By Parker Anderson

Long-time Prescott residents undoubtedly recall that our most famous landmark, Thumb Butte, has been the scene of several tragic accidents and at least one unsolved murder. While these may seem like recent phenomena, the truth is Thumb Butte has always had its share of tragedies. One such incident from early Prescott will illustrate.

On January 22, 1911, two young men, Roy Richards and Henry Brinkmeyer Jr., went mountain climbing on the Butte. While up there, they happened to glance down into a particularly hidden and deep crevice, shocked to see the still form of a man at the bottom. They ran back to Prescott as fast as they could and sounded the alarm. Soon, Justice of the Peace McLane, accompanied by a Coroner’s Jury and Lester Ruffner, the undertaker, made their way to the crevice.

The descent to the body was highly treacherous, and was accomplished by Mclane, Ruffner and Wiley Woodruff. Upon reaching the body, they confirmed the death and that the body had probably been lying there undetected for about five months.

They further determined that the man had climbed down into that spot and had committed suicide by shooting himself. A Smith and Wesson handgun was lying by his side and a note found on the body read:

"This is as fine a place for a dead man as Cecil Rhodes has in the Matabele Hills, so I will take a rest here. I hope they won’t disturb me. My life is just as thorny as this cactus. Therefore, I want to quite this Devil’s Kingdom. My spirit will go where there is a better Ruler. OMBRE MUERTE."

He had simply signed the note: "Dead Man," and gave no clue as to his identity. As the crevice was so well hidden, it was clear the man had intentionally chosen it for his tomb.

It was decided that removing the body would be exceedingly difficult, requiring someone to lift it out of the crevice and lower it 300 feet to the nearest trail; therefore, they decided to leave him where he was as it was unlikely many more people would discover him since he had hidden himself so well.

Back in Prescott, the Yavapai County Board of Supervisors were horrified by this decision and ordered the removal of the body from Thumb Butte. Heavy rains in Prescott delayed the extraction for several weeks but finally Ruffner and a small crew brought the body down from the suicide’s chosen tomb.

The dead man was laid to rest in Citizen’s Cemetery in a section where other unknown transients were buried in unmarked graves. The exact location of his grave is not known, as it appears that it is not recorded in the cemetery records.

So who was the Thumb Butte suicide? We will never know. Undoubtedly, some poor soul whose pain was so deep he figured he just couldn’t go on anymore. If he had family or relatives anywhere, they never knew what happened to their loved one.

Thumb Butte has been the scene of a number of tragic events. Rumors continue to swirl about ghosts and other strange phenomena that happen at night on the Butte. I don’t say that I believe in such things but the tragedies over the years have made the Butte rife to such rumors.

(Parker Anderson is an active member of the Theater community in Prescott. He frequently can be found at the Sharlot Hall Museum archives looking through newspapers. If you are interested in writing short histories of Yavapai County and the region for the Courier, contact the Museum Archives at 928.445.3122.)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(la153pa). Reuse only by permission.

Thumb Butte has been the scene of a number of tragic events. In 1911 some young men found the body of a man who had committed suicide. Stories of deaths on the flanks of the mountain probably go back as long as humans have tromped around the area – and the stories will certainly continue.

by Vicky Kaye

Hoover Dam, built between 1931 and 1935, was and continues to be the premier engineering marvel of the Southwest. During the height of the depression, several construction companies and thousands of people worked around the clock to bring the project to completion almost 2 years ahead of schedule. These workers came from all over the country looking for the opportunity of a steady paycheck. However, there was one unique "worker" who did his job and received no paycheck. He had no assigned housing, and no set time schedule. He came and went as he pleased, oversaw the project, and made the days of the workers more enjoyable. He was a little black dog who took his job of being the project mascot very seriously.

