NOTE: Longtime Zephyr contributor PAUL VLECHOS has decided to end his Zephyr tenure after a decade of interesting photos and captions of the American Landscape.
But I still want to maintain a regular Zephyr feature that highlights the contemporary American Scene Seeking the “whimsical, the wondrous and the weird,” our country clings to remnants of a unique, magnificent, sometimes bewildering, and sometimes inspiring land of extraordinary diversity. It’s a nation of many decent hard-working men and women who still love the America they once remembered. Thankfully, some of that history and culture still survive.
We also face an emerging America that reminds some of us that in 2022, this truly IS “the end of the world as WE knew it.” You’ll find some of those reminders too. The Future’s inhabitants may indeed like and embrace the changes that are happening in the world today. Documents like this merely serve to remind the future of how it once was.
But primarily, I want to continue that tradition of seeking out what we think are the most interesting and honest parts of America.” As you can see from the title, I’m not looking for the boilerplate standard Instagram pic of the Grand Canyon or the line of Zion tourists waiting for their selfies atop Angels Landing. And I don’t plan to limit the scope of these images and the short stories that will accompany them to the American West. I want to go coast-to-coast.
In this issue, you’ll see my photographs and the lies and truths that go with them. And most of the pictures in this feature will be more cotemporary–within the last decade. But sometimes I’ll include “Then & Now” images to show you just how much our beloved West has changed in the last decade or two.
Here’s volume #1…JS
MOAB IS EVERYWHERE…
Starting a new feature like this, it seems appropriate to go back to my roots. To my once beloved home for several decades—Moab, Utah. There was a time, not that long ago, when mentioning the name “Moab” drew empty stares or blank silences. Before the internet and Amazon and free shipping, I used to place a lot of catalog orders and it was all done on the phone. I’d call the toll-free number and read out the list of purchases and designated product ID. As I provided shipping and billing details, the operator invariably asked me to repeat the city name. “Where?” she’d ask. “Is that in the United States?” For decades, wherever I went, nobody had ever heard of my little hometown and I was delighted. The fewer, the better.
That all began to change in the 90s, got even worse in the 2000s, and now? In 2022? Fuhgeddaboudit (Translation: “Forget about it” to the un-cool like me) ) Moab’s gone, at least to those of us who remember it the way it was. But the whole world knows about Moab. They name shoes and hamburgers and really large bombs in its honor. Everyone wants to go there and have the “Moab Experience.” The recent evidence of its universal fame shocked even me.
We were at the State Fair in a classic Midwestern setting, and in most respects state fairs are the same wherever you go. I personally go for the livestock, but half of the exhibits are promotions for products of varying value and interest, but that’s okay. Where I live I always enjoy seeing the John Deere tractor displays. And you cannot beat the fried Twinkies or funnel cake.
Those are the kinds of thrills I expect at a fair whose state is known for being one of the flattest in the country. So imagine my surprise when I turned a corner and encountered a larger than life photographic version of sort of flattened but humongous Delicate Arch—it was at least fifteen feet tall— and bolted to a heavy steel frame. Even better, perched on the summit of “Delicate Arch” was a brand new loaded pickup truck–a Chevy Silverado, ready to do some serious hill climbs. As I stood there cringing in front of this shocking display, I was amazed at the number of fair visitors who instantly recognized Utah’s best known natural feature–we were about a thousand miles away at the time.
Depressed but not particularly surprised, I tried to be philosophical. Just one more example of the “end of the world as I know it. “ We left and I sought comfort with the dairy cattle and the weirdest collection of mutated geese I’ve ever seen. I figured things couldn’t get worse. I was wrong…
About 30 years ago I wrote a short piece called “Virtual Moab.” It was my theory that if virtual reality could really take over civilization, people might indeed stay home and just put on their goggles. So maybe this next story shouldn’t depress me at all. But in the pavilion under the rodeo grandstand is a long row of more exhibits and vendors. At one table you might encounter a Pro-Life exhibit and ten feet further, a really good deal on buffalo jerky. But then I saw this.
