Tag: historic

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A Dust Bowl Tragedy in Three Acts

“And now the high mountains. Holbrook and Winslow and Flagstaff in the high mountains of Arizona. Then the great plateau rolling like a ground swell. Ash Fork and Kingman and stone mountains again, where water must be hauled and sold.”

– John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

A drought stricken farm in Dalhart, Texas in 1930 -
A drought stricken farm in Dalhart, Texas in 1930 – Image courtesy of the Library of Congress

A descending dark curtain of drought brought an abrupt end to the first act of good conditions on the Great Plains in the summer of 1930. Curtain rise ushered in a long tragic second act of environmental disaster and human suffering. After a decade of fortunate environmental circumstances with plentiful rainfall and mild winters, the Great Plains entered an extended drought in 1930 – commonly known as the Dust Bowl. The Great Depression appeared on stage the previous year. The region would not exit drought conditions until 1941. For one family, the drought began a Dust Bowl tragedy in three acts.

The Lanier Family

Born at the height of Grange-era populism in Magnolia, Arkansas in 1893, Hosea Lanier moved with his parents from their failed cotton farm to make a new start in Cottonwood, Texas at the age of seven. Despite plentiful rainfall and fertile soil, farming on the Great Plains was a fraught affair. Global agricultural competition drove crop prices down. Farm failures like the elder Lanier’s farm in Arkansas were common in the 1920s. Cotton prices peaked at 28 cents a pound in 1923. From there it was mostly downhill with prices typically fluctuating between 15 cents a pound to a low of 12 cents a pound. 

Children picking cotton - A Dust Bowl tragedy in three acts
Children picking cotton near Waxahachie, Texas in 1913 – Image courtesy of the Library of Congress

For Hosea, deteriorating crop prices were background to his childhood. On the Texas farm he grew to adulthood, worked the land with his father, and married his best girl, Loree. His son Jack was born shortly after the marriage in 1917. His father, John Lanier, died five years later. It was 1922. His daughter Fay was born the following year. By most accounts, the winter of 1929 was like all the others in recent memory – mild. Hosea’s mother died in the spring of 1929. Hosea inherited the farm – and the debt. In the spring of ’29, despite losing his mother, the future looked promising for Hosea’s family and his farm. Conditions were good. Cotton was almost 17 cents a pound. 

Fleeing the Dust Bowl

The exact motivations behind leaving the farm in 1930 are lost to the sands of time. The summer of 1930 was severely dry in Texas as the drought set in. It is likely Hosea suffered the fate of many farmers in the early drought years – a failed harvest, falling prices, mounting debts, and finally foreclosure. Cotton prices fell to 9 cents a pound in 1930 – by 1931 cotton farmers gave it away at 5 cents a pound.

A farm family flees the Dust Bowl - A Dust Bowl tragedy in three acts
A Texas farm family flees the Dust Bowl in 1936 – Image courtesy of the Library of Congress

Art often imitates life. Similar to Steinbeck’s Joad family, the Lanier family fled the emergent Dust Bowl in 1930. Like their fictional counterparts, the Laniers escaped down Route 66. The family settled first in Kingman, Arizona where Hosea found work as a clerk with the Central Commercial Company mercantile store. He was later transferred to the company’s new Seligman, Arizona location on Route 66 in 1942 serving as the store’s manager.[1] Rain had returned to the Texas plains the previous year. The price of cotton was now over 19 cents a pound.

Postwar Boom on Route 66

The Central Commercial Company’s store in Seligman sat right on Route 66. From his perch behind the large store window fronting Route 66, Hosea watched the growing traffic on Route 66 after WW2. He also had his eye on a large parcel of open land across the street from the Central Commercial Company. On February first, 1956, Hosea Lanier and his son Jack purchased 2.74 acres of land fronting U.S. Route 66 from the Arizona State Land Department. The purchase price was $7,272.72 to be paid in yearly installments of $191.38.[2] By 1956, several entrepreneurs had opened new businesses in Seligman capitalizing on the rising automobile traffic on Route 66. Juan Delgadillo, a local railroad laborer had opened the Snow Cap Drive In Restaurant in 1953 in a building he built from scrap lumber to huge success. Hosea figured he could go into business too.

