By Marshall Trimble

                When war broke out with Mexico in 1846 the prize the United States hoped to gain was California. To accomplish the mission the Army of the West was dispatched from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas to capture Santa Fe then advance across the wilderness that would one day become Arizona and raise the Stars and Stripes over California.

                In late September, 1846 the army under the command of Colonel Stephen Watts Kearny left Santa Fe bound for California.

                A second column in Kearny’s army was made up of Mormons that had been recruited in Council Bluffs, Iowa to build a wagon road from Santa Fe to San Diego. The volunteer group of citizen soldiers was placed under the command of a professional cavalry officer named Captain Philip St. George Cooke. The outfit was in need of a stern disciplinarian and Cooke, an imposing man of six-feet-four-inches was the perfect officer to take up the mission.

                Cooke had long-dreamed of leading a glorious cavalry charge in California and was dismayed to be reduced to sheparding a bunch of Mormon road builders. Little did he know the results of his history-making expedition would far out-shadow any glorious cavalry charge.

                On October 21st, 1846, 448 men and five women, wives of officers or sergeants carried on the roll as “laundresses,” the Mormon Battalion set out for California. Before they got out of New Mexico 58 ailing men were mustered out as unfit for duty. When finished the Mormons would have marched 2,000 miles making it the longest infantry march in American history.

                The battalion marched deep into southern New Mexico, passing through Guadalupe Pass to the abandoned San Bernardino Land Grant in today’s Arizona.

                Just west of today’s Bisbee they picked up the San Pedro River where they found an abundance of wildlife. 

                They followed the river downstream on the morning of December 11th near today’s Fairbank the battalion found themselves being stalked by a band of wild bulls who took exception to the intrusion of their little river valley. The beasts were more the progeny of left behind by Mexican ranchers.

                The men loaded their muskets and prepared to defend themselves as the animals, described as meaner than grizzly bears, became more menacing.

                Sergeant Tyler described what happened next:

                “In the open ground, where the cattle could see us from a distance, they would run away, but when near us, whether wounded of not, they were the assaulting party…..One small lead mule in a team was thrown on the horns of a bull over its mate on the near side, and the near mule now on the off side and next to the bull, was gored until he had to be left with entrails hanging a foot below his body……Some of the men climbed upon the wheels of the wagons and poured a deadly fire into the enemy’s ranks. Some threw themselves down and allowed the beasts to run over them; others fired and dodged behind mexquit (sic) brush to re-load their guns while the beasts kept them dodging to keep out of the way. Others, still climbed up in small trees, there being now and then one available.

                “Brother Amos Cox was thrown about ten feet into the air, while a gore from three to four inches deep and about two or three in depth was cut in the inside of his thigh near its junction with the body.

                “Albert Smith, quartermaster sergeant of company B., was run over by a wounded bull, and, I understand, had three of his ribs partially severed from the back bone. He suffered severely for several weeks, but declined going on sick report to avoid Dr. Sanderson’s cure-all calomel and arsenic”

                Another fired six balls into a bull that was pursuing. Each time he fired the animal went down then got up and came after him again until the final shot brought it down for good.

                Another bull fell wounded near one of the butchers, Robert Harris. He ran over to cut the animal’s throat but when he bent over the bull sprung to his feet, swung a horn around taking a swipe at Harris’ head. Instead it caught his butcher’s cap on the tip and ran off with it.        

                In the midst of battle Harris was chasing the bull shouting, “Stop you thief1”

                He chased the animal some 75 yards before it gave up the ghost and fell to the ground----and his butcher’s knife.

                One enraged bull charged Captain Cooke, who later wrote:

                “I was very near Corporal Frost, when an immense coal-black bull came charging upon us, a hundred yards distant. Frost aimed his musket, a flint-lock, very deliberately, and only fired when the beast was within six paces; it fell headlong almost at our feet.”

                When the bull began his charge Cooke ordered Corporal Frost to run for his life “one of the bravest men he ever knew.”

                The ‘battle” raged for about an hour before the bulls finally retreated into the brush. It was estimated that some 80 of the animals were either killed or died later of their wounds.

                Poet Levi Hancock also composed a poem about the battle. One of the verses read:


                                                The Colonel and his staff were there,

                                                Mounted, and witnessing the war ;

                                                A bull, one hundred yards away,

                                                Eyed Colonel Cooke as easy prey.