It was my 30 year old vision come to life. Again I tried to be upbeat—if this is as close as they ever get to Utah, then maybe the virtual world is something I should come to embrace. But somehow, I knew deep down, I’d only be ultimately disappointed. Crushed by the virtual realities of Life…
PINKY: THE DIVINE DOG OF BUEYEROS CHURCH
Even 30 years ago, I was trying to find forgotten parts of the American Southwest where I could drive for hours and never see a tourist. As my fellow travelers became more sensitive to damage caused by the extractive industries, especially oil and gas, they had no interest in going near these fouled and besmirched parts of the Southwest. I realized that if you can tolerate the visual intrusions, and sometimes the smell, those parts of the West dominated by the extractive industries are some of the most peaceful parts of the country. If peace and solitude is what matters to you.
“Who’d want to go there? They have oil wells!!!” Perfect.
So in 1990, I made my first of many exploratory expeditions into those blank parts on the map that I’d never heard anyone emote over (in a positive way). In New Mexico, I discovered the metropolis of Roy, learned that Bob Wills had grown up there and that longtime Moab local Terry Knouff had a connection as well. His father Buzz was born in Roy. Even thirty years ago, Roy was close to ghost-town status. Recently even its independent general store went belly up.
Roy sits on the edge of a long plateau. Twenty miles south, the road turns east and descends more than a thousand feet into some of the most barren and desolate landscape you’ll ever see. Some might feel justified in saying, “THIS is truly the ‘stinkin’ desert.’” That’s why I loved it. The view is wide open. You can see the crumbling highway 20 miles ahead.
Within that wide open vista, something caught my eye on that first journey. As improbable as it seemed, I thought I could make out the outline of a small church. Sure enough, as I drew closer, I was surprised to find a small sandstone chapel. It was called the Bueyeros Sacred Heart Catholic Church and I later learned that it had been constructed in 1894. Before the Dust Bowl devastated this part of the country in the 1930s, Bueyeros had boasted a population of almost 400. Now it’s practically abandoned.
In 2011, I returned to that part of New Mexico and to the Bueyeros Church, wanting to share the experience and the oil condensate odor with a new friend, and discovered a new resident and perhaps landlord/priest of the parish. It was a white dog—the friendliest sweetest animal I think I have ever encountered—especially considering I was a
stranger. He ran out to the car to say hello, then followed us around the church and through the old cemetery, with a permanent smile emblazoned upon his beatific face. His tail never stopped wagging. And if I paused, his instinct was to roll over on his back and wait for a belly rub. It seemed like a good idea. If white dog was as divine as he appeared to be, a good belly rub might get me absolved of at least a few of my more troubling sins.
We stayed half an hour, then walked back to the car. He followed us and waved goodbye as only happy dogs can. Finally I asked him if he were Jesus himself and he just rolled over on his back and grinned at me again . I think he was.
It was such a wonderful and happy experience that I decided to include a few pictures of him and the church in the next online Zephyr. About a week after the story and photos ran, we were shocked to find a couple messages—from the owners! Somehow this dinky little Zephyr story had made its way across the ether to Amarillo, regarding this blessed critter. Here were their comments:
This was from “Kitty:”
Hey,
Just got a phone call from my daughter who lives in Amarillo, Texas. Demanding I get on this website. Low and Behold, there is Pinky, the family pet. Pinky is 13 years old, we have had her since she was a pup (so were the kids). The kids have since grown up and gone but Pinky is still here.
Thanks so much for making my day!
as close to Heaven as you get.
And then this from Katrina:
Hello, this dog is our dog and her name is pinky. This is a great story and funny pictures.
Finally Shawn Jeffrey wrote:
Pinky is the icon for Bueyeros! Such a sweet dog and always greets every visitor. She has never liked being taken to town and was always the happiest in Bueyeros. Dennis and Kathy have been the caretakers of an Angel for many years!! I’m glad to see Pinky is still there and hosting greeters at the Bueyeros Church!
An Angel is right. Pinky, like so many animals, had such a better soul than most of us humans. Just three days ago, I had to put my beloved cat Possum to sleep. He had been born with bad kidneys and for the last six years, I had given him medicine every morning to slow down the deterioration. But finally nothing worked and he was starting to suffer. He was only nine. Lately I’ve concluded that cats and dogs should live to be 90 and humans should be limited to about ten.
Because I realized that if Pinky was 13 years old in 2011, he has no doubt left us by now, hopefully for eternally happier times, surrounded by the love and affection he so greatly deserves. I recall the dyslexic agnostic who wondered if “There really is a Dog.” In Pinky’s case, the answer just might be yes. I passed through Bueyeros last summer. No sign of Pinky of course. I still miss him and I will never forget him. And if he IS Jesus, I hope he has a kind word for me.
