by Mary Kasulaitis
Stories of the old days in Arivaca and Oro Blanco are remembered by the families of the relatively few people who settled in this area in the 1800s. The Tonkin family arrived in new Oro Blanco in about 1880, probably following William’s younger brother, Thomas. William S. Tonkin had been doing some mining in California and had heard about the Oro Blanco area. He was from England, probably from the county of Cornwall, known for its tin mines. His wife Ella was born in Missouri but come to the West Coast with her family, where she met William. When they arrived here in the Oro Blanco area they had a baby, also named William. They settled first in the Warsaw Camp and William did some prospecting. In September of 1881 their second son, Jesse, was born, delivered by Dr. A. H. Noon. They went on to have several more children. They became good friends with the few other families who were living in or near Oro Blanco, joining in community programs and inviting folks over to eat turkey and other homegrown food.
In the late 1880s, homesteads were opened up in the Oro Blanco area. William Tonkin took advantage of the opportunity to get 160 acres of land and filed on land near Alaska Hill. This area is where the Tonkin Well is located and some of us know it as the place where the Cobre Ridge Endurance Horse Race used to be staged, off the road to Arivaca Lake. Adobe ruins of their home still remain there, under Alaska Hill, on Oro Blanco Wash. William filed for a brand and began raising cattle.
Growing up in Oro Blanco, son Jesse collected stories, which in his later years he related to Fred Noon, whose father was about ten years older than Jesse. Some of these were tales of the Apache raids that took place in 1886. Many of us have heard about the murder in Bear Valley at Yank Bartlett’s ranch of Phil Shanahan and his horse, and the daring run of Johnny Bartlett to get help. Less well known is the murder of Jack Smith near the Ruby Mine and also that of Dutch Moore near Arivaca. 1886: Jesse remembered being warned by Dolf Noon that Apaches were raiding: “The folks hustled us kids, Will, me and Ruth out of bed and after dressing took off for town. I had dressed in such a hurry I hadn’t laced my shoes and kept stepping on the laces while on that pitch dark night trip to town. The group consisted of us kids, Mother carrying sister Ruth and father some bedding and clothes and his 45-60 Winchester. We arrived without incident and took up lodging in the Graddicaps Hotel on Main Street (new Oro Blanco)… My father made daily trips to the ranch to water the cattle and feed the horses and look things over. On one of these trips Father noticed a man on horseback traveling along a ridge when suddenly the rider disappeared from view. Father mounted his horse and with his 45-60 carbine took chase. Arriving at the ridge he spied the rider, an Indian, riding like mad and kicking up the dust about a mile away. The Indians didn’t bother a thing during that raid and we always believed it was on account of the following incident: One bitter cold night while we were huddled around the wood range there was a knock at the kitchen door. Father opened the door and admitted a girl about 17 years old. Through her broken English she told us she was Mexican. She was dressed sort of gypsy fashion with long very full skirt. My parents treated her kindly, made her a hot meal and coffee and bedded her down on the kitchen floor. Father had his suspicious that she was Apache. To verify this he rode to the Noon home (about 2 miles south) and asked your Uncle Alonzo to come with him and ascertain if she could speak Spanish. Alonzo wasn’t what you could call a Spanish linguist but said she didn’t speak Spanish as he did. During the morning, while Father was at the Noon home, this girl coaxed me and my brother Will to accompany her to the top of the Alaska Hill. Arriving at the top she pulled from the folds of her dress a white cloth about two feet wide and five feet long and began waving it in an odd manner. She would repeat this every minute or so. Then she did sort of a wig-wag signal, waited a few seconds, then (with) one long sweep she cast the cloth down and returned it to its place of concealment. She left that afternoon, after another meal. She was evidently giving her people the ‘lay off’ signal.” The Tonkin family was never bothered by Apaches after that, except that they did go to stay at the Hotel in Oro Blanco when danger threatened. Ella Searle, in her letters home, remarked that she didn’t like being so cramped up in the hotel room. Over time, the fears lessened until the day that the Apaches were back on the reservation.
The Tonkins proved up on their homestead in 1892 and subsequently sold it to William Marteny. He farmed the area, as it was bottom land, and maintained the well. He sold the homestead to Phil Clarke in 1919 along with several other homesteads that he had acquired. The Tonkins moved to Tucson where William passed away in 1910. Ella moved to California and lived many more years.
References: Letters from Jess Tonkin to Fred C. Noon, Ella Searle letters, U.S. Census records
by Mary Kasulaitis
After alluding to the Shanahan murder in the last article, I thought I should tell the whole sad story. Apaches had been the biggest deterrent to settlement in Southern Arizona up until the early 1870s when they were subdued and put on a reservation, but the last ditch effort in 1886 by Geronimo and his band to maintain a free life brought tragedy to the local settlers.
A little background: for decades, both Mexican and American settlers had been moving into country that the Apache considered theirs. Being nomadic, they had no farms or towns, and actually had only been in Arizona, south of the Little Colorado River, since the 1600s. They tried to maintain their traditional hunting way of life in spite of the growing number of settlers on both sides of the border. A warlike mentality prevailed, especially among the Chiricahua Apaches. Treaties were made and broken. Apaches tended to live in small bands and each was autonomous. For a long time this confused the American military, which would consider the whole tribe responsible whenever one band attacked.
American settlers realized the value of military protection during the U.S. Civil War when troops were removed to points east and Apache attacks escalated. After the war, the military returned to the Southwest and attempted to “pacify” the Indians. Reservations were set up. The Chiricahua Apache were to go to the San Carlos reservation. This included one of their leaders, Geronimo, who would not stay put. Geronimo was on and off the reservation several times between 1878 and 1886. In 1885, thinking they planned to hang him, he left with forty-two followers. General Crook, premier Indian fighter, took chase. When they had gone into Mexico, he tried to keep them there. In March 1886, Crook thought he had Geronimo again. But that didn’t last long. Geronimo, Naiche, and thirty-five other Chiricahuas including women and children escaped again. In the wake of this colossal failure, Crook was reassigned. General Nelson A. Miles took his place.
Up till this time, most of the Apache action had been in Mexico, New Mexico and eastern Arizona. Now both Mexican and American armies chased the small group, pushing it from here to there. The band split into two small groups. Roberts says, “Geronimo took six men and four women and slipped once more through the intensive border patrol, then raided north all the way to Ojo Caliente. Along the way, he killed his last white Americans, raising the pitch of terror among the settlers.” Some of those last unfortunate Americans were Mrs. A.L. Peck and her baby in the Santa Cruz valley near Calabasas, and Phil Shanahan at the Bartlett-Hewett ranch in Bear Valley, southeast of Arivaca.
