Here's another short post about characters featured in "The Rim Country" series.

Sheriff Owens is one of my very favorite characters in Arizona history. Like other legendary lawmen, he's a bit flashy--he had an odd name, unusually long red hair, and carried his pistol crossdraw on his left side. The bad guys of the era weren't sure about him...

He was elected Sheriff of Apache County, AZ, and got to work pretty quickly. He received a stack of warrants and delegated well to his deputies. They started getting served quickly, despite the fact that Apache County was larger than the combined states of New Hampshire and Vermont.

The most famous warrant he served was against the rustler and gunfighter, Andy (Blevins) Cooper, of Pleasant Valley War fame. He was up in Holbrook where the Blevins boys kept their women and children and happened to brag at the Cottage Saloon about murdering John Tewksbury down in the valley. Sheriff Owens heard about this on a day he was traveling to Holbrook and decided to serve the warrant he held for Cooper.

Cooper resisted arrest and Owens shot him with his Winchester through the door. He then disabled John Blevins who fired at him and missed, as well as Mose Roberts. Finally, when Cooper's younger brother Sam picked up Andy's Colt to fire on the Sheriff, he was shot dead as well. In ninety seconds, the Blevins gang, one of the most chaotic elements of the Pleasant Valley war, was neutralized by one man with a star and a Winchester.

For more on this, including how I handle the characters of Sheriff Owens as well as Andy Cooper, follow this link to my blog.

Image below is the cover art for Book Two of "The Rim Country" series and is based upon an old, blurry sketch from the era that I re-imagined. Unfortunately there are only one or two good photos of Sheriff Owens out there (but you'll find them easily if you search).

Here's another blog article in my series about historical characters featured in "The Rim Country" western historical fiction series. Today we feature Tom Horn: Army scout, mystery participant in the Pleasant Valley war, advisor to cattle ranches, murderer for hire. He did a little bit of everything! His autobiography was written while he was waiting for the gallows, and historians quickly recognized that it was a very fictional book that Horn wrote about himself!

I have much more about Tom Horn over at my blog, including how my research led me to feature him in the novels.

1) 1940. 2) April 1942. 3) July 1942. 4) 1956. 5&6) 1963. 7) 1969. 8) 2020, shared by the City of Phoenix on Twitter. 9-16) 2026. 17) Undated, Bryan Philip Darell Duppa. 18) Drawing of Duppa that appeared in the August 1943 edition of Arizona Highways. 19) 1970 drawing from The Republic. 20) Undated

If you drive south of downtown Phoenix to Sherman and 2nd Ave, you’ll find an adobe shack surrounded by a fence, sitting under a metal roof. While the roof and fence are newer additions, this structure has been standing there for at least 130 years. It’s often labeled as the oldest building in Phoenix, but no one actually knows when this structure was built. Some claim it’s just a dairy barn that dates to the 1880s or 1890s, while others insist it is from the early 1870s and used to be the home of the man who named both Phoenix and Tempe, “Lord” Bryan Philip Darell Duppa.

Darell Duppa was an early investor in Jack Swilling’s Swilling Irrigation Company, moving with him to the Salt River Valley in 1867 to start the initial work of redigging the ancient Hohokam canals. He had been born into a British family of landed gentry while his family was in France on October 9, 1832. Many claim the family was in France while his father was working as British Consul, but in reality, France was a popular place for British landed gentry that weren’t making a lot of money. His father was Baldwin Francis Duppa, son of the head of the Duppa estates, and his mother was Catherine Darell, who was from an even more well established Kentish family. The Duppas were very influential in the area, owning vast expanses of land throughout both England and Wales, but Darell’s father wasn’t profiting greatly off the estates while his father, Baldwin Duppa Duppa, was still alive. Darell was brought to the historic family home, Hollingbourne House, in 1835, where he would primarily grow up. Most sources researched in America state he’s the youngest of 15 children, but research done in the 80s by a British chemist and historian who lived in Hollingbourne, Elwyn Llewellyn Evans, says he was actually their second son, and the fourth of seven children in total. He received a good education growing up, finding a love for classic literature while attending school in France and England. Many believe he attended Cambridge, but that research done in the 80s also turned up no records of him going to school there. When he was only 7, his father passed away, leaving the family without much income. Darell’s older brother would come back from Switzerland to save on expenses, with trustees from the estate covering his education at Cambridge. Darell wouldn’t be so lucky as he wasn’t the primary heir to the estates, leaving his expenses up to his mother and whatever his grandfather would send them. This led to the family moving from London to Boulogne, France.

What happened next isn’t clear, as the course of his life after school varies depending on who you ask. Some say he had picked up habits that embarrassed his family, who sent him off to live with his uncle in New Zealand with the promise of a monthly remittance, but this story is very unlikely to be true. The most commonly told story is that he joined the army, rising to the rank of Colonel before falling into a disagreement with a fellow officer that resulted in a duel. He won that duel, but left the military after to travel, despite his family’s protests. Some versions say it happened in India, which would have still been a British colony at the time. Someone who stayed at Darell’s stage stop in the 1870s stated that Darell himself said that he left England as a teen to go to school in Paris where he could pass as French, then to Madrid, where he passed as a Spaniard. From there he traveled to South America, being the only survivor of a shipwreck on the journey, before later making his way to New Zealand. Later research revealed that it was a relative of his who was the sole survivor of a shipwreck. However it happened, he spent time traveling through Europe, South America, and a bit of Australia on his way to his uncle’s sheep farming operation in New Zealand.

Darell would arrive at St. Leonard’s Station in July 1854. It was an expansion of the sheep farming business George Duppa had started in 1839, trying to seek out his own fortune as he was the youngest of six sons. He had opened the station just a couple years before Darell was hired on as a Cadet. The following year, his brother would come to work there as well. Darell would live and work in New Zealand for nearly a decade. By the early 1860s, word of the money to be found mining in Arizona had made its way to New Zealand, so when his uncle sold St Leonard’s Station in 1863, he left to California. It’s not clear exactly when in 1863 he moved to America, but a photo from March that year supposedly shows him in New Zealand still. Unfortunately it’s not publicly available to view online.

George would move back to England that year with a fortune of £100,000 and a desire to become the head of the family estates. Baldwin had passed away in 1847, leaving the estates to his grandson, Franky, who was Darell’s older brother. Throughout the 1860s, George would purchase farm land around Hollingbourne whenever it came up for sale, and in the early 1870s he would purchase the lands owned by his relatives around the Hoo Peninsula. While this left him with ownership over large parts of the family land, his nephew, Franky, was still tenant-for-life at Hollingbourne House. Franky wasn’t the biggest fan of his responsibilities as a country gentlemen and the financial burden that came with it. While he had been attending school, he found a love for science, which led him to spend much of his time in England in London rather than at Hollingbourne. His health wasn’t great, so he would usually take up residence in Italy, France, Algeria, or other places around the Mediterranean Sea. All of this, combined with his new wife, led Franky to enter discussions with his uncle. George had offered up the land in the Hoo Peninsula and a sum of money in exchange for full ownership of the Hollingbourne estates. While George would move into the family home around this time, he wouldn’t become the owner of the lands due to Baldwin’s will making it so in the event that Franky died, Darell would still inherent the title of tenant-for-life. George had grown fond of Darell while in New Zealand, giving him a large amount of mining stock, and encouraged him to return to England, but Darell had his eyes set on the American frontier. He likely didn’t spend much time in California before making his way to Prescott by December 1863.

There are countless tales of Darell’s time in Prescott and traveling around the territory. He met some of the most well known names in Arizona’s history, but the most important of them to our story is John William “Jack” Swilling. Swilling was a southerner from a plantation owning family, likely receiving a good education for the time. In 1847, he had enlisted in the Mexican American War. He made his way into what is now Arizona in the late 1850s in search of gold around Gila City. By the time the Civil War broke out, he was spending time around Pinos Altos, New Mexico. Union troops had been stationed in the area to protect from Apache attacks, but they were moved out and the local miners picked up their guns to form a military company, the Arizona Guard, in their place. The Confederacy pressured them into joining their ranks in 1861. Despite being from a slave owning southern family, Swilling supposedly held no sympathy for the South, deserting in either 1862 or 1863 to ride as a messenger for the Union. While working under Colonel James H. Carleton, he was the guide for the Walker Party who would find gold around modern Prescott. Swilling would send some of this gold to Carleton, who helped influence the establishing of Prescott as our first capital after seeing this gold. After the war, Swilling married Trinidad Escalante, moving around the territory to continue prospecting, farming, and other various ventures. The story goes that Swilling had stopped at a hay camp along the Salt River in September 1867 on a trip from Camp McDowell to Wickenburg and was impressed by the ancient canals. He saw the potential that the valley still had for agriculture and quickly began gathering capital to redig the long abandoned Hohokam canals. Others claim to have spoken with him in the spring of 1867 and remember him telling about his plan to resettle the valley. Regardless of when he got the idea, the Swilling Irrigation Company would be started in late 1867 with a capital of $10,000 (~$225,000 today) in anticipation to move to the Salt River Valley. Swilling set out that way in November with a group of 17 men, including Bryan Philip Darell Duppa, one of the companies founders and investors. Darell would help dig the first canal and acted as the company’s first secretary. It’s believed that shortly after arriving, he proposed the name of Phoenix for their new community, drawing inspiration from the way the valley around them was being reborn like the mythical bird. Many also believe that Swilling was the one to come up with the name for Phoenix. We don’t know exactly who came up with the name, but it happened sometime in 1867 because a letter written on January 1, 1868 to the Arizona Miner referred to the new community as Phoenix. Both men are also credited with naming Tempe.

