15 YEARS & COUNTING...
If someone had told me, when I first started this publication that I would still be doing it15 years later, I would have had them committed. Instead, I have been cranking it out for 15 years and I need to be committed. Pretty damn funny. I’m rolling on the floor. But am I convulsing with laughter or having another breakdown? Who can say—the two experiences are so similar.
But yes, to be serious and reflective for just a moment, this is indeed the 15th anniversary of The Canyon Country Zephyr, the celebrated and maligned publication that has become an anachronism in its own time. It’s almost been like a marriage, The Zephyr and me—lots of passion but no sex. Or maybe sex but no orgasm? Oh there has been that occasional blissful high moment or three that compares to a memorable sexual encounter, but then how could any print publication, mere wood pulp and ink, ever measure up to a woman?
Don’t get me started...
I have tried to "live hopelessly in the past since 1989" with some degree of success. The Zephyr is still a cut-and-paste operation. I print out the galleys on my used laser printer and "paste" the stories and ad copy to tattered and stained blue grid boards with the original hand waxer I bought in late 1988. It has served me well, but was once almost destroyed when an ex-girlfriend attempted to use the waxer to trim her bikini line. It was touch-and-go for a while, but the hairs finally melted and ended up cementing some long past issue together, all the way to the printer.
I still take the boards to a printer myself, load the 15,000 copies into the back of my 1986 GMC pickup truck with 207,000 miles on the odometer and bring them back to Moab, where I un-load them on my front porch. Often some of my best friends come by and watch the operation...
"Stiles, those papers are pretty damn heavy," notes my friend Greenspan, celebrated Blues guitarist/vocalist/passive observer, as I lift the 63rd bundle from the truck bed. "If I didn’t have such sensitive musician fingers, I might help you." Then as an afterthought Bob adds, "Aren’t you too old to do that kind of lifting?"
If he wasn’t so damn lovable, I’d kill him.
For fourteen years The Zephyr was printed by The Cortez Journal in Colorado, two hours away. Larry Hauser was the chief press man and his #1 assistant was his son Patrick. They were great. It was a family-owned operation until 2002, when some rich guy’s company gobbled it up, along with a few other publications in the intermountain West. Months later, I got Word from Above (above Larry and Pat too) that they would no longer print The Zephyr in the size paper I’d used since Volume 1 Number 1, that I’d have to re-design and that the rates would go up $4000 a year.
It was the best thing that could have happened. I found the Tooele Transcript, a family-owned business since 1894, with a state-of-the-art press, who gave me a better deal, faster service and higher quality. Sometimes...sometimes, the Little Guys still win. Special thanks to Keith and Dagwood, who made the transition so easy for me.
So what has changed in Moab and Southeast Utah since 1989? Well...almost everything? In the spring of that year, I shot roll after roll of film, documenting every alfalfa field, horse pasture and open space I could find in the Moab Valley. From the horse pastures just south of the Colorado Bridge, where the long-forgotten "Goat Man" used to live, to the Cottonwood lined creek bottom across from Dave’s Corner Market, to the many orchards just blocks away from the heart of "downtown," to the green alfalfa fields of Spanish Valley. I think I knew I was taking pictures of the dead, even then. Almost all of those pastoral scenes are gone or going fast. Some lament their passing but many Moabites, who have arrived since then, have no idea what’s been lost. Many of them, good enviros all, live atop the grave yards and don’t even know it, in faux adobe condos with xeriscaped yards and water efficient toilets. May they forever flush with a free conscience.
I’ve thought about the highs and lows of the last 15 years. But since I spend most of my time telling you that whale crap on the bottom of the ocean looks like clouds floating in the sky, perhaps I’ll concentrate on the positive for a rare moment. Here’s my list of Zephyr "Top 10 High Points" since 1989:
Stopping the Book Cliffs Highway:
First let’s do the serious stuff...The Grand County Special Service Road District and The Zephyr were born almost simultaneously. The autonomous government entity’s board, composed of mostly lame duck county commissioners who had been defeated the previous fall over the toxic waste incinerator issue, proposed to build a major paved highway over the Book Cliffs, from I-70 to Vernal. The plan was crazy and unrealistic and the district spent half a million bucks before the highway proposal was proclaimed dead by the...
First Grand County Council.
In 1992, Commissioners David Knutson and Manuel Torres controlled a solid majority on the Grand County Commission and made a number of decisions that increasingly annoyed county residents. When they declared themselves veto-proof and untouchable (there was no recall option for county commissioners), the voters got riled. A few activists (Moab had activists then) discovered a provision in the state constitution that allowed for the creation of a new "council" form of government, if approved by a vote of the people; further, it allowed the removal of the existing governing body if the referendum was passed by the voters.
It wasn’t even close. Record numbers of Grand County residents cast their votes to throw the rascals out. The following February, a special election produced one of the most extraordinary collections of public servants I have ever known. Self-less and hardworking, courageous and honest, they did more for this county in two years than any County Council has been able to accomplish since. They were—Bill Hedden, Charlie Peterson, John Hartley, Peter Haney, Paul Menard, Ken Ballantine, and John Maynard.
And yet, while I voted against him, disagreed vehemently on most issues, I’d still insist that one of my top ten highlights was...
Getting to Know David Knutson
David and I were an odd pair. His family was in the oil and gas maintenance business and also hauled heavy equipment and drove trucks. They regarded environmentalists with disdain and anger most of the time. To be fair, I wasn’t much more sympathetic for the rural westerner’s point of view. And none of us had ever bothered to talk to each other. What I learned from David was that I could truly like and value the company of someone I totally disagreed with. Even angrily disagreed with at times.
David sometimes hauled a water tanker to the Park Service headquarters of the Maze District at Hans Flat, an eight to ten hour round trip from Moab, and once I rode along. We never stopped arguing and I never enjoyed an eight hour drive in a tanker truck over dirt roads more.
I haven’t seen Knutson in a couple of years, but when I do, the bonds of friendship are still there.
The Lynn’s Paradise Café/Kentucky Connection
I grew up in Kentucky but haven’t lived there in decades. One day in the in the early 90s I got a phone from a woman named Lynn Winter. She said she owned a restaurant in Louisville and wanted to advertise in The Zephyr. I thought it was a joke. Who put you up to this, I asked? "Huh?" she replied.
Lynn had no idea I was a Kentucky native. Her boyfriend had passed through Moab earlier in the week on his way home, picked up a Zephyr and thought my publication was as weird as her café. So did she. The rest is history.
Life With Marooney
What would this town be like if Mike Marooney were still here? I wonder... For those of you who remember the Dos Amigos Mexican Cantina/Marooney Days (there is an excellent chance that he remembers none of it), you could not have missed the Mad Man. He was all over the place. Physically and metaphysically. He contained multitudes. Outrageous and addled. Sympathetic and pigheaded. Savage and tender. Generous and conniving. He made things interesting. Marooney even wrote a Zephyr column for awhile called "From the Dark Side." He made me look cheerful. Then his wisdom became so incoherent that only my favorite ex-girlfriend, a student of nihilist philosophy and the works of Friedrich Nietzsche, could understand him. Marooney drove me crazy, but he got there first and left town. Then, when I found myself going toe-to-toe with him in the insanity department, he vanished completely.
Haven’t received an x-rated email from him in almost a year. Are you still alive Marooney??
Letters to the Editor
My life would be so...diminished if it weren’t for the feedback I receive from the vast Global Zephyr Readership. I was rummaging through the archives the other day and remembered a real gem from a guy named Jack Bollan in Clifton, Colorado. Here’s an excerpt:
"...All of your rock and tree hugging articles are expressions of earth religion. For liberal creeps, earth religion has replaced God religion. Your earth religion is turning the desert into a pristine, isolated wasteland...You think you are Ed Abbey or something.
"So Abbey saw Glen Canyon before the dam? Well so did I and I’m glad the dam is there. If the dam wasn’t there I would be short one kid. One of my kids was conceived in Dangling Rope Canyon on the floor of a 20 foot Wellcraft. Did you factor my kid into your thinking? Hell no, you don’t care about people. You would gladly sacrifice my only son to your earth religion. MY ONLY SON."
Jack, if you’re still out there somewhere, it’s time you vented again; it’s been way too long.
Win a Dream Date with Stiles Contest
Wait...there I go again, confusing the highs and lows. We did have a contest. There was only one entry, a Brittany Spaniel with bad breath named Dippity-Do who insisted I show my love by drinking out of the toilet. Did I or didn’t I? Hmmm...
Three Crazed Advertisers
Businesses and individuals who support this publication through advertising, subscriptions and the Backbone can never truly appreciate the depth of my appreciation. As I’ve said before, we don’t depend on corporate ads, grants, or personal trust funds/inheritance to produce this paper. This is a publication that is held together by you guys.
There are three businesses that I’d like to identify and thank, who have been in every issue of this publication since it began. To Ron Maupin at Haggle of Vendors in Grand Junction, to Vern Erbe at the Hogan Trading Company in Moab, and to Ken and Jane Sleight at Pack Creek Ranch. You’re crazy but I appreciate it.
The Glen Canyon Institute
Holding a grudge against Glen Canyon has been a lifetime hobby for me. I first saw the dam, a few years after its completion and was too young of course to have ever seen Glen Canyon before the reservoir. Promoting the draining of Lake Powell was not a popular cause or one given much credence, even within the mainstream environmental community. I had to fashion my own DRAIN LAKE POWELL bumper sticker in the early 80s and finally took it down when I kept getting pulled over by deputies of the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office because I "looked suspicious."
Then in 1997, along comes this mild-mannered, Mormon, ER doctor from Salt Lake City, who eats food off other people’s plate and who looks clean even after a five day river trip named Rich Ingebretsen. He first saw Glen Canyon before the dam as a Boy Scout and 35 years later created an organization called The Glen Canyon Institute. He and his group have brought world-wide attention to the tragedy of Glen Canyon Dam, through good science and common sense, while never losing their passion for the most
But I do wish Ricardo would keep his fork off my dinner plate.
A Late Entry: Jennifer Speers
Just when I faced such hopeless despair that I was about to give up on finding Highlight #10, along comes Jennifer Speers, who I must first beg for forgiveness.
Over the years I have made disparaging comments about wealthy people. If I recall, I called some of them "rich weasels." Repeatedly. I’ve even been annoyed by the "benevolent rich weasels" who try to assuage their consciences by making large donations to their favorite environmental group while simultaneously building obscenely extravagant, absurdly consumptive dwellings for themselves, hoping for recognition in Architectural Digest and Sierra magazine, all at the same time. And considering the compromised, money-hungry attitude of most enviro groups these days, such dual recognition is not beyond the realm of possibility.
Then along comes Speers.
I’ve never met this woman, but I will, right here, right now, get down on my knees and grovel for forgiveness. I will lash myself with wet leather straps. I will allow you to bury me in sand, pour maple syrup on my head and cover me with fire ants. I’m sorry.
Here is what Jennifer Speers did. First she bought Proudfoot Bend Ranch, north of Dewey Bridge on SR 128, to assure its cow pastures and open space would never be condominiumized. That was good enough, but she didn’t stop there. And this is where we enter the realm of The Unheard Of.
Adjacent to the bridge itself is (was) the Dewy Bridge subdivision. A developer bought the river frontage land several years ago, put in a road and services, and carved up the acreage into expensive lots. Then he built a $600,000 home on the banks of the Colorado River to, I would guess, prime the real estate pump. But nobody was interested. The "development" languished for the last few years, until Jennifer Speers came along. She bought all the lots, the whole damn subdivision. And then...
She tore down the house.
Ms. Speers sent in contractors to salvage what could be removed and reused–doors, windows, the huge wooden beams–anything that could be recycled. Then she had a bulldozer knock the adobe walls down and cleared the premises of any debris. There is not even a hint that a monstrous, out-of-place abode mansion, just across the river from a public campground, ever existed.
I hope that Jennifer Speers becomes a role model for other wealthy people. Even if she owns other large homes elsewhere, this is precedent-setting. If all rich people would tear down just ONE of their mansions, I will sing their praises as well.
And to Ms. Speers, even though by all rights you should pick up the check, if I can ever buy you dinner, it’s on me.
And that’s it...my Top Ten list for the first 15 years. If I’m still here in 2019, I hope I can find ten more highlights to recall. Thanks again.
