Rogue Columnist

Minds made up

Carl Muecke illustration.

When was the last time you changed your mind? Be honest.

I can think of a few times in my recent life. I was skeptical about human-caused climate change until I read Elizabeth Kolbert's seminal reporting on the subject in 2001. I changed my mind. When I was business editor of the Charlotte Observer, where we covered the major bank consolidations of the 1990s, I had misgivings. About the repeal of Glass-Steagall. But I was convinced the system was secure. When it nearly melted down in the Panic of 2008, I changed my mind. Being raised a Goldwater Republican in Arizona, I adamantly changed my mind in the coming years.

"When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?" to use a quote attributed to John Maynard Keynes.

But the evidence on the ground indicated that fewer Americans are willing to change their minds about anything.

More Phoenix in the 1930s

Phoenix went from Depression to a recovery earlier than most places thanks to abundant New Deal investments. Have a look in the photo time machine (click for a larger image):

The privately funded Agua Fria River Project, shown in this 1932 map, was derailed by the Great Depression. It sought to bring water to cultivate land all the way to the White Tank Mountains.

Thomas and Grand Avenue in the 1930s, the Alhambra Garage and a nearby grocery, with a Holsum Bakery truck making a delivery (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Boehmer's Cut-Rate Drugs in the Monihon Building at First Avenue and Washington Street in 1937. My fictional private investigator Gene Hammons has his office in this location (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Not quite blue

I watched tensely on Monday night as NBC News, CNN, and finally the Associated Press called the Arizona governor's race, with Katie Hobbs winning over Kari Lake. She will become the first Democratic governor here since Janet Napolitano.

But it was a close run thing, as the Duke of Wellington said of his triumph over Napoleon at Waterloo. Hobbs won by a mere 18,551 votes.

How could this be? Hobbs was Secretary of State, former state representative and state senator, a Phoenix native, very well qualified to be governor. Kari Lake was a former newsreader for the local Fox television station. She has no government or executive experience at all, was Trump anointed, an election denier, spreader of COVID disinformation, claiming President Biden had "a demonic agenda," and one-time Democrat. She called for putting Hobbs and journalists in jail (sound familiar?). Yet nearly 1.23 million voters were willing to go with her.

The answer lies in Arizona still being a hotspot of the Trump cult — the party of Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Barry Goldwater, Ronald Reagan, and John McCain is dead. Props to McCain for choosing Sarah Palin, a proto-Lake, as his running mate in 2008.

The old High Country

Before land swaps and subdivisions in the pines, before a Super Walmart in Payson and wildfires started by the likes of Valinda Jo Elliott, the Arizona High Country was wild and lightly populated. Click on a photo for a larger image:

Loggers working between Heber and Overgarrd in the late 19th century.

Pack mules heading into Payson, 1901 (ASU Archives).

The Payson General Store (ASU Archives).

 

Vote like your life depends on it

Carl Muecke illustration.

Because of Typepad problems I am late in posting this urgent plea.

Vote like your life depends on it. Don't believe the polls. Some are fake. All risk dampening Democratic turnout.

Vote like your life depends on it. If Republicans win one or both Houses of Congress next week, you won't recognize this country next year.

Vote like your life depends on it because today’s GOP is a radical nihilistic cult worshipping Donald Trump. Its the party of Ginni Thomas, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Ron DeSantis, Herschel Walker...of election deniers, those who would dismantle the safety net, privatize Social Security, switch Medicare to inadequate vouchers, and abandon Ukraine.

Vote like your life depends on it because there are no moderate Republicans.

Blog troubles

Typepad, which hosts Rogue Columnist, spent the weekend switching over to a different system. As a result, the blog was unavailable for most of that time. Now it's up but still buggy. Photos aren't loading (I have a help ticket in). You can check Typepad status on Twitter @typepad.

At 2:16 p.m., they reported: "The Typepad team is continuing to work to fully restore service. At this time, you may see issues such as blogs or images not loading, or you may encounter an error when logging into the application. We are working non-stop to address all remaining problems."

Meanwhile, check out Ruben's comment on the previous post:

"I started following Jon while he was still at the Republic. The reason he caught my eye was because he was offering common sense ideas to issues that challenged the community. At that time, the city, county, state and country were headed in a bad direction. Picture a graph where the line of progression is headed downward at a 45 degree angle. I must have been really naive at that time because I thought that the "powers that be" would see his ideas and take him up on his advice. Little did I know that they would do the opposite.

"Fast forward to now and we are still at a 45 degree downward angle and we are speeding faster and faster to who knows what hell awaits us.

"As to the blog, I would vote to keep it as a photo and memories site for us old folks. After millions and millions of words posted, WHICH CHANGED NOTHING, I vote we stop the political stuff which has tens of commentors who still try to sway a person here and there. Failure is never fun and I"m afraid that the overwhelming tide of uneducated, ignorant citizens have bulldozed us into the pit of irrelevance."

Living with drought

My new Gene Hammons Novel (a mystery due out in the next year or two) is set in 1936. In my research, I found that much of the Midwest and South suffered from a terrible drought, which claimed thousands of lives (separate from the Dust Bowl). But Arizona had plenty of rain that year — temperatures were also lower than today — and Phoenix was protected by the dams and reservoirs on the Salt River. And therein lies a tale.

 The population of Arizona was around 443,000 — fewer than live in today's Mesa. Phoenix clocked in at 55,000 or do, double that for the metropolitan area (remember, the city then was only around 17 square miles). Had today's mega-drought hit then, Phoenix would have been fine. Even with climate change.

