Having seen a number of pretty poor films about the gunfight at the OK Corrall I was curious to see to see how awful, and touristy, Tombstone was.
The drive there was tremendous and enlivened by constant country music which in hot sunny southern states seems to really appeal in a way it doesn’t elsewhere.
Down the I10 and then off on what might be described as A roads, through the most barren scenery, and occasional little towns where, from what I could see, you could visit the hairdresser, go to a number of churches (including in one, a monastery), or buy guns. I resisted all temptations. One, Saint David is dry I discovered later – though the police are very enthusiastic about speeders. Perhaps the two are linked? Whatever, given the climate I found the first part extraordinary and assume they’ve never seen Ice Cold in Alex.
Tombstone was, in fact, very good. From a town which ballooned due to silver mining in the C19th it duly died on that front – ironically due to the difficulties with the water table and the failure of the large pumps to keep the deep mines dry. I had no idea that while it is parched on the surface, miners were working in water a thousand feet below.
It staggered on until 1929 as the administrative centre for Cochise County with its court and associated local government roles, but that was all lost too. And yet, to quote Vincent Price, who was the narrator of the “Historama” which was part of the tourist offer – and was like going into a Bill Bryson book on sixties America, with a four sided and hideous and ill perceived diorama which rotated when a screen descended to show some film or other – Tombstone was the town that refused to die.
And neither it did, moving onto milk the famous Gunfight which it does with enormous enthusiasm and humour.
There is a jolly show which takes place near to the actual site, and takes about twenty five minutes. It was like going to the panto but in sunshine and heat. The cowboys (booh!!) one learned were rustlers and general chancers who were also seen as Democrats and had the sympathy of the local Sheriff and press. The Earps and Doc Holiday (hurrah!!) represented the landed interests and the Republicans. I felt the audience participation somewhat confused but kept my powder dry.
Frankly, to my no doubt ill-informed eyes, it all seemed like handbags at dawn, but with firearms. The actual gunfight lasted thirty seconds, left three dead, and had been provoked by little more than chest puffing and strutting by dafties. Which in the context of a hard mining town in harsh surroundings somehow made me think of Shotts, though obviously it went down the prison, rather than the tourism, route.
The similarities continued in the sense that it, and other Lanarkshire mining towns, were once just the same as Tombstone: bustling centres of civic pride with a desire for improvement. The photographs on display went beyond the gunfight and showed a town with many happy and tidy school children, a fire brigade made up of volunteers in uniforms that would not have looked out of place in a large city of the time, and with visits from theatre companies touring from New York and elsewhere on the east coast. It was all rather splendid.
That’s not to be rosy eyed, however, because it was still a hard and wild place too. There was a wonderful display about the varying levels of prostitution available, from what might be described as the genteel to the ladies who used a shack with a bed, and put through twenty five punters a session, without, as the information board noted (much to my amusement), changing the bed linen. Heavens. Not at all like South Edinburgh.
I did discover an explanation for red lights and haven’t investigated further because it makes sense to me.
The Court house was also appealing in form, but clearly was subject to the whims of whoever was the local judge, though the reproduction of the clerk’s office reflected the dutiful and authority driven lawyer the public imagines.
The display about one of the local lawyers made me smile, and clearly nothing changes, or at least didn’t until relatively recently!
The rest of the town is a tourist haven but it was done well, even the shops, and there was very full reference to Apache history, making clear the idiocy of some white cavalry officers in their dealings with the natives. That said, it must have been terrifying for the soldiers given the climate and the landscape, and other hazards. I delighted in reading of one unit, “the Mormon Battalion” having to build defensive earthworks after being attacked by herds of wild bulls. Happily they survived but ultimately the bulls did not.
Thinking of cattle, there was also much money to be made from them and colossal ranches made some individuals fantastically rich. What caught my attention was all the British breeds that were introduced and clearly thrived in such a different climate.
I then thoroughly enjoyed the return journey back to Tucson by taking a less direct route though marginally wilder country. The scenery is stunning and I found the combination of the open road, the landscape and big skies, the heat, the light, and the local FM station deeply satisfying.
Funny but true, though I don’t feel compelled to become a US truck driver just yet. But I bet my blood pressure was abnormally low as I drummed along happily on the steering wheel. Some of you may even get the video.
The other striking thing was the discovery that on all routes north one meets US Immigration personnel at road blocks. I turned off just before one and wondered whether that was a mistake. I needn’t have, because I duly met another check point where I was asked to confirm I was a US citizen, the car was then checked for hidden Mexicans amongst the empty water bottles and banana skins, and the officer seemed pleased when I said I was heading back to the UK in a couple of days.
Not at all menacing, but different and poignant in that the press were full that day of a Mexican immigrant being deported at Nogales (20 miles south of where I was) having been arrested in Phoenix after 22 years, and having had two children, in the US. She had first been arrested in 2009 but was allowed to stay after an Obama amnesty. No more.
I’ll end on a happier note, because despite the political tensions, I was genuinely sad to leave Arizona. Having just sat in the sun for a while after breakfast on my final day, I took myself off for one last look at Pima from the road.
I’m glad I did, because there was preparation for an airshow going on as two A10 tank busters (Thunderbolt IIs) were formation flying, one with a P47 Thunderbolt and the other with a P38 Lightning, both wartime aircraft I’d never seen in the air before. I pulled over and enjoyed the show for twenty minutes – another thing you can’t see in the UK. I’ll just have to come back!
Douglas Fairley says:
‘Cause we got a little ol’ convoy
Rockin’ through the night.
Yeah, we got a little ol’ convoy,
Ain’t she a beautiful sight?
Come on and join our convoy
Ain’t nothin’ gonna get in our way.
We gonna roll this truckin’ convoy
‘Cross the U-S-A.
Convoy!
February 12, 2017 — 11:26 am