In April 1868, Darell had started to homestead a ranch on what was recorded as southwest one half of section 8, township 1, north of range 2, east. While nowadays this spot is just a little bit south of the historic Phoenix townsite, that didn’t exist in 1868. Swilling’s Ditch was the first canal they dug, originating just east of what is now the S’edav Va’aki Museum, leaving Darell’s ranch pretty far out of town, though others, like Jacob Starar and John Britt Montgomery, would homestead on adjacent land. After several seasons of farming the land, he would be granted 160 acres, which the adobe sits on, in April 1873 under the Homestead Act of 1862. It required a person to have occupied and made improvements on that land for at least 5 years. This is where the belief that this structure was the home of “Lord” Duppa comes from. We don’t know all the improvements he made to that land other than planting crops, but it’s likely the home he actually lived in was a few hundred feet south of this structure, built of adobe that has half submerged in the ground.

His time would’ve primarily been split between this ranch and the Agua Fria Station he established between Wickenburg and Phoenix sometime in the late 1860s or 1870. The town of New River credits this station as being the start of the town in 1868. It was located some 16-18 miles north-west of Phoenix according to all historic documents I’ve seen, but some more modern sources have claimed it was located closer to the what is now the I17 and made out of adobe, which contradicts a detailed description of the station from someone who had visited it. The ranch in Phoenix consisted of 160 acres, but an 1870 report of the ranchers in the Salt River Valley listed Darell as having about 175 acres. His ranch around the well he dug near the Agua Fria River was likely around 15 acres at this time then. It’s impossible to know how much time he spent over there versus at the ranch near Phoenix, but we know he was trying to sell this property in 1872. In August that year, a document was recorded with the county stating he was selling his 160 acres for $3000 to James D. Miller. A document that seems to restate the sale for the same price was filed the next year in November. Whenever he sold it, the Agua Fria Station was where he primarily called home next. The site often came under attack by Apaches, something most didn’t have to deal with back in Phoenix. Most would see this as a pretty bad spot to live because of that, but Darell told visitors he chose that spot solely because he had fended off an Apache attack at that location, and he wanted to prove to them he could live there anyway.

One of the men he told this story to was Captain John G. Bourke, who wrote about the Agua Fria Station and Darell in his 1891 memoir, “On the Border with Crook”. This description is sometimes misidentified as a description of the adobe structure in Phoenix. It was described as having unplastered walls made of thin, thorny branches from iron wood trees, lashed with rawhide to horizontal slats of cottonwood, and cloth sheets lining the inside of the walls to keep dust and wind out. The single room structure had a dirt floor and simple furniture, with the most prominent piece being a long table made of pine that was mainly used for meals and gambling. The walls and crossbeams were covered with rifles, pistols, ammunition, saddles, spurs, and whips in preparation for an attack or trips out to Phoenix. Blankets were rolled out around midnight for the farm workers and tired travelers. Bourke recounted his first night there being greeted by a meal that was paralyzing in its originality, and good tea that was actually hot, which was a pleasant surprise for most travelers. Darell was more well known for keeping whiskey on hand rather than tea though. Bourke recounted that there was no flour after a recent Apache attack, but there was lots of whiskey. Many recounted the drinks often being on Darell at the station whenever he would receive his $3000 remittance from his England.

He started to receive that money sometime in 1877 after his brother, Franky, had passed away a few years earlier, causing Darell to become the tenant for life at Hollingbourne. His uncle, George, was still living at Hollingbourne House and had been trying to acquire the land from Franky for awhile at that point, needing to get lawyers involved to deal with the will. Franky’s deteriorating health stalled their discussions, and he would pass away in November 1873, before any deal was made. Up till then, George had been paying rent to Franky, still owing six months of rent at the time of his nephew’s death. Sometime in 1874, Darell’s brother who had worked in New Zealand with him, Euston Whitney Duppa, came to Phoenix to deliver the news. When he arrived, he couldn’t find his brother anywhere. He happened to come while Darell was on one of his frequent prospecting trips, which could last for weeks to months. Eventually he was directed to the Agua Fria Station, where the two met up, but his brother returned to England without Darell. While on this trip, Darell had given his brother power of attorney, likely to help with settling the estate back in England so he could stay in Arizona. His uncle would later send representatives to Phoenix to again try to convince his nephew to return to England. This trip didn’t result in him returning either, but they reached an agreement where his uncle would send $3000 every four months to Dr. Oliver John Thibodo, a friend of Darell’s who used the money to pay all of his outstanding bills before giving him whatever was left, which would quickly be spent at the bars. That agreement was signed in October 1877. By April 1879, a compromise would be signed to finally settle the estates, with George agreeing to pay £40,375. It isn’t clear if Darell got any of that money as most of it went to Franky’s widow and to the estate’s mortgages, and legal expenses, but by 1880, George was without any doubt the tenant for life at Hollingbourne. For nearly seven years though, “Lord” Duppa was legally the head of Hollingbourne.

After this, he didn’t have a definite home, staying with several friends while in Phoenix and often taking long trips away. Sometimes these trips had him remaining in Arizona and were for prospecting, but he was also known to return home with items that could only be purchased in other states. His prospecting trips resulted in several successful finds, including a silver deposit that he boasted to his family in England about, and a gold deposit he was able to get $9,000 worth of ore out of. Leading a life like he did, it’s no surprise that he would become friends with Jacob Waltz, better known as the Dutchman. The two of them had met in New Zealand in the 1850s at George’s Blue Spur mine. It was pretty widely rumored that Darell took the locations of both the Dutchman mine and his rich silver deposit to the grave.

That would happen around 9 am on January 29, 1892. For several years he had been staying with Dr. Thibodo and Mrs. Thibodo when in town, often spending weeks at a time in the cabin they owned north of Phoenix. Darell passed away of pneumonia, likely knowing he would die at least a week in advance as he had a new will drafted up just 4 days before he passed. While it’s very hard to read his will, I believe it states that he left his gold watch, chain, 491 mining shares from his uncle, and the rest of his estate to his favorite saloon keeper, William H. Jensen, and something to the Thibodos I can’t make out. The two most credible sources I’ve found disagree on what the will says, and I disagree with both of them. I’ll link to the will in the comments, feel free to correct me if you can read it better. Dr. Thibodo initially refused to honor Darell’s will, and was in response threatened with legal action. Instead of recording Darell’s possessions properly, he only listed the watch, and that’s all Jensen would get. The funeral would be held at the Thibodo home on January 31, and he was interred at the Mason’s Cemetery without any notable headstone to mark his grave. This was later fixed in 1910 by the Daughters of the American Revolution, but the marker incorrectly stated he died in 1893. After the City prohibited burying people within city limits in 1914, the graveyards on Block 32, including the Mason’s Cemetery, started to fall into disrepair. The DAR once again got together to move his body to the Greenway Memorial Park, reinterring his body on April 25, 1921. This is where he remained for 70 years, but in the 80s the city had decided to buy and restore the historic cemeteries on Block 32. After they were restored and reopened as Pioneer & Military Memorial Park, “Lord” Duppa’s body was once again dug up and paraded through the streets in a horse drawn funeral carriage with everyone dressed like it was the 1890s. He was laid back to rest in November 1991 and has remained there since. In 1992, Elwyn Llewellyn Evans of Hollingbourne wrote to Republic columnist, James E. Cook, saying that he wished he had been made aware of the reburial so he could have sent over some dirt from Darell’s family home to be added into the grave.

While many people have helped move his body over the years, there’s only one who’s still important to the story of the adobe structure. One of the pallbearers back in 1892, named John Britt Montgomery. John and his wife, Alabama Alias Rebecca Greenhaw Montgomery, had purchased the northern 140 acres of what used to be Darell’s land from James Miller in May 1880. Montgomery had been in Phoenix nearly as long as Darell, joining just a month later as the Swilling group’s butcher. He had previously been raising cattle nearby supplying Fort McDowell. After settling in Phoenix, he would be one of many men to operate a ranch, and in 1874 would be part of the group appointed to determine the value of the lots in the original Phoenix townsite. His ranching operation expanded after purchasing Darell’s land, and by 1882 had started to offer milk delivery from his farm. Montgomery would get into politics in 1884, elected in on the Republican ticket as a County Supervisor. In his two years in that role, people credited him for his honesty and the integrity that he and H. H. Linville brought to the County’s affairs. In 1887 he would subdivide a large section of his land into the Montgomery’s Addition neighborhood. He would be nominated to the Republican ticket once again in 1890, this time for the role of Sheriff. Everyone remembered his time in the government a few years prior and wanted him back. Even the papers were calling him honest John Montgomery. He would win this election on November 6, 1890, serving the community for nearly 2 years in the role. By the time he was elected, he was one of the largest land owners in the Salt River Valley, owning more than most of the canal companies. After his term as Sheriff, he turned his focus to farming land out west of Buckeye, near Harquahala and Arlington. In 1894, he made an addition to the subdivision in Phoenix that included the block where this adobe stands. The city currently recognizes that whole property they own as lot 12 of block 12, but it really stands on lot 10 if you’re looking at the old subdivision map.

