A BIT OF INDEPENDENT THINKING

I have always been fascinated with the independent thinkers, those creative individuals that ever so carefully walk the fine line between eccentricity and visionary genius. That is one reason I derive such enjoyment from the writing of a monthly column aptly titled The Independent Thinker for Cars & Parts magazine.

Perhaps that is at the heart of why I find Route 66 in all its manifestations so fascinating. From its inception the highway was a bland, cold entity, a tool sort of like a hammer or saw. It was and is the people that make it unique, that give it character and depth.
I am intrigued by the type of thinking that would lead an individual to build a complex of concrete teepees in the heart of Indian country and misname it the Wigwam Motel. I marvel at the people who will traverse miles of forbidding desert on a rutted trail of broken asphalt just to experience a decrepit bridge and a crumbling adobe structure with a faded sign proclaiming curios for sale on the side.

In part, some of this fascination is in the sense of comfort that comes from knowing I am not the only one crazy enough to trek across the desert on broken asphalt to see an old bridge or to stand in the shade of the crumbling Painted Desert Trading Post and call it a vacation. It is refreshing to know that I am not the only one that entertains thoughts of building a huge golf ball in the desert or filling my office with dented, rusty hubcaps!
On our last odyssey along the old double six there was ample time to meditate on these thoughts as we strolled the quiet streets of Texola and watched the wind make dry leaves dance among the ruins in Endee. It was this meditation that solidified a thought that has long been percolating in my mind - in a nut shell this is why I enjoy Route 66.
There is something almost magical about this old highway. It has the ability to unleash the inner child in the most mature adult and stir the spirit of eccentricity in the most rational.

I am who I am, an eccentric dreamer with the soul of poet, because of a near life long immersion in the fairy dust that clings to the old asphalt and that swirls around the tires. I hold a job and am a productive member of society but my heart is out there on the cracked asphalt, that wonderland where the pie is fresh and warm, the conversation even warmer, and the faded neon on the horizon is as a light house beacon under a starless night on a stormy sea.
Would anyone else like to confess that they too are addicted to the magic that is only found on a highway signed with two sixes?

A DAY OF REFLECTION

Those who follow this blog on regular basis may have noticed the mood has been one of reflection this past few days. As this is the Fourth of July that reflection has taken on a deeper, more somber tone.
It is my sincere hope and prayer that as you celebrate this illustrious holiday with family and friends there will be time for reflection on just how amazing and rare this experiment in self government is. In spite of our warts and blemishes, in spite of of our less than stellar history in regards to slavery and to genocidal policies toward the native people, we are still a nation that talks of building walls to stem the tide of immigrants rather than building walls to keep the people from fleeing.
With all due respect, regardless of race or creed, I sincerely ask that on this auspicious holiday thought be given to these words from Chief Justice Earl Warren. "I believe no one can read the history of our country without realizing the Good Book and the Spirit of the Savior have from the beginning been our guiding geniuses...Whether we look to the First Charter of Virginia, or to the Charter of New England, of to the Charter of Massachusetts bay, or the Fundamental Orders of Connecticut. The same object is present, a Christian land governed by Christian principles. I believe the entire Bill of Rights came into being because of the knowledge our forefathers had of the Bible and their belief in it; freedom of belief, of expression, of assembly, of petition, the dignity of the individual, the sanctity of the home, equal justice under the law, and the reservation of powers to the people. I like to believe we are living today in the spirit of the Christian religion. I like also to believe that as long as we do so, no great harm can come to our country."
Have a wonderful holiday.
In closing I leave you with these suggestions for discovering, or rediscovering, what makes this nation the most amazing republic in the history of mankind.

REMEMBER WHEN

All stops have been pulled in the effort to line Beale Street from end to end with vehicles at the July edition of Chillin on Beale Street. The thought of this street being transformed into a veritable parade of automotive history with glistening chrome, garish paint schemes, and desert patina on vintage trucks, the sidewalks bustling with people, and the recent spate of reflection on Kingman as it was has unleashed a torrent of memories.
The stretch of the pre 1952 alignment of Route 66 from Kingman to Oatman, as well as Boundary Cone Road to Fort Mohave and Silver Creek Road to Bullhead City, were my stomping grounds for a number of years during the late sixties and then again during the mid 1970s. During these years nobody went to Oatman unless they lived there and with the exception of the occasional lost soul, or those crazy enough to live in the vast desert of the Sacramento Valley nobody drove old '66 on purpose. The section of the old highway between McConnico (Crazy Fred's Truck Stop) and Oatman was pretty quiet.

