A Disturbing Confluence

It is no secret to readers of this blog that I have a fascination with the legend and legacy of Wyatt Earp. In my younger days I thrilled to the story of the lawman who, when the outlaws attacked his family, took the law into his own hands and annihilated the bad guys while riding the vengeance trail. Later years a more mature outlook has entered my Earpophilia and I have begun to notice an unsavory connection to America’s gun problem and the western movies about Wyatt and others. This trait excuses extra-legal means of resolving a dispute by means of homicide. From the notorious “stand your ground” laws of Florida to the widespread embrace of the former Orange Skinned Occupant of the Oval Office, those who buy into this myth have brought the vigilante ethic into our current political discourse.

I am thinking about this after a brief stop in Tombstone yesterday with my son. All along Allen Street the shops formerly selling Wyatt memorabilia have taken a decidedly ugly turn in offering right-wing inspired threats stamped on the Chinese manufactured t-shirts they sell. As disturbing as this trend is, the ultimate symbol of the symbiotic relationship between western myth and contemporary politics can be seen right outside of town. Some enterprising troglodyte has opened up a store which offers nothing but MAGA merchandise, and the sign above the establishment stands as a metaphor for all that is vile in this mindset. This weekend will mark the 93rd observance of Tombstone's "Helldorado Days" celebration. I cannot imagine that the crowd they will attract will resemble anything I remember from my childhood experiences at the "Town Too Tough to Die." God help us all.

Gotcha!

Every five years a group of friends who met for the first time in Flagstaff during the early 1970s meets in that city for the "Old Main Reunion." Named after the iconic structure on the Northern Arizona University campus, the reunion is not only for those who lived in Old Main dormitory.

A large portion of the attendees never spent the night in the old building, and a few more never even finished their degrees at the school. A strange bond exists between the members of this loose organization, though, and most would overcome any obstacle to attend the event. (Indeed, one of our most cherished members came after he was given only weeks to live by his physicians. He was warmly received.) The first Old Main Reunion was held in 1991, about twenty years after the events we gathered to remember. Other meetings occurred in 1996, 2001, 2006, 2011, 2016, and ... well, 2021 was during the darkest days of the pandemic so we postponed until this year, 2022.

Like schoolboys in an English boarding academy, many of our friends have nicknames; Stu, Zeke, Mambo, Burnt, and Crazy Dave to name a few. My own appellation has always been "Colonel," but I can scarcely remember if I named myself this in high school or in college. The title was certainly not bestowed on me by any of our group and I am sure my vanity in my college years inspired me to continue the nickname. Regardless, I am still addressed in this fashion today by my friends and as embarassing as it sounds, I haven't the heart to insist on dropping the rank. Many of the others in our group readily adopt their own nicknames once we are together again. It is amazing to see what became of this unruly band of 18-20 year olds after nearly fifty years. A livestock inspector, a banker, a postman, an electrician, and even an Arizona county attorney can be found in our circle (most of whom are now retired).

The festivities kicked off with the rollicking, backslapping gathering at the Monte Vista Hotel in downtown Flagstaff. This antique hotel was originally chosen by us in 1991 because it had a funky,

neglected vibe very much like our old dormitory. Since then, the Monte Vista has been rennovated more than a few times and has evolved into a nightlife hotspot for the NAU students and other young people. As a result, it is a noisy and boisterous place where sleep is sometimes difficult to gain, but it is ideal for a gathering point for our group. Situated in the center of downtown, the Monte Vista also has a couple of park benches on the sidewalk outside their auxiliary saloon. It is here than many gathered between the official events just to stand around and shoot the bull. After initally greeting one another at the hotel, we made our way to the campus where, surpisingly enough, the old student union adjacent to Old Main has now become a rather fancy restaurant, operated by students who are in the hospitality/culinary studies program at the university. The meal was good, but the company was better, with many attendees who were not staying at the Monte Vista showing up as the evening progressed. The "1889" Bar and Grill had set up our dining area on the patio directly facing Old Main. I doubt a more ideal spot for our opening venue could have been chosen. There followed, on a rainy, cool

Saturday afternoon, a picnic held at Buffalo Park, the same location we chose to film an amateur silent western movie in 1974. In past reunions we have always gone to Hart Prairie, but most of the attendees were glad to switch locations after considering what wretched shape the dirt road to our usual spot must have been after days of rainfall. The barbeque was a great success, and everyone enjoyed watching the clouds drift slowly in, obscuring for a moment the spendid view of Humphreys Peak. By the time Sunday morning rolled around we were all again on the steps of Old Main to bid each other goodbye, but only after agreeing to do the event again in four years, 2026, to get us back on proper pre-Covid schedule.

You are likely now wondering what the title of this essay has to do with the bulk of its composition. Simply put, I arrived home with an active infection of Covid-19 after all this, but so far I have heard from no one else who has also fell ill. My own symptoms are quite mild, likely as a result of my initial vaccination and two booster shots, but I am also taking the anti-viral drug recommended for those who contract the disease. So, yes, after more than two years, and a long, hard fight with West Nile, the Covid virus finally said "gotcha" to me.

But It's A Dry Heat...

We just returned from a glorious two night camping trip at Mount Lemon's Rose Canyon Lake campground. Over 7,000 feet above sea level, this magical spot is less than an hour's drive from our house. Indeed, I spend more time getting our little trailer ready for the trip than I actually do driving it. This trip was spectacular, with a heavy rainstorm washing over our camp for nearly an hour and a half, moisture that those in Tucson some 5,000 feet below can only dream of. The nights were cool and blissfully quiet, too. This oasis from the heat is something we will be using a lot in the coming weeks.

This afternoon it is 107 degrees fahrenheit at our little adobe house on Fort Lowell, and our air conditioner is working mightily to keep us in at least a range of comfort. I remember as a child growing up in Tucson that the summers were hot, but not unbearably so. How things change when one reaches their sixth decade of life. I now dread going outside at midday, and take my morning walks prior to sunrise. Lest you feel that is the "cool" time let me add that often it does not get below 86 degrees in any twenty-four hour period during mid-summer here.

I do not despair of our choice of a retirement home, but I do reserve the right to complain about the grueling heat. I simply lack the stamina to do anything when it is this hot, and spend my days writing, reading, or watching the endless selections available on our streaming internet service. But wait, I can do SOMETHING, and that is hook up our little trailer and make that fifty minute drive up the mountain for a day or two of rest and relief! I know next week we will be doing the exact same thing.

I will leave this entry with a photograph of our little trailer, our mountain cabin that allows us the freedom to escape this inferno for a day or two.

Morning Constitutional

One of the major contributors to both my personal health recovery and the enjoyment of living in Tucson is our home’s close proximity to the Chuck Huckelberry loop. Named after a prominent home-grown Pima County administrator, the loop is a system of 136 miles of paved, shared-use paths, a portion of which follows the Rillito River from its origin at the confluence of the Pantano and Tanque Verde drainages at Craycroft Road all the way to the Santa Cruz river miles and miles to the west. Every morning, either on foot or on bicycle, I access the loop either by walking through nearby Fort Lowell Park or by traveling north through a small subdivision on the other side of our road. Either way, this morning ritual has become such an important part of my life that I cannot help but to feel my gratitude for living in a community that would make such a recreational investment. Here, in the middle of a very large city, I can walk along quiet pathways where the sounds of traffic are only a distant hum, and encounters with coyotes, birds, rabbits, and other wildlife are a daily occurrence.

My walks have been modest since my illness. I gradually worked my way up to a path of slightly more than three miles in the last few months, and sometimes I have walked more than four and a half. When bicycling, I have gone as far as twelve miles round trip, which is only accomplished by taking periodic rests (not for my leg muscles, but for my aching posterior). The map at the right shows the section I usually walk, and although not to scale the distance between the left and right sides of the image is about six miles.

Although I usually carry my cell phone during these morning walks/rides, I rarely take photographs. The few I have show the normally dry washes of the Pantano, Tanque Verde, and Rillito “rivers” filled with water after some pretty heavy rainstorms last summer. A streamside stroll in the desert is unusual enough to record, I think. My wildlife photos are pathetic. Usually by the time I spot a coyote and struggle to get out my cell phone, he is long gone or the glare of the sunlight prevents me from seeing the screen of the device well enough to focus the shot. Below are two "wet" images and one of some livestock that I pass each morning.

Overall I feel pretty thankful to be living in a community enlightened enough to fund this paved pathway through the city. It allows me to feel as if I am living in a rural setting, even though I am near the center of a city of at least a half million people. I will continue my morning walks as long as I am able, and perhaps some day in the future I may be able to get a photograph of some actual wildlife.