The Arizona Daily Star recounted the murders:
“At A.L. Peck’s ranch on Tuesday, Mrs. Peck and her eleven month old baby were brutally murdered. Mr. Peck and his assistant, Charles Owen…were about two miles up the canyon above the house at the time and were themselves surprised by the assassins. Both were unarmed. Mr. Peck’s horse was shot under him at the first fire and he was captured, tied and kept under guard for half an hour or more. Young Owen made a dash for his life, being mounted on a fine animal. Turning into a side ravine he met a shower of bullets…a shot broke the young man’s neck and another broke an arm. . . At the house with Mrs. Peck, was her little niece, Jenny, twelve years of age. She was taken into captivity. Old Geronimo finally came up and had a brief conversation with the Mr. Peck, saying he (Peck) was a good man and he could not kill him. He then released the prisoner, took his boots away from him, gave him thirty-five cents in money and told him to go, but not to go to the house. Mr. Peck asked permission to talk to the little girl, who was on a horse behind a buck, and crying bitterly, but they were not permitted to speak to each other. Mr. Peck went directly to his house and there found his wife and child lying dead by the door.” It is unknown why Peck was spared but his wife and child were slaughtered. Perhaps it is because Geronimo’s family was killed by Mexican soldiers and he retaliated by killing families, leaving the bereaved husbands alive.
However, Geronimo may not have been with this band. The leader was supposedly young and spoke good English, possibly the younger, English-speaking Naiche. About six weeks later Jenny was rescued from the Indians by some Mexican cowboys at a point about forty miles from Magdalena, where she was delivered to Mr. Peck, who had gone after her.
The day following the killing of Mrs. Peck and her baby, Phil Shanahan left John “Yank” Bartlett’s ranch in Bear Valley at the entrance to Sycamore Canyon, and headed for his own home a few miles away. His ten-year-old son Phil was staying back with his friend Johnny Bartlett, Yank’s son. A few minutes later the boys heard shots, then a yell, and Phil staggered into the yard, saying he had been shot by Indians. Yank saw he was badly wounded and would need a doctor, so he told Johnny to run to Oro Blanco to fetch Dr. Noon and warn the folks there. He directed Little Phil to go home and warn his mother and two little sisters of the danger. Phil made it there successfully and they concealed themselves in the mountains until the following day.
Johnny set off on horseback for Oro Blanco but within a few miles he saw three men ahead of him dressed in black and acting as if they were drunk. He came back quickly, finding the Indians firing on the house. He reached the house safely, but his horse and another were shot. One horse followed them into the house and fell dead in the doorway. Yank himself received a wound of which he later recovered.
When night came, Yank sent Johnny off to get help again. For the first two miles he went barefoot to move more quietly. At the Smith house, south of Oro Blanco, he found E.W. Smith, whose home had been broken into and black clothes, guns and a bottle of brandy taken. They went on to Oro Blanco, arriving at 2 in the morning, where the settlers were raised and armed. Johnny was put to bed. Early the next morning he and the men, including Dr Noon and Yank’s partner Hank Hewitt, set off for Bear Valley. Arriving back at the ranch, they found Shanahan on his deathbed and Mrs. Shanahan and the children newly emerged from hiding. At the Shanahan ranch the Apaches had taken all their food and clothing, killed several head of horses and run off many others. Perhaps Mrs. Shanahan would have been killed had it not been for little Phil’s warning.
For their bravery, Johnny Bartlett and young Phil Shanahan were rewarded with rifles and money. However, the Oro Blanco settlers were still uneasy. Women in particular were nervous and fearful in the wake of Mrs. Peck’s death. The Tonkins had been spared, but no one knew what would happen next. All summer long, Ella and Herman Searle wrote worried letters to their family members back East. The attacks had been so unexpected. Apaches could move so fast and so far that no one knew exactly where they might be and speculation was rampant. So it was with considerable relief that the settlers heard the news in September, 1886, that Geronimo had surrendered for the last time.
References: Once They Moved Like the Wind: Cochise, Geronimo and the Apache Wars, by David Roberts; The Arizona Daily Star; unpublished Peck family manuscript; Searle family letters; No Place for Angels by Roscoe Willson
by Mary N. Kasulaitis
John “Yank” Bartlett was the one person responsible for the initial development of the town of new Oro Blanco and the mining district of the same name. (He probably got the name from old Oro Blanco, several miles south, which had been mined and named by Mexicans long before) His name comes up again and again from the time he arrived in 1873 until his death more than 30 years later.
John Bartlett was born in New Hampshire in 1827 and was a freighter by trade. He came to Arizona with the Army under General George Crook in 1871 and stayed. He and his friend Henry “Hank” Hewitt were well known as Indian fighters and scouts as well as proficient packers. In the early 1870s, the Apaches were subdued, so he and Hank went looking for a ranch. Allegedly it was Pete Kitchen who suggested Bear Valley. This is the valley on the west side of the Atascosas that feeds into Sycamore Canyon, west of Nogales. There is a spring and good grass for cattle. It also has a trail from Mexico, used in old times by the Yaqui.
Just over Mule Ridge to the west of their homestead was a rugged mineralized area of canyons and gulches which had been mined during Spanish and Mexican times. Now called California Gulch. Yank Bartlett and some Tucsonans began prospecting in the old abandoned locations. Large oak trees had grown in the cuts where previous work had been done, leading the prospectors to think that it must have been many years ago, perhaps as far back as the Spanish period. Called “Oro Blanco,” this gold mine was about three miles from the border. At the time no one was very sure exactly where the border was, since at this rugged location it had never been officially marked, and both Americans and Mexicans were somewhat excited over the prospects. Bartlett and some others did a survey and determined that the mine was on this side of the line. In April of 1873 they filed a location notice on the Oro Blanco mine and set up some arrastras.* As time went on, the partners disappeared, but John Bartlett held on to his Oro Blanco white gold. He also located, with other partners, the “Old Mine” which was a few miles west of the Oro Blanco.
In 1873 Bartlett married a widow, Gertrudes Marques Ward, who had two children, and they had seventeen more children, raising 10 to adulthood. The eldest, John Giles “Johnny” Bartlett, became famous in his own right. But that is another story.
In 1875, Yank decided to get involved with the Ostrich mill operation, which they located on a flat mesa, with arroyos on each side, several miles north of the Oro Blanco mine. This mill was affiliated with the Ostrich Mine, which was about three miles west in the hills of Cobre Ridge. According to the Tucson Citizen newspaper: “The gold ore brought in from there was so rich that it excited people to go out of town who have not done so for years.” The Ostrich mill, owned by Bartlett, Hewitt, Dr. Handy and Robert Leatherwood of Tucson, was centrally located to the mining districts, so that ore could be brought there and processed, then transported to Tucson or El Paso. And of course, Bartlett was doing the freighting. As one newspaper said about Yank, “Doing his regular amount of work daily—48 hours out of the twenty-four without turning a hair.” Next on the list was the Yellow Jacket Mine, near the Ostrich lode. The Yellow Jacket became one of the more successful mines in the district.