But population growth has long been the primary driver of Phoenix's leadership. On the flag of the Arizona Republic in 1936 was a bug headlined "How Phoenix Grows!" listing population increases and building permits (The "flag" is the name of the paper atop the front page; the "masthead" lists the newspapers leadership, typically on the editorial page). So as of 2020, Arizona's population is 7.2 million, with Phoenix the nation's fifth most populous city — though far from No. 5 in other measures of quality and influence.

Russell Lee's Arizona

Russell Lee (1903-1986) is a photojournalist best known for his work with the New Deal's Farm Security Administration. Some of his work documenting Depression-era Phoenix is iconic. He also worked around Arizona circa 1939-40. Here's a sample from the Library of Congress:

An unknown location in the Apache National Forest in far eastern Arizona.

The Bird Cage Theater in Tombstone.

Office of the Tombstone Epitaph. It is the oldest continually published newspaper in Arizona.

Main Street in Bisbee.

What did I miss?

Carl Muecke illustration

Thanks for your patience. The novel is now completed and will be soon sent to the publisher. A few quick thoughts:

• It's astounding that the former local Fox newsreader Kari "Trump in a Dress" Lake stands a good chance of becoming Arizona's next governor. Or not. I've been skeptical of Arizona becoming a purple, much less blue state. For one thing, the GOP-controlled Legislature passed voter suppression laws, as I warned. And Hispanics are not a monolithic voting bloc. They don't want police defunded. Many are suspicious of woke Democratic virtue posturing.

• It's astounding that Republicans — the Party that Broke America with the Iraq war, Great Recession, and Trump — remain not only relevant but favored to win control of one or both houses of Congress. Trump could win the presidency again, in our last election. When Herbert Hoover and the GOP were blamed for the Great Depression (where I've been living writing the second Gene Hammons novel), the Republicans didn't win the White House for 20 years, and then under the moderate Ike. Not now.

• Similar astounding that Trump and his enablers have faced no consequences for the January 6th attack on the U.S. Capitol. Lake is an election denier.

Read on about this blog and its future:

 

Book break

I hate to do this, but with a deadline looming for my next novel I'm stepping away from Rogue Columnist until at least November. The exception might be if major news breaks. In the meantime, enjoy the archives and favorites, especially those on Phoenix history. Thanks for your support.

You may use this as an open thread for comments.

 

Death and life of Sunbelt cities

 

By Soleri

Guest Columnist

 

I hadn't been to Phoenix in several years, so my trip a couple of weeks ago was animated as much by curiosity as it was the desire to see old friends. I did know the city had more than recovered from the previous housing crash. Indeed, it was booming again. A dozen years ago, I predicted Phoenix would never recover from the crash. I don't like eating crow but if it's the sole item on the menu, so be it.

 

Much of what I did see made that crow taste better. Phoenix looked much healthier than when I moved to Portland in 2013.  The downtown had filled in with new high-rise apartment buildings and crowded clubs. The activity at night, in particular, was heartening to see.

 

What I didn't see were the thousands of "unhoused" mentally ill drug addicts who have turned much of Portland into a dystopian hellscape. Yes, street people were on the sidewalks of downtown Phoenix, but without the trash, tents, and drug paraphernalia that have so deeply damaged Portland. Phoenix is relatively litter-free and unmarred by graffiti.

 

Maybe it's the weather, or maybe it's because its political center of gravity is simply not in far-left field.

Grand Avenue

Grand Avenue never lived up to its splendid name. It continued as U.S. 60 from Van Buren Street northwest, picking up the companion Santa Fe Railway at 19th Avenue on the way to Wickenburg and eventually — in pre-Interstate days — to Los Angeles. Let's take a tour through the years. Click a photo for a larger image.

In 1892, this map shows Grand Avenue running to Glendale, Peoria, and beyond.

This 1915 map shows how Grand was the only street to break the ordinary street grid of Phoenix.

Narrow and under a shade canopy, here's Grand Avenue in the 1920s. Joseph John's Grocery at 1007 Grand (McCulloch Brothers Collection/ASU Archives).

Grand near Lateral 4 near Thomas Road, looking southeast, in the 1930s (McCulloch Brothers Collection/ASU Archives).

Another view of Grand and Thomas, circa 1930 (McCulloch Brothers Collection/ASU Archives).

The same location looking northwest in the 1940s (McCulloch Brothers Collection/ASU Archives).

Days of risk

Rogue Columnist attracts two distinct groups of readers. Those who want commentary ("a pen warmed up in hell") on politics, climate, current events, and Phoenix. The other is attracted to the history columns — and by far the most numerous clicking on the photo galleries. Today, I'll serve the first batch of readers.

As I write, Russian troops are massing on the borders of Ukraine and in response NATO is stepping up readiness, the United States has placed thousands of troops on "high alert," and, along with Britain, emptied out its embassies in Kyiv (Kiev), the Ukrainian capital.

At the risk of being labeled a Putin apologist, do we really want to go to war with Russia over Ukraine? I'm old enough to remember when every international challenge was seen through the lens of Munich, when British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain appeased Hitler and sold out Czechoslovakia. Appeasement was justified as avoiding "a quarrel in a far away country, between people of whom we know nothing..." in Chamberlain's words. He thought he secured "peace in our time." Churchill knew better: "You were given the choice between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor and you will have war."

This is not a Munich moment. Or is it — see the update.

More Valley towns

Another look at some of the distinct towns and villages of the Salt River Valley before the blob of sprawl consumed them. Click on a photo for a larger image:

Avondale:

Avondale street scene, 1946 (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Avondale Market and Schneider Drugs, 1945 (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Coldwater Drug Store featuring Phoenix's famous Donofrio's ice cream in the 1940s (Brad Hall collection).

The Avondale Southern Pacific depot, circa 1926 (Arizona Archives Online).
 

