By Kathryn Reisdorfer

(The Yavapai Cemetery Association will be holding its 7th annual Memorial Day Observance at the Citizens Cemetery, 815 E. Sheldon, at 9:00 AM tomorrow. Visitors are always welcome to wander throughout the cemetery and find stories of their own)

The irises are done blooming now, and even the spring roses, the small pink and yellow ones that seem to have sprung out of every rock in the city, are fading. I was ready for more flowers when I saw something else entirely.

There, right in front of me was Charley Genung! THE Charley Genung, I thought. But I wasn’t sure. I’m not a native here, and I could just hear some old timer saying that Charley Genung had an uncle named Charles B. Genung, and then I’d feel so foolish, but I checked it out. Charley Genung, THE Charley Genung, did die in 1916. It was him. I found him recently lying around with my other dead friends who rest among the irises in Citizens’ Cemetery on Sheldon.

I tell people that I have many dead friends-not friends who are dead (well, there are those, too), but dead friends. We didn’t know each other before, and I suppose that they don’t bother much about me now. My guess is that these people, who’ve had plenty of time to relax into the earth, don’t give a hoot about this stranger, but I care about them. And, yes, I do know them a bit-the ones with Spanish surnames, the ones with the epitaphs written in French, the Germans, the long-time US dwellers.

I know the short and long-lived folks; I know the couples who lived for 80 years and died two months apart; I know men whose lives were terminated when they were in their thirties and children who had even less time than those poor fellows.

There are three brothers and one sister with a single headstone. At first I noticed only one side of the stone, the side that listed one boy who died at nine months and the other who died 11 years later. He was a little over six and a half. Then I discovered that there is writing on both sides of the stone.

On the other side of this small monument are two more names of children, a sixteen year old and a nine year old who died within a week of the second child. I never hurry past them. The infant died in1883, and the other three died in July of 1894, but they share a single headstone that their parents probably saved for years to buy.

Because I have children myself, I cannot help but think of their mother, and I am transported back to a time when my own family had a repeat-tragedy. When I was twelve, my brother and his wife lost a lovely, healthy 16-month old girl to a doctor’s error. And 30 years later, to

the month, they lost their bright, lively 28 year-old, just as suddenly.

I am standing by the siblings’ graves wondering how their mother felt at those burials. I remember my sister-in-law, almost whirling in circles by the grave of her second-dead, telling the women with her that she prayed that we would never have to feel such pain. She was wearing a red coat in the cold Nebraska rain, and I can still see that red. I suppose she should have been wearing black, but who in the world is ready for that ugly midnight death-call, prepared with the clothes that once were deemed not just proper but absolutely necessary for death? She probably grabbed what was nearest so she could ride that mournful thousand mile journey to the grave. And what was nearest was red.

That mother in 1883 did not wear red, we can be sure. She wore black, and then the same black-over and over-in 1894 mainly because she didn’t own anything red. But she was probably a lot like my sister-in-law in other ways. She probably staggered around the empty hole, grasping for hands, praying for others as she nearly suffocated in her own grief. Was it easier for her to accept her fate because so many other children died in those days? I doubt it. I wonder how she even survived that week in 1894. Did she ever recover her spirits? Her name was Henriette. Does my thinking of her lessen her burden? I would like to stay awhile with her.

But I must move on. I have work to do. And there are so many flowers to see. That’s when I find Charley Genung for the first time. A big smile comes over my face. I forget the children and their broken mother. I am captivated by Charley.

Is this THE Charley Genung, whose name I first saw on a small poster in a window on Whiskey Row around rodeo time, that first summer in Prescott? Genung, I thought when I first saw it. Genung-the name reminded me of the German word for enough. But when I looked at his picture, him in his cowboy hat, I thought of Charley Goodnight-the Goodnight Trail, you know, cows and fresh air and life in the open. Aha, I thought, so Prescott has its cowboy heroes too. And, of course it does.

