Jerome, Arizona
by Noreen Kompanik
For over one hundred and thirty years thousands of folks have come to Jerome. Many left their mark and some may have never left. Jerome resides in a time warp, where the past and present co-exist. The present struggles to take root while the past never quite lets go. The town lives in an intriguing, fluctuating equilibrium, a delicate balance between past and present that begins its dramatic shift at sunset. As dusk falls, visitors begin to sense that in this former mining town turned lively arts community, there are others roaming about that hail from a different time. With Jerome’s ribald past, it comes as no surprise. And like the spirits that meander about, the town’s spirit also refuses to die.
Jerome’s fascinating history began in the 1880s with the arrival of people from many parts of the globe to work the lucrative copper mines that brought its investors billions in profit. In its copper mining heyday, the population of Jerome swelled to over 15,000 and by the 1920s it hailed as the fourth largest territory in the state. Diversions for the miners’ long work hours were many and in the boisterous spirit of the West, lawlessness reigned. A New York newspaper dubbed Jerome “the wickedest city in the West.” The town boasted numerous saloons, Chinese restaurants and laundries and during Jerome’s more decadent times, brothels and bordellos.
The collapse of Wall Street and the Depression marked the end of prosperous times for Jerome. In 1953, the last mine closed driving a stake to the heart of the city. But unlike a vampire, it took more than a stake through the heart to kill this tough western town.
Just as Jerome precariously clings to Cleopatra Hill, the town desperately clung to life. It has survived, despite a long history of tragedy. Fire destroyed large sections of the town on three separate occasions, but Jerome always rebuilt. Devastating landslides and land shifts caused by hundreds of miles of unstable, honeycombed mine shafts under the city itself wrought more damage. An underground blast in 1938 rocked the town’s center, toppling the business district down the mountainside, including the city jail, which slipped 225 feet. Ghostly remains of these structures can still be seen today, some, a hundred yards or more from their original foundations. Untold human tragedies in the form of mining accidents, gunfights, opium overdoses and the flu epidemic killed hundreds. Yet Jerome stubbornly continues to survive.
Over time, the population dwindled to a mere fifty residents and became a virtual ghost town. It was the Jerome Historical Society in the 1960s who saved the town from extinction through its preservation efforts and its proclamation that Jerome was America’s newest and largest ghost city.
In the 1970s small groups of free- spirited artists arrived, restoring abandoned buildings and transforming parts of this ghost town into an arts community. Today, the thriving town with a population of almost 500 is home to quaint bed and breakfasts, restaurants, saloons, art galleries and unique, whimsical boutiques with colorful names evocative of the town’s history, such as Nellie Bly, Ghost City Inn and The Asylum Restaurant. Most of these businesses are located in buildings that date back to the 1800’s, forging an unforgettable link to the town’s storied past. No trip to Jerome is complete without a visit to the Douglas Mansion, home of the Jerome Historic State Park. The interesting exhibits in this stately home bring to life Jerome’s mining heritage and offer a unique glimpse of its glory years.
At almost a 5,400 feet elevation, Jerome Winery provides astounding views of the Verde Valley that go on forever. Visitors of today wonder if the town’s residents of the past were as awed by its striking vistas. But it is ultimately the sloped buildings perched precariously on the hillsides, dramatic switchback cobblestone streets, and abandoned ruins that the story of Jerome is told. It doesn’t take much to imagine miners walking the streets, hear the tinkling of a piano or the loud, raucous laughter emerging from the saloon and the occasional sounds of gunshots.
The spirit of this bygone era can be found everywhere, in restaurants such as the Haunted Hamburger to the magnificent historic Jerome Grand Hotel which sits ominously on a hill overlooking the valley and town. Though unsettling to some, the town evokes a feeling you will never forget and like a magnet, draws you back time and again.
If You Go:
Jerome is located in the heart of northern Arizona only 90 miles from Phoenix, 60 miles from Flagstaff, 20 miles from Sedona and 30 miles from Prescott. Visit the Jeroma, Arizona website.