Buckeye:

Downtown Buckeye in the 1920s. Founded in 1888, it was originally named Sidney after the hometown of settler Malie Jackson. It was changed to Buckeye to honor his home state of Ohio (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Buckeye's Southern Pacific depot in an undated photo. The platform is for unloading boxcars. In 1926, completion of the SP Northern Main Line placed Buckeye on a transcontinental railroad.

Depression-era housing for cotton pickers in Buckeye.

Buckeye Union High School, built at Buckeye High School, built in 1921.

When Scottsdale was real

After I finished grade school at Kenilworth north of downtown Phoenix, we moved to Scottsdale (population 68,000) so I could attend Coronado High School. My mother was alarmed by news that a gang of teenagers had kicked a West High student nearly to death. I lucked out, going four years and graduating from one of the nation's best public secondary schools, with a superb fine arts program and academics. And I got to see Scottsdale before it became so rich and big and fake, Silicone Valley with its plastic surgery and a city limits reaching all the way to the Tonto National Forest.

Here's how "the West's Most Western Town" was in those decades. Most of the gallery is thanks to Brad Hall's collection. Click on a photo for a larger image:

Brown Avenue in the 1950s. Scottsdale's population was a little more than 2,000 in 1950.

The Lulu Belle at Scottsdale Road and Main Streets.

Main Street in the 1950s. It was much the same in the 1970s.

Year of living dangerously

Illustration by Carl Muecke

Everything that's good is at risk. Everything bad spreads and gets worse. 

It's difficult to avoid that conclusion, from my personal experience to the nation and the world. In Phoenix, Central Methodist Church — the "Mother of Arizona Methodism" for all the other congregations it established — is now just "Central Church." First it took away such comforting staples as the Apostles Creed, then ran out  the choir and excellent music program, shut the inspiring sanctuary and eliminated the traditional service with the glorious hymns — and has only a contemporary "Jesus, Java, and Jazz" service. I know all you smart agnostic and atheist readers don't care. I do.

The city keeps throwing down gravel and pavement, gutting shade trees, landscaping, and grass. It's ahistorical in the natural oasis of central Phoenix and adds to the deadly heat island. Newcomers lecture me that "we live in a desert" and "there's a drought." They don't care that investments in natural cooling such as shade trees keeps that water away from being wasted on more sprawl. I do.

And little indicates it will change in 2022. It will get worse. This is how we live now.

The art of American Eden

In the first half of the 20th century, the produce of the Salt River Valley traveled to customers in the east via refrigerated boxcars (reefers), iced before they left the Warehouse District packing houses and others in Glendale and Peoria, and along the route. But the wooden crates and later cardboard boxes were decorated with vivid illustrations that advertised the produce — and created a distinct art form. Almost all were done by anonymous artists.

Here is a sample. Click for a larger image:

A Christmas letter

Illustrations by Carl Muecke

Here we are, hurtling toward a Democratic shellacking in 2022. And based on the voter suppression laws being passed by Republican-controlled legislatures around the country, they may never be in power again. For example, the Arizona Legislature has stripped the Secretary of State of the ability to certify elections. Now the Legislature itself will decide electors — here comes Trump in 2024.

Electoral success depends on quick results by the Democrats, not only on infrastructure (which Trump never delivered) but also rebuilding the social-safety net and addressing climate change. Instead, the monstrous Sen. Joe Manchin has torpedoed much of President Biden's agenda. West Virginia is among the poorest states in the nation. It one of the biggest beneficiaries of Biden's Build Back Better programs, but no. Manchin revels in being essentially shadow president. The razor-thin Senate Democratic majority that leaves so much power in the hands of Manchin and Arizona's Sen. Kyrsten Sinema. Both should be Republicans for the damage they did. They are anything but centrists. But let's not forget the Democrat's self-inflicted wounds.

These are nicely encapsulated on Andrew Sullivan's Substack column. (It's well worth a subscription). Here's some of the salient points Sullivan makes:

More early Phoenix 3

Phoenix grew from 270 people in 1870 to 11,314 in 1910. Here's a gallery of our town before statehood. Most are from the Library of Congress or Brad Hall. Click on a photo for a larger image:

Phoenix in the 1870s. Lots of shade trees and not a palo verde in sight.

Twelve mule-team freight haulers at Montezuma Street (First Street) and Jefferson in 1880, before the railroads arrived. Look at all the shade trees.

Another view of how goods were delivered. This is at Maricopa Street (Second Street) and Jefferson.

The territorial capitol under construction in 1898.

And completed in 1901.

Adams Street east of Center, looking southeast circa 1890. It's near the future site of Switzers and Hanny's.

Looking northeast up Melinda's Alley near Mojave Street (First Avenue) and Monroe in the 1890s.

The Interstate 11 boondoggle

I don't know why they call the agency the Arizona Department of Transportation. It's the highway department, it's historic name. All it does is plan, build, expand, and maintain highways. No trains – Phoenix is the largest city in North America without intercity passenger rail. No commuter rail or light rail or transit. ADOT is all about highways. Behold its new creation.

Interstate 11 is planned to eventually run from Nogales to Reno, cutting the above swath through hundreds of miles of virgin desert as it winds to the west of Phoenix. I-11 could cost as much as $10 billion to build from Phoenix to Las Vegas alone. But this doesn’t include externalities: Air pollution, emissions that worsen climate change, loss of desert habitat, bladed desert plants, including increasingly vulnerable saguaros.

Kristen Mosbrucker in New Times reported on how the route will benefit Mike Ingram's holdings in Maricopa, as well as Douglas Ranch, acquired for $600 million by the Howard Hughes Corp. with Ingram and Jerry Colangelo as partners. Without freeways, this is worthless empty desert north and west of the White Tanks. With I-11, a goldmine — even though gold mines of the West play out quickly.