At the site of the Ostrich Mill, “new” Oro Blanco grew up. Bartlett built an adobe house for his family, an office for his freighting business with Hewitt and a stable and other such buildings as might be necessary to a town. A store went in, later a hotel, Chinese laundry, butcher shop, and other buildings. Dr Noon had his office nearby. Bartlett and Hewett were still raising cattle over in Bear Valley, but when homesteading was allowed in the 1880s, Bartlett filed on a homestead at the New Oro Blanco location. New Oro Blanco became a hub for the area, and many mining men brought their families to live in the more accessible town, which was already well populated with the Bartlett family. This included the A.H. Noon family, the Searles, the Tonkins, the Encinas’, Rodriguez’ and the Orozcos, among others. For all the children, a school was constructed in 1882. After a time, more mills were constructed at the Warsaw and Arivaca, and the Ostrich mill went out of business.
It was in 1886 that an Apache band left the reservation and began raiding again in Southern Arizona. They attacked Bartlett’s ranch in Bear Valley, while Bartlett and Johnny were there. A visiting neighbor, Phil Shanahan, was killed, along with his horse. But that is another story.
Yank Bartlett was nothing if not a hard worker. He was still working hard at the time of his death at the age of 70 in 1905, having outlived his partner Hank Hewitt by 15 years. The story merited the front page, column one, of the May 20 issue of the Nogales paper. With his son George, Yank was hauling a load to Oro Blanco, going down a steep grade near the Tres Amigos mine. (It was to have been the last load.) The brakes gave way and Yank was thrown under the wagon and crushed. At his funeral he was eulogized as being “one of the old timers who had earned with their rifles the right to live in Arizona, in the days when that was vigorously contested by the various tribes of Indians. In those days Mr. Bartlett was known as a man of mettle. Since the Indians gave up the struggle, John Bartlett has been one of the peaceful, highly respected citizens of the territory who numbered his friends by the hundreds.” And his children and their descendants as well.
After 1893 and the devaluation of silver, many mines closed and new Oro Blanco began to lose population, with the Bartlett’s and other nearby homesteads being purchased by A.H. Noon, who never lost hope. He turned it into his ranch headquarters. Since is still owned by the Noon family, it has never been a ghost town. Old Oro Blanco is another story, with mining operations having been worked over the years since that time by various companies up to almost the present day. No buildings are left, however.
*Arrastras are primitive ore mills, powered by donkeys or horses, which were commonly used in this country when a more sophisticated ore crusher was unavailable.
References: Nogales and Tucson newspapers, “Arizona Days and Ways” article by Roscoe Willson in the Arizona Republic newspaper.
by Mary Kasulaitis
On the west side of town going towards Sasabe, a dirt road takes off to the north. “The Old Ruggles Road,” the sign says. It’s named for C.B. and Etta Ruggles, who spent their retirement years enlivening Arivaca with activity and stories.
Some people still remember C.B. and his bout with something like Alzheimers. He was in decline for several years and was kept going through the sheer force of Etta’s will and caretaking ability. However, up to that time he had had a very interesting life, albeit not now politically correct. May I point out that in those days trapping and hunting were perfectly acceptable occupations.
C.B. and Etta moved to Arivaca in the late 30s and took up residence on some mining claims a few miles north of town. Bob Marshall described their place as he first saw it in 1956: “The camp was small, located in a draw. There were two good wells on the property, which consisted of about twenty mining claims. Besides the mail house, there were three small guest cabins. The yard was a hodge-podge of Indian artifacts, mineral specimens, deer racks, javelina skull, and other souvenirs of the surrounding country. Several varieties of prickly-pear cactus grew about the yard. A huge bear trap, one of a kind in use a century ago to trap the big grizzly of the Rockies, hung from an iron pole in one corner of the yard. A number of Gambel’s quail were feeding about the place.
The Ruggleses asked me in and showed me about the little house. It was a veritable museum inside, as the yard was outside. More mineral specimens, hunting trophies, guns and tanned hides were everywhere. I took a seat while the Ruggleses showed me their scrapbooks.
They had spent three years together trapping in Alaska. (They met in Anchorage) They had written two articles on their adventures in the north for The Saturday Evening Post. There were also pictures Ruggles had taken of Indians in the Sierra Madre Occidental of Mexico. He was, I found, mentioned several times in the Report of the Game and Fish Warden for New Mexico, 1912, and was pictured with bear and mountain lions he had killed. He had once been an intimate friend of J. Frank Dobie (read Apache Gold and Yaqui Silver for a story about C.B.). The two of them had once traveled together in the Sierra Madre. He had not done any lion hunting for a number of years. They had been living in this place about sixteen years on their Social Security.
Little by little, as we looked through the old scrapbooks and talked, C.B. Ruggles’ colorful life took shape. Now eighty years old (in 1956), he had certainly lived adventurously. His very start in life was unusual. He was named C.B. having been born on the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy train while the train was some hours out of Quincy…
The son of a physician turned Indian agent and rancher, Ruggles had been reared on an Oregon ranch among Modoc Indians. In his earlier days, he had punched cows, mustanged, trapped for fur, and spent considerable time guiding hunting parties in the Rockies and Old Mexico. In the early 1900s Ruggles was chief guide for the Cliff Cities Pack Outfitters, a concern specializing in pack trips into the Four Corners country. For many years his headquarters was in Taos, New Mexico. Yes, he did have another family before Etta.
From professional hunting Ruggles turned to prospecting and mining, searching for the Lost Tayopa Mine in Mexico. Possessed of considerable medical knowledge picked up from his father, Ruggles was often in a position to administer medical aid to natives in the back country of Mexico. His status as El doctor saved his life many times.”* When C.B. started to slow down they came to Arivaca to retire and do a little prospecting. And a little story telling.
C.B. was a great storyteller. Robert Marshall reprinted his tale of the shooting of an onza in his book on those elusive big cats. He was also a great one for lost mine stories. He’d sit outside the store and entertain anyone who came by.
Etta was just as adventurous as C.B. in her own way. Born in Sweden in 1897, she came to the U.S. when she was 17 years old with a group of Mormons and settled with them in Salt Lake City. Somehow she ended up in Alaska, where she was known to trap, hunt and drive a dog sled with the best of them. When she came to Arivaca with C.B. she helped build their cabins. Some would say that she probably built them all by herself. It was her “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” For years she was the den mother of Arivaca. She had no children of her own, but all the kids in town had wooden toys or doll furniture that she had made. She started a 4-H club and taught crafts in Emma Mae Townsend’s class at Arivaca school. Every year she made sure all the children had something to take to the Pima County Fair. These kids also remember her little wire haired fox terriers, and especially her herd of goats and the experience of having to drink goat milk whenever you made a trip to her house. Etta organized activities and took care of everyone in town. One of the most exciting things she did was to get Santa Claus to make a trip to Arivaca! Besides that, she frequently worked at Hack’s store or for Stockwell’s Honey Company. Etta was nothing if not hard working, and always with enthusiasm and a big smile.