Snow Cap Drive In - A Dust Bowl tragedy in three acts
Juan Delgadillo’s Snow Cap Drive-in. This image was taken in approximately 1993. – Image from the author’s personal collection

In 1956, the Cold War was well under way. Americans were flocking to southern California brimming with defense jobs fueled by the Cold War military build-up. Route 66 provided the main route west and Americans jammed the road on their way to claim a portion of the southern California good life. Hosea Lanier, desiring to capitalize on the upswing in automobile traffic along Route 66, branched out on his own at the age of 63 and opened the Supai Motel.[3]

The Supai Motel - A Dust Bowl tragedy in three acts
The Supai Motel opened by Hosea Lanier in 1956 – Image from the author’s personal collection

When new, the motel boasted of individual air conditioners by Frigidaire, Franciscan-style furniture, tile baths, and carpeted floors. The Supai Motel claimed to be the newest and finest motel in town.[4] Of a motor court design, it was a contiguous U-shaped building with a small parking lot in the center. Entering from Route 66, travelers stopped at the office on the west side of the U to check-in. Then, large metal key in hand, they move their car to park in front of their assigned unit – one of twelve available. From the outset, the motel featured a large roadside neon sign sporting the name of the motel in green and pink script towering over the motel office. The sign was backlit by a parallelogram whose bottom bar housed the word “Vacancy” in bright red neon. Looping out of the top of the bright, boxy shape was an arrow that sprouted up and out toward the road before curving back in to point in the direction of the motel office. Blinking lights festooned the arrow moving in a pattern from the top of the sign toward the arrow’s pointer visually pushing the eye toward the motel. In 1956, the Supai Motel joined eight other motels competing for traffic in Seligman. Competition was fierce. Catching the motorists’ eye was essential.[5]

Tragedy is a Fickle Mistress

The motel was a success. It still operates today. Yet tragedy is a fickle mistress. It gives scarcely a thought to some. Others are the focus of obsession. Hosea enjoyed only a brief moment of his success. After being ruined by the onset of the Dust Bowl, fleeing with his family for the high-desert wilds of Arizona, toiling for years as a department store clerk, and finally reclaiming some financial independence as a business owner, Hosea died March 25, 1959 – two and a half years after he opened his motel. 

Tragedy once smitten with a family has a hard time letting go of its object of desire. Hosea’s son Jack stepped in after his father’s early death operating the business for his grieving mother. Just under a year later, 341 days after his father, Jack died on March 1, 1960. Loree sold the motel later that year. Loree and daughter Fay moved to Prescott. Loree did not remarry and lived to be 90 dying in 1987 – 28 years after Hosea. Fay never married or had any children. The curtain fell on the final act of this family of Dust Bowl refugees when Fay died eight years after her mother in Prescott in 1995.

[1] “1930 United States Federal Census,” (1930 United States Census, United States Government, Kingman, AZ, 1930). “1940 United States Federal Census,” (1940 United States Census, United States Government, Seligman, AZ, 1940). “Registration Card,” (Draft Registration Card, United States Government, Local Board Number 1, Yavapai County, Prescott, AZ, April 27, 1942).

[2] “Certificate of Purchase,” (Property Deed, Yavapai County Recorder’s Office, Prescott, AZ, 1974).

[3] “Funeral to be Conducted Today in Prescott for Hosea Lanier,” Arizona Republic (Phoenix, AZ), March 28, 1959.

[4] “Funeral to be Conducted Today in Prescott for Hosea Lanier,” Arizona Republic (Phoenix, AZ), March 28, 1959. Supai Motel. RT66-2116. 1956. James R. Powell Route 66 Collection, Newberry Library, Chicago. Accessed April 27, 2018.

[5] This description is based on my personal experience staying in the motel multiple times. Postcards from the late 1950s, however, show that the motel has changed little in appearance since 1956. See Supai Motel. RT66-2116, Postcard, 1956, James R. Powell Route 66 Collection, Newberry Library, Chicago. Accessed April 27, 2018.

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Stuck In The Mud – The Road to Better . . . Roads

Stick-in-the-mud. It’s a common turn of phrase. Its earliest known usage was in 1832. Its meaning refers to being old-fashioned and unwilling to change as in “don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud!” The stick in this case refers not to a literal stick but to the verb ‘to stick’ or, past tense, to be stuck. If you are stuck in the mud, you aren’t moving forward.

Although a figurative expression, in the early 1900s many country folk were literally stuck in the mud. Rural roads were often no more than dirt tracks scraped into the earth. Road construction and maintenance at the time was bush league. Farmers, trading labor for property tax, would hitch a team of horses to a large log and scrape it along the route. This “grading” would roughly level the path and clear it of debris. Later wet weather and traffic would then purée the road into a rutted impassable morass. 

Early simple dirt roads were susceptible to extensive erosion. Roads on slopes like this example were easily washed out by rain.