USS Arizona

Arizona had barely been in the union for two years when the keel was laid on battleship 39 (BB-39) at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, named after the 48th state. In attendance was Assistant Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Battleships were the premier capital ships of any navy and had been revolutionized by the 1906 launch of the Royal Navy's HMS Dreadnought, the first all-big-gun ship. It lost the smaller-caliber weapons of its predecessors in favor of batteries of deadly 12-inch guns that could hurl shells for miles. The ship took its name from Queen Elizabeth I's saying, "I will trust in God and dread nought." This gave the name to all classes of future battleships.

Arizona, according to the New York Times, would be "the world's biggest and most powerful, both offensively and defensively, superdreadnought ever constructed." It was armed with three batteries of three 14-inch big guns each, with a range of 12 miles. The armor belt at its widest (made by Krupp) measured 13.5 inches; the deck was also armored. She was 608 feet long and displaced nearly 30,000 tons, becoming at the time the largest ship in the fleet (today’s new Gerald R. Ford carrier is 100,000 tons and more than 1,000 feet long).

Arizona was launched in 15 months with 75,000 people in attendance, including the state's governor, George W.P. Hunt. Esther Ross of Prescott christened her with two bottles, one of sparking wine and another of water from Theodore Roosevelt Lake (the state had recently passed prohibition).

Phoenix's architectural icons

In an earlier column, I wrote about Phoenix's influential architects from Frank Lloyd Wright to Will Bruder (who decamped for Portland). Here is a gallery of the most iconic and beautiful structures from the past and present, from the McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives, Library of Congress, and Brad Hall. Click on a photo for a larger image.

The Fleming Building at First Avenue and Washington in 1938. It was completed in 1883, the most impressive building in the young town. Among its amenities: A basement bowling alley and two rooms as the first public library. It was demolished in the 1980s for the boxy Wells Fargo Building.

The State Capitol at 17th Street and Washington, completed in 1901 as the territorial capitol. The Legislature never funded a replacement statehouse, although architecturally compatible additions were made. Modernistic structures for the House and Senate were added in the 1960s, and the scene was marred by the 1974 Executive Tower behind it. The Capitol is now a museum with its copper dome.

The Center Street Bridge, first span across the Salt River connecting farmers with the city and its railroads. Completed in 1911, it was claimed to be the longest reinforced concrete bridge in the world.

The Hotel Adams, built to replace an 1896 wooden structure that burned in 1910. It was demolished in the mid-1970s for today's Renaissance Hotel (first named the new Hotel Adams).

Some Phoenix then and now

If you're a Phoenician of a certain age, you've seen tremendous change to the cityscape. Here are a few thanks to the McCulloch Bros. Collection in the ASU Archives and Brad Hall's collection. Click on the photo for a larger image.

McDowell and Central:

1940.

1959 with the Phoenix Civic Center.

2020 with infill, light rail, the Phoenix Art Museum, and Midtown skyscrapers.

Writing off the news

I know some friends of the blog are unenthusiastic when I post galleries of Phoenix history. But history is one of Rogue Columnist's missions. And the traffic goes through the roof. People love the photos. But back to the serious stuff.

The New York Times did an in-depth look at the astonishing lack of care in advance of the deadly crowd trampling at the rapper's concert on Friday. It says in part:

Concert organizers and Houston city officials knew that the crowd at a music festival planned by Travis Scott, a favorite local rapper turned megastar, could be difficult to control. That’s what happened two years earlier, the last time Mr. Scott held his Astroworld Festival.

For months, they braced themselves, adding dozens more officers from the Houston Police Department and more private security hired by Live Nation, the concert organizer.

The Houston police chief, who knows Mr. Scott personally and felt the musician had been trying to do good for his hometown, said that he visited Mr. Scott in his trailer before his show on Friday and conveyed concerns about the energy in the crowd, according to a person with knowledge of the chief’s account.

But I urge you to read the whole thing here. I'll wait.

Valley towns

Even into the 1960s, the towns of the Salt River Valley were distinctive and separated from each other as well as from Phoenix. Let's take a photo tour (click for a larger image):

Glendale:

The Gillette Building at 58th Drive and First Avenue looking toward the Santa Fe Railway tracks and Grand Avenue in 1910 (Brad Hall collection).

The same location in the 1920s (Brad Hall collection).

Main Street seen in the 1930s when the town's population was about 3,700 (Brad Hall collection).

Looking north on 58th Drive, including Safeway, the Plaza Theater, and city hall in 1942 (Brad Hall collection).

The sugar beet factory circa 1940 (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

First Avenue (58th Drive) looking north (Brad Hall collection).

Grant Woods, an appreciation

The spontaneous outpouring of grief on news of Grant Woods' death at 67, too too young, is a measure of the man. We'll never see the same for Doug Ducey or Kyrsten Sinema or almost any Arizona pol you can name. Something similar might happen for Janet Napolitano or Terry Goddard, but this is an elite club.

Woods and I became friends when I returned to Phoenix in 2000 as a columnist for the Arizona Republic. A graduate of Mesa's Westwood High, we had long-running jokes because I had graduated from rival Coronado High in Scottsdale. He was a valuable off-the-record source and I knew the score. He'd already been ridden out of the Republican Party as a RINO. The state party had been radicalized since he was Attorney General from 1990 to 1999.

He was an outlier from the start, forcing the eccentric Bob Corbin from the primary and emphasizing civil rights, including a Martin Luther King Jr. holiday. Gov. Evan Mecham had repealed his predecessor, Bruce Babbitt's holiday proclamation in 1987. The holiday didn't become state law until 1992.

Lost opportunities

Carl Muecke illustration.