He was the runt of a litter born under one of the newly constructed dam offices in Boulder City. A coal black Labrador mix, he had a small swath of white across his chest and large feet he never quite grew into. He soon became a favorite of many of the men working at the dam who were far from their homes and friends. The pup began following the workers to the dam site and soon discovered that he loved to ride on things. Before long he could be seen riding the large employee transports, the government buses, the trains that delivered materials to the site, and even the skips up the front of the dam. The construction superintendent often gave him rides up out of the canyon in his big Buick, and once he even hitched a ride in a big black Cadillac. The dog sat in the front seat of the man’s Cadillac, being chauffeured about, while the wife was relegated to the back seat. The dam workers watched as they drove by and were convinced that the pup was smiling at them.

"He turned out to be nobody’s dog and everybody’s dog," reported Bob Parker a dam worker. "Down on the dam he’d come up to you and want you to pet him, take one or two pets, and off he’d go – on to the next worker down there. He’d climb ladders, he was in the tunnels, he was everywhere." One worker believed that, "Without a doubt he must have been a reincarnated construction stiff, maybe a superintendent . . . he just wanted us to get it done right."

A minor crisis occurred when the dog became ill. It was found he would eat anything and everything that was given him, especially enjoying the ice cream cones from the Boulder Sweet Shop. A compromise was reached. Dam workers began to contribute money to the local commissary for the dog’s meals. Soon he could be seen following the other workers to the dam site carrying his own specially packed lunch bag in his mouth. On arrival at the dam, he placed his bag with the rest of the crew’s lunches, and off to "work" he’d go. At noon, he returned to his lunch sack and waited for one of the workers to unwrap his meal. With so many workers contributing to the dog’s care he soon had his own bank account in Boulder.

During construction, and for years thereafter, this dog worked at and protected the dam. A plaque above his grave today states, "On February 21, 1941, the life of this devoted animal came to an end when a truck under which he was sleeping rolled over him. The grave below was completed by workers later that same day." It was a very sad day at the dam and Boulder City as the word spread of what had happened. At the ripe old age of ten, it is possible this construction savvy dog could no longer hear the trucks as he once had. His grave, which was jackhammered into the solid rock cliff by his friends, now rests on the Nevada side of the dam, at the head of the escalators that lead to the new Visitor’s Center and not far from the art deco winged sentries.

One thing that cannot be found at this memorial is the name of this once loved and treasured mascot. It cannot be found at the gravesite, or in the museum display commemorating the dog’s life. However, it can be found in a book entitled Building Hoover Dam: An Oral History of the Great Depression, and on the Internet. It appears this wonderful companion to the masses had a name that is not "politically correct." This dog, a friend to all workers, was named "Little Nig." For years, the original plaque over his grave displayed his name. However, in the late 1970′s, a tourist read the plaque during a visit, found it offensive, and considered the name a racial slur. He made it his mission to have the name removed from the dam. His involvement extended to all parts of the country, many political groups, and eventually to the halls of Congress. In the end, officials of the Department of Interior and the Bureau of Reclamation removed the plaque with no intention of replacing it.

Despite this conflict, Boulder City residents, friends, and co-workers of the dog had not forgotten their companion after the passage of so many years. They took up the cause and petitioned the Bureau to at least replace the plaque so he would not be forgotten. A new one was incorporated into the cliff wall above the grave where the old one once rested telling the dog’s story in a few brief passages. His name is now missing, but his memory lives on.

The Hoover Dam dog grave may be seen without paying for a tour. However, most museum displays and the trip to see the dam turbines require a ticket. Tickets are now $10.00 per adult and parking in the new garage is $5.00 per vehicle. The price may seem excessive, but that depends upon the visitor. The tour takes about 40 minutes, but much more time can be spent on museum displays and walking the various areas that are open to all. There is free parking up high on the Arizona side, but be prepared for a lot of walking. Much of what was open to the public (special "hard-hat" tours) is now closed due to 9/11, and security is tight with checkpoints on both sides of the dam and security personnel everywhere.

(Vicky Kaye is a member of the Prescott Corral of Westerners and the Sharlot Hall Museum. She also volunteers at the Museum.