The town itself had changed little from the period immediately after the bypass of 1952 when I started poking around there. It was largely a ghost town with a population of around fifty and the hotel bar/restaurant was the most lively place in town.
Even as late as the 1970s things were pretty quiet in Oatman. I made the mistake of letting boredom lead me to drive to Oatman for dinner one night after work and ended up with a bag of cheese puffs from the bar that were old enough to have been rejected by Clark Gable and Carol Lombard because the restaurant owner had decided to close for a few days to go fishing.
I am glad the tourist have kept the old town alive even though it meant trading the ghost town essence for Disneyland chic. If you want the ghost town experience without sacrificing the conveniences of the modern era, Oatman is the perfect place to while away a fun filled afternoon.
I suppose it was Goldroad that really kicked off my fascination with ghost towns. We used to picnic among the ruins when I was a kid. This was also the first place I ever explored on my own.
Most of the town had been razed during the 1940s as a result of a tax law that made it unprofitable for mining companies to leave buildings standing even if they were empty. Still, when I first ventured amongst the ruins there were all manner of remnants including  portions of the old mill with a safe built into the concrete wall, and the cemetery.
The almost forgotten mining camp of Silver Creek further to the west also had a few substantial ruins worthy of exploration. Vandals, elements, and urban sprawl have now so completely erased all traces of the site I was unable to locate it when gathering material for the book, Ghost Towns of the Southwest.
During these years of exploration Route 66 from the intersection of Boundary Cone Road to Golden Shores was little more than a gravel trail interspersed with broken asphalt. I once sat on a rocky knoll above the road for a full three hours watching an amazing Technicolor sunset unfold after a summer storm and never saw a vehicle. This was truly a forgotten highway.
As I explored the empty vestiges of these old mining camps it was never difficult for me to see them as boom towns filled with life, vitality, and enthused with an atmosphere of promise. I simply transposed the bustle of downtown Kingman circa 1977 onto their silent streets.
How different was a stay at the Beale Hotel during the 1970s from a stay at the Oatman Hotel in the 1920s? The street in front, Route 66, was a never ending river of traffic shadowed by false fronted facades that dated to territorial days. Everything the traveler needed was within walking distance, the sidewalks were crowded, there were no empty storefronts, and the bar downstairs where the locals gathered under the swirling fan always had cold beer to chase the desert heat from the bones. 
During the mid 1970s, with the exception of the change in automotive styling made manifest in the river of traffic that flowed east and west on Route 66, I lived as a miner would in the glory days of Oatman, or countless other mining camps during the second or third decade of the twentieth century. After a shift at the mine in the old town of Stockton Hill, I would drive the long dusty road into town, wash the dust from my throat with a cold beer and unwind with a game or two of pool at the Sportsman, a dark, musty old pool room that had changed little in a half century and that has changed even less since then.
Then I would wander down Andy Devine Avenue, where the glow of neon cast colorful shadows over my battered old '42 Chevy pick up truck, to my room at the Beale Hotel, wash the dust from my hair, don a fresh pair of jeans and clean shirt, and grab my hat. I seldom left my time capsule for dinner as the El Mohave was in the Brunswick Hotel, the Frontier Cafe was a few doors to the west, and Lockwood's Chicken in the Rough was a short stroll to the east along Route 66.
On occasion, for the briefest of moments, Chillin' on Beale Street and the Route 66 Fun Run seem to be windows into the world of old Kingman that I remember. If the July edition is successful, and the streets fill with automotive orphans, perhaps I will be able to stretch that moment into an evening.