Early Modern Road Building

Beginning in the 1750s, engineers attempted bringing modern science into road building efforts. Early efforts echoed techniques used by the Romans on the famed Appian Way. Deep trenching, steep elevations, and layer upon layer of hard rock paving resulted. Yet, despite their impressive designs, all these early efforts met with limited success. The combined forces of water and road traffic led to rutting, potholes, and mud. Rural residents, often farmers, were stuck in the mud for weeks or months at a time.

Farmers’ plight was not all due to engineering failings. Farmers could be stubborn stick-in-the-muds. Resistant to change, they liked trading a little labor for the option to not pay property tax in cash. It took the wide scale adoption of trucks by farmers in the 1920s to change their minds about roads.

Enter Macadam

Nineteenth century Scottish engineer John McAdam made the first breakthrough developing a practical paved road. McAdam determined layers upon layers of rock and steep road crowns were unnecessary. All a road needed was a hard top crust protecting the soil underneath from weather and wear. McAdam built his roads as level as possible with the surrounding land. On McAdam’s thoroughfares, the road’s crown was only three inches higher than its edges. This slight crown allowed rain to run off the road into ditches on either side. McAdam defeated rain, the formidable enemy of roads, using a hard crust of small stones. The foundation of the crust consisted of stones smashed into five centimeter pieces. The top layer used stones no larger than two centimeters. Typical carriage wheels were ten centimeters wide. Paving the road with smaller stones prevented displacement of the surface stones. This ensured the surface remained intact protecting the road from weather and traffic.  

Gravel Roads to Paved Highways

These roads became known as macadamized roads and their surface as macadam. Building the protective crust from small stones eliminated expensive surface preparation. It also democratized road building. It allowed local communities throughout rural areas to build inexpensive macadam surfaced roads.

Later engineers built upon this road paving technique. Fast automobiles kicked up large amounts of dust on traditional macadamized roads. Engineers began spraying tar on macadamized roads to reduce dust. This technique became tar-bound macadam or tarmac. Growing use of automobiles fueled demand for smoother road surfaces. Before applying the final layer of stones, engineers mixed them with asphalt. Asphalt-bound macadam became known as blacktop. Construction of the first network of federal highways deployed much blacktop.

U.S. Highway 80
U.S. Highway 80 ran from Savannah, Georgia to San Diego California traversing 2,726 miles coast to coast. This section north of Florence, Arizona is a prime example of the blacktop paving technique.

Interstate Highways – A Blast from the Past

Macadamized road construction techniques prevailed through the end of World War Two. The passage of the Interstate Highway Act in 1956 forced changes. Road construction tilted away from the low-cost, democratic techniques McAdam pioneered. Interstates utilized complex engineering methods. Interstate highway specifications required excavating deep trenches, lining the roadbed with cast reinforced concrete, and building up the road surface with many layers of concrete. This construction technique allowed interstates to support heavier over the road trucks and military traffic including armored tank convoys. They also echoed McAdams predecessors’ mimicking of even earlier Roman techniques. As America took on a new post-war role as a neo-Rome attempting to enforce a Cold War Pax-Americana globally, it needed – or wanted – an imperial road system to match. 

A Neo-Appian Way

Abandoned Route 66 west of the Colorado River has withered into the desert. Without maintenance for over 50 years, it crumbled. Yearly rainfall run-off from the nearby mountains have washed it away. McAdam’s methods provided for a durable roadway that was easy to construct and maintain but made little permanent impact on the land. When no longer needed, the roadway could return to the earth. In Italy, portions of the Appian Way are still used. Often a layer of simple pavement covers the original Roman roadbed.

Standing on the remains of withered Route 66 looking east toward the Colorado, you can see I-40 and its massive bridge over the river. The deep road-bed channel cut into the earth lined with layers of concrete rival the river’s channel in depth and grandeur. As you stand in the desert taking in its sheer immensity, its contrast with the surrounding barren land is striking. One can imagine far-in-the-future travelers, echoing their medieval European predecessors, continuing to use I-40 ignorant of its origins.

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The Astonishing Significance of the Ordinary Concrete Bridge

If Americans think about bridges at all, it is typically in admiration of iconic bridges. The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, the Brooklyn Bridge in New York City, and the Mackinac Bridge in northern Michigan fit the bill. Admired for their beauty, iconic stature, or sheer size, these bridges are backdrops for vacation selfies, the subject of paintings, and settings for movie and television scenes. Largely ignored are the workhorse bridges – particularly ubiquitous concrete bridges. Yet, if not for the concrete bridge, the mass adoption of the automobile and the extensive network of American highways might not have been possible.

