AZ: The History of Arizona podcast

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.

A roundup of famous Arizona lawmen whose names aren’t “Earp.”

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.

After teenager Billy Graham is gunned down, his family opts for extreme retribution.

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.

If you got a fancy new railroad, why would you not tell the Pope about it?

All throughout the 1880s, Prescott had one great fear. Then in 1889, because of Phoenix, it came true.

Because any truly epic story needs a correspondingly grand conclusion.

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!)