few purebred breeders to follow their cattle through the feedlot. The commercial calves are sent to Hitch Feeders of Guyman, Oklahoma, and hung on the rail by the time they reach 16 months of age. The Pierces feel that the Hereford/ Angus cross has enabled them to be successful in this program.

Las Vegas Ranch has been recipient of many awards for their cattle. Show cattle have been champions and reserve champions through the years, from the Arizona National to Denver’s National Western Livestock Show.

The ranch uses a 60-day breeding period and calves in both spring and fall. The cows are culled rigorously for non-performance. The American Hereford Association and American Angus Association are used for the registered herds and have been for over 48 years.

In addition to their many honors in the cattle business, the Las Vegas Ranch has been a leader in protecting the environment and working in harmony with the land. The family tries to preserve and protect nature because they are aware that their future generations will depend upon the management of renewable resources. The Society for Range Management has awarded the "Range Managers of the Year" for Arizona to the Pierce family. In 2005, the Arizona Game and Fish Commission presented the ranch with the "Wildlife Habitat Stewardship Award". In 2006, the Fish and Wildlife Agency awarded to Las Vegas Ranch the "National Private Lands Fish and Wildlife Stewardship Award", which represents all of the United States and Canada.

Working to improve the land is not always an easy job. Mother Nature deals a difficult hand now and then. Weather patterns have changed drastically in recent years, and most of the area’s moisture now comes in late winter and spring with drier summers. Consequently, the blue and black grama grass which once covered the hills is dying back for lack of moisture. The family has adapted to this hardship by pump irrigating about 400 acres with a very shallow lift. Irrigated land is mostly fescue with a sprinkling of orchard grass. Some of the smoother native meadowland produces three to four tons of hay each year.

The Pierce family has worked hard in the cattle industry, and they are concerned about its future. Government intervention and private property rights are taking a toll on the ability of ranching to continue and to grow in the state of Arizona. Water Rights are a major issue in Yavapai County as they are elsewhere in the West. The right to lease public land from the U.S.Forest Service, the Bureau of Land Management and the State of Arizona is being impeded by environmental agencies and groups who only recently are making an effort to understand what it has taken ranchers generations to ascertain.

The Las Vegas Ranch will continue to be influential through the Arizona Cattle Grower’s Association, the National Cattlemen’s Association, Arizona Beef Council, U.S. Meat Export Federation, Society for Range Management and the Arizona Hereford Association.

Today, the Pierce family owns and races a few quality quarter horses that have won recent futurities in Arizona.

In recent months a large portion of the ranch has been subdivided in order to settle family estates and aid in finding a way to maintain the growth of a herd that spans four generations in Williamson Valley. Steve Pierce has made a decision to run for an Arizona State Senate Seat in 2008 for Legislative District #1. In this way, he intends to work toward maintaining the culture and heritage of ranching in Arizona.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(L.V. 2) Reuse only by permission.

The Pierces: Delbert Pierce, standing; on horseback from the left, Nelson with Walker, Steve, Tyler with Aiden and Steve II.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(L.V. 1) Reuse only by permission.

The Reserve Grand Champion of the 1998 50th Arizona National Livestock Show.

by Ed T. Nesdill

Last week, Part I dealt with the 1884 homestead claim of Frederich Barth, (today known as Ponderosa Park) and some of the many owners of the divided property down through the years. Part II, presented here, tells the geology and some of the mining history of the area.

The Geology of the Ponderosa Park area is very interesting and complex. In summary, the Ponderosa Park area is composed of Proterozoic (Precambrian) "undifferentiated granites and schists". Located between the Chaparral Shear Zone on the south and the Mesa Butte Shear Zone on the north, there are light-colored granites (aplite to granidorite), diorite, gabbro, gneiss, schist, metasedimentary and metavolcanic rocks. On one tributary to Indian Creek to the east, over 15 different types of granite and metamorphic rocks can be found. These rocks were metamorphosed (altered by heat under tremendous pressure) about 1.75 to 1.8 billion years ago. The rocks themselves are older, in the order of 2.0 billion years. Considerable detail of the geology of the area is available in hard-to-find books by Waldemar Lingren and Charles Dunning.