A modern concrete highway bridge

It is concrete bridges omnipresence that allows them to go unnoticed. Concrete bridges are literally everywhere today. From small city park paths to interstates, the concrete bridge is more common than a Starbucks. They traverse small depressions, deep ravines, other roads, and rivers. Elevated highways erase the line between road and bridge often for great distances. The section of U.S. Highway One between Miami and Key West consists almost entirely of concrete bridges – for 113 miles.

American Bridge History

Modern America’s cornucopia of concrete bridges was not always the case. Few bridges existed prior to the nineteenth century. Railroads and cities were early builders of bridges. Railroads spanned gulfs first with wooden and later steel trusses. Steel suspension bridges, first developed in the early nineteenth century and largely built by cities, slowly grew longer and taller through the century. The iconic Brooklyn Bridge, when it made its debut in 1883, was the largest steel suspension bridge in the world. 

Concrete bridges, common place now, had to wait until the twentieth century to dominate the landscape. The technology to build concrete bridges existed before the Civil War. Yet steel was the preferred material for most bridge construction prior to the twentieth century. Railroads could easily ship the steel components for bridges to construction sites; engineers preferred to design steel truss and suspension bridges; government officials and the public shared the belief that steel equaled strength.

Good Roads

Then people went plain nuts for bicycles. Beginning in the 1890s, cycling became the preferred commuting method and go-to sport for urban Americans coast-to-coast. Urban cyclists used their bicycles for improved mobility in the city, and to escape the city on the weekend. These weekend excursions brough millions of cyclists in contact with the dismal state of American roads outside the city.

Whereas most cities had paved roads actively maintained by a streets department, rural roads of the era were a Mad Max no-man’s-land. Leaving the city brought cyclists from paved, level city streets to glorified dirt cow-paths full of mud, ruts, and potholes. Many weekend excursions left cyclists covered in mud and hopping mad.

The response was the Good Roads Movement. This movement was a grass-roots movement of cyclist enthusiasts who began lobbying county and state governments for better roads. As the 1890s gave way to the twentieth century, automobile enthusiasts joined the cyclists as they faced similar problems with the poor condition of American roads. 

The Federal Government Gets Involved in Road and Bridge Building

The bicycle craze faded, but enthusiasm for automobiles did not. Intense lobbying by Good Roads groups now dominated by automobile owners, and later nationally organized under the American Automobile Association in 1902, led to federal action on roads. First with the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1916 and later with the better funded Federal Aid Highway act of 1921, the federal government became heavily involved in road building.

These two pieces of legislation put federal funding behind road building, but also put federal standards for highway construction behind road building. Gone were the days of a county paying a farmer to drag a log behind his horse team to build a road. Instead, states had to form official highway departments, hire engineers, and submit their road plans to the federal government for approval to get funding. Since the public demand for roads was high, each state complied. 

Highway Construction Cost an Issue

The huge demand for roads put a subsequent demand on funding. The 1916 highway bill allocated a one-time sum pf $75 million across the U.S. for road building. It was quickly spent. The 1921 highway bill allocated $75 million a year for road building. State plans for highways exceeded even the larger amount of funds available in the 1921 highway bill.

This created the need to reduce costs – particularly in the west where distances between towns were longer and the terrain more formidable. In many western states, ravines, gullies, arroyos, washes, and canyons peppered the landscape. Building expensive steel bridges across all these obstacles made western highways more expensive.

A concrete bridge spans a small desert wash in Arizona
Small washes and ravines like this one are numerous in the American west increasing the number of bridges required to build roads.

Concrete Bridges to the Rescue

Enter the concrete bridge. Cheap and easy to build, concrete bridges could be quickly built over obstacles in the terrain large and small – often using the sand surrounding the bridge site. Roads too expensive to build with steel bridges were now feasible with concrete bridges. Many western highways of the era were planned only as gravel roads. Numerous steel truss or suspension bridges would make these too costly. With cheap concrete bridges, lonely low-volume western highways became possible.

A gravel highway in the desert southwest.
Highways in the American west were typically gravel up until the postwar period.
A concrete bridge on an abandoned section of old Route 80
Concrete bridges like this one on a now abandoned section of old U.S. Route 80 made highway construction affordable in western states.

And then a funny thing happened on the way to the rise of the automobile in the twentieth century. Other highway departments across the country discovered that concrete bridges made their projects cheaper too – making more road projects possible everywhere.