About the author:
Noreen Kompanik is a published freelance travel writer and photographer based in San Diego, California. She is a member of the International Travel Writers and Photographer’s Alliance and shares many of her adventures, stories and photos on www.whatsinyoursuitcase.net and What’s In Your Suitcase? Facebook site.
All photos by Noreen Kompanik:
Jerome historic buildings and Grand Hotel.
Old mining equipment at Jerome Historic State Park.
Ruins of Jerome.
Ruins of Jerome.
Spirit Room and Hotel Connor.
Restored miners’ lodging.
In the Cuban Club we climb tiled stairs, woven with ornate wrought-iron railing to the second floor lobby. An expansive area with inviting overstuffed chairs nestle in one corner; plaques honouring past leaders dot the walls. Sunlight splashes through aged curtains lighting the white with gold trim bar. Cane chairs are stacked on the bar’s carved wooden ledge; mirrors behind, fogged and cracked with age.
Our eager guide escorts us to the two-level 450-seat theater, ballroom, cantina and salon. Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey’s big bands once played in the grand ballroom here. Now it’s primarily a wedding reception venue; not what it once was, but still alive and thriving.
Besides a Cuban social club, Ybor has several others: Italian, Spanish and German. These mutual aid societies provided educational, social and medical services for their ethnic group. Two of them had hospitals; some had boxing and dancing lessons. Tabaqueros (tobacco workers) paid weekly dues for each family member for these services. Social clubs enriched Latinas’ lives during those years.
Continuing along La Septima we amble past storefronts noting a variety of cigars offered: doble robustos, torpedos, Churchills and even orange, coffee and strawberry flavoured. We stop to watch some cigar makers rolling by hand using a cutting board, Chavata (knife) and shaping tools. About one hundred years ago, factories were filled with more than a thousand cigar workers (tabaqueros). The final steps were completed by the highly skilled and well paid torcedores. Lectors read to them to lighten the tedium of the task. Most made decent wages as they were paid by piecework. And, yes, a few women were among these workers.
All this walking wakens our appetite. Lunch is at the oldest restaurant in Florida, the Columbia Restaurant, founded in 1905, the cigar industry’s zenith. This one-of-a-kind eatery consumes a whole city block, contains fifteen dining rooms and a lavish bar worth the visit to see. Patrons line up, some coming on bus tours to enjoy this gem of culinary history. The menu offers a variety of Spanish, Cuban, Italian, and fusion selections: Spanish bean soup, Cuban black bean soup and the award-winning ‘1905 salad’ Columbia’s original, along with a mixto (Cuban sandwich) a multi-cultural mix of ham, roast pork, Swiss cheese and mustard on Cuban bread. A pitcher of Sangria or Mojitos goes well with most menu items. Flamenco dancers perform nightly.
Another historic building where one can feast is Carne, located in the former El Centro Espanol (Spanish Social Club). A red-bricked edifice with white stones accenting arched windows, hosts this restaurant. Cast iron balconies and a simple, but formidable Moorish-style archway, add to its unique French Renaissance Revival architecture. Now it’s home to shops, businesses and Carne, the restaurant where previously we enjoyed the early bird prime rib dinner and Finlandia Martinis. Both meal and beverage were bargains, generously portioned and palette pleasing.
Rainbow colored piles of bound organic natural and dyed grasses are stacked against the wall. That’s the earthy aroma that meets you at the front door. The rhythmic whir of the foot-pedaled 1900 broom winder clicks and hums as Sam’s deft hands stitch together the layers of broom corn—a kind of sorghum—using a huge double-ended needle that he pushes through the broom. Medieval looking sewing cuffs made of well worn leather with metal disc inserts protect the palms of his hands from a wicked needle jab.
You don’t usually think of a broom as a thing of beauty, but these brooms are more than that. They’re artful. Functional and long-lasting, their craftsmanship belies the notion that “they sure don’t make things the way they used to” because Sam and Karen’s brooms are made the old-fashioned way, with artistry, attention to detail, and by hand.