When C.B.’s health declined, they moved to Tucson. He died in 1962 and on his headstone in Evergreen Cemetery is a miner and burro that he drew himself. Etta moved to Prescott. She passed away in 1969 and is buried next to C.B. in Tucson. I would hate for people to forget the folks behind the name on the road sign. Its easy for me to remember Etta: she’s in one of our old home movies, taken on my first birthday. And of course, she brought the cake.
*The Onza, by Robert E. Marshall, New York : Exposition Press, c1961. (Bob was Barbara Stockwell’s father) Thanks to Haclene Townsend Culling and Alice Allen for their remembrances of Etta.
by Mary Kasulaitis
The first Arizonan to be inducted into the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City was Arivaca’s own Ramón Ahumada. Although he had no children of his own, a generation of young men, too numerous to mention, proudly bear the name of Ramón, Ray or Raymond, in honor of the gentleman who managed the Arivaca Ranch for forty years.
Ramón Ahumada was born in Batuc in the Altar District of Sonora in 1868, the son of Jose Ahumada. His uncle, Jose Vega, was mayordomo on the Arivaca Ranch in its earliest years. Vega brought Ramón to Arivaca when he was just a young boy, and raised him to follow in his footsteps. Ramon became mayordomo before he was 21 years old. When the Arivaca Land and Cattle Company was incorporated in 1909 by Noah C. Bernard, John Bogan, George Pusch, John Zellweger and Ramón Ahumada, the principals were blessed with business savvy, personality, ambition, and in the case of Ahumada, the ability to manage cattle on a large scale. Thus the company was able to expand until it was one of the biggest operations in Southern Arizona.
In those days there were few fences and cattle roamed at will. As Phil Clarke said, “Cattle roamed from hell to breakfast before barbed wire came into general use. The cattle were wild and so were the cowboys.” The annual roundup was a community affair in which all the ranchers and cowboys gathered the cattle, separated and branded the calves. According to an extensive article in the Arizona Cattlelog, Ramón was frequently chosen to boss these roundups, because of his ability to manage cattle and men as well. “Sometimes as many as 5,000 cattle would be sorted in one day, with a crew of from 70 to 80 men. Ahumada would break his crew down into four wagons, assigning one group to work certain valleys of the Baboquivari foothills, another towards the east in the Atascosas, and so on, covering an up-country sweep 40 miles wide over countless hills, arroyos, flats and mountains. As the sorted and gathered bunches were driven in to the day’s campsite, the confusion to almost everybody would seem complete. But as the sun went down, order would gradually emerge, the calves being driven off in one direction, various bunches of 2 and 3-year old steers being merged into one driving herd, the mother cows, minus their calves, trailing off for their more familiar ranges, and other bunches going off under a little guidance from the cowboys to just where their owners wanted them. Old-timers still marvel at Ahumada’s timing…. Ahumada had a knack for handling men, assigning jobs to the various owners and cowboys alike with such courteous tact that they seldom realized they were being ‘bossed.'” Phil Clarke, who, along with Jack McVey, Luis Romero and probably many others, looked upon Ramón as his mentor, said that “Ramón was a genius at organization. Every man was assigned to a job, which included roping, branding, cutting out the strays, wrangling the remuda and collecting the beef herd. It looked like all dust and confusion, but Ramón’s men got the job done.”
“The knowledge displayed by Ahumada in the identification of cattle brands was regarded as little short of marvelous by cattlemen and cattle inspectors. The man had an uncanny instinct for correctly tracing a badly blurred brand, an instinct that was of inestimable value to owners and inspectors when the mystery of an animal’s marking required unraveling. He knew all the brands of the southwest range and would frequently sit at the elbow of a cattle inspector correctly identifying brands when there were as many as 40 or 50 different marks on a mixed herd of livestock. His identification in this respect was never questioned.” (Tucson Citizen, 1/13/26)
“Like most Mexican vaqueros, Ramón Ahumada’s horsemanship was superb. He rode with that easy grace and effortless dash which somehow inspires an alert horse to extra effort. And he frequently rode the same horse all day. The Texans who had ‘invaded’ the Altar Valley after 1914 or so, would express their disapproval of riding the same horse 60 or 80 miles in one day when others were available, But Ahumada and his Mexican cowboys’ horsemanship, compared with the stiffly erect, somewhat strained, I-am-the-boss Texas style, left each Arivaca man’s horse fresher after a day’s work than those used by the Tejanos, relay fashion.” (Arizona Cattlelog)
The Arivaca Ranch horses were of excellent stock, Standardbred-Thoroughbred crosses, imported from out of state. Ramón knew them all by name, and was responsible for training them so that they could be used on the ranch or sold to be polo ponies.
Ramón was married to the beautiful Virginia Zepeda, a member of the Moraga family, whose ancestors had included the co-founder of San Francisco and the captain of the Presidio at Tucson during Spanish times. She was the great-aunt of baseball pitcher Alex Kellner. She died in Tucson in 1954 at the age of 86.
Everyone seemed to have a story to tell about Ramón. Fred Noon was always impressed with his silver mounted saddle and bridle, which was once prominently displayed in the window of a store in Tucson and now reposes in the Arizona Historical Society Museum. One possibly apocryphal story said that when Gabriel Angulo praised this set, Ramón gave it to him, but perhaps this was only an illustration of his fabled generosity.
Phil Clarke admired his ability to talk his way out of bad situations, telling how he once mediated a difficult encounter with some Yaqui Indians who had been found butchering a company calf. Not sure of his welcome, and noting a number of Yaquis in the trees surrounding the illegal activity, Ramon went down to have a talk. A few minutes later they had given him the loin, but he had left the Yaquis with dinner and enough jerky to keep going. No one shot him in the back and they even left the hide so it could be counted, as he had requested.
As Ramón Ahumada had lived by the horse, so he died. Luis Romero, Arivaca Ranch cowboy who was as close to Ramón as a son, told of an accident, the results of which eventually claimed his life. They were riding in the Jalisco country near Clifford Well when Luis’ horse threw him. Ramón roped it, using his 60 foot reata, but in the process was thrown off his own horse and hit his head on a rock. Six months later, he had apparently recovered from this accident when he suddenly became ill and was taken to Tucson to the hospital. The Spanish language paper reported daily on his progress, but sadly he succumbed, an untimely death at the age of 56 on January 13, 1926. Not forgotten, however, so that when the National Cowboy Hall of Fame was created in 1958, Ramón Ahumada’s name was enthusiastically submitted with the first group of inductees. And I’m sure that somewhere in Southern Arizona, someone sang a corrido in honor of Arivaca’s most famous vaquero.
By Mary Kasulaitis
In 2009 we suffered through the murder of Brisenia Flores and her father, Raul. These murders tend to stand out in the history of a small place where everyone knows everyone else. However, the memory of those deeds eventually tends to get lost, and over the decades a story that seemed horrific at the time can just disappear. In times past two other murders shocked our town.