THE GREEN LADY: MOLLY HAMMER & EVERETTE DeVAN
I’ve never been much of a socializer, always felt uncomfortable in crowded venues, and have mostly spent a life alone, but those recently past ten years did introduce me to some experiences that I would not likely have ever imagined otherwise. On a trip To Kansas City, we learned about the Green Lady. It really wasn’t a woman with a greenish hue, it was a small, inconspicuous jazz club just off downtown, in a building that could not be more nondescript. But when you walked through the first door, and past the curtains and into the bar, it was like traveling to a different world and even a different era. Kansas City is known for its own special brand of jazz and it exclusively turns to local musicians to keep the place hopping. Though it’s called the Green Lady, the interior is, in fact, very red and very dark and…well…perfect.
The first visit was on a hot summer afternoon. There were always musicians doing a set and back then, there wasn’t even a cover charge (now it’s still only five bucks). When we walked in, the Everette De Van Trio was performing. He was a brilliant organist and could perform miracles on his Hammond B3. Everett had been fighting poor health recently and this had been his triumphant return.
It would be the first of many visits over the years. I had a special appreciation for a female vocalist named Molly Hammer. She could do it all and with a style and grace that could only generate awe and admiration. I recall one evening though, that Molly seemed to be having an off night. Her voice was just as strong, her style just as unique. But she seemed tired. Later we were devastated to learn that Molly Hammer had been fighting breast cancer since 2008, and in 2016, she was faced with the unbearable reality that the cancer had metastasized throughout her body. She continued to perform, while living under this dark cloud. But finally on November 20, 2020, Molly Hammer passed away.
She had grown up in Excelsior Springs and for years had been a stage actress before she turned to her singing voice to build her remarkable career in her beloved Kansas City. Anyone who ever saw and heard Molly Hammer sing is truly blessed.
Then I learned recently that Everette DeVan had died last summer. He was only 71. I’m sure he and Molly are still sorely missed at the Green Lady.
NEW YORK CITY AND ITS MOABIZATION…OR IS IT THE OTHER WAY AROUND?
I had not been to New York since 2003, just two years after 9/11 and you could still feel the loss in the city. I visited the site which was still removing debris from the massive hole in the ground. It would be years before the new WTC#1 would rise from the ashes. Upon my return in 2017, the city felt different—more sterile. Wealthier. Affluence was running rampant.
For years I’ve been complaining about the cost of housing in Moab and other “New West” cities. The dramatic rise is chasing the middle class, not to mention the poor, from their very homes. As we wandered the city, I spotted this sign. It wasn’t in Midtown or Central Park West. It wasn’t even some neighborhood that had only recently become the new trendy place to live. This was Chinatown. Read the sign. Sound familiar?
your district unaffordable for everyone to live?”
I looked up some numbers. The median price of a home in NYC is now well over a million dollars. Even in Moab, the median price is around $695,000. If you want a deal, go to the little town of Concordia, Kansas, up north near the Nebraska border. My grandfather was born there in 1882. His parents were married there a year earlier. Now in Concordia, the median price of a home is only $127,000.
TUCUMCARI, NEW MEXICO…Is that salsa or soup?
My father took my family out west for the first time in June 1966. We left Louisville in the late morning, drove all day and through the night, and when the sun came up, we were in Tucumcari, New Mexico. I thought it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. My father had reserved a room for us at the Travelodge on Route 66 (there was no Interstate 40 yet). We all slept soundly for a few hours and then I went off exploring. I was intrigued by the nearby ‘Tucumcari Mountain,” which is really more butte than mountain, but as Firesign Theater might have said, “It’s a real beaut…real pretty too.”
Two years later, I made my first journey West from Kentucky without “parental supervision.” THANK GOD. My buddy and fellow spelunker Jeff Dutton was my sidekick (or I his), and we followed almost precisely the same route and the same schedule as my dad had taken in ‘66. And being my father’s son, I even booked a room at the same motel. We arrived at almost the same time of day. That evening, we decided to eat at the adjacent Mexican restaurant. It’s hard to imagine but in those days, one would be hard pressed to find a Mexican eatery of any kind east of the Mississippi River. In some of the Deep South states, there may have even been laws against it! So to be honest, we had no bloody idea what any of these menu items were. I think I may have seen tamales sold in a can, but that was the extent of my culinary knowledge. If you want to know how really stupid two 18 year olds from Kentucky be, when the waitress brought us chips and salsa, we thought the salsa was soup. We started eating our salsa with a spoon.
