A BRUSH WITH FAME

It was a snowy day that kept Flagstaff from becoming Hollywood. Cecil B. Demille was in search of a suitable place for relocation of his fledgling Long Island based film company when he first discovered Flagstaff and it was love at first sight, at least until a major snow storm blew into town.



Flagstaff does have several other Hollywood associations and links but only one became forever associated with Kingman, Arizona. That would be the gravely voiced character actor, Andy Devine.


Even though the main drag is named for him it is the Mother Road most folks associate with Kingman thanks to Bobby Troup and his classic song, Get Your Kicks on Route 66 that transformed a US highway into an icon. However, this is not the only brush with fame the dusty desert town named for Lewis Kingman, a railroad engineer and surveyor, has had.


In 1857, Secretary of War Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederate States of America during the Civil War, under direction from President James Buchanan authorized Lieutenant Edward Beale to survey a road that would connect Fort Defiance in the Territory of New Mexico with Fort Mohave on the Colorado River. This expedition was to have a second purpose in the testing of camel transport for military application in the desert southwest.


A dependable all year source of water to the west of present day Kingman was designated Beale Springs. Additional homage to Lt. Beale came in the name bestowed upon the fort established at the springs during the 1870s and a primary street in Kingman that runs parallel to Route 66.


The railroad in its westward expansion during the 1880s closely followed the road he surveyed, known as the Beale Wagon Road, along the 35th parallel. In turn the railroad was followed closely by the National Old Trails Highway and then by the first alignment of Route 66.


The National Old Trails Highway figured prominently in the last of the Desert Classic “Cactus Derby” races as the course for the 1914 race was from Los Angeles to Ashfork in Arizona, and then south through Prescott to Phoenix. This incredible test of machine and man featured some of the most prominent names associated with the sport of racing during this period including Louis Chevrolet and Barney Oldfield.


The racers stopped long enough in Kingman for fuel and much needed repairs. For that brief moment Kingman and the Old Trails Garage were in the international spot light.


It is unknown if nine-year-old Andy Devine, the gravely voiced character actor, turned out to watch the racers roar into town but he would have had a front row seat if he did. His father, Tom Devine, was the proprietor of the Hotel Beale on Front Street.


Initially the hotel, where Andy Devine received the injury that permanently damaged his vocal chords, was one block north of Route 66 but after the realignment of 1937, the highway was at its front door. It was during a segment of This Is Your Life, that Andy Devine learned that this street was being renamed Andy Devine Avenue. Signage today still carries this designation for Route 66 from east to west through Kingman.


Another Route 66 landmark associated with Andy Devine is the Crozier Canyon Ranch to the east of Kingman near Hackberry where he worked during the late teens. In addition to ranching, the Crozier also served as a small resort with bathhouses and a huge spring fed swimming pool. The railroad provided Sunday afternoon excursions from Kingman during the months of summer making this oasis a very popular get away.


The Crozier Ranch has another link to Hollywood hidden away in the downstairs bathroom; Fatty Arbuckle’s bathtub obtained when a Grounds family, owners of the ranch, associate who worked as an architect in Los Angeles remodeled the actors home.


Before realignment of Route 66 in late 1937 the Crozier Canyon Ranch also served as an oasis for weary travelers. Cabins, the pool, and a café/service station constructed from the cut stone of abandoned railroad bridge supports were just a few of the amenities offered.


During the early 1920’s, local miners, cowboys, and businessmen mingled with railroad passengers and daring motorists traveling the National Old Trails Highway at the Hotel Beale. One of the miners employed at the Katherine Mines that frequented the Beale on his visits to Kingman was an adventuresome young man by the name of Louis L’Amour. The landscapes and people he encountered during his time in Kingman would season his epic stories of life on the western frontier.


In 1928, a new chapter in the history of the Hotel Beale, and Kingman, began to unfold with the arrival of Charles Lindbergh, the pioneering aviator. The establishment of refueling and supply stops for Transcontinental Air Transport, the nation’s first passenger airline service, was pivotal to the fledging businesses inaugural flights scheduled for 1929


The two Arizona communities selected as stops were Kingman and Winslow. On numerous visits to Kingman to oversee the construction of the airfield and supportive infrastructure, Lindbergh stayed at the Hotel Beale. Likewise, with his associate that assisted in the ribbon cutting in the summer of 1929, Amelia Earhart.