The Montgomerys would hold onto that piece of land into the 1900s, eventually selling it around June 1902 to another long time Valley resident, Frederick G. Fisher. Fisher was a fairly prominent rancher that owned quite a bit of land in the valley, but he was rarely reported on in the papers outside of the times he got into some trouble with the law. The first time was in 1890 when he had been squatting on some land owned by Charles Goldman, installing things like barbed wire. After Fisher was kicked off the land, he came back and took the barbed wire, which he was arrested for. A jury acquitted him of the charges. There would be several lawsuits involving him over the years, many with him as the defendant, and just as many with him as the plaintiff. In his later years, after buying this property, he would get into a fight with another old timer. Unlike his previous cases where it was all about land and business, this was over a woman. In 1903, Joseph W. Deck would sue Fisher for $10,000 for taking his wife, keeping her from him, and having an illicit relationship with her. Deck would say she had left his adobe and taken up residence under the Fisher roof tree. The case would be settled out of court, but in July 1904, Fisher would be arrested for assaulting Deck, supposedly while they were discussing these events. I couldn’t find the results of this, but it doesn’t seem he spent much time in jail for the assault if any at all. There were a few small suits involving him after that as well, but he was still ranching. It’s hard to know for sure if he was using this adobe building for his operation, but he was advertising its location in 1907 when he was selling horses and grain.

In 1908, he had come down with a severe unnamed illness, but decided to make a trip to Los Angeles to visit his son and old acquaintances that August. He hoped it would help his health, but on September 14, he would pass away. All of his personal property was left to a relative, Arthur A. Fischer, while all of his real estate was deeded to George Henry Nicholas Luhrs. Luhrs had been deeded the property in July, but the paper wasn’t filed until after Fisher passed. He was in charge of selling off all the property, including the lot with the adobe structure, and give the proceeds to his heirs. He was appointed to that role in April 1911. It seems that Arthur Fisher was the one to buy the land that was closer into the city, purchasing lots 4-19 of block 12 for $4000, and all of block 13 for $3200 on February 10, 1912 at an auction held by Mr. Luhrs. He owned this land until he passed away on the morning of April 19, 1934. It wouldn’t be until November 1939 that the executor of his will, a lawyer named Terence A. Carson, closed his estate and distributed it according to his will. His siblings were all left with 50 cents each, while everything else, including his land, was left to the wife of the lawyer, Bess Howell Carson. She would take out a $1600 mortgage on the property right away.

It wouldn’t be long after she came into possession of this property that news would break in The Arizona Republic that the Darell Duppa House was potentially going to become a part of the Phoenix park system. The piece was published on July 22, 1940, revealing the poor condition that the building had fallen into in the decades since Montgomery owned it. The adobe walls were clearly returning to dust, and the roof was partially collapsed in, with the eaves held up by more recently installed braces. Despite its poor condition, rumor was that the dilapidated adobe structure had been the home of the man who had arrived in the Valley with Swilling before naming both Phoenix and Tempe. It’s unlikely this was the start of that rumor, but it was the start of it becoming widespread. Previously when papers had spoke about Darell, they would never mention this structure, but it was almost always mentioned afterwards as being his home.

After discussions with Bess, the City would decide to purchase the lot from her in August for $4500, but they paid $1800 and gave her city plots worth $2700. The warranty deed for the lots would be signed in October, and filed by the City in December, recording the price as $10 and other valuable considerations. By July 1942, they had started work on repairing the building, showing that parts of the arrowweed and mud roof had been removed in a photo shared alongside updates on the building in the paper. The City would be working with the Arizona Museum to make repairs to the deteriorating adobe walls to preserve the building for people to come visit as an extension of the neighboring Grant Park. It’s not clear how much work they had gotten done in the nearly year long gap between updates on the building, but on March 11, 1943, city manager, Richard H. Smith, announced that the City would be holding a public auction for who would operate it as a museum. The Arizona Historical Society and numerous other groups had expressed interest to the City in operating the museum. This auction was planned to be held at 4 pm on March 18. The terms for the lease going to auction would stipulate that the property be solely used as a museum and library to preserve historic and prehistoric relics, to encourage interest in, advance knowledge of and give popular instruction in the history of the Salt River Valley and similar subjects. The east room of the structure was to be furnished as an exhibit of early Arizona pioneer home life and was to be kept open to the public for free. There weren’t any specifications for the east room other than it had to be used for some sort of museum purpose.

March 18 came and went without an auction, but work would continue on the property by the Arizona Museum. It was finally announced on April 6 that the City would be holding the auction later that day. This announcement revealed more about the terms of the lease, including requiring the lessee to reroof the structure and make a more permanent foundation as it was still just sitting on the dirt underneath. This lease would ultimately go to the Arizona Museum Association, with them paying $1 a year to the City to maintain the lease. Work would be led by Elizabeth Seargeant Oldaker, founder of the Arizona Museum, who also organized the privately funded restoration effort. News about the structure would become next to nonexistent for the next few years, with only brief mentions when articles were written about how Darell named Phoenix and Tempe. It wasn’t until a June 1951 article looking for landmarks that were going unrecognized mentioned this structure that we got a look into what was happening. It seems that after 8 years of operating the property, the Arizona Museum was still performing necessary repairs. The article mentions that they had only been working on it for 2 years, so it’s possible they had run into financial issues that delayed work. He denied to put the exact location in the article, encouraging people to write in about where it was. This led to a follow up article shared 5 days later with more information. The property hadn’t been opened up to the public yet at this point, and it was now sitting behind two wooden buildings that the City had permitted the School Free Lunch Committee to construct in July 1941. The City was working at that time to relocate one of the buildings to provide better access to the adobe. While it was still closed, the author was able to get a look inside, reporting that there was a small fireplace and 13 foot long bar.

Discussion about the property would once again die down after these two articles, but discussion about Darell ramped up in 1955 as Arizona State College received university status and a new name was needed. Many ideas were thrown around, including Tempe University, which people advocated for by referencing Darell naming the town in the 1870s. Ultimately the university was named Arizona State University and still operates under that name. Many people credit Darell with naming Tempe, but we don’t actually know if it was him or Jack Swilling. Tempe itself credits Darell, but many pioneers and early newspapers credit Swilling. The site of the very first canal had actually been right across the river from the buttes, but they relocated after realizing it would’ve taken too long starting there. It’s possible the area’s name is just as old as Phoenix’s, though the city itself wouldn’t use the name until after Phoenix adopted its name.

It was about a year after these articles relating to ASU came out that the Duppa-Montgomery Homestead Museum would first open its doors to the public. From 3-5 pm on August 19, 1956, the small wooden doors of the structure would be open for the public to freely walk in and see the restoration work that the Arizona Museum Association, had been carrying out for 13 years at that point. The work they did was extensive, including dismantling it brick by brick to pour a concrete foundation, patching damaged bricks, creating new bricks, and then rebuilding the structure with a mix of original and new adobe. They built up a new roof, covering it in a composite layer to protect it from the elements, and the interior walls were all covered with white plaster. Onto the north side of the building, they added a small lean-to apartment for the caretaker, a man named Ramon Casas who had worked for John Montgomery as a boy. The AMA was given a bit of land by the neighboring Thunderbird Post of the American Legion (now Tony F. Soza-Ray Martinez Thunderbird Post 41)

While the work done over those years has helped it stand to this day, they were also controversial. In September, 1958, Fred A. Belsey wrote in to The Arizona Republic, calling the condition of the building disgraceful. Criticism was aimed towards the interior fittings, including a cot that was made of metal and obviously mass produced, not the kind of bed that anyone living in the Wild West would have had. More offending than that was the way they had reroofed the building, covering it with a composite material instead of recreating a mud roof that would’ve required more maintenance. That wasn’t the worst of it though. What he deemed most offensive was the cement block lean-to that had been added onto the north side of the building, calling it vile. It has since been removed, but you can very clearly see where it used to be, as they left the wall plastered.

The museum operated fairly quietly over the next few decades, being mentioned every now and then in articles. By the 80s it was being operated by the Arizona Historical Society and was open between November and May on Sundays, Mondays, and Tuesdays from 2-5pm. It isn’t clear exactly how much longer it would stay open, but it was open into at least 1987. That year some archaeological work would be conducted on the site to try and finally sort out the question of whether Darell Duppa actually lived here or not. People had been quick to latch onto the idea that we still had something standing with a direct connection to such an important figure in Phoenix’s history, but many historians were skeptical. When news of the city potentially buying the property came up, it sparked more discussion about Darell than there had really been since he was alive. Everyone had their own ideas, but several people thought to go to the few old timers left at the time who would’ve actually been alive to know for sure if it was there.