Because the Ruth Mine is adjacent to Ponderosa Park to the south and there seems to be considerable misinformation as to Ponderosa Park originating out of the Ruth Mine property, a little information on its status and history is presented here. The original mining claim was patented in January 1899, under Mineral Survey #1264. Earliest reports on the Ruth Mine appear in the Prescott Journal Miner in 1911. This report states that ‘work will resume after some shutdown’ so we can assume that the mine was in operation prior to that time. The Ruth was reported as a gold mine and was producing 40 tons of ore a day worth $17 to $20 per ton of gold and silver. (The value of gold at that time was approximately $20 per ounce.) A tunnel was constructed at that time and extended 500 ft. to connect to surface shafts #1 and #2 at the 100 ft. level. The tunnel and tailings just to the south of the Ponderosa Park Subdivision boundary is on a separate claim and is believed to be a "Tunnel Site" or "Mill Site." The original patented load claim is located to the south, up over the hill from this tunnel and/or mill site. It is privately owned and is posted against trespassing.

A mill was planned to run on power brought in from Kingman. In 1912, the Ruth Mine was owned and operated by J. R. Slack and J. I. Gardner, but was listed at that time as a lead and zinc producer, rather than gold and/or silver.

(As a side note, the Miner had an article next to the story on the Ruth Mine that reported a Mr. Grahgam Reibling on June 4, 1912, driving an EMF automobile from Prescott to Phoenix, set a new record for the 140-mile route in 9 hours and 20 minutes. It is believed that this route went out through Iron Springs, Skull Valley and down through Wickenburg and was a graded wagon road at best.)

During World War I (1914 to 1918), operations at the mine continued with shafts down to 300 ft. and a 3-shift operation was in progress. The mill was shipping 35 tons a day of high-grade lead-zinc concentrates. In 1916, the mine was sold to a California syndicate and operated by W. S. Welhelm. They had five trucks to haul the ore and they reported that road repair would begin at once (4/21/1916). There are records in Sharlot Hall Museum archives that show production in 1928 and intermittent activity in the 1930′s. Records also show that the equipment located at the mine was sold off in 1942 and 1943. This was when the mine was closed during World War II. The owner, H. E. Ludwick, of 2525 Firestone Blvd., Los Angeles, CA, subsequently sold the equipment. There is some evidence that the mine was operated for gold content before the war but further investigation is needed. It also appears that attempts to reopen the mine after the war were made but flooding and rapidly escalating costs could not make it pay.

(As another side note, in 1918, The United Chino Oil and Refining Co. claimed that there was proven oil in Chino Valley and that there was only 300,000 shares left at 5 cents a share ($15,000 value). The shares could be purchased at their operating headquarters listed as "Lobby, Head Hotel".)

As reported in the Arizona Bureau of Geology and Mineral Technology Bulletin No. 137, W. Lindgren describes the Ruth Mine as a vein "occuring in Bradshaw granite which, near the walls, is schistose, soft, probably sericitized, and impregnated with tourmaline and pyrite. The vein dips steeply eastward. It consists of coarse-grained milky quartz, with narrow seams of pyrite, anchorite, and tourmaline. Pyrite, chalcopyrite, galena, and sphalerite occur as irregular bunches and streaks in the quartz".

The Silver Flake is another interesting mine located about two and a half miles from Ponderosa Park by way of the Maripai Road (out of Groom Creek) or by a one-mile hike due east of the subdivision. Records go back to 1876 with the mine producing gold, silver, lead, zinc and other metals up to the early 1970′s.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(po2185p)
Reuse only by permission.

According to records, the Ruth Mine was co-owned in 1912 by Mr. J. I. Gardner, shown here in 1893, and Mr. J.R. Slack. The mine, in 1912, was listed as a lead and zinc producer. The Ruth Mine is located just south of the Ponderosa Park Subdivision.

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(Groom Creek Topo map5) Reuse only by permission.

This 1974 USGS Groom Creek Topo map shows the area about 6 miles south of Prescott from Ponderosa Park east to Groom Creek. Note the locations of the Ruth Mine, Indian Creek, Groom Creek and the Hassayampa River. Many old mines and mining claims dot this area where gold was discovered in 1863.