Clark Gable and Carole Lombard made a brief stop in Kingman during March of 1939 to marry at the Methodist church four blocks north of Route 66. The Oatman Hotel, in Oatman, Arizona, was where they spent their first night as husband and wife.


As an historic footnote, the Oatman Hotel is one of the few original buildings that remain in this historic mining camp. It is the largest existent historic structure built of adobe in Mohave County.


In November of 1944, W.S. Chamberlain, turned his Ford coupe from Route 66 onto Fourth Street, the original alignment of that highway in Kingman, and struck and killed Tap Duncan. It was an inglorious end for a pioneer rancher with familial ties to Black Jack Ketchum, the train robber, and alleged associations with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.


During World War II, a large swath of the Neal ranch in the Hualapai Valley became one of the largest flexible gunnery schools in the nation with assistance from the Herculean efforts of construction crews pulled from the Davis Dam project on the Colorado River. Listed among the thousands of men trained at the Kingman Army Airfield is Clayton Moore, best known for his role as the Lone Ranger.


After the war this field was designated a storage depot. All manner of military aircraft were stored as well as salvaged here. In early 1947, the former Kingman Army Airfield received the distinction of housing the largest concentration of aircraft in the world.


Today, Kingman is best known for Route 66, and its association with Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma City bomber, but movie trivia buffs know the town for its role in numerous films. Among these is Foxfire, 1955, Edge of Eternity, 1959, Roadhouse 66, 1984, Universal Soldier, 1992, and season six of HBO’s Soprano’s when Tony Soprano, in a coma, dreams that his identity was switched with a Kingman resident.

PLAYING THE HAND YOU ARE DEALT

Money is a funny thing. We prostitute ourselves for about forty hours per week to get it, trade irreplaceable time for more than enough, and worry about it on a fairly regular basis. Yet, in the grand scheme of things it is pretty damn worthless.
I remember the first time these thoughts began to dominate my thinking with absolute clarity. The heat waves dancing on the pavement presented the illusion of water but there wasn't a drop to be found under a blistering desert sun. The dead calm air seemed hot enough to pop corn.
My lips were glued together, my throat was two steps beyond parched and my mouth was so dry I could have spit dust. The only shade to be found for miles was under my old sweat stained hat.
The silence was deafening as Route 66 had been bypassed the year before and the highway was empty. The only sound was the beating of my heart and the clop, flop of my broke down boots with one heel held in place by bailing wire as I placed one foot in front of the other on the griddle that was that two lane stretch of asphalt.
By mile one I gave in to the temptation and began sucking on the canteen and by around mile five it went dry. Thoughts of a cold beer gave way to thoughts of anything cold, which gave way to thoughts of anything wet by the seventh or eighth mile.
The old GMC had called it quits just a mile or so from the highway but that was still a dozen miles from Kingman and almost thirty miles from the ranch. Hackberry was a bit closer but not by much and that had made the decision a bit easier.
Along this stretch of road there had been dramatic changes since the new four lane between Seligman and Kingman opened. In the first couple of hours only a car or two zipped past and there was no hope that those lost tourists were going to stop for a fellow that looked as wild as I did. This was my monthly trip to town for a haircut and a bit of cutting loose.
My hair was beyond shaggy, and the stubble on my face accentuated the deep bronze color of my face. The old blue shirt was faded almost white but not quite enough to mask the sweat stains. My jeans were bleached from the sun and a few hundred washes but they still bore the marks of oil stains, blood stains, and my best imitation of a seamstress.
So, with my head throbbing from the heat I let my mind drift as the autopilot kicked in and one foot followed the other without thought. At first it was a bit difficult to think of much of anything but how damned hot it was.
Then, as they often did when I was alone in the desert, my thoughts turned to the twisted path that led from the deep forested mountains of Tennessee to this forlorn place in the wilderness. At some point in my fevered reflections I felt a smile creep across my face in spite of the cracked lips.
Here I was in the middle of absolute nowhere. My truck was down, my boots were shot, I was way beyond thirsty, but in my pockets were the old watch, a gift from a cowhand with no family that was mere minutes from standing with his maker, my pocket knife, and a wallet full of jack, a months pay and then some.
It wasn't really a laugh, I was far to dry for that. It was more of a crackle that would have convinced most anyone I had spent way to much time alone and in the sun if there had been anyone around.
A pocket full of jack and it had even less value than my well worn boots, or ancient misshapen Stetson. Talk about your revelations!
The lesson learned that day was that money is important in the right place. However, in the end how much or how little you have really won't matter so don't spend to much time chasing it.

SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION AND OTHER NOTES THAT MAY BE OF INTEREST

For a fellow who prefers the quiet places, and that has spent a large portion of his time on earth basking in anonymity, it is an interesting adventure when it comes time to step into the limelight, naked as a jaybird, twirl the baton, and proclaim, "Look at me!" That, however, is what must be done if one wants to sell books and share his love for the road less traveled with a larger audience.
At some point, if the books are written well and the passion for the subject can be conveyed, the task of shameless self promotion begins to take on a life of its own. In this amazing age where the cyberspace world stretches to the very horizons of the imagination this new creation sprouts wings and learns to fly rather quickly.
Consider this fan page on Amazon.com or this one on Facebook. Once created by the publicist they begin to grow slowly but the building of credibility with each new creation provides the good soil needed for them to mature.
When I sold my first feature to Special Interest Autos the dream of becoming a writer was reignited, but it was still just a dream. I wrote out of a desire to share my love for vintage vehicles and obscure places on the road less traveled.
Now, twenty years, several hundred feature articles, and six books later, there is a quickening in my spirit that, perhaps, the dream may become a reality. Can I share my passions with others and make a living?
I have been quietly sharing the review copy of Ghost Towns of Route 66 with select friends and acquaintances. I watch their eyes, their face as the pages turn and sense this book, like Route 66 itself, transcends its original purpose. Like that legendary highway it seems to touch something deep inside.
I have waited for the dream to become a reality for many years. It is for that reason I never tarnished it by writing solely for profit.
I am not an artist. I have difficulty drawing recognizable stick people and often my three year granddaughter does better transferring the world around her onto paper than I do.
I am not a musician. I have trouble playing the radio and can make money by people paying me not to play an instrument or sing.
But I can share worlds lost in time and places of stunning beauty with the written word and photographs. The blank page is my canvas.
With that said, I would like to thank each and everyone of you for moving the dream closer to reality. Thank you for letting me share the wonders found on the road less traveled and parting the mists of time to reveal forgotten people and places.
Money is a wonderful thing but it is merely a cold, dead tool. It is the joy that others find in the work that is the real reward.