There may still be folks around (quite old, or family members) who remember very clearly the murder of Santiago Padilla. It happened on Christmas Day in 1931. It seems that Santiago was estranged from his wife, Francisca (Pancha), who had gone home to live with her mother, Dona Placida Aros. Frank Cortez, a relative of Mrs. Aros’, had come back to Arivaca after an absence of twelve years, and was staying with her, too. Santiago took offence at the interest Cortez apparently showed in Francisca. According to the Citizen: “Padilla, the evidence showed, resented the presence of Cortez at his wife’s home. He protested and is said to have threatened to kill his wife. He was asked to leave. On Sunday before Christmas, Francisca Padilla, her mother and Frank Cortez went to Ruby to see the officers there and register a protest against Padilla’s threats. Upon their return to Arivaca, Padilla stood in the road with a loaded rifle and without warning began shooting at the three. Cortez, to protect the women, leaped from the car and returned fire. Nine shots were exchanged with no damage but several dents in the body of the car. Padilla disappeared and the following day the trio came to Tucson and obtained a warrant for Padilla, charging him with assault with a deadly weapon. The warrant was never served.” Sheriff Bailey had apparently talked to Santiago and had reason to know that there are always two sides to every story. “Trouble over a woman” didn’t seem to him to merit an immediate arrest.
On Christmas Day the two men met and began to talk together as they walked towards Arivaca creek. Frank Cortez apparently took out his gun and shot Santiago Padilla once in the back, then again in the mouth. There were witnesses who would later testify at the trial that Padilla did not have a gun or knife, which contradicted Cortez’ testimony that it was “either him or me.”
Cortez ran away across the cienaga and hid in a shack south of town. By and by, he decided to give himself up to Frank Edgells, the local border patrol officer, mostly because he was afraid the friends and brothers of Padilla might find him first. Some say he was persuaded to give himself up. Cortez freely admitted he shot Padilla, but with reason. Assisting in the search for Cortez were George Smith and Fred Pyatt, customs officers stationed at Ruby. (Yes, there was local law enforcement in those days.)
The coroner’s inquest was held in Arivaca. The Arizona Daily Star reported: “The little school house was packed with the neighborhood of Arivaca, for the most part friends of the slain man and enemies of Cortez.” According to the Citizen, “The jury sat in the small and uncomfortable school seats while the judge and county attorney used kitchen chairs hurriedly brought from a nearby ranch house.” As the inquest began, one could hear in the distance, the hammering together of a coffin and “the clink of the pick and shovel of the friends of the dead cowboy who were preparing his last resting place in the cemetery adjacent to the school. The digging of the grave kept up monotonously and as the sun was slowly sinking behind the purple hills, a brother of the dead man asked the judge to excuse him in order that he might drive 60 miles across the desert and hills to secure a priest to officiate at the last rites.” The Star patronizingly considered this a “primitive setting,” to which the Coroner and Sheriff brought law and order. Frank Cortez pleaded not guilty.
The wheels of justice moved more swiftly in those days, and in February, 1932, the trial was held, lasting only a few days. Although charged with murder, the jury found Cortez guilty of manslaughter, and recommended the full punishment of 9-10 years in the State prison. Apparently Cortez served at least eight years. They say he came back to Arivaca at some point, but of course, he didn’t stay.
Vaquero friends composed and sang a corrido in memory of Santiago Padilla and the day on which he was killed.
The second murder recounted here took place some thirty years prior, in 1893. Frank Oury, the victim, was an exceptional, good looking young man whose parents, William S. Oury and Inez Garcia Oury were well-known Tucson pioneers. Frank was born in Tucson in 1864. He grew up there and later graduated from Berkeley. His parents had passed away some years before and he had returned to stay in Tucson. In 1893 he was just beginning the profession of mining engineer, and was in Arivaca to meet with General R.H. Manning who had mining interests here.
On September 19, the two men were in the hotel (the white house across the street from the Merc), along with Pedro Miranda, the owner, and Ignacio Ortiz. According to the Citizen: Three masked men entered the place and demanded money. Frank chose to grapple with the knife-wielding bandit nearest to him and seemed to be getting the better of the struggle when one of the others ran over to Frank, placed a gun against his ribs, and pulled the trigger. Frank continued to fight, following the bandit out the door, whereupon he was shot again, and this time the wound was mortal. A number of other shots were fired, but no one else was hurt. The bandits made their escape.
One of the outlaws apparently had ties to someone in Arivaca. The search for them extended into Mexico. Eventually, four men were implicated in the murder.
Tucson mourned the passing of its golden boy with an extensive funeral and daily articles in the newspapers, lamenting the loss of such a fine young man. Arivaca’s image slipped: it became known as the place where Frank Oury was killed.
References: Pima County public records; The Arizona Daily Star; Tucson Daily Citizen; William Sanders Oury: History-maker of the Southwest by Cornelius C. Smith, Jr. In regards to the Padilla murder, thanks also to the excellent memories of several former Arivacans who were there at the time of the shooting, but who have since passed on.
by Mary Kasulaitis
This is a tale of two murders that happened near Old Oro Blanco, down near the border south of Ruby. In those days there was local law enforcement: Justice of the Peace McClenahan presided. There were Arizona Rangers, Deputy Sheriffs and line riders. But in neither crime was the perpetrator caught. Here’s what happened:
Jasper Scrivner was a miner of the old school who had lived in The Lower Country for a number of years. He was best known for his unusual methods of gold extraction. In a certain spot on his mine the gold was bound up in some hard clay deposits. Scrivner would break up the clay by beating it till it became a fine powder, then pan it. A.H. Noon reported that this was the first time he’d ever seen gold thrashed out with a stick.
A.C. (Alf) Lamb was also a miner who had come to Tombstone in 1888 and worked there for a time before moving to Tucson. He was employed by Wells Fargo as a driver, but maintained his interests in mining. In 1905 he was prospecting in the Old Oro Blanco and Tres Amigos area and had interests in several mines there. Apparently he also had enemies. On the night of April 2 he was blown up as he slept in his bed. The Arizona Daily Star reported: “Some persons having a grudge against Lamb, as is conjectured, on the night of April 2, placed a stick of giant powder, connected by a fuse far removed. The explosion that followed blew out the side of the cabin where Lamb slept. Lamb’s body was found to be terribly disfigured with part of his head being torn away.”
A.C. Lamb was known to have had some disagreements with Jasper Scrivner. In a memoir published in 1959, Jack Ganzhorn, nephew of Lamb, told of a story in which Lamb and Scrivner both claimed the same mine. In 1896 Lamb had allegedly inherited a mine called the Beehive from an old man named Silvernail. Scrivner claimed Silvernail owed him money and thought the mine should belong to him. In Tucson, one night in 1896, as Ganzhorn related, “three strange men were heard to say they were leaving on the morning Oro Blanco stage to run Alf Lamb off the property and take possession.” Only 15 at the time, Ganzhorn was enlisted to ride out ahead of the stage and warn Uncle Alf. He started out on horseback, early in the morning, carrying with him a quantity of extra ammunition for his uncle. Alf and Jack barricaded themselves in the mine tunnel with their dutch oven, supplies, blankets and a barrel of water. The men arrived the next day, carrying plenty of fire power. Not realizing that Alf had been warned, they were surprised when they found themselves facing a couple of rifle muzzles pointing out of the mine tunnel. They backed down quickly, but not before they had mentioned Scrivner’s interest in the mine. Jack always felt Scrivner had some connection with the murder. In addition, just before Lamb’s murder, he and Scrivner had allegedly quarreled, so when Lamb was found dead, the first person accused was Jasper Scrivner.
A couple of weeks after the murder, Scrivner was in Montana Camp (Ruby) when he was arrested by two Arizona Rangers, who shackled him and set a guard. Justice McClenahan, who was living in Old Oro Blanco and was acquainted with Scrivner, held a preliminary hearing and charged him with the crime. Other than the known bad blood, there was really no evidence to charge him with the crime, as the Star reported. “There are those who say that there is undeveloped evidence which points to other parties.” This did not surface, but neither did any evidence against Scrivner that was conclusive. Everything presented was circumstantial.
After a few months in jail in Nogales, Scrivner was cleared. But as the Oasis reported: “Scrivner did not enjoy his freedom long enough to take a stroll around town, however as Deputy Sheriff Cook was on hand with a warrant sworn out of the Justice Court of Oro Blanco, charging him with a misdemeanor. The charge was based on the accusation made by a woman of Oro Blanco that Scrivner had threatened her. This was in regard to other evidence provided in the former hearing. In a second indictment, he was charged with rape, the victim being her 14 year old daughter. Apparently he had argued with Lamb over the girl too. This information had come out in the hearing, complicating the whole affair. Scrivner’s attorney asked for a change of venue, but Justice McClenahan declined to grant the change, stating that “he was running his own court.”
After some more time in the Nogales jail and several lawyers later, Scrivner was again exonerated of any crime, a physician asserting that there was a physical condition rendering guilt impossible on such a charge. No other evidence had come to light.
Scrivner went back to mining and later ran a store in Old Oro Blanco. Years went by. Then, on the night of March 5, 1914, Scrivner was seated in his room, by an open window. He had closed his store for the night. The Citizen reported: “Benito Carrizoza heard shots at the store and ran to the Warsaw for help. On reaching the store, all was quiet. They went around the house to see what had happened and they saw Mr. Scrivner through the back window. He was lying on the floor and apparently had been murdered…Mr Scrivner had been sitting at a table reading a mining journal. They shot him twice through the window, the bullets entering the back of his head and neck. He just fell over sideways, but remained in the chair, his glasses and book falling on the floor. The house was ransacked for money and gold. They found some, but missed a pint beer bottle almost full of gold which he had hidden among some quilts…the robbers did not find it but after searching for it they tried to set fire to the house by pouring oil around and laid the lamp down and covered it over with quilts, but in their rush, they smothered the flame. Mr Scrivner always showed his gold to everyone that came in and no doubt that was the only motive for the crime as nothing else was disturbed. Mr. Scrivner was over and had Mr. Dillon melt some gold for him into a bar on the third of the month. That was gone. Mr. Dillon thinks about $400 was gone according to what Mr. Scrivner told him on Tuesday that had been there.” (Tucson Daily Citizen, March 10, 1914.)
The criminals were never found, but Scrivner’s wife believed that Mexican bandits were to blame, the border only being two miles away and similar murders having subsequently happened at Ruby. Scrivner left behind a wife and sons. A.C. Lamb left a wife and four children. Neither murder was solved.
Nowadays, topographic maps show a canyon named in Jasper Scrivner’s honor. At least, I feel certain that his must be the name on the canyon that lies near Warsaw Canyon in the area where he used to mine. The only trouble is, they spelled it Scribner.
References: Arizona Daily Star, Tucson Citizen, Nogales Oasis newspapers. I’ve Killed Men: an epic of early Arizona by Jack Ganzhorn. Thanks to Al Ring for his help.
Note: these murders happened near Old Oro Blanco, which is about two miles from the border, not the Oro Blanco on the Arivaca-Ruby road.
By Mary Kasulaitis
No account of the history of Arivaca’s artists would be complete without the story of the Arivaca Arts Council, an organization whose impact on the community’s life cannot be overemphasized. It started back in the mid 1980’s, when the educationally minded mothers of the town’s preschoolers got together to provide enrichment and learning opportunities. Those mothers included Kathy Sheldon, Wendy Dresang, and Glo Williams, all of whom later taught at Sopori Elementary School. At one of the Arivaca Days Celebrations the mothers had an arts and crafts booth for the kids. Along came Leonard Starkey, who was looking for groups to be potential recipients of Rural Arts grants, then newly available through the Tucson-Pima Arts Council. The preschoolers caught his eye, and from then it was all uphill. Kathy and the other interested parents, including Patti Lopez and Stacy Hoff, went to meetings in Tucson and decided to incorporate. They formed the Arivaca Arts Council, a non-profit whose first organizational meeting was held in 1985. Kathy was the first president, along with Stacy, Christina Swift and Sally Massey (Rucker). Their intent was to bring the arts to the community of Arivaca. Two of the first programs they sponsored were Carlos Nakai and the Arco Iris Flamenco Dancers. `
About this time the Arivaca Community Center was being formed, and it was natural that the two organizations would work together with the former as the location for theater and arts productions, which the Arts Council would fund through grants. The Arts Council provided entertainment for the grand opening of the Community Center, July 4, 1985. At that time, Rural Grant monies provided half the cost of programs with Arivaca providing the other half.
In the beginning, the Arts Council focused on pottery and the visual arts. In 1986 an opportunity arose to rent a building in town from Ike and Mike Turnpaugh. With a grant, they bought a kiln and equipment and Kathy began teaching pottery and ceramics, using hand techniques, the wheel and ceramic molds. This expanded to include visual arts classes taught by C Hues and stained glass by Maggie Milinovitch and quilting by Lorraine Armour. The building was used as the Red Feather Gallery with showings by local artists. Finally the Arts Council gave up this building and began going in other directions. (Mike and Ike ran the ceramics shop for awhile and it was later sold to Pat and Andy Anderson.)
Over the years, many artists were involved with the Arts Council, either as board members or contributing artists. Susie Kromenacher was another of the local artists who helped in the beginning efforts of the Arts Council. (For years Susie’s gypsy could be seen on the wall of La Gitana). Sabrina Sweetwater, Libby Brandt, Patty Hanson, Melissa Cowen, Deborah and Steve Steinberg, Hal Buckingham, Rexanne Tucker, Meg Keoppen, Lorraine Armour, Ellen Dursema, Mark Dresang, Maggie Milinovitch and many more were also involved. Other projects followed. Many grants were written and received. In 1986 the face mask project made Sunset Magazine! For some time masks of many local faces hung on the wall of the Arivaca Community Center.