Our readers’ thoughts…

It is wonderful to read this story after seeing the plaque back in
2001. I feel the name should have been left there because it didn’t pose a
racial slur to anyone. It was the dogs name and from all accounts
everyone loved this dog. I too have a black lab that came into my life
after someone abandoned him and he is the best thing that ever happened
to me. Not one person on earth could ever give me as much love and
comfort as this wonderful friend of mine. Thank you for sharing this
article with everyone and hopefully someday Little Nig’s name will be
restored to his last place of rest.



Roland Sheskey
February 21, 2008

It is very sad that this person felt it important to have the dogs name removed from his grave. It is folk like that that do more harm to human rights than they realize. It was not a slur, it was the dogs name. Please get a life, there are many more important this to life.



John White England
October 3, 2010

Give him his deserved name back! Nobody had a problem with it back then. WHY NOW? I thought we evolved from that crap! Let the puppy lie in peace with his God given name.Lover of animals and PITBULLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



Sam Allen
October 4, 2010

Please return that dog’s name where it belongs…it’s all part of the history of the dam and the men that loved that animal….one person having a problem with the name has to be an idiot.



NHBuck
December 20, 2010

I was born and raised in las Vegas and went on field trips almost every year to the dam. I fondly remember the plaque that was always pointed out with the word nig on it. I am truly embarrassed as a white male about the oppression the African american population has endured. I feel part of history because I know this story. I hope I live to see the day when the original plaque can be displayed somewhere and we can all recall racism as ancient history. Perhaps displaying the old plaque in a museum would promote the ongoing healing of our country in this regard, promoting positive conversation about the demise of racism. Let’s not forget these amazing men referred to him as nig with unquestioned adoration



Greg Hair
March 20, 2010

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(courtesy Boulder City Museum and Historical Association) Reuse only by permission.

This Black Labrador Mix, who was the mascot of Hoover Dam, almost disappeared into history because of his name. The collar that he is wearing was leather with silver studs. Unfortunately, the collar was stolen from him.

by Nancy Kirkpatrick Wright

I wonder how many people in the Prescott area have received the Medal of Honor? Awarded for "Gallantry in Action," this prestigious medal was authorized by Congress during the Civil War and was the first permanent U.S. military medal or decoration. Often called the Congressional Medal of Honor, it is the highest military decoration that the United States grants to members of its armed forces.

Did Buckey O’Neill receive it for losing his life with the Rough Riders in Cuba?

Did Ernest A. Love, Prescott’s World War I hero, receive it?

Any women in Prescott? Yavapai County? Arizona?

Perhaps you have a Medal of Honor displayed with pride or tucked modestly away.

I became interested in the Medal of Honor when researching Will C. Barnes’ Arizona Place Names. In his autobiography, Apaches and Longhorns, Barnes tells how, hoping for action and adventure, he first tried to enlist in the Coast Guard (then called the Revenue Cutter Service) but by the time he passed the tests there were no vacancies. However, in 1897 at the age of twenty-one, he enlisted in the U.S. Signal Corps. The Indian wars were almost over, but this young man was to engage in the kind of exploits Hollywood Westerns and Dime novels have plumbed for years.

After graduating from Signal Corps. school, where he studied meteorology and made unusually high marks in telegraphy, he finagled an assignment to Arizona’s Fort Apache. He was indeed the right man at the right time and the right place–for adventure. Communication was so important and so difficult that his exceptional skills as telegrapher kept him on duty up to thirty-six hours at a time. During one year over 4,000 messages went in and out of his office at Fort Apache. Personal messages could be sent at a penny a word, but military reports always took top priority.

Meteorological reporting was part of Barnes’ job description, too. He had to make four weather reports to Washington each day: "This happened four times every blasted day, rain or shine, peace or war, Indians or no Indians, unless the line was down; which it often was." Because of the time difference, instruments had to be read at 3:39 each morning and coded to be ready for the 4:00 a.m. call from El Paso. "If you weren’t there to answer," he said, "you had a painful few moments of wire conference with the Chief Operator, a commissioned officer."