                                                But Corp’ral Frost stood bravely by,

                                                And watch’d the bull with steady eye;

                                                The brute approach’d near and more near.


                                                But Frost betray’d no sign of fear.

                                                The Colonel ordered him to run---

                                                Unmov’d he stood with loaded gun;     

                                                The bull came up with daring tread

                                                When near his feet, Frost shot him dead.

                During the excitement, Lieutenant George Stoneman, who would later become a general during the Civil War nearly shot off his thumb with his own rifle.

                Afterwards the battalion moved farther down the river, coming to a little stream which Cooke named “Bull Run,” and writing in his journal afterwards, he described the incident itself as the “Battle of Bull Run.” Little did he know at the time that his description anticipated history by some fifteen years.

                On July 21st 1861, one of the first battles of the Civil War was called the Battle of Manassas. Thirteen months later a second battle was fought at the same site and called the Second Battle of Manassas. Both are better-known today at the First and Second Battles of Bull Run.


ORDEAL IN THE DESERT  By Marshall Trimble 

          In regards to monuments, Will Rogers wrote: “You don’t need a large monument if the cause is good. It’s only the monument that’s for no reason at all that has to be big.

          On the outskirts of Casa Grande, along what used to be the main highway between Tucson and Phoenix stands a simple, concrete monument surrounded by weeds and objects thrown from passing cars. It shows the ravages resulting from the passage of time.

          The monument was erected to honor a campsite of the Mormon Battalion on December 20, 1846. Similar monuments are found along the old Gila Trail commemorating the historic trek of some citizen-soldiers during the Mexican War.

          Some were erected by the Boy Scouts, others by interested civic groups or descendants of the Mormon Battalion. Some members of this famed group of road-building trailblazers returned to Arizona by way of Utah more than 30 years after the war to take root in the land and build a new life.

          The battalion numbering 397 men and five women left Santa Fe on October 19, 1846 embarking on the second half of a 2,000-mile journey to mark an overland road to California. It remains to this the longest infantry march in American history.

          Captain Philip St. George Cooke and his guides, Antoine Leroux, Pauline Weaver and Baptiste Charbonneau were trail-toughened veterans used to the forbidding mountains, waterless deserts laced by impenetrable boulder-choked canyons but the Mormons, recruited by church leaders, were unprepared for the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. They joined the Army as volunteers to show patriotism and receive government-paid transportation to California where they hoped to locate a new home for their displaced church.

          Their rugged determination and work ethic eventually won the respect of the no-nonsense professional soldier assigned the inglorious task of building a wagon road along what would become known as the Gila Trail.

          Captain Cooke had been disappointed at not receiving a combat command would never know that their efforts would have far greater significance than any glorious cavalry charge he might have led on the battlefield.

          The hardships endured were recorded in the journals of Captain Cooke and Sergeant Daniel Tyler of Company C paint a vivid picture of their desert ordeal

          The Mormon Battalion left Tucson on the morning of December 18th following the Santa Cruz River northwest towards the Gila River. Seven miles north of the Old Pueblo, the river disappeared into the desert sand. The expedition set out, cutting its way through 24 miles of dense mesquite thickets towards the towering spires at Picacho.

          At about 9 o’clock that evening they made dry camp. Sergeant Tyler, a stake patriarch in the Church, recorded the ordeal of that first night after leaving Tucson:

           “Struggling, worn out, famishing men came into camp at all hours of the night, and the rear guard did not reach camp until near daylight.”

           Resuming the march the next morning at sunrise they traveled to a place where there was supposed to be water but when they arrived, the hole was dry.

                    Cooke wrote: “There was nothing to do, but march on; there was the same baked-clay surface, with a little sand. At sundown a very small pool was come to; to shallow for dipping with a cup, but enough for most of the men to get a drink by lying down.

                    According to Tyler there was: “….water enough to give the most of those present a drink y lying down to it, which was the only method allowed. Dipping forbidden, in order that as many as possible might have a chance to drink. The main portion of the army, however, had no water during the entire day, save a few drops which the men managed to suck from the mud in small puddle holes found by the wayside.”

