how
he had to get back to his wife in Phoenix or some such place, and he needed
$5 for the bus. He clearly had not seen any recent prices for bus
trips. Well, we were nice and contributed a few bucks to his cause.
He also claimed to be hungry, and promptly walked across the street to
a fast food place across from La Posada. Well, about a half hour
later, after our students had returned from a stroll through downtown Winslow
and the new “Standing on a Corner” park, we sat on the grass in the shade
to discuss some geography. At one point, Lee was in the middle of
a lecture using his famous “white board” that he likes to draw illustrations
on, and the same Hopi came up and literally interrupted Lee from what he
was saying. This guy starts in on a long story about how he didn’t
have TV growing up, and he was schooled at a BIA Indian day school in southern
California. He told us about some experiences growing up in the Hopi
village to the north, and so forth. Real interesting stuff.
We just let him talk to the group because Lee and I both knew that hearing
some of these stories from a person actually living the reservation life
was a great experience. Our class had visited a few Hopi villages
on our second day trip only a week earlier. Well, he kept talking,
with several teeth missing, and relatively decent English. Finally
came the predicted pitch for cash. He told everyone about how he
needed to get back to see his wife wherever and would appreciate some cash.
For my part, I am always curious about how students react in situations
like this. Lee and I just kind of stood there, not indicating that
they should take any specific action. At that point, one student
took the lead, stood up and said “come on guys, let’s collect some change
for him”. So some students handed over what they had on them and
he turned it over to our Hopi guest. We actually thanked him for
speaking to us about his life, which was quite a “reality check” for all
of us used to the pleasures of Anglo-American society. His visit,
however, was only to be the first of many.
Upon arriving at Holbrook later that afternoon, Lee went off to city hall to find some information about water resources in town, and so I took the students on an impromptu tour of downtown Holbrook, in a brief exercise of “reading the landscape”. Upon reaching the railroad tracks of the BNSF at the heart of old downtown, I noticed the old sandstone train station and freight house right across the tracks. “Great!” I thought, let’s get the students across the tracks and we can investigate this wonderful railroad architecture. I wasn’t quite sure what I would say about it, but by this point in my career I was getting used to winging it with lectures on the fly. This would be no exception. Well, no sooner did we cross the tracks to continue on when most of us recognized a group of local residents sitting near an abandoned building nearby, and one of the women started to approach us. According to some students later, she was also beckoning us to hang around. Well, we didn’t. The students had already been distracted by their presence and started making comments like “oh no, here they come again,” so I knew my little train station investigation would be futile. So I gestured to them all to “let’s go,” and we hastily made a retreat across the tracks, seemingly a group of “Whities” apparently uncomfortable with the ethnic “other,” as some geographers would say. So, to me it was kind of embarrassing that we made the retreat, but I could tell the students weren’t all that comfortable. And none of us were up for being asked for money again. How many times would this happen? Well, it was a good dose of reality to see the impoverished and disadvantaged side of the rural West. Still, in a selfish way I was perturbed that these people had disrupted my teaching agenda. Later, I told Lee and one of our older "returning" students at the camp site about my feelings of the experience, and how perhaps I didn’t do the right thing by having the students march hastily away from those we felt “threatened” by. He backed me up, however, which kind of surprised me: he clearly said, “oh yes, you did the right thing by getting us out of there”. He had been more uncomfortable from what he had seen than I had initially been aware. So that made me feel a bit better. Still, I told them both about how challenging it is to teach cultural geography and be sensitive in all the right ways to the various peoples we interact with. I guess I’m learning that there really is no “right” way to act or behave, as sometimes we just have to deal with situations as they arise.
The next morning, after our wonderful camping night at Fool Hollow described
earlier, we made an early morning stop in McNary, just onto the Apache
reservation near Show Low. McNary is basically a ghost town now,
having once been a thriving rural lumber town with a huge lumber mill and
a connection to the Apache Railway. Both the railroad and mill had
shut down and been abandoned, and so here was a quick stop, I thought.
One of our students was scheduled to present his oral talk about the town.
Each student had chosen a topic on which to do an oral presentation along
the last two trips somewhere, and one of them had chosen McNary.
Disembarking from the vans near the town’s last remaining general store
– not unlike the ones discussed above – we moved as a group to an overlook
where we could see the remains of the old McNary lumber mill. Out
of the corner of my eye I could see three African-American men sitting
on a bench enjoying the peacefulness of the overgrown kids’ park in which
they sat. Part of me wondered if they would be curious enough to
pay us a visit. Indeed, they were, and they did.
While our student was presenting the history of McNary to us, these three fellows, easily in their 60s, approached the group, and one of them interrupted. My first thought was “oh no, now what”. Well, it turned out to be a great experience. These three fellows were previous mill workers, and they proudly told us about the days when McNary was booming. They turned out to be three brothers, their family having come from Mississippi decades ago at the encouragement of the lumber company in town. These guys had lived the lives
that
our student presenter had been discussing. They reminisced about
the 1960s and 70s when the McNary high school athletes were some of the
best in the state, having won several state titles in various sports.
The students responded comfortably to these stories and made them feel
like what they were saying was important, which it certainly was.
At some points, the fellows had the students roaring with laughter, and
an almost instant rapport was formed. Finally, I asked the three
if I could get their photograph standing in front of the old mill, and
they complied. I shook their hands, got their names, and wrote down
some of their personal stories when I went back to the van. The photo
came out excellent, and one student actually got another photo with Lee
and myself standing next to the three brothers. Overall, they made
McNary much more memorable and informative than I had previously imagined.
After these experiences, I realized that we were starting to see the “real”
America, the real diversity of the West, off the beaten path, where few
tourists go. And that’s great, because geographers are trained not
just to appreciate tourist stops, but to understand all sorts of different
and diverse landscapes, places, and lifestyles. We were getting our
fair share on this trip, to be sure.
[Above: The "Harvey Girls of Winslow" went all out during our visit to Winslow's La Posada Hotel. Three of those pictured above were original Harvey Girls who worked at the La Posada prior to the early 1950s.]
[Center: Old McNary general store, still in business.]
[Below: Three brothers, former mill workers at McNary.]