Barnes writes, "The slender strand of wire which connected Fort Apache with the outside world in 1880 was very primitive. To the Apaches it was an exceedingly mysterious affair." But the Apaches, knowing the importance of communication, not only cut the line, but learned to cut it in several places far apart and hide the extracted pieces of wire. Repair was not an easy task.

In August of 1881, while most of the Fort Apache troops were on their way back from being bested by Apaches at Cibecue, the few remaining soldiers at the Fort were told that a group of Indians was on its way to attack Fort Apache. The nearest help would be from Camp Thomas, ninety miles away. Telegraph wires had been cut between Camp Thomas and Fort Apache the day before and two men had gone out ten miles but couldn’t fine the breaks. So Will Barnes and a man named Owens volunteered to travel along different trails to find the break. That evening when Owens rode to a spring near an Apache camp to water his horse, he was killed.

As Will Barnes approached an Apache camp, he tied each hoof of his horse with a piece of saddle blanket to muffle the sound of horseshoes on rocks. He made it across the creek so quietly that the Apaches didn’t realize he was there until after he had crossed. They fired, but missed. Fortunately Barnes eventually met a detail from Camp Thomas en route to Fort Apache. The next day they were able to repair the telegraph line in several places where the wire had been cut and dragged away. Communication was reestablished. Reinforcements came from Camp Thomas and the Apaches didn’t dare attack.

Sergeant Will C. Barnes was given the Congressional Medal of Honor for his bravery. Not many medals had been issued up to that time and it was his proudest hour. In fact, later in life when he met President Teddy Roosevelt, Roosevelt noted the insignia on Barnes’ lapel and said, "I would give ten years of my life to have one of those medals." A proud moment indeed.

As for Buckey O’Neill, Ernest A. Love and the Women of Arizona, I have a disappointing report: The Medal of Honor web page (http://www.army.mil/cmh-pg/moh1.htm) contains names of over 3,400 recipients of the Medal of Honor. They are listed by military engagement. Buckey’s name is not there. Neither is Ernest Love, but Frank Luke, after whom Luke Field is named, received the Medal of Honor for bravery in World War I. Incidentally, among the 428 honored during the Indian Wars, I found the Apache Scout, Alchesay, and William F. Cody, the erstwhile Buffalo Bill. Alas, only one woman was ever awarded this prestigious medal and she was from upstate New York.

Each Medal of Honor is a tribute which brings with it stories of daring-do, of sacrifice, and suffering; but also of winning and glory and appreciation for a job well-done. Congratulations to Congressional Medal of Honor winners everywhere.

(Nancy Kirkpatrick Wright, retired librarian from Yavapai College, is active in Prescott Art Docents and Sharlot Hall Museum. She enjoys investigating the historic confluences of the arts and sciences.)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(ina165p). Reuse only by permission.

Apache Scout Alchesay was born in what was to become Arizona in 1853. He is among an elite group of individuals who have received the Congressional Medal of Honor. Will Barnes, also an Arizona recipient, worked at Fort Apache during the "Indian Wars" as a meteorologist and telegrapher.

Water harvesting means clean hair, no stains, and good coffee

By William Peck

In the 1930′s and 40′s, Kirkland Creek at Yava was actually a stream. Water filled its bed and a good ditch of it irrigated the several tiny farms that filled the valley. Hay was the main crop although grain was raised to feed the horses that some still used as draft animals to plow and rake hay. Horses pulled the mowers and side-delivery rakes that windrowed the fresh-cut hay. Haycocks abounded put there by sulkey rakes that dumped it into piles to cure. The cured hay was hauled to the overshot stacker with buck rakes that literally threw the hay onto the stacktop where hands arranged it carefully to shed the rain.