           Later that evening the pack mules were turned loose. Their keen instincts drove them to a small pool and they plunged headlong into the water. By the time the thirsty soldiers arrived it was either consumed or unfit to drink.

          Knowing their only chance for survival was to press on; Cooke urged them to move forward. By this time the battalion was strung out across the desert for several miles.

          Lieutenant George Rosecrans of C Company rode into the hills nearby and located a small spring where a few were able to fill their canteens.

          The soldiers trudged on, crossing rocky arroyos and mesquite thickets. Finally, Cooke called a halt to the march:

           “The battalion had then marched 26 hours of the last 36; they were almost barefooted, carried their muskets and knapsacks; the mules had worked 47 miles without water. A little wheat was now given to them.”

           On the morning of the 20th, the scouts left long before sun-up and were several miles down the trail by the time the battalion resumed its march. Sometime around noon the scouts found water. Canteens were filled, loaded on pack mules and rushed back down the trail to assist the stragglers, many of whom were now lying along the trail, unable to continue.

          The little concrete monument standing beside the road marks the spot where the Mormon Battalion camped on the evening of December 20th, 1846.   

          Will Rogers was right; you don’t need much of a monument if the cause is good. This almost-forgotten little monument deserves to stand ten feet tall for it recognizes more than just a campsite---it is a testament to the courage and perseverance of those Americans who pushed ever westward in the creation of this great nation.

At the Gila River, near Gila Bend on New Year's Day, 1847, Cooke decided to test the navigability of the river by floating the supplies downstream. At places it was 150 yards wide but it was only three or four feet deep and ribboned with sandbars, many of them submerged. Two wagon boxes were lashed on top of cottonwood logs. Under the direction of Lieutenant George Stoneman they cast off loaded with 2,500 pounds of food and supplies. Stoneman believed they could pole the crafts down the river the shallow river to the Yuma Crossing, some 70 miles away. They were supposed to be moored on the bank at each evening's camp. But they were swept away in the swift current then hung up on sand bars and could only be dragged off after unloading the supplies on the nearest dry bar. The men went without their supplies for more than a week before the empty boats caught up. Pack mules were sent back to salvage what they could from the abandoned supplies.

On the ninth day of January they finally reached the Colorado River. The men were exhausted and half-starved, the wagons in need of repair and the mule's half-dead. To make matters worse there was nothing left for trading with the Yuma Indians and without anything reasonable to exchange they wouldn't furnish supplies to the men.

Their Arizona adventure was over now it was Ho for California.


By Marshall Trimble

That prospector you see pictured on the Arizona State Seal was modeled after a real person, or should I say, a rascal named George Warren. Anyone acquainted with the old reprobate would be hard pressed to believe his likeness would wind up on our state seal.

George led a rough life. His mother died when he was an infant and his father was killed in an Apache raid. Young George was taken by the band and later sold to a party of miners for 20 pounds of sugar. He grew up in the company of the rough and tumble miners and by the time he was grown George had acquired all their vices, especially alcohol.

In the spring of 1877, Company C of the Sixth Cavalry under the command of Lt. John Rucker camped in Mule Pass at the south end of the Mule Mountains in Cochise County. Their scout, an Irishman named Jack Dunn, went in search of water further up the canyon and stumbled across some rich outcroppings of copper ore. He collected some specimens and showed them to Lt. Rucker and a man named Byrne. They agreed to go partners and stake a claim but the demands of Apache warfare kept them on the trail for the next few months. At Fort Bowie they enlisted the help of George Warren to stake and record their claims. It wasn’t a wise decision.

They equipped him at Fort Bowie and sent him to file the claims in their names but along the way George got sidetracked in a saloon and lost his grubstake in a gambling game. Others learned from the drunken prospector of the rich find and re-equipped him. Warren went to Mule Pass but failed to file claims for Dunn, Rucker, and Byrne. The discoverers of the riches were left out. At the site of the strike the boom town of Bisbee sprung up and blossomed.

Two years later on the Fourth of July Warren got into a drunken wager in Bisbee. He bet that he could out run a man on horseback up Brewery Gulch.

Bets were placed and the race was on. George Warren led briefly but the horse soon left him in the dust. George had put up his share in the mine---the one that would become the famous Copper Queen in the drunken wager.