Charley Genung was born in 1838. The headstone tells me that. He was one of the old pioneers in Yavapai County. Sharlot Hall liked to correspond with him, and they even traveled around together. He knew everything, I guess.

And now that I know a little more about Charley, I am so pleased to see him lying so close to Henriette’s children, though I don’t know why. But there they all are-safe, compact, and cared for, surrounded by all those flowers.

The irises aren’t blooming in the cemetery any more, but they were a few weeks ago. And the roses that came on so fast are fading even faster. Flowers here in the cemetery, like all over town, come and go-they obey the commands of the seasons and the rain. In doing this, they help me mark time, and they visit the dead regularly, just like I do.

(Kathryn Reisdorfer has recently completed the second volume of an inventory of Yavapai County historical resources. Both are available throughout the county.)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(c101pe). Reuse only by permission.

The Citizens Cemetery on East Sheldon is an ideal place to explore Prescott’s past and get to know some new "friends" and discover stories. Each year the Yavapai Cemetery Association holds a Memorial Day service at Citizens. All are welcome to attend this Monday.

Robert Postle–Officer, Gentleman, Gambler, and Rancher

By Al Bates

Life in the United States Military in the West in the mid 19th century was difficult. Living conditions were primitive and shortages of necessities were common. Long stretches of boring garrison duty were broken by patrols and forced marches in pursuit of elusive enemies, and by the occasional deadly skirmish. Suicide and desertion were common ways of escape from intolerable conditions.

It is little wonder then that the primary free-time occupations for most soldiers and many of their officers were drinking, gambling, and chasing woman (if the opportunity presented itself). Gambling was the most available vice at the isolated posts, and horse racing was a favored form of gambling among the officers.

A passion for gambling on the "sport of kings" coupled with a desire to obtain an edge over the competition ended the military career of a young officer in the U. S. Cavalry who shortly afterwards showed up as part owner of a ranch in Chino Valley.

Robert Postle was born in England in 1837 and came to the United States before his 18th birthday. The census for 1860 lists him at age 23 as a grocer in Tucson.

After outbreak of the Civil War, Postle, like the majority of American and Mexican residents, deserted Arizona for safety’s sake. The Army had withdrawn all its troops from Arizona and the Apaches were "uncontrolled." Most of the farms, ranches and small communities of the Gadsden Purchase area below the Gila River were quickly abandoned.

Postle moved to New Mexico and in February 1863 signed on to serve three years as a Second Lieutenant in the First New Mexico Cavalry at Fort Craig in the New Mexico Territory. He was promoted to First Lieutenant in September 1863.

In October of that year he distinguished himself while on an expedition from Fort Canby, N.M., under command of Colonel Christopher (Kit) Carson, by pursuing and capturing a Navajo warrior while himself slightly wounded. That was to be the high point of his military career, for within a few days he committed the offense that led to his court martial.

Back at Fort Canby, Postle entered into a bet with a Captain Joseph Birney of his regiment over who had the faster horse. Postle’s horse won handily and the Captain was out $150.00. Unknown to Birney, Postle had taken the precaution of matching his horse against Birney’s before making the bet. Sometime after the race Birney found out that he had been victimized, and charges were filed against Postle.

The official charges against him stated that Lieutenant Postle "after having run his horse against a horse of Captain Joseph Birney of the same Regiment, and having by this act ascertained that his horse was the fastest, did make a race with . . . Birney for $150.00, thereby intending to defraud him of this amount . . . at Fort Canby, N.M., on or about the fifth day of October, 1863." A second charge stated that Postle "after having been asked if he had ascertained the relative speed of the horses, did, in the most positive terms disclose that ‘he had not’, which statement was false."

Postle was found guilty of the charges and was drummed out of the Army on December 31, 1863. The next known stopping place for the racing enthusiast was eight and a half months later when he popped up in Chino Valley.