So this is where are: People are refusing to take vaccinations. Religious exemptions? Health worries? The vaccinations don't work? None of those hold water. The common denominator is these are Trump Republicans (and Trump controls the GOP). His administration's Operation Warp Speed is responsible for the tempo and effectiveness of the vaccinations. He could declare a genuine accomplishment. But the goal is destruction of the Biden presidency, retaking the White House in 2024 and Republicans retaking the Congress next year. All of these appear likely.

One reason is the vote suppression and state gerrymandering thanks to Republican-controlled statehouses. Another is Biden's agenda stuck in Congress, in no small measure because of Sens. Krysten Sinema and Joe Manchin, only nominally Democratic. Finally is the far left of the Democratic Party with an agenda of defunding the police, allowing a rise in crime, encouraging "the homeless crisis," and pulling down statues. Wokeness might play in blue islands such as Seattle, but it's poison for winning national elections.

If the Republicans retake Congress, say goodbye to infrastructure, addressing climate change, and rebuilding the social safety net. The GOP operates in lockstep discipline. The Democrats are unable to slowly win legislative victories — something the New Deal accomplished even with commanding Democratic majorities in the Congress of the 1930s.

Neon Phoenix

Nothing said magic and excitement in an American city more than neon during the first half of the 20th century. The Great White Way in New York City. Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles. Ocean Drive in Miami Beach. Chicago's Magnificent Mile. In New Orleans, Bourbon Street.

Neon was found widely — from Route 66 to old Las Vegas. Today, with a few lucky exceptions, much of it has been replaced by bland, but easier to maintain signage or consigned to museums out of context. But it had particular beauty and sexiness in a city. This was true even of a small city such as Phoenix.

The challenge for the visual historian is finding color images, even though Kodak introduced Kodachrome film in 1935. Finding them, at least for Phoenix. Here's what I've got (click on the photo for a larger image):

Neon lights up Donofrio's Cactus Candy store on Central, 1915 (McCulloch Bros./ASU Archives).

The Rialto Theater on Washington Street west of Central in 1921 (McCulloch Bros. collection/ASU Archives).

A ribbon on neon on Central Avenue in the 1940s. Even the billboard above the coffee shop for Schlitz beer features neon.

The extremists

Gage Skidmore photo

Will Rogers quipped, "I am not a member of any organized political party. I am a Democrat." This was during the 1930s, when FDR's New Deal was made possible by an uneasy coalition of northern and midwestern big-city party bosses, unions, farmers, and Southern segregationists. Somehow it worked and the nation was saved.

Now, at another moment of national peril, the Democrats are not merely disorganized but deeply divided and nobody's laughing. Their time to make constructive moves on historic public investments in infrastructure, improve living standards, and return to progressive taxation is running down. If they fail and we get a Republican-controlled Congress next year and Donald Trump’s second term in 2024, we'll know who to blame.

In the past I've been willing to cut Sen. Kyrsten Sinema a break, tacking right sometimes to be viable in a red-purple state. It's in the "pinto" tradition of Arizona Democrats such as Carl Hayden. But in the Biden years, she's hardened into an extremist, deliberately blocking the president’s agenda when Democrats have momentary control of both houses of Congress. Like West Virginia Sen. Joe Manchin, she's no "centrist." She's a destructive force who might as well be a Republican. And, like Manchin, she stands to profit from industries that oppose the Biden budget.

And they aren't the only ones.

The 2000s

I'll wrap up the series of decade history columns (twenties, thirties, forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, nineties, and 'teens) with a look at Phoenix from 2000 to 2009.  This one is different because I was an active participant in many of the events, having returned home as a columnist for the Arizona Republic. Caveat lector.

Phoenix and Arizona roared into the new century on a historic wave of growth in the 1990s. The city's population topped a million for the first time, clocking in at more than 1.3 million in the 2000 Census and surpassing San Diego as the nation's sixth most-populous city.

All seemed to confirm the near constant, mysterious levitation of growth, despite the downturn in 1990 foreshadowed by the 1988 Barron's "Phoenix descending" report. The Greater Phoenix Economic Council (GPEC) had established high-end clusters to cultivate. But having worked in San Diego, Dayton, Denver, Cincinnati, and Charlotte, I was concerned and started asking questions.

For one thing, the big local election issue was Prop. 202, an initiative that would have required (very loose) growth boundaries. Early polling showed it leading among respondents. And the real-estate interests went crazy, labeling it "the Sierra Club initiative, ripping down supportive signs, and economist/developer Elliott Pollack darkly warning that if it passed a devastating recession would result.

The warpath ahead

Illustration by Carl Muecke.

One of the interesting parts of Michael Crow's empire is the Center on the Future of War, dedicated to exploring "the social, political, economic, and cultural implications of the changing character of war and conflict." With a faculty led by Peter Bergen, a CNN analyst and leading scholar on terrorism, and Daniel Rothenberg, former Managing Director of International Projects at the International Human Rights Law Institute at DePaul University, we're a long way from little Tempe Normal. The UA — or UArizona as they would have it — has nothing to compare.

Crow has a genius for going where the action is, particularly where money can be found in a state that shamefully underfunds higher education. And even with the end of the "Forever War" with President Biden's withdrawal from Afghanistan (that and Iraq were not our longest conflict; that prize goes to the Indian wars of the 19th century), America's seeming hunger for war isn't going away.

The Pentagon, think tanks, and cottage industry of military journalism have us aiming at China, with runners up Russia and Iran. As for the first two, war with nuclear-armed adversaries: What could go wrong? Brown University’s Watson Institute estimates direct costs from the “war on terror” to be 929,000 deaths and a federal price tag of $8 trillion.