George Warren never got to share in the fabulous wealth of the Copper Queen.

He lived in poverty eking out a meager living. He sold himself in peonage in Mexico but some friends paid his debt and brought him home. He died broke and was buried in a pauper’s grave but somewhere along the way a photographer had taken his photo.

Years later he was reburied and given a headstone that read "Father of the Mining Camp." It’s located in nearby Warren, the town named in his honor.

The photo of George hung in a local bank. When the new state of Arizona was creating a state seal someone noticed George’s picture and they took the likeness and put it on our new seal.

Marshall Trimble Official Arizona State Historian

 Marshall Trimble _________________________________________________
Excerpts from Marshal Trimble's books "In Old Arizona" and "Arizona Trivia" reprinted by permission of Golden West Publishers, Phoenix, Arizona. 

From the Publisher: the following story is an excerpt from Marshall Trimble’s IN OLD ARIZONA. - Tales of the Wild Frontier

            The people in this story are both heroic and famous. Through future issues we will explore the careers of these men and determine; if we can, their place in history. One name that is in today’s news is Walter Reed. 

  The Horse & Buggy Doctors of Territorial Days  By Marshall Trimble


             On a chilly autumn evening in Tombstone, a dark, shadowy figure crept up the stairs behind the Crystal Palace Saloon. Inside, the raucous sounds of laughter mixed with the whirl of roulette wheels and rinky-tink piano music.  The man reached the top of the stairs and looked around. Deciding his approach had gone unnoticed, he struck a match and held the flickering light up to the sign over the door. In a low whisper he sounded out the words, 'George Goodfellow, MD." He opened the door quietly and slipped inside. The sound of snoring drew him to the far comer of the room. He approached the sleeping figure cautiously. It would not do to rouse the sleeping doctor without using caution. Doc Goodfellow was no ordinary doctor. A well-known pugilist, Doc was more than a match for any rough-hewn cowboy or miner.

            The intruder reached out and gently tugged at the sleeping man’s foot. “Wake up Doc,” He said, Curly Joe needs ya.”

            Doc Goodfellow was awake in an instant. He knew this was no routine house call. Curley Bill Brocius never sent one of his men all the way to Tombstone unless the matter was grave.

            Curley Bill was the leader of one of the most notorious bands of rustlers the West has ever known. Occasionally, one of his charges would wind up on the muzzle end of a -45 slug and the outlaw leader would put out the call for Doc Goodfellow, Tombstone's famous "gunshot surgeon."

            For the next several hours, Doc Goodfellow and the outlaw messenger would twist and wind on horseback through narrow canyons of Cochise County until they reached the outlaw chieftain's hideout. There Doc would perform field surgery under primitive conditions that would astound his Eastern counterparts. In many cases, the victim was too far gone to save, but this never kept the surgeon from operating. Win, lose or draw, Doc Goodfellow would always give his patients every opportunity to pull through. This was a period in medical history of great scientific breakthrough; however, most surgeons in Eastern medical citadels preferred to be conservative in their treatment. Doc Goodfellow epitomized many frontier surgeons. Limited in their facilities, they had no choice but to experiment if their patients were to have any chance at all.

            The fearless physician, on more than one occasion, entered dangerous, smoke filled shafts to rescue miners trapped and injured in a mining accident

            He once performed plastic surgery on the face of a victim of an accident, then refused pay because the man had been injured while trying to help other victims. When the great earthquake struck Bavaispe, Sonora, in 1887, Doc loaded up his wagon with medical supplies and rushed to aid the survivors. To the people of Bavaispe he became El Doctor Santo, (the "sainted" doctor) and was given a special medal by Mexican President Porfirio Diaz for his efforts.

            When his good friend and colleague, Dr. John Handy, was shot down on the streets of Tucson, Doc Goodfellow boarded a train at Benson, took over the locomotive from the engineer and drove the trail at breakneck speed to Tucson in a vain effort to save Handy.

            Doc Goodfellow had a proclivity for being on the scene when history was being made. He rode with the army on one of the last great Apache campaigns against Geronimo. During the war with Spain, General William Shafter used him as an envoy. Goodfellow's fluency in the Spanish language made him invaluable in negotiating the final surrender following the battle of San Juan Hill. Doc attributed part of that success to a bottle of "ol' barleycorn” in his medical kit which he properly prescribed to himself and Spanish General Jose Toral during the peace talks, lending a more convivial atmosphere to the conference.