DESTINATION KINGMAN

As I wrote the post on Thursday there was obvious meditation about Kingman as a vacation destination. In the back of my mind there was also meditation on Kingman as a destination for those in search of a fresh start, looking for a great place to raise kids, or simply a place to while away the retirement years.
Our recent excursion on Route 66, international correspondence, and the position behind the counter at the day job provide an in depth view of what Kingman has to offer and what its shortcomings are. The hardest part of looking at this objectively is that Kingman is the closest thing I have to a hometown.
We moved here in the summer of  '66, left in late 1971, and I returned in 1976. With the exception of four years in New Mexico between 1977 and 1981, this has been home. For my wife, roots in Kingman run deep stretching back for several generations.
Yes, I occasionally entertain thoughts of moving to Australia or Alaska but more often than not these flights of fancy are fed by waves of nostalgia for the Arizona of the past, the land of rugged individualists and fiercely independent people. Snapping me back to reality is the realization that in spite of changing times and changing attitudes, Kingman is still a pretty good place to call home.
No, it is not perfect here. The town is suspended somewhere between the world of Mayberry and the modern metropolis so we have some of the big city problems but few of the conveniences.
Yes, I miss old Kingman but hell, I miss the whole country. Still, things change whether we want them to or not. All we can do is steer, hope to keep things from going off the cliff, and pray we live long enough to irritatethe young folks by starting every sentence with, "I remember when..."
When we first moved here, I was to young to fully understand or appreciate the unique attributes of Kingman. The only thing I knew for certain was that it was different, it was unusual, that I liked most of the people, and that if it wasn't the place warned about in Sunday school it was darned close.
It was a town filled with unique characters nestled amongst some of the most amazing landscapes on earth. There was a barber that loved his suds and that kept an old refrigerator at the back of his shop. It was a fair bet that anyone with a haircut that looked like something from a discount barber school had stopped in a bit late in the afternoon for a trim.
There was another barber who had the shakes and used a straight razor for the trim work. It would scare the daylights out of you to see that shaking razor out of the corner of your eye but his touch was flawless once the blade was on your skin.
For decades time flowed past Kingman and transformed the world. Some twenty eight plus years ago I would leave the ranch at sunrise, roll the old '46 GMC north to Ashfork, catch Route 66 at Seligman, and hit Kingman in time to pick up my date, now my wife and dearest friend, for a picnic near Cottonwood Springs in Johnson Canyon.
She would tag along as I picked up supplies, then we would hit the late afternoon double feature at the State Theater, and afterwards stop at Jan's Soda Fountain in Kingman Drug, the same soda fountain frequented by her mother and father on their dates after a movie at the same theater.
As late as the early 1990s, at 6:00 AM, I could stop by my favorite barber, who had been operating in the same location since 1957, and be told there was one ahead of me even though the shop was empty. Then the police chief or mayor would step through the door, leave their car running out front, and settle into the barber chair.
A haircut here on Saturday morning was tough. By 8:30 all the chairs were full as a grandfather, his son, and grandson, all with dark faces crowned in pale white and a Stetson perched on their knee patiently waited for their turn.
When I first moved to Kingman major shopping options included JC Penny, a couple of mom and pop shops, Western Auto, Safeway, Hoods Market, or Central Commercial. The latter was an old fashioned general store on steroids housed in a huge brick building that dominated the corner of Fourth and Beale streets.

Fortunately this old building has survived into the modern era relatively intact. In fact it now houses Redneck's Bar-B-Q, Homestyle Furniture, a wine shop, and the Beale Street Brews & Gallery, and is the cornerstone for the renaissance of the historic district.
So, when folks today complain about shopping being limited to a handful of box stores, a super Walmart, and Kmart, all I can do is smile and remember a time when a mail order catalog was a necessity. When I hear the mantra that for shopping one needs to go to Las Vegas, one hundred miles to the north, there is a silent sigh coupled with fond longings for Central Commercial with its fascinating array of smells.
In the restaurant category I would have to say the selection was much better forty years ago. Within a few blocks downtown we had the Frontier Cafe, the El Mohave, Peppermint Shop, Beale Cafe, Jan's Soda Fountain, the Jade, the Kingman Club, Kimo Cafe (now Mr. D'z Route 66 Diner), and the bus station. If you didn't mind a drive of a mile or two you could add the City Cafe, Hobbs Truck Stop, and a few other places.
Kingman and the world have changed dramatically in the past dozen or so years. Not all of these changes have been for the best but more than a few are real improvements.
If your thinking of pulling stakes and getting a fresh start, I would suggest you give Kingman a long look. It may not be the frontier era time capsule I remember but it does look as though it will soon be the crossroads of the past and future, a special place where memories and futures are made.  