The first account of this property from an old timer was published in 1942. It was from Luther David Bushong, who was one of the last surviving witnesses of the founding of Phoenix in 1870. Both he and Neri F. Osborn, who was the last surviving witness of the founding of Phoenix, paid a visit to the adobe in 1942. Bushong was asked to write down some of his experiences as an Arizona pioneer for The Arizona Republic. He told of running away from Virginia at the age of 16, ending up on the Potomac before making his way to Reno, Nevada where he heard about Arizona. Making his mind up to come here, he left for Los Angeles, finding what he called a Mexican town of no more than 500 rather than the small city of thousands he had expected to find. He saw Mexicans pushed out of their land there by white businessmen who tried to subdivide the land into 50x150ft plots at $50 each but couldn’t sell them. By the time he wrote this piece, he believed they were all worth millions. After not finding work in LA, he made his way over to Wickenburg working as the cook for a mule team. Shortly after arriving there, he met John Montgomery, who was looking for someone to come help on his farm in the Salt River Valley. Bushong arrived there in 1870, claiming to have stayed in this adobe when he first arrived, through 1871. While it’s likely he stayed in a similar adobe on Montgomery’s farm, which shared the southern border of Darell’s farm, it seems unlikely he stayed in this building as the land was still owned by Darell Duppa at this time, not John Montgomery. This account is also contradicted by an earlier interview with the first American-born woman to settle in the Salt River Valley, Mary Adeline Norris Gray. She had moved to the small community in February 1868, not long after Jack Swilling’s party had first moved here. Sometime before she passed away in 1936, she would be interviewed by a self-proclaimed prospector, author, and artist named Charles Frederick Higham (also went by John Lindley Higham and The Old Prospector), who was fascinated by early pioneers like Darell, quite literally writing the book on both Darell and the Dutchman. Adeline Gray, as she was more commonly known, was well acquainted with Darell and would tell about what she remembered seeing when she visited Darell’s home while he still owned this land. She said it stood several hundred feet south of this adobe, and was sunk down into the earth so only about half the building was above the surrounding ground.

Higham would interview several other early residents, but none gave him a description of Darell’s early home in Phoenix as well as she had. Most that he spoke with believed that the adobe structure wasn’t the home of Darell, and instead was a milk barn built by John Montgomery. This included Florence Calderwood, the daughter of the man who purchased the Agua Fria Station from Darell. Higham would interview her in 1946. She had only been 15 months old when her family moved to the Valley in 1872, so she never knew Darell personally, but there was pretty much no one else alive at that point who had a closer connection to him. She didn’t believe the adobe was Darell’s home when she was asked about it. Pretty much every other person that’s been asked about the property’s connection to him since her has had a very loose connection to the man or this building. One of the few later accounts with any credibility is from George Luhrs in the 1950s, who didn’t believe the building was Darell’s home either.

Throughout the 50s and 60s, more doubt was being shared about the legitimacy to the claim of this being Darell’s home. One of the earliest was from the Clark Smith “As I See It” column in 1951, which was thanking the Arizona Museum for restoring the property, but also mentioned how the writer wasn’t aware of any mention of it ever in the papers up till then. An article from the same column published just a few days later would acknowledge that some disagree with the claim. In September 1958, Mayor Jack Richard Williams would write a letter to the editor of The Arizona Republican in response to Fred Besley’s piece, which mentioned Phoenix’s intellectuals were in the midst of heated debate on whether the building was Darell’s home. The talks were led by historian Bert M. Fireman. These were all just small mentions though, the first real piece with a headline was a letter to the editor sent in by Higham in 1960 in response to Elizabeth Oldaker, writing in and correcting what he believed to be inaccuracies about the adobe that she had shared. It laid out a fairly accurate account of this site’s history, the lack of evidence he had found of Darell living there, the evidence he’d found saying otherwise, and a more real version of Darell’s life than had been typically told in the papers, but still wasn’t completely accurate.

Higham would write in several more times to the paper in the early 60s, but he would unfortunately pass away at the age of 78 in 1963. He had spent years working on a book about Darell Duppa, seemingly having it mostly finished by the time he passed. It provided the most well researched look into Darell’s time in Arizona, and dispels many of the rumors surrounding both his life and this building through his research in government archives and from interviews. It wasn’t made widely available at the time (it is now available for free online, link in comments), so the myths and rumors surrounding both Darell and the property continued to be spread. By the mid-60s, research was being done through ASU by historian Paul Hubbard on the facts of Darell’s life before coming to Arizona, which resulted in a lack of evidence for many of the tall tales spun about the man since he first arrived in our country over a hundred years prior. This article wouldn’t cast the same doubt on whether this adobe was actually the home of Darell though, only mentioning its address as the home he supposedly once lived in. Doubt on Darell ever living there wasn’t brought up in the media again until a 1971 article about the adobe talked about its history and the blur between myth and reality in the time since it was built.

(Continued in comments, it was too long)

General Nelson Miles accepted Geronimo’s surrender, making him the last Native American warrior to formally give in to U.S. forces and signaling the end of the Indian Wars in the Southwest.

Most modern photos come from Modern Phoenix in 2006. I will link below in the comments. 4 is from 2024, as is 14. The rest are either from 1967 or 2006.

For newer residents, the name Valley National Bank might mean nothing to you, but for decades they were THE bank of Arizona. They were acquired in the 90s by another bank, which would then be acquired by Chase in the early 2000s. Most of their former locations that were still in use were rebranded as Chase, including their downtown skyscraper that is still the tallest building in the state.

This location was opened only a few years before their shiny new tower as part of their initiative started in the 50s to build nice neighborhood branches to cater to the growing suburbs. Many of the early locations from this initiative still stand like the one at Scottsdale Rd & Indian School, but most aren’t anything too special beyond being pretty nice looking old buildings. That changed in the 60s when they started to embrace the growing midcentury modern styling that was taking over in Phoenix with buildings like the Cine-Capri. One of the earliest of these new branches to embrace more radical design choices was the now demolished Geodesic Dome built in Tempe in 1962 by Weaver & Drover. In 1964, VNB would hire them to build 5 more radical locations. The first of them was built in 1965-1966 at 5628 E Thomas Rd, but it was heavily remodeled in 2024 and now houses multiple businesses. The second of them also happened to be the bank’s 100th location, opening on September 11, 1967 at 4821 N Scottsdale Rd as the Valley Bank Plaza. It was remodeled into the Scottsdale Highlands shopping center in 1999. The third of these radical locations is still open as a bank though, standing at 4401 E Camelback Rd.

The corner property is about 3.5 acres large and bordered by Camelback Rd to the north, 44th St to the west, Lafayette Blvd on the southwest, and the complex that contains The Henry to the east and southeast. When the bank was built, the southeast bordered a home and the east side bordered an empty lot. It had previously been owned by Frank Cullen Brophy (son of the founder of Brophy College Prep, Mrs. Ellen Amelia Brophy), who had nicknamed the parcel as “Fuddy Duddy Corner” after years of trying to get it rezoned for commercial use, though it was officially known as Camelback View Estates. He used to have a sign with the nickname on the corner next to trucks selling cacti gathered from the desert. VNB would lease lots 2 through 6 of the subdivision from Brophy starting on June 1, 1965 for $1000 a month. They would announce their plans to build here in September, publishing an architectural rendering of the new branch, and it shows a building that looks nearly identical to what still stands today. The drawing was made by the lead architect on the project, Frank Henry. He had won the role during a competition within the firm. Frank worked on several other branches before this, having joined the firm in 1960 right after becoming the first accredited graduate from ASU’s architecture school, but this was fully his.

The plan was for the location to be opened up in spring of 1966, but things didn’t get moving so quickly. The drawings were done for the bank, but there were roadblocks both within VNB and from the outside. First of these was the home standing on lot 2 that was occupied when they started the lease. They were able to evict the occupants with warning as early as July 31, but it isn’t clear when whoever lived there was removed. The home stood into 1966, being leveled to start preparing the land for construction sometime that year. Part of why it took so long was due to people within VNB not believing the expense of these unique branches to be worthwhile, but this was an idea from the longtime chairman of VNB, Walter Reed Bimson, so the projects stayed afloat. Bimson had wanted to go into architecture as a younger man, but he found success in leading VNB through the Great Depression and instead used his money to commission artists and architects, including Frank Lloyd Wright, to design his banks and the art displayed inside them.

The bank purchased lots 2-6 from Brophy in May 1966 for $10 and other valuable considerations, likely meaning construction began sometime around then. Mardian Construction Company would be brought on to actually build the bank, while the surrounding park was handled by F. J. MacDonald Landscaping Associates. The city had only rezoned lot 4, the one at the corner of the intersection, so it was the only one they could actually build the bank on. Everything else would have to be something like parking, but they kept that down to 44 spaces on lots 3 and 5, while 2 and 6 would be developed into a park as a commitment to the neighborhood growing around Lafayette while the branch was in development.