            Doc Goodfellow was a participant in one of Arizona's most legendary feuds. Following the shootout near the OK Corral in Oct., 188 1, he tended wounded members of both factions. Before 19-year old Billy Clanton died with six bullets in him, Doc removed his boots. The young cowboy had promised his mother to *die with his boots off." A few weeks later, the physician was called out to save the mutilated arm of Virgil Earp. Some four inches of shattered bone was removed from the lawman who had been ambushed by a shotgun wielding member of the opposing faction.

            The next victim of the fighting was Morgan Earp. Morg was gunned down, again by ambush while watching a billiard game in Hatch's saloon. One of the bullets passed through Earp and penetrated the leg of an innocent bystander named George Berry. Berry fell unconscious and expired soon after of shock, or as County Coroner Dr. Goodfellow "formally" stated in his report. Berry was literally, 'scared to death."

            Doc Goodfellow is best known for his famous coroner report following the lynching of John Heath in the aftermath of the Bisbee Massacre in 1883 when five men held up the Goldwater-Casteneda store.

            As the bandits left the store and stepped out into the street, they shot and killed several citizens. The five were later captured and sentenced to hang legally. A sixth man, John Hath, helped plan the robbery, but did not participate in the killings. He demanded and got a separate trial, receiving a prison sentence at the territorial prison at Yuma. Most folks around Tombstone and Bisbee felt that Heath deserved the same punishment as his cronies. A vigilante group formed and, on Washington’s Birthday, 1884, removed Heath from the County jail and strung him up on the crossarm of a telegraph pole. This was the only lynching in Tombstone's history.

            Now lynching is illegal, even when the victim deserved it; however, it was up to the County Coroner to determine exact cause of death and whether or not charges would be pressed. Doc Goodfellow, County Coroner, had been present during the administering of John Heath's "suspended sentence," as had many of Tombstone's usually law-abiding citizens. Some had even played an active part in the Lynching.

            The matter was resolved when the coroner's report was issued. Doc Goodfellow, with his usual élan, ruled that John Heath died from ". . . emphysema of the lungs which might have been, and probably was, caused by strangulation, self-inflicted or otherwise, as in accordance with the medical evidence."

             George E. Goodfellow began his medical career as a contract surgeon with the army at Fort Whipple. From there he moved to Ft. Lowell, near Tucson, for a brief stint. Finding army life dull, he set out for the boisterous new silver boomtown of Tombstone. He arrived in 1880 and for the next seven years called the city on Goose Flat Mesa home. Doc Goodfellow set up his offices on the second floor of the Crystal Palace Saloon. Old timers said he actively maintained two offices, one upstairs and the other one on the ground floor. He socialized with Tombstone's upper crust society but frequently escorted some of Allen Street's more comely courtesans. He languished many an hour promoting horse races, wrestling and boxing matches. A former champion boxer, he had been expelled from Annapolis during his undergraduate days for extra-curricular pugilism.          Dr. George Goodfellow's sense of humor, sporting character and frequent imbibing in no way detracts from his research and practice as a medical physician.           Goodfellow published 13 articles based upon his practice in southern Arizona. He was best known for his thesis on the treatment of gunshot wounds to the abdominal region. His work was spiced with colorful commentary. Concerning the weapons that were responsible for much of his practice, he wrote: The .44 and .45 calibre Colt revolver, .45-60 and .44-40 Winchester rifles and carbines were the toys with which our festive or obstreperous citizens delight themselves." While putting his gunshot treatment theories to practice, the doctor made a remarkable discovery - bullets do not penetrate silk. This might explain why gamblers and gunfighters of the day preferred the garment.      He pioneered the "outdoor care" in Arizona's dry climate for victims of tuberculosis. He performed the first appendectomy in the Territory, and performed the first perineal prostatectomy in medical history. The innovative physician epitomized frontier doctors who dared to experiment while their colleagues in eastern medical facilities remained conservative.

            Few doctors who entered Arizona during territorial days received as much recognition as Doc Goodfellow. Fewer still displayed his flair for excitement.

