Author Archives: Maria Langer

There’s Hope for Wickenburg

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Prop 421 does not pass. And life goes on.

Proposition 421 was on this year’s ballot in Wickenburg. It was strongly supported by a number of the town’s “heavy hitters,” including the mayor (who didn’t identify himself as mayor on promotional material), newspaper publisher, chamber of commerce, and a hodgepodge of the town’s politicians. Their yellow “Vote Yes” signs were all over town. And mysteriously, for a few weeks, all the “Vote No” signs disappeared on a nightly basis. As a result, the Prop 421 supporters looked strong and gave the illusion that their side of the argument was right. I suspected that the majority of Wickenburg voters would not look deeply into the issue and would vote based on the number of signs they saw. In that case, Prop 421 would pass.

If you’re wondering what Prop 421 is (or was), it basically gave a developer the right to build high-density housing in an area that wasn’t zoned for it. The houses/condos would be “clustered” together in an area suitable for building and the unsuitable areas would be left as open land, like a park. Of course, those unsuitable areas were mostly in a wash, so building there wasn’t possible and any parklike features that were added — bike paths, benches, lighting, etc. — could be washed away in a flood. The carrot that was being dangled (to borrow the appropriate phrase from a friend of mine) was an additional nine holes added to the Country Club’s nine-hole golf course.

Prop 421’s supporters included:
1) Anyone who stood to make money on the additional housing. Think about it a bit and you might be able to figure out who (other than the developer) that might be, especially when you consider how much “under-the-table”‘ dealings go on in a small town.
2) Country club residents whose land did not border the land to be developed. These people were hypnotized by the artist’s renderings provided by the developer and saw themselves living on a Scottsdale-like development.
3) Business owners who think that adding more homes means adding more potential customers.

The sad part of all this is that the kinds of homes they were proposing would not be the kinds of homes occupied year-round by people who support Wickenburg’s economy. I’m talking about the people who live and work here, who run businesses, shop locally, and have a stake in the community. Instead, these condos (like most other condos/apartments in town) would appeal to the same seasonal residents that flood the town every winter for four months out of the year. These are the same people who make weekly trips to the Wal-Mart store in Surprise and, while they’re down there, buy gas, groceries, and anything else they need to make themselves more comfortable in their winter homes. In April, they disappear, leaving Wickenburg a virtual ghost town for the summer months. Some businesses that started up in the autumn, hoping to bring in enough revenue to get them through the summer months, dry up and blow away by July.

My views on the seasonal economy of Wickenburg are stated in many places, so I won’t go into it any further here.

Prop 421’s opposition included:
1) The people who live in the Country Club area whose views would be spoiled by the “cluster housing” planned for their backyards.
2) The people who realized that additional “affordable housing” in a town that’s growth is already almost out of control would only bring their own property values down. I admit that I’m one of these people. I think Wickenburg has enough housing, evidenced by the number of “for sale” signs in front of homes all over town.
3) The people who like Wickenburg the way it is and don’t want to see a huge influx of residents, all at once. That’s me, too. I’ve lived in a tightly packed community most of my life and it isn’t something I want ever again. That’s why I moved to Wickenburg.

“You can’t stop progress,” is something I heard at a Bypass meeting a long time ago. That might be true, but I think you can slow it down. Wickenburg is having growing pains; it might be best to slow the residential growth until the commercial growth catches up.

Of course, the town can’t be too happy about Prop 421’s failure. They were looking forward to the impact fees and additional property taxes from the new homes. But perhaps the town’s governing body and management can now get down to what they really need to do: help encourage business growth in Wickenburg. It’ll take some work, but isn’t that what they’re supposed to be doing?

Wickenburg has a nice little industrial park near the airport with a few businesses based there. How about getting a few more of those businesses in there? The kind of business a man (or woman) can build a career at, and can earn enough money to support a family. Think of all the year-round residents Wickenburg could attract if it had some good employers in town! The Meadows and Remuda Ranch make up a huge part of the town’s year-round economy, providing jobs for many people. But why can’t there be other employers like them? Why should jobs be limited to low-paying retail jobs and seasonal positions that can’t provide a year-round income? Why can’t Wickenburg attract more employers that offer professional jobs and careers? Why isn’t the town’s government doing something to get quality businesses in here? Why do they insist on trying to build revenues by adding homes and low-class businesses (like the newest discount store under construction on 93) that pay low-income wages? The town wouldn’t need so much cheap housing if it had more better-paying jobs.

I’m doing my part. Last month, I began expanding wickenburg-az.com to provide more coverage of local businesses, in an attempt to get people to come to and shop in Wickenburg. The site gets about 1,000 page hits a day, which really isn’t much, but it’s something. My recent article about Buckshot Babe’s got a ton of positive responses via e-mail from Wickenburg residents and visitors, so I must be on the right track.

Yesterday, I met with a new organization called Women Entrepreneurs (WE). These women, who mostly run home-based businesses, are networking to support each other and provide low-cost marketing opportunities. There was a lot of Chamber-bashing at the meeting yesterday (which isn’t anything new in this town) and plenty of good ideas for getting the word out about our businesses. I’m going to help these folks any way I can because they’re the people that keep Wickenburg alive — the people who live here year-round and keep the dollars flowing in town.

But when is the town’s government going to see it that way?

Three-Niner-Lima is Gone

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I deliver my old helicopter to its new owner with one last scenic flight.