Joe Anderson and Raymond Percy leased most of the Yava Valley farmland in 1947 and raised hogs. Raymond was the tractor driver and Joe, the jack-of-all trades, fed the swine and butchered the porkers for market. It wasn’t a very efficient operation even by the standards of the day. Consider that a mere 200 hogs a year were the product of farming on 200 acres. The barley fed the hogs wasn’t rolled or ground, and by Joe’s own words, "Oh, we don’t grind the grain none. By the time it goes through the third hawg, its purty well ground up. The hawgs have ta go on the run ’cause there’s always another’n ahind it waitin’ fer a warm meal. By the third hawg, the grain’s soft enough ter digest."

Farming was on the way out even in that early day. When the floods came with summer thunderstorms, the earthen dam thrown up by all the members of the ditch on the river, went down the creek in one fell swoop. Everybody canceled plans for the next couple of days and gathered at the dam site with their motley equipment, horses and fresnos, old Poppin’ Johnny tractor of Percy’s and Anderson’s, shovels, crowbars, etc, until the river was re-diverted backing into the ditch. Since the floods tended to recur at frequent intervals in the monsoon season, it was an on-going job. I remember sitting beneath a mesquite exhausted after frantically putting the dam back in an effort to beat the rising water only to hear a thunder crack upstream a mile or so. We watched helplessly as the river rose and crested the dam. In thirty seconds, it was gone as was most of the available material to build another one.

And there was the three miles of ditch to clean. Joe Anderson would ride the vee-ditcher pulled by the Poppin’ Johnny, driven by Ray Percy. Joe was never timid about getting things done. The ditch bank was covered with Bermuda grass sod and willows that the ditcher had difficulty managing. Joe was riding the ditchers on a two by twelve plank that he had affixed so he could gain leverage from his paltry 140 pounds to help the blade bite the sod. The ditcher hit a concealed stump launching Joe through the air completely over the tractor were he came to rest flat on his back in the ditch. Ray stopped the tractor astraddle of Joe and glared down at him. "Joe! You have the dambdest habit o’jest appearin’."

Today, Kirkland Creek rarely flows at all on the surface. Pumping up-river at Skull Valley, Kirkland, Peeples Valley, et al, has depleted the water table. Every little house-well helps.

So what does the future portend? It is most likely that growth will continue. So, where will the water come from? The sky!

Though water harvesting was the method of choice in the past, it fell into disuse due to disease that was associated with bad water. This was caused by poor collection and storage systems that allowed rats and other varmints a place to drown. Actually, the shallow dug wells that replaced them were more dangerous than the cisterns that they displaced. Rainwater can be and is the most wholesome and delightful water of all when handled properly. Ask any woman who has washed her hair in some. No bathroom stains, good coffee! There are few salts or other contaminants such as sewage to foul it. If filtered through a sand filter as it comes off the roof before it enters the cistern, it is pretty much clean. The secret to storing water is to isolate it from the air as much as possible and totally prevent light and critters from entering the storage area. Without light there is no algae. Few organisms that cause disease can survive for over a couple of days without nutrient. The longer the water stands and decants, the clearer and purer it becomes. Water does not become "stale".

Our family has used rainwater for household use for some years. Even during the dry years we have recently been through we have gotten by solely from the rainwater from our roofs. Initially we didn’t drink the water, but now we filter it through activated charcoal filters at the kitchen sink and find it equal to reverse-osmosis drinking water. If you’re really a health stick-in-the-mud, you can easily dump a small amount of chlorine bleach into the cistern.

For your information, 1200 sq. ft. of roof will field about 1000 gallons of water per inch of rain. That’s about 15,000 gallons per year in our area. That’s a small roof and a lot of water! Bottoms up!

(William Peck is a long time resident of Hillside. If you are interested in writing short histories of Yavapai County and the region for the Courier, contact the Museum Archives at 928.445.3122)

Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number:(ra106pb). Reuse only by permission.

In the 1930s the Robinson Ranch in the Kirkland Valley area used this fancy "irrigating machine." That still did not mean that the ditches did not have to be dug out or that dams did not have to be protected from flood. Irrigation was hard work.