Downtown through the years

Follow this visual history of downtown Phoenix through the decades. I use the historic boundaries of downtown: Fillmore Street to the north; the railroad tracks to the south; Seventh Avenue and Seventh Street to west and east respectively. Click on a photo to see a larger image.

The early 1900s:

Looking east on Washington Street from the Ford Hotel. Redewill's music store was owned by the family that built the 1914 bungalow where we lived in Willo in the 2000s. We placed an Interior Department National Register of Historic Places plaque on it, the A.C. Redewill House.

The twenties:

Central Avenue heading south from Monroe Street, with the Hotel Adams the multi-story building on the left, and Central Methodist Church (ME, South), Heard Building, and Luhrs Building on the right.

Second Avenue and Washington in 1929. The awnings are on the red-brick Fleming Building. From left to right in the distance are the new Hotel Westward Ho, the Professional Building, and the Hotel Adams annex (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

Read more about this decade here.

How to read the news

Penelope Abernathy at the University of North Carolina has been tracking the expansion of "news deserts" in the United States — counties with no local newspapers at all, and those with only one. Even the survivors are hanging on.

U.S. newspapers lost 48 percent of their journalists between 2008 and 2018, and the losses are now accelerated by the pandemic. More than 1,800 newspapers have closed since 2004. Arizona newspaper circulation dropped by 37% between 2004 and 2019. The Arizona Republic's circulation fell from nearly half a million at the turn of the century — 10th largest daily in the country — to 82,861 at the start of 2021.

Much of this this is because of the collapse of the old business model because of Craig's List and self-inflicted wounds. The trends reach further back. Circulation of all dailies peaked at more than 63 million in 1989. It was down to 46 million by 2009, then 26 million by 2020.

Many newspapers are now being sucked dry by hedge-fund owners. As a result, the most experienced journalists are being pushed out. What's left are cub reporters while institutional knowledge is lost. The alternative is television news/entertainment, which is typically a shooting, an auto collision, and Heather-with-the-weather. (An honorable exception is Brahm Resnik at 12 News, a newspaper-trained newsman).

Meanwhile, a gray area of news also exists. In Phoenix, this includes Cronkite News out of ASU, KJZZ, and AZ Big Media. Flagstaff and Tucson are served by Arizona Public Media. Each of these have plusses and minuses.

This situation has profound implications for a self-governing society. Only real journalism exposes corruption, shines a light on self-serving politicians, explains complicated issues, and knits together civil society. Let's look at how to read the news — I've been a reporter, editor, and columnist for nearly four decades.

Growing up, in photos

I wrote a column in 2010 about growing up in central Phoenix in the 1960s. Along with the old city column, they sum up an experience that few had, fewer still remember. Now I have enough photos to show a bit what my lost world looked like. 

Me around the age of five, taken at the Ramada Inn on east Van Buren.

The house on west Cypress in today's Willo Historic District, looking much as it did when I grew up with my mother and grandmother. It's also David Mapstone's house in the Mapstone Mysteries (Willo Historic District photo).

Central and Palm Lane looking south. I was baptized and confirmed in Central Methodist Church in the foreground, and spent hours in the central library, middle left (Brad Hall collection).

The Census

So Phoenix is officially the nation's fifth most populous city, surpassing Philadelphia in the 2020 Census. Much information and analysis awaits unpacking.

Phoenix grew 11.2% over the decade, the biggest increase of the 10 largest cities. Yet this was the second-slowest percentage growth rate in the city's history; only the 9.4% from 2000 to 2010, hobbled by the housing bust, was slower. By contrast, the city grew by more than 34% in the 1990s.

The contest with the City of Brotherly Love was close. Phoenix clocked in with 1,608,139 only 4,342 more than Philly. The latter also continued to reverse its population loss, growing at 5.1 percent. Philadelphia benefited from the "back to the city" movement, where talented millennials and empty nest boomers chose vibrant, high-quality cities and corporate headquarters followed.

Maps of Phoenix

When I was a child, I loved to get the maps from my Great Aunt's monthly National Geographic magazines. And the Arizona Room at the Phoenix Public Library had more maps, but of the state and city. 

Now Phoenix is the nation's fifth most populous city and runs nearly into Yavapai County. Here's a snapshot of how it got there (click on the map for a larger image). 

Arizona Territory, 1895.
 

1867: No Phoenix yet, and no railroads. The Overland Mail Route follows rugged country to the south past Maricopa Wells.

1881: The original. township. with two public squares. The north-south streets are named, not numbered.

1892: The Salt River Valley with platted land and canals (Mostly Hohokam).

1884: Phoenix in the center of a multi-county map. The Gila and Salt River Base Line is prominent. It governed the surveys of Arizona Territory and became Baseline Road.

Phoenix's Art Deco gems

Art Deco architecture flowered in America in the 1920s and 1930s, epitomized by New York's Chrysler Building and the Los Angeles City Hall. Phoenix, population 29,053, was too small to gain as much as Deco fans like me would have wished. But it managed to preserve most of its masterpieces of the era.

Here they are (click on the photo for a larger image):

The Luhrs Tower:

When most people think of Phoenix Deco they think of this 14-story masterpiece, the brain child of George Luhrs Jr. and connected to the Luhrs Building by an arcade. Located at First Avenue and Jefferson Street, it was designed by Trost & Trost of El Paso.

Ground zero II

Carl Muecke illustration

In Phoenix this past weekend, Trump said, "If I lost the election, I could handle it pretty easily. But when they steal it from you and rig it, that’s not easy, and we have to fight!"

The location and big-lie language are no random coincidence. For the past several months the Republican-controlled state Senate has been conducting an "audit" of Maricopa County ballots. The goal is to show the presidential election was stolen here from Trump (When Fox "News" called Arizona for Biden, something approved by Rupert Murdoch himself, Trump exploded).

