As Tempe celebrates its musical legacy, friends remember the troubled life of late Gin Blossoms guitarist Doug Hopkins.
Local musician Lawrence Zubia tells a story about Doug Hopkins, in which Hopkins hops a slow-moving freight train at Mill Avenue, intending to jump off when it neared his Tempe apartment. But the train picked up speed and Hopkins ended up in Tucson, where he spent the night drinking at a bar in Hotel Congress before taking a bus back to Phoenix.
It sounds like the opening line of a joke, but it really happened in 1893, when some of Arizona’s native desert plants were shipped to the Windy City. Why? Landscaping for a building touting the territorial bounties of Arizona, New Mexico and Oklahoma at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair.
For a brief blitz in the late ‘60s, Arizona produced a slew of influential underground publications.
The table of contents for the July 1968 issue of Phoenix-based bimonthly counterculture digest Orpheus teases such stories as: “Yiggers, Blonkies & Crackers,” “Confessions of a Pornographer,” “Declaration of Cultural Evolution” and “San Francisco’s Hipster Cinema.”
Arizona has always had a footing in the fruit industry, at one point even having more grapes in the ground than California, according to Peggy Fiandaca, president of the Arizona Wine Growers Association.
The Valley had many farms in the 1950s and used the Grand Avenue railroad to transport fruit crates, such as those that held grapes, from Glendale to Phoenix and Los Angeles.
It was a simpler era, and grape crate labels reflected this with minimalist designs.
More than a decade after America honored its Navajo code talkers, Arizona’s Hopi code talkers are finally getting their due. But would they have wanted it?
Delores Yaiva never knew her father had been a code talker in World War II. Not until about six years ago, when she saw him featured in a documentary by an Arizona filmmaker that premiered at the Hopi Health Care Center in Polacca.
It appears to be an entirely different place, a green countryside in the Midwest, perhaps. With open roads not crammed with cars, no chic coffee stop on every corner and not a single high-rise, the 1885 visage of farmland-Phoenix pictured on this map certainly looks nothing like Phoenix today.