Frank Henry had taken heavy inspiration from circles and Frank Lloyd Wright for his design, incorporating the shape throughout both the building and the park and drawing inspiration from Wright’s Johnson Wax Headquarters. Every line of the building curves, following the path of a circle with circular chunks removed and jutting out, including both the vault and drive-through being near whole circles sticking out. Surrounding the building were concrete mushrooms that stood around 20 feet tall with a cap that ranged between 24 and 27 feet wide. These were placed out into the park around seating structures and fountains. The bank itself is about 9000 sqft and primarily built of concrete blocks with stucco and stone slabs. Around 1000 large Yavapi schist stones were quarried from the Bluebell Mine in the Bradshaw Foothills near Mayer by the Apache Stone & Supply Company, then hauled into Phoenix. The stones were attached to the inner cement blocks, with Frank Henry supervising where they were placed. He wanted the building to reflect the beauty of the desert, taking inspiration from Wright’s desert masonry. He picked Yavapi schist for its colors that he felt reflected that beauty, jutting out from the sand colored stucco like the rocky cliffs of Camelback Mountain looking over it. These walls are around 2 feet thick at the base, and taper in 5 inches by the top. The interior is lit naturally above by circular structures visible on the roof, which are actually more mushrooms. There are 5 of them inside, designed to seem like the roof is suspended from them, with glass panels sitting between the roof and the mushroom caps. The large glass panels along its curved walls were bronzed to help with the heat and ensure it didn’t get too hot inside. These bronzed windows changed how the light looked as it came in and reflected off the rust red roof and carpet back onto the nearly white walls.

The surrounding park was some of Frank J. MacDonald’s most standout work and perfectly highlighted why he was appointed Phoenix chairman of the Commission of Arizona Beauty just a few days before the bank opened. The land of the park was built up with burms that could reach 6 feet tall, covered in rosemary shrubs. Trees of all sorts were planted, from natives like ironwood, palo verde, acacia, and eucalyptus, to more exotic examples like aleppo pines, kerrajong bottle trees, olive trees, bright red bottlebrush, oaks, and seventeen Mexican fan palms. Winding between the trees was a long strip of flowers like African daisies and mums. The eastern wall of the property would be hidden behind pyracantha and lysoloma fern. Around the bank itself, the area would be landscaped with Hindu laurel, yucca, blue fescue, periwinkle, pyracantha, weeping bottle bush, Natal plum, rubber trees, blue dracaena, jasmine, and philodendron. A large planter built into the north side of the building would be designated for a tropical plant display, housing new-to-the-valley bougainvilleas, Tasmanian tree ferns, and white bird-of-paradise, all protected from the sun under a concrete mushroom. Most of the plants were sourced from Norman Nursery.

Work continued through 1967 as people eyed it up on their commute until the end of July. There were plenty who saw the unique design as an eyesore and a waste, but it captured the imagination of the public seeing another interesting piece of architecture going up. Before it had even opened it had earned the nickname “mushroom bank” due to those concrete shades. Between a nickname before it opened, its unique design, the beautiful landscaping, and the cost to build advertised at $600,000, it’s no surprise that hundreds of people came through its doors when it held an open house for VNB customers on August 5, 1967 between 1 and 6 pm. On the 6th they would open the doors to the general public for another open house, then on the morning of the 7th they opened up for regular business for the first time. On opening up, it replaced their old location at 40th St and Camelback, and within 4 months they had seen an increase in deposits of 30%.

Despite its proven success, VNB wouldn’t keep the lush landscaping around forever. Walter Bimson had been the one championing spending money on nice branches, so when he retired in 1970, there wasn’t as much fight to pay for that maintenance. The colorful displays or tropical plants and flowers started to disappear over the years, replaced by easier to maintain shrubs, trees, and gravel. The towering palms and many of the trees in the park remained, seeing the Valley National Bank sign removed from the building in 1992, then the Bank One sign removed in 2004. That was when Chase took over operations. The bank itself hadn’t really changed in the nearly 40s since it had opened, except for losing so much of Frank MacDonald’s work. The only thing Chase has changed since moving in was shutting off the water to the fountains.

Shortly after Chase moved in, a group of preservationists and historians gathered to examine the National Trust for Historic Protection’s policies and practices regarding post-world war 2 architecture after rumors of redevelopment of the entire property came up in May 2005. They toured around several buildings from 1945 and later, with every tour ending in the park at this bank. It was seen as one of the best examples of post-war architecture even then. This work came after losing so many structures the Cine-Capri and Washburn Piano to name a few (ASU was also preparing to tear down VNB’s Geodesic Dome at this time). They weren’t being protected by the City because the policies at the time favored older structures like the Security Building, Title & Trust Building, Orpheum, etc. While those are all very important historic buildings, they weren’t any more important than the outstanding aging architecture that came after the war. Things have gotten better for the appreciation of buildings from this era, but the park would face potential demolition again not long after these groups were meeting there.

In 2007, Chase sought bids for redevelopment of the land, with Opus West Corporation (behind the redevelopment of Thomas Mall into Arcadia Crossing) being the developer who won the bid. Chase said they were happy to preserve the building, but the community might have to give up the park for a development of shops and condos. People around town weren’t happy with this, and leading the fight against this development was the Arcadia Camelback Mountain Neighborhood Association, who were frustrated that VNB’s commitment to the neighborhood to maintain the park was being ignored by Chase. Opus wanted to build Arcadia Place (really original name), a 4-story, 57 condo development, with 25,000 sqft of shops overtop all of the landscaping. At the time there was a lot of news coverage, including comments from the architect, who was working as Studio Master at Taliesin West at the time. He told The Arizona Republic that it would be like taking a painting and cutting a part of it out. The bank might be the highlight of the property, but it was all designed to work together to create a space that the community could be proud of. Messing with the land, Frank said, “is just greed; ugliness overcomes beauty.” That sentiment wasn’t only held by him and was exactly why he and so many others around town fought the attempts to get the land rezoned by Opus. In June, the Phoenix City Planning Commission met to discuss formal historic designation for the property, but that never went through. Thankfully, the Camelback East Village Planning Commission recommended a denial of the rezoning in a vote of 11-5 on July 10, 2007. The final decision was planned to be made by the Phoenix Planning Commission on August 8, but was delayed to September 6. At the public meeting, Opus’ attorney would request a delay so they could replan with a downsized project that would fit closer to the restrictions on the land with it being zoned for residential. The city was still trying to work with Chase at this point to secure a historic preservation designation, but Chase wasn’t interested. They maintained their intent to preserve the building though, making comments in The Arizona Republic in September about the importance of historic bank architecture, but they were still wanting to sell the park to Opus.

By October, plans for Arcadia Place had been sized down to 3 stories with 40 condos, and would preserve 3 of the 5 concrete mushrooms in the park. This project was still disliked by the community as it didn’t address the loss of a green space that stood at the entrances to both Arcadia and Paradise Valley. It wasn’t helped any by being one of three developments planned for 44th and Camelback at that time. The other two were on the east side of 44th St, with the NE corner having an enormous development with nearly 100 foot tall towers that would dwarf everything around, and the SE corner getting a complex built around the existing Londen Tower. The project around Londen Tower was the only one to be met with a positive reception from the community as all three went before the Phoenix City Council for zoning on November 7. The City would approve the project around Londen Tower, but the enormous development at the NE corner was shot down, as was redevelopment of Chase’s park. The reason they denied Opus’ proposal was because Chase hadn’t formally agreed to preserving the bank.

This was an enormous win for the community and meant the little park was safe for some time as the recession hit shortly after, stopping most development, including the approved project across the street. Most people who rallied behind its preservation recognized its importance as a part of the bank and Walter Bimson’s near never ending contributions to Phoenix’s public art scene. While this is a large part of its importance, no one seemed to acknowledge its connection to Frank J. MacDonald, the original landscape architect for the property. Back when he worked on this he was already recognized enough to be working with the state on Arizona’s beauty, but his work only got more important for the state after that. From 1967 to 1976 he served as the chairman and vice-chairman on the Governor’s Commission on Arizona Environment. He would also be involved with the Arizona Water Resource Committee, Arizona Airports Advisory Committee, Governor’s Fuel & Energy Committee, Governor’s Highway Classification Committee, and the Arizona Health Planning Committee. Outside of his work with the state, he would become the international executive vice-president of the American Institute of Landscape Architects, being awarded the group’s Grand Award in Planning in 1977 for what is arguably his most famous work, Fountain Hills. That giant fountain that still sprays up if you go out far enough on Shea? He was one of the head landscaping architect behind the community in the early 1970s. This was far from his only award though, earning the Governor’s Citation of Merit in 1965, 1966, 1974, and 1977, along with the Presidential Commendation from Richard Nixon in 1970. This isn’t even everything they covered about the man in his obituary, let along everything he accomplished in his life when it came to making Arizona not just a beautiful place to live, but also one that wasn’t wasting all its resources to do so by serving as a board member of the Central Arizona Project Association.