As time went on in the 80s, the focus changed. Nina Baldridge began teaching theater arts at the Community Center, which included acting and dance as well as stagecraft. A professional drama teacher and producer, Nina’s direction provided the children and adults of Arivaca with a rare opportunity to be involved with an exceptional theater experience. C Hues taught art classes for stage backdrops. A generation of children grew up with theater and learned how to act and do stagecraft. Scrooge, The Wizard of Oz and numerous other programs were developed and performed. It was an amazing endeavor of all the artists in the community. The Community Center received a Pima County Community Development Block Grant to expand the stage area. When Glo Williams started Blue Sky Learning Center the Charlie Brown Christmas program was a part of the children’s activities. The Arivaca Children’s Theater and Arivaca Performing Artists performed until 1996 when Nina left Arivaca.
Patti Lopez picked up the tempo with dance classes and performances for children and adults, along with assistance from the Annie Bunker Dance Troupe. Tom Shook was involved as a sponsor of the arts and assisting with getting grants for sound and light equipment, along with Brad Knaub (who had also portrayed Scrooge and the Wizard of Oz). Allen Wallen and (later) Peter Ragan were involved with the sound and light. Everything required effort on the part of someone who took the time to make things happen. A large percentage of the community members were involved.
After that, the Arts Council wrote grants and sponsored programs of various kinds, such as Barbea Williams Dance Performers and OperaTunity, but the effort became less intense. Individuals who had been involved went off to do other things. Sabrina and Patti passed on. Some moved away. Kathy began teaching first grade (a high intensity profession). But the generation who benefited from the most artistic immersion has begun to take charge. Second-generation Arivacans Nathalie Dresang and Aja Knaub, along with Jenni Stern, put together a dance workshop featuring trapeze work and an enthusiastic group of young girls took part. These are the now-grown-up children (and their children) who have inherited the love of the arts that came out of the years of dedication and professionalism of the Arts Council. More recently, Winterfest, a variety show held at the Arivaca Community Center (last on January 12) follows in the footsteps of past performers. The decades of focus on the arts has encouraged and attracted artists to come live in Arivaca. Many showcase their work in the Arivaca Artists’ Coop on Main street. Beginning in late 1994, Lorraine Armour, Nancy and Robert Fricchione, C Hues, Ellen Dursema and Peggy Kane organized a cooperative which is still operating today, in the same location. Others joined them, producing paintings, photographs, drawing, pottery, sculpture, leatherwork, glass blowing, jewelry, tie dye, fabric, metalwork, and local writers. Besides this, Bart Santello has initiated Arivaca Film Festival, held each March, featuring local filmmakers or those whose subject is Southern Arizona. The Caviglia-Arivaca Library also has a collection of artwork by local artists. 0000000000
by Mary Kasulaitis
There once was a time of great change. During the 1960s and 70s America underwent a drastic overhaul of politics, social norms, religious affiliations and cultural practices. Most of the followers of this movement were young people who traveled the country, hitchhiking or whatever, going from place to place, searching for answers. Some of them came to Arivaca.
There are people who live here now who were in Greenwich Village, at Woodstock, hung out at Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco, gave out flowers on street corners, knew Weathermen in Wisconsin, went to the Gathering of the Tribes, followed the Rainbow people, traveled the craft fairs, or in other ways were in the absolute middle of the counter-culture movement. They represent many of the values that grew out of the rebellion in those years. There are any number of different definitions of the term hippie. Many people just think negatively of drugs and student riots, but we need to remember the reasons behind the rejection of the culture that had developed after World War II. Rejected were: racism, segregation, Joseph McCarthy style fear and control, unthinking exploitation of nature and animals, discrimination against hiring or educating women, gays, Jews, Catholics and other groups. Hippies denounced the consumerism which, spurred on by advertising, had taken over people’s interests and drove their competitive lifestyles. Questions were raised as to who our enemies were and why we were at war in Vietnam. There was women’s liberation. Like primitive Christianity, Eastern religions like Buddhism and Taoism promoted peace and love; but churches had buildings and rigid exclusionary doctrines that had to be supported with money. Most importantly, for hippies, individual freedom was the ultimate goal. For many people, freedom lay in owning very little. “When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose.” People began to demand the right to be free–there was no one right way or wrong way to live, eat, dress, sing or practice religion or politics. Some had no goals: “You went with the flow–you didn’t have expectations.” Being instead of doing. “Living in the present moment,” Sunny said. Spurred on by music, which became a driving and unifying force behind the revolutionary changes, our country became a different place. Looking around us now, we can see the results of the generation that changed everything, both the benefits and detriments, and we watch as our culture’s pendulum swings.
Frequently rejecting their parents’ lifestyle, and traveling (often hitchhiking) across the country from one place to another, young people searched for their perfect haven. Some of them found it here. Bobbie’s first sight of cows walking down a totally deserted Main Street gave her a vision of the peaceful life. One might say that Arivaca was the perfect place for hippies. One could tune in, turn on and drop out and no one’s the wiser. There were old vacant mining camps and shacks in the hills, recently inhabited by old prospectors like Walt Edwards, Tomás Torres and George Goehring who had died or moved away, leaving their places unoccupied. Why not move in? And what is more perfect than a patented mining claim (privately owned land) totally surrounded by National Forest on which you could camp?
The late sixties-early seventies were a different world. Arivaca was at one of its lowest points of population in those days, but the community of hippies, most of whom were from somewhere else like snow birds, grew together. Many of them came to Ruby, a deserted mining camp with habitable buildings, and California Gulch, where Tom & Eileen Shook and John Godsil & Debra Rosegrove had bought a mining claim. The Lower Lakes was a good camping spot. Quite a few people set up tents or teepees and moved in. Some people lived in buses.
The women raised their children with help from each other, learning midwifery, gardening, herbalism, goat-raising, how to find and prepare good natural foods, living a life similar in many ways to homesteaders. They practiced kind, peaceful living and opened their homes to strangers. Although not really a commune with no group philosophy, it was communal living by choice and freely made. There were couples and families, not just free love. People learned that being loving means setting limits, because there is karma. Was this a life of ease? Not hardly. The days were filled with chopping wood, keeping fires going, hauling water, grinding grain, making fry bread, cooking, gardening, milking goats, dipping candles, yoga and caring for children. In the early days these were mostly young city kids, unprepared for what amounted to an extended camping trip in dry rugged canyons. Living in the hills like the prospectors. The ones who couldn’t take it moved on. The ones who stayed spent time hiking, discussing spirituality, philosophy, politics, practicing old time crafts like leatherwork, carving, dyeing cloth, beadwork and other Native American crafts, carving gourds, weaving and making music. As Jerry Garcia said, “What we’re thinking about is a peaceful planet. We’re not thinking about anything else. We’re not thinking about any kind of power. We’re not thinking about any kind of struggles. We’re not thinking about revolution or war or any of that. That’s not what we want. Nobody wants to get hurt. Nobody wants to hurt anybody. We would all like to be able to live an uncluttered life. A simple life, a good life. And think about moving the whole human race ahead a step, or a few steps or half a step.”