On August 15, 1864, four partners, calling themselves Postle, Brown & Co., claimed some 500 acres at Del Rio Springs, the site of old Fort Whipple then recently abandoned by the U. S. Army. They announced that they were cutting 200 tons of hay which they intended to have for sale in Prescott that winter. They also announced that "next season they will have above 200 acres under cultivation in corn, wheat, etc."

Their method of cutting hay was efficient but destructive. Instead of cutting the native grass with scythes or similar cutting tools they grubbed it out–roots and all–with large hoes.

The winter of 1864-65 was difficult for the Prescott area pioneers. The Colorado River was low and steamboats were unable to reach Hardyville where goods could be transferred to mule trains for trans-shipment to Prescott. There was a dire shortage of basic necessities, especially flour. Postle and two partners undertook to relieve the impending famine by driving ox teams to Ami White’s mill at the Pima Villages to obtain a supply of flour.

It was an arduous eight-week trip that included twice fording the rain-swollen Agua Fria and Gila rivers with portions of their dismantled wagons balanced athwart a borrowed rowboat. It also included a close scrape with Indians who wiped out a pack train that was just ahead of them on the return trip.

Postle was well enough regarded in his new community that in May 1865 Governor Goodwin offered him a commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Territorial Militia on the condition that Postle recruit a company of Infantry for service against hostile Indians. Postle declined the Governor’s offer.

The Del Rio Springs ranch was successful, and over time Postle became the sole owner of 160 acres. In September 1867 he brought a 15-year-old bride, Hanna Shivers, to his adobe ranch home. Less than four years later, on April 9, 1871, Robert Postle died of "liver complaint," leaving an 18-year old widow and two small children.

Throughout his life Postle continued his strong appreciation for the sports of the turf and reportedly owned a "noted race horse which was stolen by Apaches shortly before his death."

(Al Bates is a local historian who frequently contributes to Days Past)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(misc206.1p). Reuse only by permission.

Horse racing, as shown in this 1916 race in Prescott, has always been a popular activity among military personnel. Robert Postle, who eventually settled in Chino Valley in 1864, was found guilty of throwing a race and was drummed out of the military.

By Dorothy Chafin

(This is part of a continuing series of articles by Chafin reminiscing about her hometown. During World War II she worked downtown at the Harmon Audit Company and met many wealthy and famous people)

Jeb Stuart of Texas owned a ranch in Paulden, which he managed until his father died and he had to return to Texas to run the family business. Until that time I thought he was the real thing.

L. David Dozier, an Anheuser-Busch heir, owned a ranch in the Kingman area, but always had his tax work done in our office. He was a fun person to work for and I missed him when he kidnapped his two daughters and went to Mexico to live.

The cattlemen who were the "real thing" were also interesting, fun, attractive and wonderful to know.

They included: Norman and Johnnie Fain from Arizona families and active in the Cattle Growers organization on every level. Norman was active in politics and served in the state senate for several years; he was asked to run for governor, but declined.

W. C. Denny owned a large ranch in the Seligman area. His father crossed the U. S. three times: first in a covered wagon, then on a train and finally by air-what history his life encompassed. His son, Dick, was the father of the famous ball player, John Denny. Dick had a terrific sense of humor and the courage to try anything. One time when driving through the Phoenix area, he saw a sign "calves for sale". He made the arrangements to buy the calves, and then looked for pasture to lease. Then he went to the bank to borrow the money to pay for both. I worried about that deal, but he sold the calves at a profit and paid off the bank.

For many years I had my office just off the lobby in the old historical Hassayampa Hotel on East Gurley in Prescott. It was accessible and became a popular meeting place for clients, ranchers and friends. Many notes were left with me to pass onto other when they came in. I became a clearing-house for cowboys looking for work and ranchers looking for cowboys to hire. I thoroughly enjoyed my work there.