The "stolen election" and the January 6th insurrection to prevent the results from being certified by Congress, is a national Republican narrative. But, as with climate change, Arizona is ground zero.

The deeper consequence of the "audit" is to kneecap Arizona from turning purple or blue. It sets a blueprint by which any future election that goes Democratic can be challenged and even reversed. No wonder Republicans from other states have been watching closely and trying to install their own "audits."

It's not the only way Republicans are working to ensure they maintain power, whatever the changing demographics and politics of the nation.

Eden in photographs

One of the most popular columns on this site is American Eden. Before red-tile-roof subdivisions built at an acre an hour. Before pavement, gravel, and longer, hotter summers, the Salt River Valley was an agricultural empire. Anything would grow here — just add water — and we shipped it across the country. Also, compared with today's 10,000-mile supply chain, we could feed ourselves.

Here's a sampling of images. Click on one for a larger view. Most are from the McCulloch Bros. Collection at the ASU Archives.

Fruit stands were ubiquitous into the 1970s. This stood at 41st Street and Baseline Road.

The Sunny Hills Fruit Stand at 32nd Street and Baseline in the 1960s.

Another one at 51st Street and McDowell in the 1960s. Phoenicians could ship fresh oranges and grapefruits to family and friends (Brad Hall collection).

Alfalfa fields in 1923.

Ground zero

Have you noticed how many stories are generated out of Phoenix and Arizona by big national news organizations, including the New York Times, Washington Post, and Los Angeles Times? This is a big change from the days when we operated in relative obscurity. It is also no coincidence.

For one thing, the state is so different from the one I grew up in: 1.3 million population in 1960 vs. 7.2 million in 2020. Arizona was the 35th most populous state in the union in 1960. Now No. 14 — the third largest in the West — and Phoenix is the fifth most populous city. With size comes scrutiny.

But more important is that many of the crises of the future are being played out here. Climate change. Border pressures. Demographic shifts. The crisis of political legitimacy and our experiment in self-government. We have a front-row seat and are players. Yes, I'm happy for the Suns (and that the arena contract requires the team to keep the city name) and for the center-city infill. Happy for light rail (WBIYB).

But all is not well. Indeed, it's shocking how dark the future looks — and Arizona is ground zero.

Churches of early Phoenix

Phoenix in the 1880s boasted 16 saloons and four dance halls on Washington Street's notorious Whiskey Row. But as the town grew, the number of churches weren't too far behind. Here are a few (click the image for a larger photo):

Central Methodist was the oldest Protestant church in Phoenix, founded in 1872.

The postcard shows it in 1904 at Central and Monroe Street. It was founded by the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, part of the Methodist split before the Civil War. North and South churches reunited in 1939.

Here's the building in 1942 although the congregation has moved farther north on Central (McCulloch Bros. Collection/ASU Archives).

The state of the state

Carl Muecke illustration

For all the talk about Arizona being flipped from red to blue, or at least purple, the reality on the ground is far different. That's because the most powerful branch of government, the Legislature, remains under Republican control — as it has for decades. The same situation is at work in the governor's office, where Doug Ducey is in his (term-limited) final stretch.

The most obvious result has been the "audit" of Maricopa County ballots, ordered by the Republican-run state Senate. Even if it eventually "validates" the election of Joe Biden as president, it has become a template for Republicans around the country and for any future elections they lose. It's hard to overstate the menace this presents to our experiment in self-government.

At the same time, the Legislature pressed two dozen voter suppression bills, intended to ensure that they continue to rule — widespread voting is the enemy of Republicans. One crafty measure will automatically purge by-mail voters who do not vote every two years. This happened even with mail voting widely popular in the state. Ducey took only a few hours before signing it into law.

Meanwhile, the body blows keep coming with such ferocity that it's difficult to keep up (see the daily headline links under "Phoenix and Arizona" to the left. The challenge is compounded by the hollowing out of local newspapers.

When the river ran free

The Salt River flows without the impediment of upstream dams, pre-1911 (Tempe History Museum).

The first settlers to the region found a Salt River running as it had for millennia, free from its headwaters in the White Mountains to the northeast 200 miles to its meeting with the Gila River southwest of modern Phoenix.

The river had sustained the most advanced irrigation civilization in the pre-Columbian New World, although mysteriously gone for 500 years. The River brought not only with water, but also some of the planet's richest alluvial soil to its valley. Anything would grow here. These pioneers, especially Jack Swilling who saw the potential of the abandoned Hohokam canals and hired miners from Wickenburg to clean them out, hoped it would do the same for them.

There was, however, a catch. The Salt was a fickle river. It could run at a healthy flow much of the year, then turn nearly dry at the height of summer, interspersed with floods that destroyed the primitive diversion dams and irrigation systems of the pioneers. Archaeologists estimate that great floods had occurred on the river for two million years.

Floods hit in 1880, 1884, 1886, and 1889. The 1890s, when my family arrived, were particularly tough years. Against a backdrop of national "panics" (financial recessions), the Salt River rampaged and nearly dried up. The 1890 flood was followed a year later by a monster that breached its banks by miles, nearly reaching the Phoenix townsite and inundating crops.

The pioneers began to wonder if they would go the way of the Hohokam.

Signs and wonders

The media love to fixate on the "bathtub ring" of a diminishing Lake Mead. America's largest reservoir, contained by Hoover Dam, is at its lowest level since it first filled in the late 1930s. It's a potent sign of climate change. So is the expected string of record heat broiling central Arizona this week.

It makes me wonder, though. In 1960, Phoenix had a population of 439,170. The city encompassed 185 square miles. Importantly, it was entirely watered by the dams of the Salt River Project, providing a renewable source from snow runoff in watersheds that ran from the Coconino Plateau to the New Mexico border.