Terry was the caretaker at Ruby from about 1968-72. He first learned about the place from some hitchhikers. He thought, “Here’s an adventure!” Then he came back several times to visit before he finally came here for good, feeling a strong draw from the place. Most people who stayed have a strong attraction for place. They just know this is the place for them. One weekend Terry showed up and the caretakers were gone. Just like that. He asked Marge at the Mercantile and she said they had gone to South America! So Terry became the caretaker. At that time he had given away his truck, so he had to depend on others to get a ride to town. It sure was fun, those times, he said. For a long time he didn’t even have a bedroll, just a big long leather coat with a sheepskin lining. And a big white dog. It was primitive living–getting by on very little. Jeannie remembered: “We’d go to the Warehouse in Tucson and get a big load of food. 50 pounds of rice, flour, beans, oatmeal, carrots–staples. A big block of wax, and we’d make candles– and that would hold us for the month. People would come out from Tucson on the weekends and bring food and share it.” At the swap meet in Tucson you could trade for things and meet like-minded people. A guy came up in a big truck and asked Rex for directions. It was Terry. She said, “I don’t know you.” He said, “Sure you do, I’m just one of the brothers.’
Obe, Hal, Mike, Brad, and Tom always had their guitars along. Singing and playing music came together. Brought people together. Rock, bluegrass and folk music, playing and writing songs. Any number of bands have emerged from the musicians who moved here.
Obe liked what he saw in the Gulch and asked Tom if he could set up a teepee. He agreed, so Obe went off to get the materials, then spread the cloth out in a field and sewed it himself, eventually (in the 17 years he lived there) making four teepees. To earn money for this, Obe and Sabrina made and sold candles at the Coop in Tucson where they did yard work and house cleaning to buy food and gas, then would come back and stay here until they needed to earn more. People would go to the Tucson swap meet to sell things they made. Eventually, the gulch people moved to Arivaca where life was a little less rough. A not-uneducated group of souls, they joined their neighbors and helped Arivaca grow, and so we got the Gadsden Coffee and Cafe Aribac, Arivaca Community Center, Arivaca Arts Council, C Hues’ murals, Alan’s internet–Arivaca.com, Blue Sky Learning Center, Sarah’s Bakery, the Clinic and the Library, the Main Street Artists’ Coop, Hal’s Woodworking, Obe’s Solar power, Kevin’s Recycling, yoga, the cooperative buying club, Ellen’s tie dye, Robert and Nancy’s mesquite furniture, Marian’s Farmers Market and the Arivaca Action Center, thanks to these folks called hippies.
What has remained in Arivaca with the people who came here in the 60s and 70s is an evolved sense of lifestyle: living as best you can within the constraints of the economy but maintaining the ideals of freedom, acceptance and the quiet life in the country. Where else can you find signs that remind you of PEACE, LOVE and COMMUNITY!
Please join us on January 26, 2019 at the Old Schoolhouse from 10 am to 4 pm to celebrate the world of hippies at the Arivaca Memories and Music Festival, which this year features the 1960s and 70s. Gertie N the Boyz will again perform at 12 noon, following the Mariachi Estrella. Not hippie music, but it’ll wake us up! Then Banjo Bob will lead Arivaca musicians in playing for the rest of the afternoon. We’ll have historic displays at the Schoolhouse, with photos of the Gulch and that other world. A meditation corner. Food of all kinds, crafts, games, something for everyone!
By Darlene Arvizu
I knew that they had introduced the Mexican wolf back into the wild. I knew that there was a coyote problem near my property, particularly because of the chickens I raise. I raise me some beautiful buff orpingtons and marans, they lay some big eggs and they’re sweet. I get them their favorite snack: corn on the cob. They come right up to me like I’m Moses or something. Follow me around the yard. I got me about forty – the boy, “Tex” – he keeps to himself but he gives me some fine ladies that lay plenty.
Since it was the fall season the girls were beginning to molt, you know, their feathers come off for a new plumage. Anyway, the girls weren’t laying much so I had to rake the coop up once a week to get rid of the feathers. Now this situation actually occurred over two nights: As I went to the coop I noticed a long trail of dried blood that moved from the coop out into the grassland and mesquite trees that surrounded my yard. From the coop there was a side panel that had been ripped in half FROM THE TOP down. Something that happen to reach about eight feet had taken the panel and pulled it down. On the siding were deep heavy claw marks, like a bear’s claw. The chickens were nowhere to be seen. I had gotten worried since they are my primary source of income after retirement.
I followed the blood trail. The only thing I had with me was my rake. I held it like a spear, ready to encounter anything that came about. The first thing I picked up from the grass was a chicken foot, torn at the thigh and stuck with grass shards and blood. I put it in my apron and went further into the grass. Keep in mind this was early morning so I knew there were still coyotes hunting and I didn’t want them to have any taste of my girls to keep them returning for more. Besides the side panel being torn open, I had made the assumption it was just a coyote that had somehow crawled in from the top and broke the panel.
But then I turned around a tree and there it was! A big, hairy thing, looking at me from the grass. I can see it’s large shoulders slunk in, keeping a low profile. It’s pointy ears had black tips, like a lynx and it had deep dark eyes that glinted in the sunlight. It just stared at me. I held up the rake and spun it in my hand toward the beast. It didn’t flinch. As I bent down to pick up a rock it began to move. By the time I grabbed a heavy stone the beast had disappeared into the thick grass toward a creek.
As I came to the kill site I had found three of my girls mauled up and eaten. Feathers were everywhere. I wasn’t really afraid of the whole situation, more shocked really.
I returned to find that my girls had hidden in a pile of wood near the house. I picked one up and held it – the feathers were cold, telling me she and the others had been there all night. I managed to fix the panel and put in some reinforcement screws to keep back the animals.
Since I am a lonely girl I decided to spend the night outside under the stars near the coop. I had me a trusty six-shooter filled with snake shot. I didn’t want to hurt anything or anybody but I figure a few pellets in the butt would shy away any hungry predator. That night I had made a fire by the coop to keep warm. As I was dozing off I smelt a musky odor and as soon as it reached my nostrils the girls began to make noise – as if something was spooking them.
I slouched up from the ground and looked across the flames of the fire – in the distance, at the grassline, I can see two black eyes staring at me. Before I could grab hold of my shooter, it disappeared, convert like. The girls settled down and I stayed awake all night before calling the sheriff.
-Darlene Arvizu (Arivaca resident, artist and chicken farmer)
“Baboquivari Monster” encounter interview, recorded December 2016