My work, naturally lead me to extra-curricular activities that were related: I served on the Board of the Fair Association, the Rodeo Committee and the Quarter Horse Committee for several years. I also worked with the School Board of Williamson Valley Dist. No. 2 and members: John Thompson who owned the Las Vegas Ranch at Simmons (now owned by Delbert Pierce), Jack Dew, manager of the Wilson’s Long Meadow Ranch (now owned by the Putenneys) and Kemper Chafin at the Seven V Ranches (now owned by the Pierce family). They were a great board to work for. I hired bus drivers and schoolteachers with their approval, in addition to doing the clerical work. In those years the Board had charge of the school at Camp Wood and a bus that picked up the children from Walnut Creek and Williamson Valley and brought them to the Prescott schools. Bus drivers for that run of 40 miles each way, with the roads half unpaved and often muddy, were hard to find. Teachers who wished to live some 50 miles from town on the top of a mountain inaccessible in the winter were also hard to find.

One spring, a young schoolteacher had agreed to return the next fall and I sent him a contract that was never returned. I was ready to go out to Camp Wood to pick up the contract when I heard the rumor that a Camp Wood man was in the county jail for having shot a mountain lion without a hunting license. It seems the lion was treed on the school grounds and the teacher was concerned about the children. The teacher didn’t carry a gun. Another man at the scene did, so he killed it. This apparently discouraged the teacher. The next year another teacher was hired.

Of course my "city" clients were great too. In order to make a success of business in a town the size of Prescott, one had to excel in smarts. The privilege of knowing Lester Ruffner and Lester W. Ruffner was enough. I might have worked without pay; both shared wonderful stories of Prescott. Lester Ruffner pushed me to accept a state office in the Business and Professional Women’s Club. He said the rewards would be greater than the suffering (I had to make speeches) and he was so right. Thanks to a group of competent women who did the work, my year as state president was a success, bringing our club many awards.

Marvin Rohrer and Donald Bloom were wonderful bosses. They owned the drug store on the northwest corner of Montezuma and Gurley. Both encouraged me to be active in the Chamber of Commerce. When I became the first woman to serve as the president of that group, a report appeared in the Los Angeles Times. You can be sure I got respect from the L. A. relatives after that! Both men also encouraged me to be active in politics, which was also very rewarding. I met many people attending rallies-one with Barry Goldwater as pilot, landing in an open field at the Hays ranch. My return to Prescott was in a pickup truck-back to reality!

My hometown rewarded me well for the many activities I participated in-and I still think it is the best place in the world to live, but let’s keep it a secret!

(Dorothy Chafin moved to Prescott in 1933 and is active in the local arts and music associations in town)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(st196p). Reuse only by permission.

The Author worked for an auditing company that had an office in the Hassayampa Hotel during World War II. It was here, and through "extra-curricular" activities, that she learned of everything from the hazards of teaching out at Camp Wood to quickest way to make money with calves in Phoenix.

By Richard Gorby

(Continued from last week)

In September of 1867 Prescott was a little more than three years old and Arizona’s Territorial Capital. The territorial legislators were all Republican and Union sympathizers chosen by President Lincoln. Into this group suddenly appeared the new owner of the Arizona Miner, John Huguenot Marion, who in his first editorial, Sept. 21, 1867, shockingly revealed himself a Confederate and Democrat. He wrote:

"We shall never allow the columns of this paper to be used for the purpose of attacking private character, and in the discussion of public men and measures, we mean to be temperate, candid and just, giving credit to all who deserve it, and condemnation to the man, party or measure that merits it."

However in 1871, Vincent Colyer, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, visited Arizona, hoping to conclude peace treaties with all Indian tribes and place them on reservations. John Marion disagreed in a manner that was hardly " .temperate, candid and just."

"We ought, in justice to our murdered dead, to dump the old devil (Colyer) into the shaft of some mine, and pile rocks upon him until he is dead. A rascal who comes here to thwart the efforts of military and citizens to conquer a peace from our savage foe, deserved to be stoned to death like the treacherous black-hearted dog that he is."

When Colyer arrived at Fort Whipple on his peace mission, several Prescott citizens, including Marion, joined in urging him to address a pubic meeting in the town. Colyer refused, showing them Marion’s clipping about him in the Miner. When he left town without speaking to the citizens of Prescott, Marion described him as " anything but a Christian gentleman".