Counterintuitively, automobiles entered American life without roads to drive on. Had this situation continued, the mass adoption of automobiles might never have happened. Without a cost saving technology like the concrete bridge, fewer roads would likely exist limiting the utility of the automobile for individual mobility. Automobile enthusiasts might still outnumber general automobile users.

Today, general automobile users dwarf the number of automobile enthusiasts. Most Americans do not know how their automobile works – they just use it. Similarly, few consider the material used to build the road or bridge they drive on. However, the next time you use your car, take a moment to consider the concrete bridge. It played an astonishingly significant role in the rise of automobiles in American life and making travel by car possible almost everywhere. 

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The Other Southwestern Highway

As the song goes, “get hip to this timely tip, when you make that California trip. Get your kicks on Route 66!” First recorded by Nat King Cole in 1946, Bobby Troupe’s song exhorted travelers use Route 66 to get to LA-LA Land and multitudes did. Route 66 served as the main motorway west from its inception in 1926 until its obsolescence after the completion of Interstate 40. However, during the heyday of the old federal highways, there was another route west to California, Route 80.

U.S. Highway 80
U.S. Highway 80 ran from Savannah, Georgia to San Diego California traversing 2,726 miles coast to coast.

Route 80 began as an auto-trail route called the Dixie-Overland Highway. The Automobile Club of Savannah, Georgia conceived it as an all-weather coast-to-coast auto route in 1914. In 1926, the highway became part of the new federal highway system, losing its earlier name for its new moniker Route 80. Its number ending in zero indicated a coast-to-coast route as specified by the United States Numbered Highway System.

Its better known rival Route 66 was originally slated to be labelled Route 60 since western state highway officials thought a coast-to-coast route number would attract more traffic and benefit their states. Eastern state highway officials objected since the western highway did not run coast-to-coast, and they wanted the number 60 for a true east-to-west highway. The federal numbering system specified Route 66 should be numbered 62, but Oklahoma’s state highway commissioner Cyrus Avery stepped in lobbying for a catchier number. He liked the “ring” of 66, the other highway officials relented, and a national icon was born.

Since its near-brush with obscurity, Route 66 became as close as a highway could to a celebrity. Yet, its less flashier western counterpart Route 80 rivaled Route 66 for traffic volume. Almost as many Americans chose Route 80 to travel west as Route 66. Many motorists preferred Route 80 since its mostly flat, non-winter-weather route made it easier to drive. There were even a few years when Route 80’s traffic volume exceeded Route 66.

As a pre-interstate federal highway, Route 80, like all federal highways of the era, became main street when it arrived at a town. Travelers on Route 80 often frequented main street businesses, particularly the numerous gas stations and motor-court motels of the era.

Route 80 becomes Main Street in Florence Arizona
U.S. Route 80 became main street in each town it connected. Here, Route 80 runs through downtown Florence, Arizona.
Motor Court motels like the Blue Mist Motel in Florence Arizona were found all along federal highways like Route 80 in the pre-interstate era.

Route 66 obtained its celebrity status through numerous cultural productions including songs, movies, and television shows. Route 80 was never as showy as its glitzier cousin, but did have a brief, yet tragic, brush with fame.

Tom Mix was an American film actor and star of many early westerns. His portrayal of numerous cowboy characters in silent films greatly influenced the western film genre in the early days of American movies. Originally from Pennsylvania, Mix used his film-star wealth to purchase a ranch in Prescott, Arizona.

On October 12, 1940, after visiting the Pima County sheriff in Tucson, Mix headed north on Route 80 towards his home. 18 miles south of Florence, Arizona, Mix encountered construction barriers on the highway. Driving fast and unable to stop, Mix rolled his car while swerving. He died at the scene. A roadside memorial marks the location of the accident on old Route 80, now Arizona Highway 79. No longer a coast-to-coast highway, Route 80 was decommissioned in the western U.S. The portion from Savannah, Georgia to Dallas, Texas remains in use.

Monument commemorating 1930s cowboy film star Tom Mix.
A Route 80 roadside monument commemorating cowboy film star Tom Mix.
Plaque on Tom Mix monument
The plaque on the Tom Mix Memorial monument.

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What if You Became a Product?

A postcard called colorful Indians.
“Colorful Indians,” from the postcard pack titled All Along Route 66 sold throughout Route 66 postwar. Postcard from the author’s personal collection.

The rise of social media led to a concurrent rise in concerns about personal privacy. As social media companies sought to monetize their platforms, they took the personal information and activity of their users and “productized” it into advertising algorithms worth billions. As alarming as this modern phenomena was, the commercial process of turning the personal into the commercial is quite old.