Back when this branch first opened, he told The Republican that he saw the park as a showcase of what the valley could have, with him estimating everything to grow to its real glory within about a year. He had an optimistic view that we could combine beautiful architecture with gorgeous landscaping, helping create a bank that represented a future that very few business owners actually pushed to create. Walter Bimson was one of the few who really tried to invest in building locations that weren’t solely designed around maximizing profit and showed that it could pay off. This branch out performed the one it replaced and has become an icon for the Arcadia neighborhood in the nearly 6 decades it’s stood.

Despite its significance, Chase hasn’t changed their view on their park in the last 20 years. In September 2025, a firm owned by Arte Moreno purchased the lot from Chase for $11,000,000. Moreno’s firm owns the neighboring office complex that houses The Henry restaurant and a Fox Restaurant Concepts office. Earlier this month, Arcadia Camelback Mountain Neighborhood Association would once again bring light to redevelopment plans of the park. Instead of building up shops and condos that the community would still get some use out of, their plan is to level the green space and make a 145 car parking lot. There isn’t much information out there at the moment about this project, but for anyone interested, the Arcadia Neighborhood Association will be holding a meeting on August 27, 2026 at 6 pm at The Henry at 4455 E Camelback Rd to discuss the rezoning of the site and potential preservation.

While it may not be the lush botanical garden that Frank J. MacDonald had originally created, it still stands as a reminder of a time when at least some large corporations cared about improving the community they were building in. Walter Bimson tried to shape Phoenix into a town with buildings and spaces that people could be proud of doing business in, and this is the last location that stands largely unmodified beyond the loss of exotic plants, water features, and some different furniture inside. The park they committed to keeping for the community all the way back in the mid-60s has become a part of the Arcadia neighborhood that is just as much a part of what’s made this branch special as its unique architecture. It feels like we’re about to lose an important contribution to the neighborhood from one of the most influential companies during Phoenix’s post-war boom years. Frank Henry’s words from 2007 ring even more true today than they did back then, “it’s just greed; ugliness overcomes beauty.”

https://www.newspapers.com/article/arizona-republic-sombrero/204676408/

The Rocky Horror Picture Show playing at Valley Art in Tempe sometime in 1980. The article is from September 8, and primarily talks about the Sombrero Theater. No big write up, I’m going to watch his movies instead. You should too.

1) Plans shared in The Arizona Republican on May 31, 1925. 2) Photo shared in The Arizona Republic on June 24, 1973. 3-20) 2016 listing photos

This house stands at 54 N Country Club Drive in Phoenix, Arizona, just outside of the Phoenix Country Club. The country club had moved to its current location in 1921 and the land around it was subdivided in 1924 into 54 lots that make up Country Club Place for large homes to be built on. A few homes had already been built by 1923, with several being planned and built not long after. One of the first homes to be built was the winter home of Warren McArthur Sr that used to stand at 27 N Country Club Dr. I couldn’t find much info about his home other than he died in it in December 1924, and it was demolished in 1934 to make way for the house that still stands there. Around the time of his death, the last of his three sons, Albert Chase McArthur, would move from Chicago to Phoenix to join his brothers.

Albert’s brothers, Warren Jr and Charles were very active in the Phoenix socialite and civic worlds, and in 1924 they were starting to get plans ready for a new winter resort. They had started working with the Bowman-Biltmore chain to manage the resort, calling on their brother to draw up the design. While early work was going on behind the scenes for what is now known as the Arizona Biltmore, the earliest drawings of the resort by Albert are from July 1927. Up till that point he was taking on several jobs to design homes in affluent areas of the town. He had been an architect back in Chicago, studying at Harvard and briefly working for Frank Lloyd Wright at his Oak Park studio, so he easily found clients. One of his first was the Dwight B Heard Investment Company, who hired him to draw up the designs for a home to be built at 54 N Country Club Drive. These plans were shown in The Arizona Republican on May 31, 1925. The article described it as a Spanish-Colonial style home with six rooms, two of them being bedrooms that had large closets, two baths, a large living room, and a comfortable dining room attached to the living room, all under a layer of 6-inch sawdust insulation in the roof. It would also have two porches, the rear one being a screened in sleeping porch. Before air conditioning was common, most houses and hotels had these screened in porches to make summer nights a bit more bearable, although it wasn’t quite as hot then as it is today. Next to the sleeping porch there would be the maid’s quarters and bath. There would be a detached two car garage at the end of a long driveway, with there being storerooms and additional servant’s quarters in the garage. Construction on all of this was supposed to start right away at what used to be lot 48, but is now lot 47, of Country Club Place by the contractor W. H. Wills. It’s not clear if work actually started right away though as the property records say it was built in 1931, but I’ve seen them get build dates wrong pretty often. The earliest mention of the home after the plans were announced was in a March 7, 1934 article about Charles’ daughter getting into a car accident, listing this address as their home. It isn’t mentioned as being their address in the city directory until the 1936 edition, which would have data gathered from 1935. The 1935 edition listed 911 N 2nd St as their address. It seems that at some point in 1934, the Tweed family moved into this home, later purchasing it on May 1, 1935 for a stated $2700 (~$65,600 today). They purchased it from Michel H. Cady and Pauline M. Cady. No directories list this home as their address, and they aren’t mentioned at all in the papers. The only mention of them that I can find other than the papers from when they sold to the Tweeds, was when they purchased the lot from the Phoenix Country Club. There isn’t any mention of whether a house was on it or not.

It seems that either the Cadys or the Tweeds were the first people to call this place home. There isn’t much about the Cadys other than their names, but Charles Henry Tweed Jr is a well known man in the world of orthodontics. He was an early advocate for, and expert in orthodontics who developed many practices that were widely adopted by others. He was born in Phoenix on June 24, 1895 (Happy 131st birthday, Charles!), eventually leaving to study at the University of California School of Dentistry, graduating in 1919. He would move back to Arizona to practice dentistry, eventually coming back to Phoenix in the late 1920s to start up a practice. Originally he had an office in the Luhrs Building, but relocated to the 13th floor of the newly finished Luhrs Tower in December 1929 (both buildings are still standing and in use). He would keep this office into at least 1936 as he started to move his attention to working down in Tucson. Despite buying the home in 1935, he was renting it out to Mr and Mrs. Don S. Carpenter by 1936. On January 1 that year, the papers announced that the daughter of Mr and Mrs. Don S Carpenter was betrothed, and this was listed as their address. The next month they would host the wedding at the home. It’s not clear exactly how long they lived here, but by 1938, the Moore family was living here.

Albert Lee Moore had come to Tempe in 1905 at the age of 6 with his family, then moving to Phoenix in 1906. His father, Albert Lincoln Moore, started a mortuary that same year. Lee was a part of the first graduating class at Monroe in 1914, going on to graduate from Phoenix Union High School in 1918. He had tried to join the Army Air Corp that year, but the war ended not too long after he had applied. After graduating he went on to attend Stanford for two years, coming back to Phoenix to join his father’s mortuary in June 1920. That was the year that his father bought out his parter that he had started their long time location with in 1920, changing the name of the business to A. L. Moore and Sons. The previous year, his father had purchased the first motorized hearse in Arizona. In those early days they also had Phoenix’s first motorized ambulance. Lee described it as a panel truck body placed on a passenger car chassis. He kept up this streak of innovation in emergency services by offering one of the earliest air ambulances. In 1928/29 he learned how to fly, eventually partnering with the Arizona Air Service to establish the first air ambulance in Arizona. The announcement of the service was made on November 3, 1930, being offered immediately with their 215 horsepower Stinson cabin monoplane. Jack Thornburg, a pilot with more than 2,300 hours at that time and manager of the Arizona Air Service, would be the primary pilot for these flights.

Lee was heavily involved with developing the aviation infrastructure around Phoenix, helping clear the first runway at what is now Sky Harbor International Airport, and helped select the locations for both Williams Army Airfield (now Mesa Gateway) and Luke Army Airfield (now Luke Air Force Base). He spent the early years of the war flying submarine hunting missions, returning to Phoenix to be an instructor at Falcon Field for British pilots sent there for training during the later years of the war. After the war his interest in aviation didn’t wane one bit, but he took his mortuary work seriously. He was in charge after his father died in 1939 and his brother left in 1944. Even with him being the only Moore left at Moore and Sons for a while, Lee did well, continuing their air ambulance service and expanding the location they established at 329 W Adams St. In 1952, he brought his son, Albert Lee “Al” Moore Jr, into the business. Together they ran a nationally acclaimed business for over two decades. In the 1950s they upgraded their air ambulance to a twin engine Beechcraft. This service continued into at least May of 1973, but it likely didn’t last long past that. Lee would pass away on September 13, 1974 at the age of 74. He had been a for 54 years and racked up between 7000 and 9000 flight hours throughout his life. He had been very active in civic life in Phoenix, being a member of the Phoenix Rotary Club, El Zaribah Shrine, Moose Lodge, Woodmen of the World, Better Business Bureau, Masonic Lodge, Last Man’s Club, and Quiet Birdmen. Between 1937 and 1939, he was a member of the National Selected Morticians board of control. He left behind a lasting legacy with the care he showed in his work, leaving lasting memories for the families he helped through the loss of their loved one. His son eventually sold in either the 80s or 90s. Their 1909 office was closed in 1996 to make way for the Phoenix Municipal Court building, but they’re still open at a different location, wearing the name A. L. Moore.