"Marion was a man of great force of character," Thomas Farish wrote in his 1915 History of Arizona, "of bulldog tenacity, exceptional ability and great perseverance. He was about as homely a man as one could imagine, and in speaking he talked in a monotone, but his utterances seldom failed to bring down the house. He could write a very humorous article, full of wit and sarcasm, yet he had no sense of humor. Marion seemed at his best in his characterizations when assailing those whom he disliked, or who he thought were dealing unfairly with Arizona citizens or himself."

Evaluations of Marion’s brand of journalism vary sharply. He was accused of having no regard for truth and decency. He was charged with being " browbeating, over-bearing and bullying." He was also characterized as "the most degraded, foul-tongued malevolent editor on the Pacific Coast." One editorial claimed he would call an opponent a thief and a liar and then hide behind a statement that "nothing personal" was intended. The same editorial admitted that Marion’s paper had a reputation as good as any and it labored constantly for "the advancement of all."

Described as a man of great force of character, he was also described as an "ignoramus, a liar and a coward" and was also compared with a "chained coyote." He has been praised as the most talented and vigorous of pioneer editors and disparaged as "a slandering reptile". Somewhere between these widely divergent opinions lie the character and accomplishments of John Marion, frontier editor.

Not only was Marion always described as physically unattractive man who spoke in a monotone, but also as painfully shy. The prospect of marriage must have been difficult. Nonetheless, on Sept. 20, 1873, the Arizona Miner announced that on Tuesday, Sept. 16, J. H. Marion and Flora E. Banghart were made man and wife, by virtue of the ceremony by Judge H. W. Fleury (whose home was the Governor’s Mansion).

It is obvious that Marion adored Flora. He announced their pending marriage in his Sept. 16, 1873 editorial, ending with, "Quartz claims, placer claims, auxiliary claims had we in abundance, but all these did not satisfy us. Now, however, we have struck our claim to Miss Flora and said claim is not for sale. With her we hope to glide down life’s rugged path in a pleasant way."

Everything seemed to be going well for Marion–not only a new wife he loved, but also a new newspaper-the Prescott Courier. His best friend and fellow Democrat was Charles Rush, whom Marion helped elevate to District Attorney.

Rush and Marion spent many hours together with Bob Brow in Brow’s beautiful, new Palace Saloon. The old Palace had burned down in the fire a year before. Marion was not a drunkard, although he drank regularly. William Berry, editor of the Yuma Sentinel recounted seeing him at a party, "laid out in the refreshment room, dead drunk, with candles at head and feet, and a regular wake held over him."

On Dec. 14, 1884, after two sons and eleven years of marriage, Marion’s beloved Flora eloped with Charles Rush, his best friend, and both disappeared.

The fiery editor became a broken man. Not only had his wife betrayed him, but his friend and fellow Democrat had stolen his wife and destroyed his home. He became reclusive. For three years he waited, hoping Flora would tire of her lover and return; then he filed for divorce. Marion had found a new wife, Miss Ida Jones who had been a compositor in the Courier office, "a handsome and stylish lady, endowed with many noble qualities of head and heart." With his marriage to Miss Ida, Marion became calmer and much less vituperative. He was finally more secure and his newspaper prospered and grew in importance and influence. He was mentioned as a candidate for governor. But on the morning of July 27, 1891, returning from his well with a bucket of water, his heart failed and he dropped dead on his porch. He was fifty-four.

(Richard Gorby is long time volunteer at the Sharlot Hall Museum Archives and a frequent contributor to Days Past)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(po1659p). Reuse only by permission.

John Marion has been praised as the most talented and vigorous of pioneer editors and disparaged as "a slandering reptile". Somewhere between these widely divergent opinions lie the character and accomplishments of John Marion, frontier editor. Flora Banghart saw the good side long enough to marry him in 1873. She later left him for his best friend.