As Erika Marie Bsumek documented in Indian-Made: Navajo Culture in the Marketplace, 1868–1940, while the reality of American policy towards Native Americans in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was one of destruction, the American public, particularly in the east, were often disconnected from this harsh reality. In northwestern Arizona, the Hualapai had been forcibly relocated after the Hualapai Wars in the late 1870s to make way for railroad construction and white settlers. This cleared the way for development of Kingman, Arizona’s mining resources and capturing the water supplies at Peach Springs, Arizona. Rather than developing an understanding of the reality of American policy towards Native-Americans like the Hualapai, eastern middle and upper class Americans became fascinated with artifacts of supposedly “authentic” Native American culture. This “authentic” indigenous culture, however, often took the form of synthesized cultural productions and objects that were often highly inaccurate but catered to the majority culture’s nostalgic conception of what Native American culture was like. [1] 

As the “Colorful Indians”postcard indicates, this process did not stop after 1940. Many Navajo, including the well-known Code Talkers, served with distinction in WW2. After the war, economic necessity prompted many to take part in the same commercialized displays of Native American culture that late-nineteenth century middle and upper class Americans had demanded. No longer facilitated by eastern promoters or railroads, in the postwar period this commercialization of person and culture took on a decidedly local flavor with some help from national postcard companies.

A post card called colorful Indians.
This postcard depicts members of the Navajo Nation from Gallup, New Mexico. The brightly colored dress is not accurate to traditional Navajo cultural dress. Postcard from the author’s personal collection.

The ” Colorful Indians” postcard was printed by a national publisher and sold to motels and gift shops throughout Route 66. The postcard depicts the Navajo participants in dress that is not part of their culture. Largely an amalgam of Plains Indians and Hollywood “never was” depictions of Native American dress, the image was sold to middle class automobile tourists from the east reinforcing their preconceptions of what Native Americans were like. This was also reflected in the intense, stylized roadside attractions built by local boosters to lure in travelers off of Route 66 and get them to spend their money in town. The Wigwam Motel in Holbrook serves as a stark example with each motel room built in the form of a teepee – a style of housing not utilized by the Navajo.

Wigwam motel in Holbrook, Arizona.
The Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona. The native Navajo did not use teepees as a form of housing. Postcard courtesy of the Library of Congress.

As alarming as digital invasions of privacy can be, they are at least somewhat avoidable. Participation on Facebook, Twitter, or InstaGram is not required. One can carefully curate what information about themselves they release online. For the marginalized, however, majoritarian cultural appropriation can be difficult if not impossible to resist. For many Native Americans, the majority culture both actively engaged in indigenous cultural destruction and demanded sanitized versions of that same cultural for commercial consumption. While postcards like “Colorful Indians” may no longer be printed, the Wigwam Motel and other examples of problematic cultural appropriation remain actively in use. Often represented as fun harmless nostalgia, these objects and places raise a troubling question. What exactly are we being nostalgic for?

[1] Erika Marie Bsumek, Indian-Made: Navajo Culture in the Marketplace, 1868–1940 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2008). Shepard, We Are an Indian Nation, 1-55.

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The Santa Fe, Fred Harvey Company, and Southwestern Tourism – Oh My!

The Santa Fe railroad and their hotel partner The Fred Harvey Company gave railroad tourists free postcards when they stayed in a Fred Harvey hotel along the line. Passengers used them to jot a quick note home and unintentionally promote travel by rail on the Santa Fe line.

Railroads were instrumental in developing the modern domestic tourism industry. A particular focus of transcontinental rail lines was enticing tourists to visit the American West. The Santa Fe railroad was no exception and almost singlehandedly developed and promoted the allure of the American southwest that still lingers in the American tourist mind to this day.

The Atlantic and Pacific railroad built the first rail line through the desert southwest in 1882. Never particularly successful, the Atlantic and Pacific went bankrupt in the Panic of 1893. A subsidiary of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe railroad, the line lay dormant for a few years until its parent company arranged new financing to revive the line. Restarting operations in 1897, the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe reorganized the failed Atlantic and Pacific as the Santa Fe Pacific railroad – later known simply as the Santa Fe.

With the line dormant for so long, the new railroad had to rebuild many of its facilities and much of the line itself. With many of the old stops consisting of nothing more than a siding and a few locally-grown businesses of questionable quality, the railroad was tasked with how to provide services to railroad passengers along the line. This was an undertaking made particularly difficult by the remote, difficult desert terrain much of the line crossed in the desert southwest.