“My God,” I said to Dutton, “this soup is cold!! What is wrong with these people?”
I’ve learned a few things since then.
This photo is from 2016
THE ZEPHYR AMERICA LANDSCAPE #1—COAST TO COAST
And one of the largest buffalo herds.
I had no idea how to do a digital version of The Z. That was her great talent
along with her extraordinary organizational skills…. I thought it was over.
But so many of you were incredibly supportive and encouraging; finally I crawled out of my black hole and have tried my best to keep The Z alive . The Backbone support from you has been phenomenal. I expected an avalanche of cancellations from The Z’s “sustaining supporters.” Incredibly I had only two–and one of them was Tonya’s mother. Totally understandable.
And for sure, others were also skeptical that The Z would survive.
Even my former wife wrote this in a publicly accessible internet site:
“For a while I was publisher of a bi-monthly online periodical—The Canyon Country Zephyr…Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately…a cosmic joke of timing occurred, and things went sideways for The Canyon Country Zephyr. As I’m writing this, the fate of that periodical is unclear. It may be dead. It may be on extended life support. All I can say with certainty is
that the Z will not be what it used to be.”
But despite the predictions, The Zephyr is not ‘dead,’ and it’s not on ‘life support,’ and while it may “not be what it used to be,” I’m hoping that with your help and encouragement…and your friendship,” I can, in fact, make it better.
Thanks again…Jim Stiles
Jim, I have promoted the concept of Virtual Moab for years. Hear me out.
Once upon a time most small towns across the west earned a living by growing or extracting goods that they sold to customers across the country. But the customers made those purchases while staying home, and the small towns, and local residents, were left alone.
Now, small towns, at least the ones that survive with any prosperity, still sell goods to people across the country. But the goods focus on scenery, recreation, and experiences, and the customers have to arrive and complete these transactions in person. This changes the town, and the local lifestyles, beyond recognition.
If only locals could still get dollars without visitors. This is where virtual experiences might prove a game-changer. Imagine Moab with a collection of adventure producers, who sell off-the-shelf or custom outings, and turn hikes, jeep drives, raft trips, etc. into dollars–dollars sent from people who never visit Moab. I hear that the Metaverse will soon absorb all the cool people, so maybe?
Virtual trips are good for those of us who can no longer travel as far as we used to. I spend a lot of my time these days watching YouTube videos made by van dwellers and other assorted nomads, seeing the world through their eyes. All well and good except I miss the moments when traveling through the wilder parts of our country, stopping by the side of the road and listening. Hearing only the sounds of my blood rushing behind my ears. And the aroma of sage heightened by a sprinkle of rain. The desert landscape changes colors then, more vivid in shape and hue. You can’t see that in a video. And the videos only point to what catches the eye of another person, not me. Living vicariously through others is a sad, hallow experience when compared to the real thing. That said, though, seeing, smelling, hearing, and touching the world while surrounded by a mass of people who appear to be confused as to why they are here, makes for an even less gratifying experience. We need to cut the ad campaigns. The irony of that is almost comical. I once commented on the Zion National Park Facebook page that since they complain so much of the madding crowds and damage done to the park features by visitors, perhaps they should cut their advertising, thus cutting the crowds. The FB page admin reamed me a new one.
What a fine and perceptive, yet nostalgic look at the west and USA today. Enjoyed 📚 reading this very much!!! Thanks
What a fine and perceptive, yet nostalgic look at the west and USA today. Enjoyed 📚 reading this very much!!! The photos are also priceless. Thanks
Yeah, we all miss that old west… I wonder what they’re charging for a home in Cisco these days.
well (way-ell) cisco is rumoured to (eventually) “come back.” i should look thru’ old scrapbooks in the (un)likely event we still have an advertisement — sometime early-to-mid ’90’s, i think. the “ad” had 4 mostly-identical pictures of the Cisco landscape and the announcement was that, for a mere $100,000 one could own the whole “town”. my wife’s #1 assistant at her store — her (employee’s) dad, Guy Cherp was the owner. i don’t know if he sold Cisco for that price or not.
good, fun stuff Jim, key-pittupp !