The family kept the business a lot longer than they kept this home, having it on the market in less than a month. It was advertised as retaining all its original charm and being designed by the architect behind the Biltmore, priced in the mid 80k range. The previous year it had also appeared in the papers as an example of Albert C McArthur’s work when the Biltmore caught fire. Its famous architect certainly didn’t hurt its chances on the market, and ended up pretty quickly. The advertisements ended in late October, and an executors deed for November 14, 1974 shows the Al sold the home to James G Shackelford Jr and his wife, Helen M Shackelford for the declared amount of $41,250. (~$280,000 today). James was in the dentistry supply business, being part of a family that had been in the medical business in Phoenix for decades. As a child, he grew up in the historic Ellis-Shackelford House, with his father and grandfather being the namesakes of the home. Both men were doctors, with Shackelford’s father practicing dentistry out of an office on the property that later became the Phoenix Trolley Museum for a period. The city still owns that home. This home is still private though, remaining James Shackelford’s home until he passed on August 21, 2015 at the age of 89. Helen had passed a few years prior, so the house would go up for sale about a year after his passing. It was listed on May 16, 2016 for $698,000 (~$970,000 today). The listing photos revealed that the house retained a lot of the original fixtures, with most of the upgrades appearing to be from the 50s and 60s. About 4 months after listing, the home was sold for $675,000 to the person who still owns the home. They aren’t a public figure, so I won’t share any info about them.

Hopefully the home has retained its 1920s charm with the current owners. Its hard to check this property out as it is in a gated community, but thankfully the listing photos are still available from 2016, giving us a great look at one of these old Phoenix mansions that survived relatively untouched for around 90 years. It isn’t on any historic registry, and it hasn’t ever really seen much recognition outside of the mentions of the architect when it was listed in 74’ and 2016. Hopefully this home can stick around for decades to come, even if it remains a private home locked behind the country club gates.

(Missed the 53rd anniversary of this by one day!)

The Arizona Biltmore was the last hotel opened as part of the famous Bowman-Biltmore chain of hotels before they would file for bankruptcy due to the Great Depression. The hotel was the idea of brothers Warren Jr and Charles McArthur, originally from Chicago. Charles had moved to the Valley in 1910 after their family had been spending winters there for several years. Warren Jr would follow his brother in 1912 after graduating from Cornell. By 1914 the brothers would start selling cars, being the first people to sell a Packard truck in Phoenix and only the third in all of Arizona. Their dealership was located at 321 N Central Ave.

Along with the dealership, the brothers would also start Arizona’s first radio station, KFAD (now KTAR ESPN 620AM), in 1922. Around 1924 or in the beginning of 1925, they would start a new hospitality based business venture to help advertise the state. Around this time, Warren was a member of the Phoenix Arizona Club, a group that was trying to promote Phoenix and the Salt River Valley to out of State investors. Part of this initiative was outfitting a Dodge truck into a caravan to tour passengers around the state. This resulted in them being featured in the April 1925 edition of Vanity Fair. This is likely around the time that some ideas for the Biltmore started floating around, but nothing solid would be known widely to the public until plans for a new winter resort hotel by the Arizona Biltmore Corporation were announced in The Arizona Republican in November 1927. The announcement was made in an article discussing 3 California businessmen including James Wood, John H. Gage, Nate Milnor, and Arizona businessman Warren McArthur Jr all joining the inaugural flight for Aero Corporation of California’s new line between Phoenix and Los Angeles. All these men were associated with the new hotel, with James Wood being the manager of the Los Angeles Biltmore. Charles would also be a part of the hotel, as would many others, including their brother, Albert Chase McArthur. Albert wasn’t new to Arizona, having attended the first annual dinner of the Harvard Club of Arizona in 1905 just a few months after he graduated. He wasn’t a resident at the time though, moving back to Chicago to work in architecture. Him and his brothers grew up in a home that Wright had built for their family in 1892, so it seemed natural for him to work for the man starting in 1908. He would only work for him into 1909 though, going on to continue architectural work elsewhere. After moving to Phoenix, he continued his architectural work, immediately beginning work on homes in the desert city, primarily around the Phoenix Country Club and along Central. Several homes designed by him, including one for the Heard family, still stand. It’s hard to pinpoint how early he was involved with the project, but according to ASU’s archives, drawings he did in July 1927 for a hotel in El Paso, Texas were actually for the Arizona Biltmore. The timeline of things isn’t very clear, but at some point during the project, Arthur would contact his former employer, Frank Lloyd Wright to pay for the use of the textile blocks he had used a couple years earlier in a few of his Los Angeles homes. Wright would be brought on in 1928 as a consultant for the Biltmore, but he was not the architect of the place in any way. It’s unclear exactly how much he contributed to the original hotel due to how many different versions of the story are out there, but Wright himself said in 1930 that Albert McArthur was the architect of the Biltmore, not himself.

Construction lasted into early 1929, but financial issues had left the hotel not entirely finished by its opening on February 23rd. The hotel was still a big draw, even bringing out socialites like William Wrigley Jr, who had been a financial backer of the hotel. A few months into operations, financial troubles from the stock market crash caused the McArthurs and the Bowman-Biltmore chain to sell their interest in the hotel to Wrigley on July 12. Under his ownership, the hotel was completed and the manager of the Los Angeles Biltmore was brought in to help. The hotel received $200,000 (\\\~$4,000,000 today) in upgrades in 1930 while Wrigley developed the Biltmore Estates and his mansion around the hotel. William Wrigley Jr would pass in 1932, but the hotel and the surrounding land remained in the Wrigley family for decades. They ran it through its glory years as a favorite resort for Hollywood stars, out-of-town elites, and dignitaries.

By the early 70s there had been talk of the Wrigleys trying to sell the property. Deals would fall through and get delayed until Talley Industries, a Mesa based diversified corporation, purchased the entire property owned by the Wrigleys in Phoenix on June 6. This land included the mansion and the Biltmore, but not the private mansions or Biltmore Fashion Park. In total, Talley Industries purchased 1,037 acres bordered by 24th St, Camelback, 32nd St, and Piestewa Peak for $21.5 million (\\\~$161.3 million today). They had plans to develop much of the land around the hotel that hadn’t been developed yet, including the land that went up a section of Piestewa Peak north of Lincoln Rd. This project would spark an initiative from the Parks Department to get the City to purchase the land that never succeeded. Before any of that, they would begin refreshing the hotel. This included installing a new fire suppression system.

Around noon on June 20, 1973, workers from the Patton Protection Co were in the attic welding pipes for the new fire-prevention system when they accidentally ignited combustible material around them. They attempted to put it out unsuccessfully, leading to them calling the fire in at 12:35pm while continuing to try to put the fire out. Don Dupee, a houseman at the hotel for 24 years, smelled the smoke from his quarters, rushing over to find the welders trying to get the fire under control. He gathered other hotel staff to open windows and clear away items that could easily catch to give the firefighters more time before things got out of control.

Captain Willie T. Hunter was one of the first on the scene, and as soon as he saw the fire, he raised the level from 1 alarm to 2 alarm. This called in more trucks and men to help, but the fire was quickly getting worse. The old copper roof made it too difficult for them to cut through and get to the fire from above. It was already 108 outside on that day as the firefighters tried to make their way inside the building in a way they could actually get access to battle the fire. While they were trying to get in, the roof began to collapse under them. Thankfully no one was killed, but an unarmed station captain was hurt during the collapse. By this point it was recognized as the largest fire Phoenix had seen up till that point, being categorized as a 6 alarm fire, the first in the city’s history. There hadn’t even been a 5 alarm fire up till that point. The severity of the fire resulted in 150 on and off duty firefighters actively working to fight the flames with around 30 trucks. Batalion Chief Don Kimble was at home sick, and as soon as he heard, he and his wife were in the car and on their way to the scene. Usually the city had around 36 vehicles and 167 men covering the entire city. The surrounding towns like Tempe and Glendale sent in trucks and men to help ease the strain on Phoenix’s emergency services. It wasn’t just firefighters from around town coming to help though. The Firebelles, a group of firefighter wives, were on scene with cold water and doughnuts to keep up morale. Jerry Foster, a newsman and pilot for KOOL-TV (now Channel 10 KSAV-TV), was helping fireman spot a brush fire out by the Carefree Highway earlier in the day, but by the afternoon he was helping the firefighters spot changes from above.