Looking back, that was probably peak sustainability for Phoenix. It looked like this:

Washington through the years

No east-west street was more important to early Phoenix than the one named after our first president. It carried streetcars, was the heart of the business district, held important buildings, and was movie-theater row. Washington remains the north-south dividing line for street addresses (Central is east-west). Let's take a tour through time.

1901: A dusty road with horses and mule-drawn streetcars.

1904: The Indian and Cowboy Carnival Parade.

1905: At First Street looking west.

The data center hustle

Data centers becoming dominant force in Mesa," reads the headline on a recent East Valley Tribune story. The lede: "It may never rival Silicon Valley, but Mesa is fast becoming Data Center Alley." 

This "Alley" isn't transforming struggling west Mesa and it's nowhere near the light-rail line. Instead, it's centered on the "Elliott Avenue Technology Corridor" in far southeast Mesa, the location of agriculture, desert, and the former Williams Air Force Base. Now, with abundant concrete, gravel, and asphalt, it will expand the increasingly dangerous Phoenix urban heat island. The "Corridor" is entirely car dependent.

Data centers are lowest on the ladder of the tech economy: necessary, but bringing few jobs — much less high-end jobs — and several headaches. This is why they are usually found in rural areas desperate to replace their lost millwork, manufacturing, or railroad jobs. States and localities shell out huge incentives and disappointment follows.

But to see the proliferation of data centers in a city the size of Mesa (518,000 in 2019), in the 10th most populous metropolitan area in the nation, is curious.

Duke and more Ponzi dreams

The news from my old 'hood is the pending demise of the Duke Photography building on the southwest corner of Seventh Street and Thomas. The Arizona Republic reported the building is set to be demolished and a Raising Cane's Chicken Fingers drive-thru built on the site. Duke is moving to the First Federal Building on Central in Midtown, taking its sign with it.

This is wrong for so many reasons, no wonder nearby neighborhood associations are opposing it ahead of a June 17th virtual public hearing. One big concern is increased traffic, including dangerous turns on Seventh, which has been widened and had "suicide lanes" added for rush hour. A Kentucky Fried Chicken drive-thru on the northwest corner already causes collisions.

Beyond that, while the building is modest it fits into the remaining fabric of the streetscape. The Raising Cane would be another soulless off-the-shelf building, made for cars not for pedestrians. If the company really wanted to be a good neighbor, as it claims, it would build something appropriate to the nearby historic districts. Too many losses have already been allowed, notably the replacement of John Sing Tang's iconic Helsing's at Central and Osborn — right up to the street — by a Walgreens, set back by a surface parking lot and surrounded by a low wall, gravel, and rocks.

Downtown's pivotal 1970s

Between the long series of civic missteps that murdered downtown Phoenix and its recent rebirth of sorts, the 1970s loom large. As the decade began — shown in the photo above — much of corporate Arizona and the energy of the city had shifted to Midtown. 

The city opened the brutalist Phoenix Civic Plaza (so named because the Phoenix Civic Center was at Central and McDowell with the library, art museum, and "little theater"). The new complex offered a convention center, Symphony Hall, and sun-blasted open space. It was intended to revive downtown, but its "super blocks" destroyed the fine-grained, human-scale of the old urban fabric, including much of the Deuce. That fabric was characterized by eight or nine steps between doorways to shops or offices shaded by awnings.

Walter Bimson of Valley National Bank gave downtown a vote of confidence, insisting the new headquarters tower be build there rather than at Central and Osborn. The other big banks followed. Two new hotels were also built. But it was a catastrophic 10 years for historic preservation. The gallery below tells some of the story. Click on a photo for a larger image.

A rendering of Phoenix Civic Plaza. The shade trees in the foreground of Symphony Hall never happened, leaving an uninviting frying pan. It did show the concert hall's signature lobby chandeliers to advantage, lost now to the new Convention Center.

Arizona putsch

Carl Muecke illustration

If you've been following the daily links here on Phoenix and Arizona news (left), you know the GOP-controlled state Senate is conducting an "audit" of Maricopa County's 2020 presidential votes. It was here that President Biden pulled out his narrow victory.

As the Washington Post reported, the review "has been undertaken using an opaque, often inscrutable process, outside of the close view of objective third parties and with the assistance of obviously motivated actors, such as a former legislator who was at the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6." Republicans now say 40,000 ballots were flown in, including from Asia written on bamboo. I am not making this up.

The most obvious insular lesson is that Arizona's status as a blue or purple state is unsettled as long as the Republicans control the Legislature, the most powerful branch of state government.

But what's happening here has profound national implications, too. Amid a push in Georgia, Florida, Texas, and other states to suppress voting, Arizona is taking it a step further. If an election's outcome is not what the GOP apparatchiks desire, the Legislature will intervene post facto. The goal is to overturn the result or, failing that, sow doubt about the election's legitimacy. Never mind that this was the election that put these lawmakers in office, too. Meanwhile, the GOP raises money and keeps the base ginned up for the critical 2022 mid-terms.

We can't have a functioning experiment in self-governance if the losing side refuses to accept the results of elections. John Adams was angry over the 1800 election but he peacefully transferred power to his bitter rival (and former and later dear friend) Thomas Jefferson. This path leads to civil war. Discuss.

 

 

Early Phoenix mapped

One of the most interesting sources of information on early Phoenix can be found on the Library of Congress' Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps. The Sanborn Map Co. produced detailed maps of 12,000 U.S. cities and towns, detailing not only buildings but in many their construction materials so insurers could assess their risks.

Below I have some views of Phoenix, one in 1911 and the remainder from 1949, focused on Union Station and the Warehouse District. Click for a larger image.