WHERE THE PAST AND FUTURE INTERSECT

Kingman, Arizona may have been immortalized in the classic tune penned by Bobby Troup that became the theme song for adventure on a highway signed with two sixes but somehow it never became a destination. Sure, folks stop for the night, grab a bite to eat, wander through the Power House Visitor Center and take in the Route 66 museum but for the most part Kingman is a stop on the way to somewhere else.

In the past decade or so a number of well intentioned individuals and groups put forth a valiant effort to change the perception of Kingman being little more than a stop but with the exception of the Route 66 Fun Run there has been little tangible success. Could that be about to change and change in a very big way?
Well, if Chris Durkin and the members of the Kingman Downtown Merchants Association, members of the embryonic Kingman Route 66 Association, and tourism director Josh Noble, have their way the answer is an emphatic yes.
Mr. Noble was instrumental in adding a new dimension to getting your kicks on Route 66 with geocaching that is centered on the iconic highway. Now, he has worked his magic, with Shannon Rossiter, to have the museum and Powerhouse open during the evening of the August edition of Chillin on Beale Street.
The glimmer of dramatic change fort he summer is Chillin' on Beale Street held on the third Saturday evening of every month from April until October. The event is very low key, very laid back, and a great deal of fun.
The general focus is on cars, history, and hanging out. There is no entry fee for automobiles displayed or for spectators. The charge for vendor space and sponsorship that includes a valuable advertising package are the sole means of generating revenue to cover expenses such as permits.

Cars simply park along Beale Street, one block north of Route 66, with Fourth Street being the center axis. Impromptu cruising is west into the setting sun on Beale Street, south on First to Mr. D'z, and then east on Andy Devine Avenue to Seventh Street for the return to Beale.

Strolling the streets, exploring the eclectic shops, snacking in the cafes, or setting up a chair on the sidewalks as the sun sinks into the west and a breeze gently stirs the evening air to watch the cars roll by is but part of the fun. There are games for the kids, a poker run with prizes for pedestrians, music, food, and an occasional shoot out courtesy of a local western reenactment team.
This is the second season for Chillin on Beale Street and with the July event, scheduled for the evening of the 17TH a new dimension has been added, a theme. This event continues  the "anything with wheels" policy that has resulted in all manner of vehicles being displayed from rat rod to military, from bicycle to Harley Davidson, from Alfa Romeo to Model T Ford.

The twist is that for July the theme is a salute to automotive orphans regardless of age or condition. With the recent restructuring of the auto industry this moniker would apply to vehicles produced by Nash or Pontiac, Oldsmobile or Mercury, Studebaker or Hudson, Edsel or Pierce-Arrow.
So, come display that Pontiac Aztec or Studebaker Hawk. Don't be embarrassed to bring the Mercury station wagon or Plymouth Valiant because its all about fun under the desert sky.
Representatives of the American auto industry are not the only orphans singled out for the spotlight. Anyone care to bring a Singer or tangible link to the European auto industry from the 1920s?
The promotion for the event has expanded from local to international. So, even though it is summer in Arizona the temperatures in Kingman, especially in the evening (75 to 90 degrees after the sun goes down), are relatively moderate so who knows how big the July edition of Chillin on Beale Street will be.

For August, scheduled for the 21st, plans are already well underway. For this event the Power House Visitor Center and Route 66 Museum will be open until 8:00 PM. Anything with wheels, regardless of year or condition, is welcome but the theme will be a salute to Mopar products, car or truck, built between 1926 and 2010.
If you happen to own a De Soto or Plymouth it could be a double header on center stage. The orphan party in July and Mopar party in August.

So, it looks as though I will have to wash Barney the Wonder Truck, my well worn 1968 Dodge. Perhaps I will even polish the chrome!
If you would like more information about the event, about advertisement through sponsorship, or vendor spaces, contact Chris Durkin of the Kingman Downtown Merchants Association at 928-830-3755.