“There’s a romance to this that you don’t find in your computers because computers aren’t fun to watch,” Sam opines. Romance, indeed. And you see what he means when you watch the gears and cogs and wheels and treadles of the cast iron antiquities move with rhythmic simplicity and complexity to create things that people use and need.
George Rodgers rebuilt the blonde brick building that exists now and bears the name “Rodgers BLK” at the top of it. George died in his upstairs abode in 1901 on the day that President William McKinley was assassinated. The Morrisons say George is a bit of a practical joker. Things seem to move from where they were put. There’s a clinking noise like that of a barrel bolt on the bathroom door every night around 9:00 that causes the cat to startle and hiss. And then, there’s the cigar smoke they get a whiff of every now and then. The Morrisons do not smoke cigars. But there is no fear where George is concerned. Sam and Karen think he’s happy they have the building. He’s become a family friend.
Though brooms take center stage, there is also the 1894 Chandler and Price clamshell printing press that sits unassumingly on the other side of the aisle. Loyal customers, Dave and Leslie who live 47 miles away in Manitou Springs, make the drive to Victor every year to get their Christmas cards that are made on that press.
Customers are drawn to the Victor Trading Company by word of mouth and come again and again. The Morrisons do business on a first-name basis and consider their customers close friends. “If we don’t make it, they don’t want it,” Karen says, referring to the fact that people who frequent the store are not interested in any of the factory-made stuff they may have on a shelf or two.
Yes, it too has changed like any popular coastal community which draws large crowds due to its unique history, natural beauty and tourist-pleasing highlights including the Monterey Bay Aquarium. But if you stare out at sea and at the nearby cannery buildings in the early morning, there are still signs of those historic sardine canning days Steinbeck spoke of so eloquently.
Two larger-than-life size murals based on photographs of the original “Mack and the boys” in his novel Cannery Row (who lived on the fringes of the canning district), are also nearby. Accompanied by quotations from the novel, they were created by local muralist John Cerney and lend a colorful charm to the entire area.
While Steinbeck Plaza has been around for awhile, a new Cannery Row Monument pays tribute to notorious, famous and colorful characters where were vital to the area’s evolution. Author Steinbeck sits atop the rock and Ed Ricketts, at the bottom, are surrounded by others who are reminiscent of what Cannery Row was like as a bustling sardine canning district. Four other men huddled together represent entrepreneurs who revived Cannery Row after it had fallen into decline. This is a poignant reminder of the vast history this area represents.
all over again.
About the author:
But closer examination of the burgeoning urban legend reveals that McCulloch was actually a shrewd businessman with a vision and a plan. The Arizona desert land he bought was a bargain. While not situated near any major highways, it was a popular fishing destination on the banks of Lake Havasu, a 45 mile long reservoir formed when the Parker Dam was built on the Colorado River in the 1930s.
Two years after Mr. McCulloch’s purchase of London Bridge, I emigrated to Vancouver, Canada and forgot about London Bridge. Then in 1992 My husband and I decided to take a road trip, and were returning home from Disneyland via Las Vegas. I saw Lake Havasu City on the map and decided I simply had to see the bridge in its new home.
The London Bridge Interpretive Center, however, was more down to earth. It provided fascinating information about the three-year project to relocate the bridge. When the bridge was dismantled, each piece of granite was carefully numbered to indicate its position in the structure. The pieces were then shipped from London to California via the Panama Canal, from where they were trucked to Lake Havasu.
My sense that Lake Havasu was an extension of Disneyland was actually not far from the truth. To develop Lake Havasu McCulloch partnered with C.V. Wood, the president of the McCulloch Oil Corporation. Wood had previously assisted Walt Disney to develop Disneyland, and was subsequently involved in creating the first Six Flags Adventure Park. It was Mr. Wood who supervised the entire bridge moving project, and who undoubtedly gave the new planned community of Lake Havasu City its theme park flavour.
I returned to Lake Havasu in 2014. The population of Lake Havasu has grown dramatically since 1992. There are housing developments all along the lake, and the island is covered with condominiums and resorts.