IF YOU ARE INTO S/M THEN WRITING IS THE CAREER FOR YOU

Beat me, it feels good when you quit. That is the slogan I am having made into a display for my desk. I think it sums up my decision to chase the illusive, and yet fun filled adventure, of making a career out of writing.
Please, let me explain with a quick summary of how the past year has played out. It has been a very amusing (?) adventure so I am quite sure you will find a laugh or two.
It was the first week of February, 2010, and I arrived home much later than usual one evening after a particularly trying day. The last thing I wanted to do was talk with anyone. Still, I ran through the phone log and had one call that the ID showed as private caller.
Before I could check for messages my thrice heated dinner was ready so that aspect of the follow up slipped my mind until the next morning. The private caller message was from Jay Leno, opportunity had knocked and I was to busy working to answer.
This was round two with Mr. Leno. On a previous adventure to Burbank our paths had crossed but with thirty minutes separating the event. Then when he had called to say he was sorry for having missed me, I was in El Segundo.
This was more than a year before the February call. Now, I had a phone number, and a rousing and frustrating game of phone tag ensued for the next couple of weeks.
As it turned out, Jay was inquiring about the possibility of an interview for the book club section of his website, Jay Leno's Garage. The topic of discussion was to be The Big Book of Car Culture, a 2005 venture with Jon Robinson that had sold poorly in spite of being the recipient of the bronze medal at the International Automotive Media Awards.
Now, I had a chance to really give this book a push! With great excitement I called the publisher to relay the good news and was informed that as a result of poor sales the plug was pulled on this title - in January, the week before Jay Leno called.
I informed Jay and he suggested we proceed as my resume of published work in regards to automotive history was lengthy, and as a bonus, we could do a second interview on my book that profiled the Checker Cab Manufacturing Company. This was my first book, published in 2001, and even though it had sold slowly a second printing was underway.
Now, it was just a matter of coordinating schedules and I would have my big break. That took until November, after several cancellations and nearly intolerable delays. The videos of the interviews are at the bottom of this column.
In the mean time my next book, Ghost Towns of the Southwest, made its debut in April. So, a busy schedule that filled every weekend until June kept my mind off the ongoing schedule conflict with Jay Leno.
Much to everyones surprise, the new book sold the first printing in less than 45 days. It was such a surprise the publisher was left scrambling for a reprint.
In the mean time, I had a number of book signings scheduled and one major event as the featured author. So, we went to plan "B" which entailed me signing books if the store had them, handing out post cards featuring the cover of Ghost Towns of the Southwest, and taking orders with the promise that I would stop at the book store to sign copies before the customer picked them up.
Now, the travel expenses exceeded my budget. Even better I was labeled a book defiler.
I stopped at one of these stores several weeks later to sign books after notification of their arrival was received. The manager was out but as I was familiar with the store, I knew where the special order books were kept.
I was in the process of signing books when a zealous clerk accosted me. She insisted I leave the store, after providing a phone number and address, for defiling books.
The next few months are a blur. Cars & Parts magazine closes up shop with zero notice and my position as associate editor vanishes faster than ice cream on the pavement in Amboy on a July afternoon. There are a number of book signings, I accept the contract to write a Route 66 encyclopedia and atlas, finish Ghost Towns of Route 66, work to promote Greetings from Route 66, try to find a reasonable but quality printer for photographs, and work my way through a small herd of family crisis and health issues.
Now, fast forward to the end of winter, 2011. The next book, Ghost Towns of Route 66, is ready to print with a scheduled date for release of June 15, 2011.
I convince the publisher it would be in everyones best interest to speed up the process so we can introduce it at the International Route 66 Festival in Amarillo during the second week of June. As plans to promote the book are built on this, the tension based on flash backs of last years debut climbers higher with each passing day.
To compound those worries, I placed an order for Ghost Towns of the Southwest as the Kingman Area Books Are Magic (Kabam) festival is fast approaching. Additionally, I have several venues in New Mexico lined up for book signings as we drive to Amarillo.
The publisher informed me this afternoon that the book is again out of print and the next printing should be available by the first of June.
Meanwhile, my relief worker at the real job, the one that that supports the writing habit, is very ill (please keep her in your prayers) which means I am back to a six day work schedule. This also means it will be touch and go to get a replacement trained in time for the Amarillo trip.
To ensure the pressure is kept to an adequate level, just one notch above boil, I am still awaiting the results of some tests from the doctor, need to have a cap installed on a tooth, am striving to put in at least two hours of research every day for the encyclopedia, and still keep to a minimum goal of 5,000 words per week of text on that project. Then, this morning, I added HubPages to my writing endeavor in an effort to broaden the reach of my promotion in the hope of an increase in book sales, and, perhaps, land an agent or larger contract for the next project.
Beat me, it feels good when you quit just seems so appropriate. Still, I wouldn't trade the adventures associated with writing for anything in the world.

FUN IN THE SUN ON ROUTE 66

The annual Route 66 Fun Run is about to become history rather than an eagerly anticipated event and from what I could tell by the turn out in downtown Kingman, it was an overwhelming success in spite of the weather. The winds howled in excess of twenty miles per hour and the afternoon temperatures barely cracked the sixty degree mark.
Weather has always been an issue with this event as the first of May in northwestern Arizona is very unpredictable. For the Fun Run weekend I have witnessed everything from 100 degree temperatures to snow flurries.
As I am back to a six day work schedule my time for checking out the event was quite limited. With the exception of antique car representation the diversity of vehicles participating, always a hallmark of the event, was nothing short of stunning.
The antique vehicles, those with original drive trains, consisted of a few Model A and Model T Fords, a very rare 1925 Chrysler touring car, and a 1910 Cadillac. Foreign cars ran the gamut from a vintage Alfa  Romeo to early Fiat.
Muscle cars, hot rods, trucks, vintage military vehicles, customized bicycles, and classics were everywhere. Crowds swarmed around them like incoming tide around rocks.
My time constraints dampened the ability to really get in the mood but we still managed to have some fun. I did miss Nigel Smith of England who is traveling Route 66 as a relief for the onset of a midlife crisis (his blog is here)and Dale Butel with his tour group but did catch up with Mike Ward for some lively conversation.
Here a few photos: