AZ: The History of Arizona podcast: Recent Episodes
David Rookhuyzen
While you can’t talk about Percival Lowell without mentioning his views on Mars, you also have to discuss his other great obsession - finding the hypothetical ninth planet hiding on the fringes of the solar system.
During the first two decades of its existence, Lowell Observatory furthered both one of the great astronomical misconceptions and breakthroughs of the 20th century.
In May 1894, a rich, globetrotting, and brilliant mathematician from Boston came to Flagstaff for a special purpose - finding evidence of life on Mars.
The Great Depression is a historical period best told through on-the-ground stories. Here is just a smattering of what it looked like in Arizona.
In 1932, FDR pledged to bring his “New Deal” to the American people. You can debate its effectiveness, but in Arizona in general and Phoenix in particular you can see remnants and effects of the New Deal programs to this very day.
During the 1930s, millions of migrant workers and their families fled from the Dust Bowl. Tens of thousands of them drifted into Arizona, lured by the promise of plenty of work in the cotton fields. These workers would find themselves taking the place of displaced Mexican workers, both economically and socially.
In October 1929, the bottom fell out of the stock market, and three of Arizona’s famous 5 C’s each took massive hits in the ensuing depression. But the downturn didn’t just hit people’s pocketbooks; in the case of many Mexican nationals or Mexican-Americans, it affected their ability to live in Arizona at all.
In 1930, thousands of Arizonans came together to celebrate the official dedication of the unique Coolidge Dam. It was the culmination of years of work to get a dam on the Gila River, but its legacy remains a bit complicated. But, hey, at least it gave us one really funny joke.
After getting through the House and the Senate on unanimous votes, the bill to build the San Carlos Dam had to clear its final obstacle - the potential bill killer known as "Silent Cal."
After more than a decade of trying and only getting a portion of the San Carlos project funded, Hayden and his allies set their sights on one big push to get the San Carlos Dam funded. The first step? Getting it through the Senate.
Throughout the 1910s, Carl Hayden and others failed to get their storage dam on the Gila River. However, in the early 1920s they were able get a smaller reclamation project approved. Too bad it would do little, if anything, to help the water-strapped Maricopa and O’odham living on the Pima Reservation.
In which someone suggests a radical idea - actually collecting hard data on and documenting the impact of upstream diversions to the O’odham living along the Gila River.
With both versions of the Colorado River Compact seeming to hit brick walls, proponents switched their focus to helping California pass the Swing-Johnson Bill, which would basically enforce the terms of the compact. But guess which state and its leaders really had a problem with this bill…
After growing tired of Arizona’s refusal to ratify the Colorado River Compact, the other states contemplated how to move forward. Their best solution was to just ignore Arizona completely.
The Colorado River Compact had been signed by the commission delegates, but soon enough a whole new round of squabbling started in the individual state legislatures. And the biggest roadblock of all would turn out to be Arizona and its forceful governor, George W. P. Hunt.
When the Colorado River Commission reached an impasse, Delph Carpenter proposed an idea. To get around the myriad of competing entrenched interests, he went with something both simple and (eventually) problematic - why not avoid talking about individual states all together?
By 1922, everyone along the Colorado River agreed to get together and decide how to split up the water amicably. Unfortunately, their first attempt would only last four days.
Throughout the 1910s, states came together and fell apart as they all discussed differing visions for the use of the Colorado River. Finally, in 1920, one lawyer from Colorado had a brilliant idea — Why didn’t everyone just sit down, come to a final agreement and put it all into writing?
By the 1920s, everyone was thinking that it was time to tap the Colorado River for irrigation. However, before we cover that, I think we need to go over the ground rules for water rights in the Western United States. Also, just for fun, let’s look at the disaster that followed one of the earliest attempts to harness the Colorado for agriculture.
As automobiles grew more popular in the 1920s, Arizona suddenly had to invest a lot into building the infrastructure that would allow them to get around. From bridges to tunnels to actual highways, let’s look at some of the first projects to cater to the car-loving crowd.
Let’s take a trip down some dusty history by examining how Arizona went from a territory of wagon trails to a state of highways. Hint - it involves a lot of hand-wringing over how to pay for everything.
To celebrate 200 episodes of getting together to talk all things Arizona history, here’s a jumbo-sized episode where I take your suggestions for what we should cover!
With tourism exploding across Arizona in the 1920s, the state had to make sure its new visitors had some very nice places to stay … even if those places ostensibly raised cattle.
As tourism exploded across Arizona in the 1920s, everyone was suddenly interested in Amerindian culture, much to the benefit and detriment of the state’s native population.
The Grand Canyon might be Arizona’s greatest asset for tourism. But between 1900 and 1926, one man tried every legal and extralegal means he could to control access to this wonder of the world.
With no cure for their respiratory ailments, people flocked to dry, warm places like Arizona in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Some did find the healing they sought, but many more found only poverty, prejudice, and an early grave.
By the end of the 1920s, there were plenty of new, exciting ways to get to Phoenix. But depending on if a person new to the city was a minority or not, their experience living in Arizona’s capital could vary greatly.
Phoenix saw phenomenal growth during the 1920s, with new homes and new neighborhoods rapidly expanding outward. Phoenicians also wanted to make sure that no one would mistake their tree-lined city for something as base as a desert.
With the cotton boom happening across Arizona in the late 1910s and the early 1920s, the demand for cheap labor during the harvest season increased exponentially. To meet that demand, large-scale farming operators turned to both Amerindian and Mexican labor to get the job done.
The demands of World War I included an insatiable hunger for cotton. Arizona farmers would cash in on this need, but they would wind up going a little too far in betting on this white, fluffy gold.
World War I may be one of America's more forgotten conflicts, but you don't have to look too hard to find Arizona's memorials to its famous, high-flying, balloon-busting native son.
In 1917, the U.S. went to war, and men and women across the country - including Arizona - jumped to do their part. However, when two brothers refused to be drafted, it set off the largest manhunt in state history.
In the waning years of the Mexican Revolution and after the outbreak of World War I, the international border with Mexico was transformed from the more open and lax line to the fenced, patrolled boundary we know today.
In 1916, Pancho Villa made the rash move of attacking the U.S. in order to get back into the revolutionary game. All this got him was a swift reprisal from the U.S. Army.
The second phase of the Mexican Revolution kicked off in 1913 after the death of President Francisco Madero. This meant a stronger - though still woefully deficient - presence of troops along the Arizona border and the rise of a certain famous bandit turned revolutionary.
In 1910, Mexico suddenly erupted in violence and chaos. Though it was (mostly) an internal rebellion, it definitely impacted the communities sitting just across the international boundary line.
The time has finally come to carry out my threat to do a whole episode about early state historian James H. McClintock, plus two other state historians, just for good measure.
The saga of the Bisbee Deportation comes to an end. By 1920 everyone behind the illegal measure had gotten off scot free and by 1925 the Wobblies as an organization were pretty much dead. For all intents and purposes, Arizona was now in the hands of the copper companies.
Following the immediate aftermath of the Bisbee Deportation, we move into the weeks and months that followed and the response on a national level. It turned out to be just as anemic and apathetic as the local level.
In the aftermath of the Bisbee Deportation, the exiled men demanded help returning home, but were mostly met with apathy from officials. Meanwhile, Bisbee itself went into something of a paranoia-fueled lockdown.
After rounding up a couple thousand of their neighbors and acquaintances during the morning of July 12, 1917, the citizens of Bisbee held them at a local ballpark before stuffing the majority into the cattle cars of an eastbound train. About 15 hours later, the deported men founxd themselves abandoned, cold, thirty and starving in the middle of New Mexico.
On the evening of July 11, 1917, a group of roughly 100 men gathered at the Phelps Dodge medical dispensary to discuss what to do about striking miners in town. At 6:30 a.m. on July 12, these men and 1,900 more began a systematic program of arrests, beatings and thefts to round up any and all undesirables - whether they were participating in the strike or not.
Just two days before the eruption of the major historical set piece that is the Bisbee Deportation, a dress rehearsal of sorts was occurring in Jerome. And this smaller instance of vigilantism would show the copper companies exactly how much they could get away it.
In a fit of passion, the IWW decided to launch a strike in Bisbee in June 1917. Unfortunately, this just set up the dominoes perfectly for the copper companies to prepare their counterattack.
As we move into discussing one of the big black marks on Arizona history, we first must talk about Bisbee and that one time when the Western Federation of Miners was able to just barely gain a foothold in the company town.
After the U.S. entered World War I in the spring of 1917, another wave of strikes erupted across Arizona. But the owners of the state’s copper mines had learned a trick or two and were able to brand unions as anti-American agitators. Eventually the heavy hammer of company authority would fall everywhere , even in places as staunchly pro-labor as Globe and Miami.
As labor made its gains in the early 20th century, the companies they were agitating against embarked on a concerted campaign to co-opt, malign and marginalize any dissidents. One particular target was the IWW, which the companies soon managed to turned into villains in the public imagination, despite them doing very, very little.
In 1915-1916, the miners and Clifton and Morenci participated in a strike that was unusual - it was non-violent, didn’t involve strikebreakers, and no troops were called in to stop it. But most unusual of all - the strikers basically won.
In 1915, miners at both Miami and Ray decided that they wanted a bigger piece of the pie. And, surprisingly, in both instances they were able to put together an effective walk out. Even more surprisingly, though they wouldn’t get exactly what they had demanded, they were both able to secure important concessions from the copper corporations.
You would think that the workers at the Cananea Consolidated Copper Company mines in Sonora going on strike would be outside this podcast’s purview. But, oh, how did Arizona - and its territorial rangers - found a way to be involved.
The early 20th century saw a variety of labor disputes and strikes throughout Arizona. One of the earliest was in the communities of Clifton, Morenci, and Metcalf, when Mexican miners had the crazy notion that they deserved the same pay as their American counterparts.
After Hunt became governor in 1914, his name would appear on nearly every ballot for the next 20 years. His remarkable seven terms in office would be eventful, but rocky. Today we unpack the political life and times of Arizona’s first governor.
George W. P. Hunt was not your typical politician. He was bald, rotund, not good at public speaking, never really sure wanted to campaign, and always just a touch more radical than everyone else. This week we explore how he went from a runaway to a leader in Arizona’s Democratic Party.
With Arizona now a full-fledged member of the Union, we must go back to the fall of 1911 and discuss who exactly it will be that will helm this new state government. Hint - It will not be any Republicans.
On February 14 - Valentine’s Day - 1912, Arizona finally became a state. Before that could happen though, all obstacles had to be cleared and all objections overcome. But, finally, all that was left to do was celebrate a hard-earned prize.
Its leader was disparaged as a radical, its makeup was overwhelmingly left-leaning, and the document it produced drew the ire of Congress and the president, not to mention the scorn of several men involved with it. Yep, Arizona’s constitution convention in the fall of 1910 certainly was historic.
In 1910, an enabling act allowing for Arizona and New Mexico to write state constitutions finally passed through Congress and was signed by President Taft. However difficult that process had been, people in Arizona now had much harder questions they had to answer.
It was four years late, some $7 million over budget, and the road to get there was a nightmare, but the construction of the Roosevelt Dam ushered in a new age for the Valley of the Sun. Good thing they got a suitable figure to dedicate it.
To get their dam on the Salt River, water users in the Valley of the Sun had to sort out their own squabbles and create an organization that would guide the future of water distribution.
At the turn of the 20th century, Congress finally got behind the idea of funding reclamation projects. By that time, everyone in Phoenix knew of the perfect spot for the government to build a dam.
At the close of the 19th century, the Akimel O’odham and the Maricopa were in dire straights, victims of water theft upstream. But, at the same time, a new idea was starting to gain popularity - reclamation.
At the dawn of the 19th century, the Akimel O’odham had it all - a reliable water source, rich farmland, a thriving trade empire, and good relations with everyone passing through Arizona. Little did they suspect that it would all disappear in 70 years, just like the river they were named after.
As the 1900s dawned, Arizona felt it was ready to become a full-fledged state. What followed was an 11-year campaign to convince the rest of the country. But the first part of that was the territory fighting to defeat an idea that, for most, was even worse than not becoming a state.
In 1893, the Phoenix Indian School set up its outing system, directly inspired by Pratt’s program at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. The Phoenix system was destined to become the second largest in the nation, but from the beginning it was a very different animal than Pratt’s.
Amerindian students who were forced to attend the Phoenix Indian School at the turn of the 20th century found themselves in a hostile alien environment that took a toll mentally, emotionally, and physically.
In 1880s, the U.S. government embarked on a course of cultural genocide against the Amerindians. Their weapon of choice of was a rigorous education system and one of their many battlegrounds turned out to be Phoenix.
As economic and political forces transformed the border, new social dynamics began to emerge. This meant anything from a spirit of binational cooperation to an “us versus them” mentality, which fell along both ethnic and class lines. We now need to examine the two different things Arizonans meant when they said “Mexican.”
The economic forces transforming Sonora and the rest of northern Mexico also created complex issues that we still grapple with today and something integral to the state - border towns.
In 1876 a new regime came to power in Mexico that aimed to industrialize by inviting American businesses to invest in the country. Up in Sonora, that meant an increase in three things: Railroads, mining, and American influence.
Arizona’s frontier journalists really were a group of dogs trying to snatch up the same bone. And when the other dogs got too close to that bone, they were liable to bite.
Frontier newspaper editors had a flare for being bombastic and optimistic. However, the reality was that newspaper work was a grind and not one that paid well at that.
Witnessing all the key events happening in the history of Arizona were territorial newspapers; small, often political journals that had their hey day in the late 1800s.
As the 19th century turned into the 20th century, it was time to settle some long-standing questions of land ownership that dated back to the beginning of this podcast. Unfortunately, this would lead to one of the most bitter land decisions in Arizona’s history - Baca Float No. 3.
The first Arizona Rangers accomplished a lot during their short existence: curbing cattle rusting, hunting down fugitives, getting involved with strikes, and cooperating with Mexican law enforcement. But though the territory disbanded them after only eight years, it turns out that the Ranger legacy would never truly die.
When Arizona had to deal with problems of rampant rustling, train robberies and general lawlessness, they turned to the same solution as Texas. And to lead a new group of armed enforcers, they chose an experienced cowpuncher with true grit.
For its first war as an official part of the United States, Arizona contribute in a big way to the conflict happening down in Cuba, including its very own martyr on the sides of San Juan Hill.
At the turn of the 20th century, Arizona finished construction on its grand capitol building. And, like in most places and times, that awe-inspiring monument to democratic ideals contrasted with the rough-and-tumble nature of territorial politics.
This week we start our wrap-up of the 1800s by the taking a look at a few missed narrative threads, including the founding of northern Arizona’s major city, a vegetable-growing recluse, and an Apache whose exploits would become legend for decades.
Jacob Waltz may have died in 1891, but the legend of his gold mine soon took on a life of its own. And for many treasure seekers in coming decades, it led either to an ignominious or bloody end.
It’s time to untangle fact and fiction for one of Arizona’s most enduring mysteries … and also ponder why Americans have such a problem with the word ‘Deutsch.’
The epic conclusion of the Peralta Grant saga played out in a Santa Fe courtroom. This two-and-a-half week trial featured shocking revelations, verbal barbs, plenty of perjury and - finally - the ruling that Reavis was indeed a fraud.
After suing the U.S. government, Reavis prepared his Peralta Grant story for the scrutiny of a court case. Unfortunately, there was no way his scheme was going to survive that level of scrutiny.
James Addison Reavis returned to the US in 1887 and kicked off Act II of his ambitious land claim scheme. However, soon old enemies returned and began tearing down his carefully constructed house of cards.
Having failed the first time around to prove it was legitimate, James Reavis takes things to the next level, including inventing a flesh-and-blood heir to the Peralta Grant.
James Reavis kicks his Peralta Grant scheme into high gear, sending out an army of thugs and goons to persuade people to pay him for land they already owned. However, just as he was raking in the cash, the whole con would hit a hard wall.
In which James Reavis produces documents showing the land grant bestowed upon Don Miguel Nemecio Silva de Peralta y de la Córdoba … who never existed.
In 1880, a brilliant liar and forger arrived in Arizona to pursue a 13-year old land claim of dubious veracity. Little did anyone suspect the breathtaking scheme he was about to launch.
In the space of four years, Arizona was both shaken to its core and then nearly drowned.
Nineteenth century politics was nothing if not full of ugly fights and very questionable shenanigans - something that was on full display during the short tenures of Arizona territorial governors Hughes and Franklin.
Just as the Gilded Age presidents came and went with frequency, their appointments to the governorship of Arizona would be nothing more than a revolving door of less-than-popular figures.
With the frontier coming to a close in 1890, Arizona started making noise about leaving its territorial status behind - something easier said than done.
One of the great ironies of the Old West is that lawlessness wasn’t just confined to outlaws.
The legal drama over Tom Graham’s death would stretch on for years, but, in the end, the Pleasant Valley War closed with Ed Tewksbury probably getting away with murder.
After the early fall of 1887, the Pleasant Valley War seemed to have died out. Years later, one shocking act of violence would prove this conflict was not over yet.
In which my third (fourth?) cold of the season has left me unable to write and, more importantly, record.
The disappearance of Old Man Blevins begins a spiral of violence, starting with the party searching for him having a deadly encounter with the Tewksburys.
In February 1887, we have the first fatality in the Pleasant Valley War, as a nameless shepherd will fall victim to the larger conflict around him of cattlemen versus sheepherders and Grahams versus Tewksburys.
Before gunplay became involved, the Grahams and the Tewksburys would square off in the court, with each side accusing the other of being lying, stealing, no-good ruffians.
After a violent confrontation in Pleasant Valley over cattle rustling, ranch owner James Stinson tries to be a little sneakier.
In the 1870s, a new spot in one of Arizona's most isolated corners suddenly opened up for American colonization. Among the few daring souls that would try their hand at ranching in this place known as Pleasant Valley were two families - the Tewksburys and the Grahams.
Sorry to say that real life (and a suddenly real first baby) managed to delay our return to podcasting by a week!
As we look at the commercial forces of late 19th-century Arizona, we have to talk about the ecological and economic disaster that was the cattle boom and bust of the 1880s and 1890s. And ostriches. We definitely have to talk about ostriches.
For Halloween, we again take a tour of the mysterious, strange, creepy and spooky to be found in Arizona.
All throughout the 1880s, Prescott had one great fear. Then in 1889, because of Phoenix, it came true.
The Apache Wars came to an end on September 4, 1886. But, as with everything else in the 25-year conflict, the road to this ending would not be straight or smooth. And it would prove to not be a happy ending for the Chiricahua.
It’s time for Geronimo to try and strike a deal - first with the Mexicans, then with the Americans - but he quickly finds out that he is far from being able to set his own terms.
(Note: I lost my voice about halfway through my recording sessions, so apologies that the ending sounds worse than the beginning!)
In July 1886, General Miles settled on a multi-prong strategy to deal with the Chiricahua. And one of those prongs involved Geronimo, two scouts, and an Army officer who was doing his best not to be involved.
The summer of 1886 would prove to be a disheartening campaign season for both the renegade Chiricahua and the Army soldiers tasked with finding them.
With the arrival of two items of bad news, the Apache Wars changed in an instant. And that means it’s time to say good bye to the Gray Fox himself, General George Crook.
In March 1886, General George Crook and Geronimo would negotiate for the last time. Raised tempers, impatience and a whole lot of liquor would ensure this meeting was not the end Crook hoped it was.
Bad luck is everyone in the story of the Apache Wars, but the most tragic example might be that of Captain Emmett Crawford on January 11, 1886.
We turn our attention back to Geronimo as he, Nana, Naiche, Chihuahua, and Chihuahua’s brother, Ulzana, each in turn decide to take the offensive and raid into Arizona and New Mexico. Meanwhile, top Army officials consider how to handle the Chiricahua Apache once and for all.
Captain Davis and Lieutenant Davis must deal with hostile terrain and hostile Mexicans while trying to hunt down hostile Apache. And, just for fun, we will throw in some more Davises to boot.
General Crook and his troops find out the hard way that, in this case, the sequel is truly not as good as the original.
With Geronimo and others on the loose, Chiricahua unity fracturing, public opinion turning, and the Army unable to win the chase to the border, Crook prepares to wage a second, harder campaign down in Mexico.
Illegal tiswin brewing, an inexperienced officer, an unsent telegram, Geronimo’s paranoia, and a not-so-white lie will bring everything spiraling downward for the Chiricahua Apache at Turkey Creek.
The Chiricahua Apache’s new home was idyllic, but problems with illicit moonshine would make sure that everyone was always just a little bit on edge.
In our 100th episode, things are a little tense at San Carlos. A new leader among the Chiricahua is pushing the limits, the Apache want to move some place better, the military commander and Indian Agent are at each other’s throats, and two over-eager custom officials almost blow Geronimo finally turning himself into Crook.
In the fall of 1883, Crook and other Americans had two questions on their minds: What the heck was up with the Apache still in Mexico and where the heck was Charley McComas?
Crook managed to get hundreds of Chiricahua from Mexico back to the reservation in Arizona … only to be told that the Indian Agent didn’t want to lift a finger to help them.
Crook and his scouts have a travel montage, while Geronimo’s Power grants him a remarkable vision. These two threads will converge high in the Sierra Madres, where the Chiricahua Apache will make a fateful choice.
History sometimes turns on very small hinges. In this case, it was the seemingly innocuous decision of a man named Peaches that would help determine how the next chapter of the Apache Wars would play out.
Organizational shakeups in 1882 returned General George R. Crook to Arizona. He had big plans for how to bring the Apache to heel, but first, it was time to put right everything down at San Carlos.
As the Apache sought refuge in Mexico, they kept finding ambushes laid out for them. At a certain point, they decided to set up a snare all of their own.
In which Geronimo, Juh, and Naiche decide that since they broke out of San Carlos, every other Chiricahua Apache had to do it too - and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The U.S. Army's overreaction to a growing religious movement among the various Apache bands would lead directly to the second breakout of the notorious Geronimo.
19th-century American politics is a pretty interesting subject as is, but there are some examples, such as Arizona’s 13th Territorial Legislature, that shows you just how funny, corrupt, and farcical it can really be.
In 1882, Wyatt Earp was out for vengeance. This final chapter in the saga of the gunfight will lead everyone, including the Town of Tombstone, to their appointments with destiny.
It turns out that the Gunfight at the OK Corral solved nothing. And that was meant bad news for the Earps.
Rebroadcasting this episode. Hopefully now you'll get the full story of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, in more ways than one!
The time has come to finally talk about the main event. But find out why there really isn’t any such thing as the Gunfight at the OK Corral.
Tensions finally reach the boiling point in October 1881, something that a late night card game was not able to stop.
Because what would a good Old West gunfight story be without political intrigue, a stolen election, and an old-fashioned love triangle? Also …let’s throw in some stolen mules while we’re at it.
Wyatt Earp didn’t march down to the O.K. Corral by himself. So it’s time to introduce the other characters in our rapidly unfolding drama.
He is one of the most legendary lawmen of the Old West, but both his flaws and virtues have been greatly exaggerated over the years. It’s time to separate legend from reality as we introduce Wyatt Earp.
When it comes to one of the most famous shoot-outs of the Old West, what better backdrop could there be than the dirty, chaotic, violent, booming town of Tombstone?
Mormon settlement was going swimmingly in northern and southern Arizona, until their embracing polygamy threatened to have them driven from the territory.
It’s all about names when it comes to the successful Mormon settlements in northern Arizona. As a benefit, we get to cover the infamous story behind one of the most colorful town names the state has to offer.
For the Mormons trying to settle along the Little Colorado River in the 1870s, their faith would be tried by the harsh realties of life on the dry, windswept Colorado Plateau.
Like the Catholics friars of old, Mormon missionaries sought converts among Arizona’s tribes. And two big names among them made lasting contributions to the history of the northern reaches of the state.
The founding of Phoenix deserves a lot of attention, but we need to put in special mention of Charles Trumball Hayden and his mill in future Tempe and the founding of my hometown, Mesa.
Welcome back to 1870s Phoenix, which was quite simply paradise - at least according to the people promoting it.
In which we learn that the citizens of Arizona really would prefer if their governor actually stayed in the territory.
It’s Halloween, Arizona style! Join me as we talk about the Grand Canyon State’s version of Bigfoot, the supposed machinations of secret society in Tucson, and just a small sampling of some of the state’s more haunting locations.
In the 1870s, silver mining took off in Arizona, for better and for worst. And that means it’s time to introduce the mines that would lead to The Town Too Tough to Die.
Arizona’s third territorial governor had one overarching goal: Taking everyone to school.
Nearly two years after some Apache broke out of San Carlos, they wound up there yet again - minus the ones that had been killed or gone on a revenge-fueled across Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Sonora and Chihuahua, that is.
A lot of people suddenly decide that they really didn’t want to be at San Carlos anymore.
Cochise’s sons try to follow his last words, but events conspired to make that harder than you would think.
In 1874, the San Carlos Reservation would get a new Indian agent, who wanted to bring some fairness and justice to dealings with the Apache. Only problem is, he refused to stop at San Carlos.
As the reservation system starts failing across Arizona, it’s time to bid a final farewell to Cochise.
With Howard’s peace treaty with Cochise now wrapped up, it’s time for “Chief Wolf” to finally bring the hammer down on the remaining Apache and Yavapai resisting American encroachment.
General Howard finally gets the chance to talk peace face-to-face with Cochise, thanks to the help of the chief’s semi-mythical “blood brother,” Tom Jeffords.
Meet President Grant’s second peace commissioner to the Apache: a devoutly pious one-armed Civil War veteran.
One was ready to fight the Indians, one was ready to settle down, and one didn’t really have a clue.
In 1871, a band of Apache decided to (mostly) settle and farm in peace. Unfortunately, it proved to be the right move, but at the wrong time and the wrong place.
Cochise the Great and Terrible shocked everyone by proposing peace - and actually meaning it. If only the U.S. government had just played it cool.
Tucson becomes Arizona’s capitol, and it’s finally time to talk about the founding of Phoenix. For that we need to revisit the ex-Confederate who founded it, and introduce the eccentric Englishman who named it.
In 1866, a brutal conflict between American settlers and Amerindians would break out. Believe it or not, this conflict would not involve the Apache. But that didn’t make the short Hualapai War any less bloody.
Political offices change hands, Arizona clashes with other states over territory, and Charles Poston sets out on the path to his grave on top that hill north of Florence.
With the Civil War over, it’s time to see what life on the frontier was really like. Turns out it was full of desperadoes, 19th century racism, Amerindian tribes both friendly and hostile, and even the Spirit of Christmas?
Arizona organizes native companies to take the fight to the Apache … too bad they were unpaid, under-supplied, and only existed for a year. Otherwise, they may have done something about that wily fox, Cochise.
We finally bring the Civil War in Arizona, while also looking at French trouble south of the border and the, uh, exploits of Indian figure King S. Woolsey.
Arizona’s first territorial legislature was busy, tackling issues such as Indian affairs, counties, education, transportation and the thorniest issue of all - divorce.
The life and times of the lawyer, orator, politician, serial liar and woman-chaser who named Arizona.
Though a soldier’s life in 19th century Arizona was no walk in the park, the Confederates would have been more than happy to take the territory back.
It’s Arizona’s birthday! And the podcast’s anniversary! So let’s sit down and answer a few questions about both.
In 1863 General Carleton ordered Kit Carson to bring the hammer down on the Navajo - hard
Behind-the-scenes wheelings and dealings, plus lobbying from our old friend, Charles D. Poston, made 1863 the year Arizona became a U.S. territory.
General Carleton finally makes it to New Mexico. But with no Confederates left to fight, he turned his sights toward the other great enemy of the U.S. Army - the Apaches.
What happens when you mix the rough-and-tumble frontier with an uptight, moralizing Army general?
The California Column rides into an unfortified Tucson, while Confederate forces pull back from all of Arizona and New Mexico. But, we do have a parting gift for the retreating rebels - harassment by Cochise and the Apache.
Even as the Confederates celebrated their victories in the Southwest, a force was gathering in California to oppose them. And this would lead to a battle in Arizona at the base of Picacho Peak.
Turns out February 1862 was a banner month for the Confederacy in the Southwest, including the official declaration of their new Territory of Arizona.
In 1861, Arizona found itself between a rebel invasion on one hand and relentless Apache attacks on the other.
The Bascom Affair reaches its bloody conclusion. Turns out that killing your hostages is not good strategy.
In which a kidnapped boy set a young, inexperienced U.S. Army officer on a collision course with the fearsome Cochise. Spoiler - things are not going to go well.
In the first of three episodes about the Bascom Affair we introduce two key players - Cochise and Mangas Coloradas. With one being a well documented hot-head and the other being nicknamed because his sleeves were literally stained with the blood of his enemies, what could go wrong?
In the late 1850s the future Arizona only wanted one thing: to become a real U.S. territory
So who is Hi Jolly and why does he have a fancy grave marker in Quartzsite? And what’s with the camel?
Mining brought all sorts to Arizona. But if you read the recollections of businessman Charles Poston, you would have thought they had come to paradise instead.
Filibuster is a political term today, but in the 1850s it meant a group of men who were either visionary entrepreneurs or no good land pirates - depending on whether you were an American or Mexican.
After more than 80 years of struggle and turmoil, it’s time for Tucson to say farewell to Mexico.
In which we thank the U.S.’s increasingly divisive regional politics and our old friend, Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, for securing Tucson, Tubac and Tumacácori as part of Arizona.
The international boundary survey commission discovered in 1850 that neither the United States nor Mexico really had a clue about where El Paso was.
It's Round 2 of the struggle to control the vital Colorado River crossing. In one corner we have the reigning champions, the Quechens. Their challenger? The scrappy newcomers, the Americans.
Also, Tucson will finally make peace with its perennial foe, the Apaches ... for like five minutes.
The discovery of gold in California converts Tucson from obscure frontier town to important cross-country stop. Too bad the Americans couldn’t really appreciate it.
Mexico once again puts its trust in Santa Anna, but in the end will find that half the country now belongs to their aggressive north neighbor. The only kicker is no one really knew much about what they had just given away.
War with Mexico has been declared, and with the conflict will come the first real advance of Americans into Arizona, including the longest infantry march in U.S. military history.
Revolting Papagos and Yaquis, continual back-and-forth over the Sonoran governorship, and fighting the Apaches without any supplies … yep, the last few years of Mexican Arizona would not be a fun ride.
Tensions were tightening all around the Pimería Alta in the late 1830s. And political turmoil on both the local and nation level did nothing to help Arizona, where soldiers were selling weapons to buy food.
In the early 1830s, Tucson and Tubac learned that when no one has any supplies, it makes it incredibly hard to protect yourself.
The Beatles were right, life does go on … that is until your supplies dwindle, Apaches begin raiding more extensively and your land is invaded by beaver-hunting Americans.
Political instability, economic woes, collapsing societal structures, Apache raids, an aggressive neighbor … post-independence Mexico has it all. And that can’t be good for Arizona.
With Spain’s peace by purchase policy now firmly in place, things started changing in future Arizona. The last decades of Spanish rule were marked by the passing of the old guard and the arrival of some measure of prosperity for Tucson and Tubac.
In 1793, a group of Apaches were at the gates of Tucson. Their arrival represented the new normal for the Pimería Alta, which managed to achieve something it had never known before - peace.
In the 1770s, the Spanish crown instituted a massive reorganization of how it oversaw the frontier in North America. Meanwhile, Garcés finally realized his dream of making it to the Hopis, only for it not to go as planned.
In which Juan Bautista de Anza and hundreds of colonists went for a walk to San Francisco on a winter’s day. Plus, it turns out it wasn’t all safe and warm in LA.
By the mid-1730s the first permanent residents in Arizona had begun to settle along the Santa Cruz River. Too bad what followed was more than 20 years of revolts, raids and one radical change for the Spanish empire.
After the Spanish Habsburg dynasty gave way to the Spanish Bourbons, a young Basque man would immigrate to the New World, where he would quickly show he had the chops to rise to the top. It’s time to welcome Juan Bautista de Anza the Elder back to the podcast.
The missions were a key part of Spanish rule along the North American frontier. And no one represents the missions in southern Arizona like math-student-turned-priest Eusebio Kino.
Spanish North America was a costly, unproductive project. So you can perhaps forgive King Felipe II for telling a new wave of explorers to keep their hands out of his treasury.
No, this isn't the start of a joke. For Coronado and his expedition, the search for glory and gold in Arizona and New Mexico turned out to be no laughing matter.
At some point, humans entered North America. And the ones that made Arizona their home produced marvels that still capture the imagination today.
From the outside, Arizona - with its venomous snakes, scorpions and lizards; barbed cactus and spiked trees; and imposing geography - looked primed to kill anyone foolish enough to come close. But that impression doesn't do justice to the complex evolutionary forces that have shaped the state's flora and fauna.
Arizona’s history wouldn’t be quite the same without the magnificent stage it plays out on. That’s why we need to answer the question of why the state has so many great-looking holes in the ground.
Arizona is a name that evokes images in everyone's minds, but where did that name come from? We explore the possible Spanish, Native American, Basque and even Aztec roots for the word and how it's all wrapped up in a 1736 discovery of silver in Mexico. As an added bonus, we also learn what "Connecticut" means.