Cudia City is remembered as much for the Hollywood glamour it bestowed on the fledgling desert city as the Westerns produced there. Located at the northwest corner of Camelback Road and 40th Street, the replica frontier town was a well-trafficked film and TV production spot from 1939 until it was redeveloped in the 1960s.
Situated on a Wild West movie set, Cudia Restaurant attracted Hollywood stars and foreign dignitaries – but none outshone its host, Italian nobleman Salvatore Cudia.
If a restaurant is a reflection of the talents and charisma of its owner, Salvatore P.B. Cudia set a high bar for fine dining in Phoenix for almost two decades. Already an accomplished sculptor, painter, photographer, musician, inventor, voice coach, and movie director, Cudia was also fluent in six languages by the time he entered the Valley’s hospitality
Centuries-old Indian cliff dwellings offer a secret link to the Valley’s pre-Columbian past. And they’re only a four-mile backcountry hike away.
The eastward sprawl of modern Phoenix ends at the foot of the hot, red Superstitions, where our streets and sidewalks dare not climb. Ancient suburbanites were not so easily deterred. Fleeing the bustle of their society’s business district, now mostly submerged below the waters of
Members of an Amish-like religious sect from Russia made Glendale their home 100 years ago.
Obscure religious groups for $500, please, Alex. The answer is: “Members of this class of Russian sectarians, known for drinking milk on Orthodox fasting days, settled in Glendale, Arizona, in the early 20th century.”
If you didn’t answer “Molokans” – excuse me, “Who were the Molokans?” – don’t feel bad. According to Andrei Conovaloff, the group’s dogged local historian, many Molokan descendants wouldn’t get the question right, either. A hundred years after a small influx of Molokans – maybe a thousand or so, at its peak – settled in the West Valley to farm, almost all that remains of the community is the boarded-up hovel that served as their church. “I’m guessing there may be as many as a thousand descendants in Arizona today who know they’re of Russian descent, and who may or may not know the term Molokan,” says Conovaloff, 63. “And if they do, it’s probably as a misnomer.”
The original Phoenix Suns were barnstorming semi-pro footballers who enjoyed success on the gridiron and abject failure away from it.
Rabid basketball fans inhabiting Planet Orange are often surprised to learn the first Phoenix Suns game started with a kickoff – not a tipoff – and occurred more than a decade before the NBA team made its 1968 debut. In this bizarre-but-true alternate Suns universe, the team kicked field goals instead of shooting them, and the only dunks they saw
North Phoenix owes two of its hospitals, a street name, a resort, and much of its community spirit to one visionary man.
Once just a cottage and chapel in the middle of a tuberculosis-ridden tent city, the John C. Lincoln Health Network is now two not-for-profit hospitals, a handful of community-service organizations, and a testament to the Valley-wide legacy of the charismatic inventor and entrepreneur who gave the organization his name.