I finally had a break in activities that enabled me to get away for a few days. Former Monroe High School band director, Swiss traveling companion and friend Randy Schneeberger and his wife, Joey, recently retired to Arizona. They invited me out for a visit, and I couldn’t resist.
I have past ties to Arizona, having completed my M.S. degree at the U of Arizona, Tucson, over a half century ago. Besides, I could combine the Arizona jaunt with a stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico where I headed NMSU’s Agricultural Economics department for 11 years. In addition, the tenants of my adobe in old Mesilla were having some problems with it.
It was definitely an opportunity, and time to head west. After two days across the Great Plains, I was in Tucumcari on I-40, an interesting town on historic Route 66, famed in story and song.
Tucumcari gets its name from the Comanche word “tucankaru,” meaning “to lie in wait for something to approach.” This stems from the adjacent mountain ridge from which Native Americans would lie in wait for prey while hunting.
The town got its start in 1901 as a tent city known as “Six Shooter Siding,” along the Chicago, Rock Island, and Union Pacific Railroad. In 1908 the settlement was renamed “Tucumcari,” after the nearby mountain. By 1910 it became a major railroad center.
The birth of Route 66 in 1926 brought new travelers to Tucumcari. Wagon yards, livery stables and blacksmith shops were replaced by gas stations, motels, gift shops and cafes.
Tucumcari’s heyday was during the 1950s. In addition to tourists like rural towns across the country, it was a business center serving needs of farm and ranch families.
Like small towns across rural America, with farms and ranches becoming fewer and larger, there was a declining population to serve. The mom and pop small businesses came upon hard times and began to disappear.
Consequently, Tucumcari’s once vibrant downtown that is located away from the long tourist-oriented strip is effectively extinct. Along the historic tourist strip, nostalgic vestiges of the 1950s remain, with some old motels still in operation, and others refurbished. Skeletal remains of abandoned gas stations serve as a reminder of days gone by.
Of the remaining businesses along the lengthy tourist strip running parallel to I-40. My favorite is the Pow Wow Inn.
I arrived in Tucumcari in early evening, in time for a beer at the Pow Wow, and some enchiladas served with green chile sauce before retiring for the evening.
Next morning, I have my favorite — huevos rancheros. Two eggs — sunny side up, of course — on top of corn tortillas, with hash browns and refried beans, all topped with luscious green chile and cheese sauce.
It’s time to head south on my usual route of U.S. 54, across high range country, looking green for this time of year. I eventually reach Las Cruces in the Mesilla Valley of the Rio Grande. I spend the night there and head west the next morning. I’ll visit friends and attend to adobe problems later, on my return from Arizona.
I head west, across the Rio Grande — no, not into Mexico, as the Rio Grande rises in Southern Colorado, flows south through the entire length of New Mexico, and doesn’t become the border with Mexico until it reaches the Paso del Norte (El Paso) and makes a sharp bend to the Southeast.
Once above the valley floor, it’s I-10 west across the desert to Deming, then to Lordsburg near the Arizona border. Deming is looking good, but Lordsburg appears to be in decline. The temperature is in the high 90s, but the dry air makes it more comfortable than Wisconsin’s mid-80s when it’s humid.
Crossing the border into Arizona, I-10 passes Willcox, its claim to fame being the home of the late Rex Allen, singing cowboy of the WLS National Barn Dance that readers of a certain vintage may recall. He also starred in some Republic Studios B westerns during the early 1950s. Willcox hosts the Rex Allen Museum that Sherry and I visited years ago. We’ll visit it again someday, but that visit will have to wait.
In another hour, I reach Randy and Joey’s home near Vail, about 25 miles southeast of Tucson. Tucson and the surrounding area is, as expected, vastly different than the relatively small city and surrounding desert of a half-century ago. Many present occupants of that once-barren desert are not retirees, but commuters who make the daily trip to Tucson.
Randy suggested that a visit to this area must include the Titan II Missile Museum, located in nearby Sahuarita. The museum contains the now (fortunately) inert Titan II intercontinental ballistic missile in the silo, and the original launch facilities.
The Titan II was the largest operational land based nuclear missile with a yield of 9 megatons, enough to totally wipe out a large city. The weapon became operational in 1963. Its highest state of alert was Nov. 22, 1963, when JFK was assassinated. The Pentagon did not yet know whether the USSR had committed an act of war.
At launch, orders from the National Command Authority would have specified one of three pre-programmed targets which were unknown to the crew. The complex was deactivated in 1984 as part of the decommissioning of all the Titan II missiles. All other Titan II silos were demolished except this one in Sahuarta, which is now a National Historic Landmark.
The destructive power of this missile — remember, there would be return fire — is a grim reminder of the urgency of working for a world in which such weapons are never used.
As a band director, Randy has mastered many musical instruments. He is now working on the accordion. His instructor, Jack Martin, accordionist and accomplished jazz pianist who based his career in Cheyenne and Denver, joined us for a great jam session — a fitting way to end an enjoyable return to Arizona.
— John Waelti’s column appears every Saturday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