A Fred Harvey Company dining room. Fred Harvey facilities became known for good food, great service, and clean facilities regardless of whether a passenger dined in the formal dining room or at the depot lunch counter. Image courtesy of the Library of Congress.

Enter one Fred Harvey. Receiving his first contract to take over the restaurant at a stop in Kansas, Fred Harvey remade the operation into a model of high-quality food, excellent service, and spotlessly clean facilities – often difficult to come by in the American West. This prompted the Santa Fe Railroad to enter into a partnership with Fred Harvey. The Fred Harvey Company became the exclusive operator of railroad station hotels and restaurants along the entire Santa Fe line. In the desert southwest, often the Fred Harvey hotel and restaurant were the only traveler hospitality services available in the remote region.

Postcards like this one promoted the American Southwest, particularly Arizona and New Mexico, as a place of natural wonder every American must see.

Realizing they could sell more rail tickets, hotel reservations, and restaurant meals if they gave rail passengers a reason to linger in the desert, the Santa Fe and the Fred Harvey Company began promoting the desert southwest as a unique, natural wonderland full of sites that could only be visited through traveling on the Santa Fe line and staying in a Fred Harvey Company hotel. Enlisting the help of architect Mary Colter, the Santa Fe and Fred Harvey Company built a series of iconic hotel and food service buildings. Destinations like the La Posada Hotel in Winslow, Arizona, the Escalante Hotel in Ash Fork, Arizona, and Hopi House and Phantom Ranch at the Grand Canyon became destinations in their own right.

The Fred Harvey Company Hotel Escalante in Ash Fork, AZ. Image courtesy of the University of Arizona.

Many of these once great facilities are now gone. The Escalante Hotel and the Havasu House were both demolished in the early 2000s after being abandoned for half a century. Mary Colter’s buildings at the Grand Canyon benefitted from being inside the national park and being designated a National Historic Landmark. It is, however, still possible to get a taste of travel in the desert southwest during the heyday of the Santa Fe and the Fred Harvey Company. The La Posada Hotel in Winslow, Arizona, considered by Mary Colter to be her masterpiece, was restored in 1997 to its former glory and operates as a hotel again. The rail yard behind the hotel is still in active use by the BNSF railway, the successor to the Santa Fe, allowing visitors to dine and rest to the sounds of trains in the distance.

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See America First! – Postcard Edition

See America First promotional postcard.
A promotional postcard from the Denver and Rio Grande railroad featuring one of their scenic excursion lines in the Rocky Mountains. Postcard from the author’s personal collection.

Consider the lowly postcard. Largely forgotten today, postcards were once big business and an almost obligatory aspect of family vacations. Despite their modern decline, however, postcards were instrumental in facilitating both domestic American tourism and aspects of American national identity itself. The vacation postcard also had a specific, deliberate origin in early American tourism promotion beginning in the late nineteenth century through a national movement known as See America First.

Historian Marguerite Shaffer, in her book, See America First: Tourism and National Identity 1880-1940 first investigated the significant role tourism played in constructing an American national identity. My own research built on Shaffer’s work and examined evolving local community identity driven by tourism in the twentieth century American Southwest. 

As Shaffer documented, tourists were encouraged to seek out American destinations for vacations, particularly in the American West, by the See America First movement. See America First was a national movement led by community boosters across the country, domestic tourism promoters, Department of the Interior and later National Park Service officials, and railroad and automobile company leaders that encouraged Americans to spend their tourism dollars visiting American locations.[1]

Although not explicitly articulated by See America First proponents, the arguments of the See America First movement connected to aspects of American republican mythology and national identity. Within this framework, tourism, particularly Western tourism, helped to reconcile virtuous agrarian republican mythology with the reality of the emerging industrial, corporate-driven, urban nation.[2] 

First Western boosters, and then a far more successful partnership between the railroads and the National Park Service, promoted tourism as an act of patriotism. These efforts encouraged Americans to visit the natural wonders of America like the Grand Canyon in an effort to know their own country and develop a sense of national pride. These efforts further redefined the natural world in the Western United States from harsh wilderness needing conquering to scenic wonder needing visitation. Through this, tourism became a type of virtuous consumption that reconnected urban elites to the original republican virtues of America through visiting the natural wonder of the United States.[3] Subsequent promotion efforts cast escaping to nature through tourism as a rite of passage required for virtuous citizenship.[4] Tourists themselves internalized these messages adding aspects of defining self-identity to pastoral tourism.[5]

A significant aspect of this national movement were promotional materials, most of which took printed form. Beginning in the late-nineteenth century railroad era, posters, newspaper and magazine articles, and other printed materials were used to promote the movement and grow interest in domestic travel amongst Americans. Although many readers may be familiar with the now iconic early twentieth century National Park Service posters, a far more prolific medium was often used to promote domestic tourism: the postcard.