            Among those who found fame, or at least a degree of recognition, on the Arizona frontier was Walter Reed, who began his study of malaria and yellow fever while stationed in Arizona with the army. Since many posts were located along rivers, these ailments were a constant menace to the health of the troops. Some posts had to be relocated to more healthful climes. Assistant Surgeon B. J.D. Irwin was awarded the first Congressional Medal of Honor for heroism during the siege of U.S. troops by Colchis’s

Chiricahua Apache’s at Apache Pass in 1861. Assistant Surgeon Leonard Wood led troops in the field during the final days of the Geronimo campaign. He, too, was awarded the Medal of Honor. One of his contributions had to do with adapting the clothing of his charges to the hot, dry Southwest environs. Wood had his troopers strip down to their long-handled underwear while pursuing the elusive Geronimo.

            Many doctors who “Wested" to Arizona during the territorial days lived out their lives in settlements and cities, treating every imaginable ailment from rabies, snakebite, scorpion sting, and gunshot wounds, self-inflicted and otherwise. Accidents involving explosives, wagons and spirited horses were quite common. Much of the surgery was performed at the scene of the accident with only the most primitive facilities. Doctors amputated legs and arms, probed for and patched up arrow wounds, not to mention victims of various epidemics.

            One such operation was conducted by a surgeon sitting on a tree stump with his patient lying over a whiskey barrel. He reported the heat, dust and flies intolerable.

            The most spectacular-appearing and greatest killers were cholera and yellow fever. Malaria and related fevers were the most prevalent and had the greatest impact. Deaths resulting from these diseases were far greater than the casualties produced by Indians in the Post-Civil War period. During the years 1866-1895, 1,993 soldiers were killed. In 1866 more than 1,200 soldiers died of cholera alone. Cholera and fevers could totally inactivate entire posts, attacking 50 to 90 percent of the personnel. Of those stricken, almost half were usually fatal.

            Military doctors and contract surgeons had to display a great deal of creative ingenuity in order to keep the soldiers on the remote frontier healthy. One post doctor at R. McDowell gathered watercress along the Verde River to supplement the diet of the soldiers, as there were no other vegetables available. When supplies were six weeks late arriving at Ft. Mohave, soldiers were limited to a diet of nothing but beans and coffee.

            Many of the treatments were more harmful than the actual diseases throughout most of the 19th century. Folk remedy treatments that were common subscribed to the old adage, "a fierce disease called for an even fiercer treatment." Communicable diseases were thwarted by pungent chest rubs and asafetida bags. The theory seemed to be that the victim smelled so bad that nobody cared to come near enough to catch anything. Whiskey and opium concoctions were as common as aspirin. Addiction to drugs and alcohol were common. It was not until the turn of the 20th century that a prescription was needed to purchase drugs of any kind.

            The period was a time of transition from ancient, superstitious practices to scientifically-proven methods of treatment. It was not until the late 1860s that doctors accepted that cholera was transmitted from place to place.

            Newspapers helped educate the populace on subjects relating to cleanliness, sanitation, purification of water and disinfection of fecal wastes. One Phoenix newspaper criticized local saloons for soaking their spittoons in the town's irrigation ditches when others downstream were using the same water for drinking. In the late 1860s, Gila and Graham counties had a running feud lasting for more than two years. Each blamed the other for an outbreak of diphtheria. A newspaper in Globe suggested that a deep canyon or high wall be constructed to separate the rivals and halt the spread of germs. In 1888, some 40 children succumbed to the dreaded disease in the tiny community of St. Johns. These figures are particularly astounding, and tragic when considering the ratio of deaths to the number of total children in a town the size of St. Johns.