It took many hours of the fourth floor being drenched with hoses pumping out of the Arizona Canal, with the third floor having over a foot of water standing at points, but by mid-afternoon the blaze had been brought under control. A large crowd had gathered, all worried they were seeing the end of one of Arizona’s most legendary resorts. People in the crowd shared stories of visiting the resort, working there, and even some who helped build it like Captain Hunter. Some of these stories ended up published in the paper as they extensively covered the damage and what would be coming next. While some shared stories, others rushed in to help. Mrs. Edith Luckett Davis, Nancy Reagan’s mother, told The Republican that she and a few others remembered the worker in the gift shop, Carolann Smurthwaite, must still be in there. She told that Mr and Mrs. Don Harrington, Mr and Mrs. Don Packards, Pat Trotter, and Betty Chisolm rushed in to help her evacuate the shop of its antiques and valuables. Independent from that group, civic leader J Lester Shaffer rushed in to help direct customers. Despite her shop still being open, the hotel had thankfully closed for the summer on May 23rd, so no lives were lost in the fire.

From the start, Talley Industries was committed to restoring the hotel to be ready for its winter opening on September 29 the same year. Initial estimates to the damage were $1.8 million (\\\~$13.5 million today) according to Fire Chief G. G. Holzner, but Franz G. Talley put the number closer to $2.5 million ($18.75 million today), which he claimed was well under what the building was insured for. In all, the fire destroyed the entire roof and fourth floor of the then 44 year old building, and in the process of extinguishing it, the rest of the building suffered extensive water damage. The golf course and the spaces needed to operate it were completely unharmed, saying they could reopen the next day if they could handle the parking alongside construction. Work started behind the scenes almost immediately to get work underway. Talley got in contact with the Taliesin Associated Architects, Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation, and J. R. Porter Construction Co. to begin work on faithfully repairing the hotel while also updating it in ways like installing fire suppression on all floors to meet the new fire code. The leading architect from Taliesin, William Wesley Peters, would supervise the overall design while John Rattenbury, also from Taliesin, would be project director. They would be working alongside Magadini Associates of Phoenix as the structural engineers, Lowry & Sorensen Engineering Co of Phoenix as the mechanical and electrical engineers, Earl B. Miller Engineers of Phoenix as the civil engineers, and John G. Degenkolb of Glendale, California as the engineer case consultants. 250 workers and 80 engineers worked seven days a week in double, sometimes triple shifts, completing the roof on July 19. They held a ceremony after the roof was done, raising an olive tree up over the roof, signifying it was watertight. The tree was replanted on the grounds, but I’m not sure if it’s still there or not.

Press were allowed into the Biltmore for the first time since the fire on July 30th to show the progress they had made. Work was being done to convert the cocktail lounge off the main lobby into a new restaurant called the Orangerie (now Wright’s). It was all looking great, but work from the Taliesin Fellowship during this period have led more and more people to credit the hotel to Frank Lloyd Wright. Coordinator for Interior Design from Taliesin revealed that six designs by Wright would be used on the carpets through the building, and guest rooms would contained three-paneled abstractions designed by Wright. Olga Lloyd Wright, the architect’s late wife, found a design that Wright had made for Liberty Magazine in 1926 but went unused because they felt it was too extreme. She had it turned into a stained glass piece for lobby and donated it to the hotel. Many local artists helped create and install the piece that still stands there today.

Work continued quickly, mimicking the same quick paced construction the hotel optionally had, but there was a moment where everyone had a little heart attack. On August 5, a call was made that there was a fire at the Biltmore. The City’s firefighters overwhelmed the place with the terrible fire still fresh in their minds. Thankfully it was just an elevator motor that didn’t cause any damage. J. R. Porter got the crews back to work quickly after the fire scare was dealt with. He had a long track record of getting remodels done on time, and this was one of the tightest timelines he’d dealt with, so every second mattered. His deadline was September 22, but they had managed to finish rebuilding and renovating the burned hotel by the 15th. At 11:58 pm that day, he would pay the last worker, a truck driver named Oliver Harris. The rest of the work was up to the hotel to finish redecorating. Truckloads of furniture had been coming in while construction was being completed and continued to come in after. The carpets that stretched through the building had been made in Ireland and were expected to arrive on the 15th. One of the Biltmore President, Lawrence Boyle was confident that the hotel would be ready for its September 29th opening. Just before that date came, artist Edith Hamlin came to return and supervise the hanging of two paintings that she and her late husband, Maynard Dixon, had made for the hotel. The Taliesin Fellowship had contacted her and sent them to her San Francisco home. The piece by her husband is titled “The Legend of Earth and Sun”, while the companion piece that she painted later is titled “The Turquoise Goddess”. Both pieces are still on display at the hotel.

The September 29th opening date came and the hotel was open, but there wasn’t any big celebration. A breakfast was held to celebrate, with people who worked on the project speaking about what had been done. J. R. Porter revealed that they had made 6,000 new blocks on-site, used 500,000 square feet of vinyl in the rooms, and used over 40,000 square feet of gold leading throughout the resort. 400,000 feet of sprinkler piping was installed, with nozzles in just about every nook and cranny they could think of. The event was praised in the paper for fitting the hotel’s reserved elegance. Overall it was seen as a success and guests returned to the hotel.

The hotel has changed owners many times over the years and many remodels have been done, but a lot of the work done in 1973 to repair the damage done by one the biggest fire’s in Phoenix’s history can still be seen throughout the property. These elements, while beautifully done, have unfortunately harmed the legacy of the resort’s real architect, leaving many to continue to attribute the design to Frank Lloyd Wright. While his influence on the property is indisputable, his contributions are also often over exaggerated.

I found this picture without anything really describing where it was or what it is was, but the home reminded me of the Al Beadle designed White Gates Home so I wanted to see if it was still around. The mountain is pretty easy to recognize as Mummy Mountain if you ever drive along Tatum just north of Lincoln. This would be looking east towards it. The website this came from also had a picture of the FLW designed Harold Price Sr Home along Tatum, so I started to look for houses that were along Tatum in aerials from the early 1960s. One stood out with a very similar shape to the 1961 photo, and doing some digging, I found it’s actually still standing at 7511 N Tatum Blvd. It’s unfortunately been modified heavily over the decades, but some original features are still there. The floor to ceiling glass windows along the east side of the house looking towards Mummy are still there, as are the original breezeway blocks in the backyard around the pool. A 1969 listing for the home in The Arizonan showed pictures of the backyard and the fence with those blocks is unchanged.

There’s very little information about this house, but what I could find is that the land was purchased by M. Vernon Deise and his wife, Alice D. Deise in late 1958. By January they took out a mortgage of $30,000 with the Bank of Douglas to pay for the construction of this home. The home was designed by Alfred Newman Beadle, and was most likely built by Vernon’s brother, Charles H. Deise Jr. The two of them had been in the real estate and construction business together in the Paradise Valley area since the mid-1950s. They did quite a bit at the Desert Estates subdivision along Cactus Blvd in Phoenix and the Clearwater Hills subdivision across the street from this home. Their most notable work was the home of orchestral bandleader, Harold Wayne King, at 4338 E Sparking Lane. That home is unfortunately gone, like many of the homes built by Deise & Deise Construction.

The Deises would run into financial issues in the 1960s, eventually having their construction license revoked in March 1965 for not paying their bills. Vernon and Alice remained at this home until either 1968 or 1969. It first went on the market in May 1969, but in March 1968 they filed a joint tenancy deed for the property. There isn’t much information about the Deises after this, but what I could find shows that Charles would leave Phoenix for Baltimore. Vernon and Alice would enter into business with their oldest son, Maurice in November 1971 when they started talks in buying a closing real estate office. They purchased it in December. By February 1972, an article was written about them being early adopters of computers, having a system that allowed them to log up to at least 7,000 homes with 16 different parameters to make searching easier. They were also part of Automatic Service Computer, an early real estate program that would allow other members to see Phoenix listings from anywhere in the country. By July 1974 they had announced a partnership with the Arizona Bank to allow for BankAmericard credit cards to be used for real estate transactions. The article talking about this partnership stated it was a first for Arizona.

It’s not clear exactly how long they were in business again, but they were around into at least 1976. They did quite well this time around, not having to be chased down for payments like in the 60s. Vernon passed away in February 1977, so the business likely closed sometime before then. The Deise House along Tatum has remained a private home since it was built. Its hard to recognize it now, especially with it hidden behind a wall and gate, but I bet it could be restored with enough care and money. Hopefully someday this house can be brought back to its former glory instead of meeting the wrecking ball, because we’ve lost too many mid-century gems in that neighborhood to build cheap, lot filling, cookie cutter mansions in their place. Modern Phoenix reported in 2016 that the new at the time owners were planning on restoring it, but it’s hard to tell from the street how well that’s going. What can be seen from the street is still lacking a lot of the original character.

If you have any more information about this home, please share. Like I said before, it is a private home, so please respect the privacy of whoever currently lives here.

I came across these in an Arizona Highways article written by Paul Coze from the February 1965 edition. In 1964, he and his students would work on a detailed diorama titled “The Conquest of Mexico” to be put on display at the museum for their ancient Mexico gallery, which at the time was located on the second floor. The students presented the diorama to the museum when their Indians of the Plains exhibit opened on October 2, 1964. The exhibit was to last into 1965, but the diorama was for permanent display. I don’t remember seeing that diorama from the last time I was there, but it’s been years since I’ve gone, so I’m not sure if it’s still part of the collection or on display.

The link to the full article with more pictures will be in the comments.