See America First postcard featuring a railroad train excursion through the Rocky Mountains.
This postcard produced by the Denver and Rio Grande railroad was one of the many promotional postcards produced as part of the See America First movement. Postcard from the author’s personal collection.

Postcards like the one shown above were instrumental in advancing the aims of the See America First movement. Postcards like this one served two purposes: to reinforce in the tourist’s mind the importance of their personal journey out west, and to engender interest for future trips by the recipients of postcards sent by western tourists.

See America First postcard promoting modern travel by rail.
Postcards like the ones in this series were explicit in promoting American tourism, the technological progress made by America in a short period of time, and America’s status as a modern nation worthy of visitation via modern transportation technology. Postcard from the author’s personal collection.

These postcards, sold to tourists as souvenirs, were explicit in their mission of promoting America. Often focusing on the western United States, these materials promoted American natural wonders as destinations on par with anything in Europe. See America First postcards hailed hallmarks of the western American natural environment as the “cathedrals of America,” that were as worthy of visitation as any castle or capital city outside the U.S. Likewise, these postcards also promoted America as a fully modern nation commanding a continent through transportation technology and systems like transcontinental railroads. In this view, America not only had wild natural splendors worthy of visitation, but the modern means to whisk tourists to these destination with ease – all to the benefit of American tourism promoters.

The postcard as a means of correspondence, remembrance, or promotion has largely died out. In many ways serving as the canary in the coal mine for written correspondence and national postal services in general, the postcard along with hand-written letters, has largely been replaced by newer communication mechanisms like email and social media. Digital photography and Instagram eliminated the need to buy postcard packs to commemorate vacations. However, for a time, postcards played an instrumental role not only in personal tourism memory making, but in ushering in fundamental aspects of American identity like the ubiquitous family vacation out west.

[1] Marguerite S. Shaffer, See America First: Tourism and National Identity, 1880-1940 (Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2001), 1-6, 130-168. Warren James Belasco, Americans on the Road: From Autocamp to Motel, 1910-1945 (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1979), 3-40.

[2] Shaffer, See America First, 5-6.

[3] Ibid., 7-39.

[4] Ibid., 219.

[5] Ibid., 264.

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1926-Era Route 66

The photograph below is of a portion of the 1926 alignment of U.S. Route 66 just east of Ash Fork, Arizona. This alignment of the road is several miles north of the post-war alignment that was replaced by I-40.

The road is much narrower than later versions. It has two traffic lanes but the paved portion of the road would have just been wide enough for passenger cars of the era to pass each other. Encountering a truck would have required a drive to pull over to the side of the road to allow it to pass. Pavement is the typical reddish colored macadam of the era. There are no paved shoulders or curbs throughout this section.

Route 66 east of Ash Fork, Arizona
Route 66 east of Ash Fork, Arizona (1926 Alignment)
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Could new legislation lead to a Route 66 economic revival?

Frontier Motel Sign

I wrote an article for The Conversation about Route 66 and the amendment of the National Trails System Act to add Route 66 as a federally recognized historic trail. Federal recognition brings historic preservation and economic development benefits to communities along the route.

Federal recognition will go a long way to allow places like Peach Springs, Arizona to capitalize on their history to rebuild their economies after the interstate bypass decimated them.

This old gas station, for example, qualifies for the National Register of Historic Places. This amendment could help deliver resources to get it listed and preserved.

Abandoned Standard Oil Station in Peach Springs, Arizona
An abandoned Standard Oil gas station in Peach Springs, Arizona

Read the article here: http://theconversation.com/could-new-legislation-lead-to-a-route-66-economic-revival-98601

 

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Housing Styles In The San Juan – Marshall Neighborhood

This is an example of a house built in a style popular before WWII. This square-shaped style would be completely replaced by ramblers post-war.

This is a gallery of photographs showing the diversity in housing styles in the San Juan – Marshall neighborhood. Unlike most post-war neighborhoods, the San Juan – Marshall neighborhood was developed with a mix of housing styles including earlier pre-war styles, pre-war ramblers and post-war ramblers. The houses also reflect diversity in construction methods from traditional block to wood and stucco. This diversity in housing stock is evidence of how the neighborhood was a transitional place where the old methods of development were giving way to new post-war methods.

Gallery Wordpress