            From the hodge-podge of medicinal practices in Arizona that ranged from a strange admixture of "granny medicine," voodooism," shamanism, legitimate pharmacology, garrulous quack and trained surgeon evolved a rich medical heritage. These horse-and-buggy doctors built hospitals, delivered babies, battled epidemics and fought hard to overcome the superstitious mores of their generally uneducated clientele.         The saddlebag practitioners on the Arizona frontier also overcame all kinds of natural obstacles to administer aid and comfort to their patients. Dr. Benjamin B. Moeur, later a governor of the state, once rode across Salt River Canyon in a cement bucket connected to a cable in order to reach a patient on the north side of Roosevelt Dam. Dr. John Lacy rode the rails on his tiny velocipede between the mining communities of Clifton and Morenci. One day while he was on his run, he encountered a train. The unfortunate meeting occurred on a trestle. Dr. Lacy quickly climbed off his vehicle and suspended himself beneath the ties until the train passed. The velocipede was unceremoniously bumped off the tracks and landed in the San Francisco River below. Unshaken by this ordeal, Dr. Lacy continued to use the railroad tracks to transport himself and his new velocipede because, even with its obvious hazards, it was still the most efficient way to reach his patients.


Arizona History with Marshall Trimble

By Madeline Morrill 2005

Marshall Trimble is his given name, State Historian is his claim to fame. We’ve come to listen to him every week, For it’s knowledge of Arizona history that we seek. They said, sign up now before he retires, But he says, no way, I’m lighting too many fires. It’s interesting, absorbing and amusing too, Marshall ’s love for Arizona just comes shining through. What have we learned on this historical journey? We’ve learned lots of facts and a little bit of blarney. There were ancient Anasazi or is it Ancestral Pueblos, They lived many years ago on those high Colorado Plateaus. The Spaniards came looking for Glory, God and Gold, Arizona was the place for those most brave and bold. Trappers and explores came next for the fur of the beaver, Names like Walker and Carson and Williams and Weaver. Steamboats and camels came with the engineers, They mapped and surveyed all of Arizona ’s frontiers. Finally with the stagecoach, along came the women, Sarah Bowman became Yuma ’s very own “First Citizen”. The “Easterners” started up the Civil War, Confederates tried to open up the Western door. The westernmost battle took place at Picacho Pass , The Apaches were just glad that it wasn’t their . The Indians loved this beautiful land, They decided to fight as a mighty band. The army sent along General George Crook, And the Indians soon had to go by his book. The miners found copper and silver and gold, They dug out the metals and had them bankrolled. The greatest silver strike was the Silver King, With Rich Hill and Vulture, the cash registers did ring. On to Legends in Levis - they looked mighty good in those chaps, Their cowboy hats soon replaced those coonskin caps. The Babbitt Brothers started the CO Bar, It was Flagstaff , Arizona ’s brightest ranching star. Cattle ranchers and sheep ranchers just didn’t get along, The Pleasant Valley War began and boy, did it last long. Don’t forget the infamous OK Corral and pretty Winnie Ruth Judd, She fought with her two girlfriends and nipped them in the bud. Horses and stagecoaches as transportation were okay, But the coming of the railroads really brought a better way. Just don’t say impossible to Frank Murphy in Crown King, People had to get to Ashfork, and his railroad was just the thing. Was Arizona the only place with a capital on wheels? From Prescott to Tucson and back, they had to move their seals, In 1889, Phoenix became the best place, No more changes now, so let’s start the statehood chase. In 1912, Arizona became the 48th state, George W. P. Hunt thought that this was just great. For many, many years the Democrats ruled, Then along came Barry Goldwater and the Democrats were cooled. Air conditioning was invented and the tender feet were coming, They dammed up the water and the power companies were humming. They all began to realize, Arizona ’s a great place to be, The only thing missing here is a good view of the sea. Now our cavalcade is over and we very much enjoyed it, Marshall , you never bored us, not for even one tiny bit. May our knowledge of Arizona just continue to soar, As you must leave us now, wanting for more. We hope you find that special woman, the one with a thin cotton dress, If we should happen upon her first, then we’ll send you her address. She must be out there somewhere and one thing we know is true, She lives in Arizona where your heart is, through and through. “I hope we meet again someday”, Marshall Trimble says, On the Arizona road or maybe on the Indian Res. Next time that you see us, Marshall, please give us a wave, For now, we’ll go our own ways and try hard to behave. And now we must go out and buy your latest book, Arizona 2000 must really be worth a look. There’s just one thing that we’d really like to say, Please write an autobiography - that would really make our day. Thanks for showing us Arizona , with all it’s warts and charm, With your humor and good looks, you’re sure not the average schoolmarm. If we have more questions about our state and really want to chat, We’ll be keeping a keen eye out for your signature black hat.