On Monday, I delivered N7139L to its new owner, John, in Mesa, AZ.

Normally, it’s about a 50-60 minute flight to Falcon Field. With the high winds from the north that day, I probably could have made it in 45 minutes. But I admit I didn’t take the fastest route to Falcon Field. Instead, I decided to visit a few of the GPS waypoints I’d accumulated during the four years Three-Niner-Lima was in my possession.

The first waypoint I visited was added just this year. It’s an abandoned, partially constructed house north of Lake Pleasant. Jim Wurth had taken me to see it a few months ago. It was quite amazing. On Monday, I simply flew over. No time to stop.

From there, I visited one of my favorite destinations, the landing strip at Red Creek and the Verde River. We’d done a heli group outing there a few years ago on New Year’s Day. There were four helicopters that day and I’m sure I’ve shown off the photos somewhere in the Web. On Monday, I flew over, then dropped down into the Verde Valley. I followed the Verde River south, crossing over marshes, lakes, and dams along the way.

When I got to the Verde’s confluence with the Salt, I went up the Salt River just a little bit, then crossed some mountains east of Falcon Field and approached from the southeast. The wind was howling when I set Three-Niner-Lima down for the last time in a big open taxiway area south of Falcon’s tower. John drove up just as I was cooling down the engine.

We wheeled Three-Niner-Lima to its new home, a T-hangar among the hundreds there. I showed John everything I’d brought for him. I told him about a few of Three-Niner-Lima’s quirks. I watched him slide the hangar door shut, hiding Three-Niner-Lima from view. I remained dry-eyed, despite the fact that I was leaving a good friend.

The money and title changed hands. John drove me up to the shopping center at 74 and I-17. Keri picked me up at the McDonald’s there. We went for lunch at a sports bar in the shopping center, then came back to Wickenburg.

Three-Niner-Lima’s parking space in my hangar is empty. But in about a month, it should be occupied again.

A Beautiful Day for Flying…or a Horseback Ride

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We did the ride.

We were supposed to go flying. Mike had clearly stated the day before that he was going flying on Sunday. We debated about where to go. I’m always interested in the $100 hamburger (or egg sandwich) — you know, flying into an airport with a restaurant (or nearby restaurant) and getting a bite to eat before flying home.

“How about Sedona?” I suggested.

“On a Sunday?” he said. “That place is a zoo on Sundays.”

“How about Winslow? We can go to that historic hotel.” I couldn’t remember the name of the place, but he knew what I was talking about.

He wasn’t interested. I think it was farther away than he’d wanted to go.

“Prescott? We have a car there.” My ancient but loyal Toyota is back at Prescott Airport, waiting to serve me the next time I fly in.

“Yeah,” he said as he tried to think of an excuse not to go to Prescott.

I got the idea and stopped making suggestions. If I were flying, I’d have no trouble coming up with a destination. Heck, who needs a destination anyway? Just hop in the helicopter and follow the birds. Or the cows. Or whatever you feel like following. Be surprised where you end up. But I couldn’t fly. The helicopter, although still technically mine, had been sold and paid for. I’d be flying it on Monday to its new owner. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t really mine anymore and I shouldn’t fly it unless I had to.

That was yesterday. Today, the day we were supposed to go flying, we didn’t even talk about flying. I think he’d changed his mind about it. He claimed he felt lazy, like just taking it easy. (We all know how much hard work flying an airplane 30 minutes to another airport can be.) “Let’s go for a horseback ride,” he said not long after our 10:00 AM lunch.

An hour later, we were saddled up and riding out. We rode down the wash (Cemetery Wash, which runs past our house — when it runs) and turned right into the slot canyon near Ocotillo. We passed some women out on their horses with three red dogs and kept going.

It was a nice ride. The air was cool but the sun was strong. The combination made for comfortable riding conditions. I was fine in my light cotton pants and long-sleeved cotton henley. I didn’t bother with a hat.

My horse even behaved for most of the ride. He walked fast, which is quite unusual for him on the way out. He didn’t get spooked by anything and didn’t try to turn around more than four or five times. But when we reached the first gate and he realized we were going through it, he started getting cranky.

My horses can count gates. They know that every time we go through a gate on the way out, it means the ride will be at least 30 minutes longer. A one-gate ride can be about an hour. But add a gate and you add 30-60 minutes.

We only went through one gate on the way out. And we didn’t take the longest trail we could have. But we were still out over 2 hours.

We rode in the state or BLM land out behind my home, following the same trails the wranglers at Rancho de los Caballeros use. The trails wind through the Sonoran desert, past saguaro, cholla, barrel, and prickly pear cactus, around mesquite and palo verde trees and creosote bushes, and over all kinds of rocks. There are numerous intersections and several gates. The trails climb high over peaks and along ridges and sink low into washes and canyons.

We know the trails very well, and have our own names for them. For example, today we rode down the wash to the Slot Canyon Trail then took that through the gate at the end to Deer Valley Trail (named because we used to see deer there all the time). I made a wrong turn at a fork in Deer Valley and that brought us prematurely to the Ridge Ride Trail. (Shortened the ride by about 15 minutes.) We went a short distance on the Ridge Ride and stopped at a high point to admire the view. From up there, you can clearly see Los Cab and its golf course, as well as the entire town of Wickenburg spread out to the northeast. We gave our horses a scare when we started back the way we’d come, then took the Red Rock Trail back down to Cemetery Wash. We followed a trail through the wash through a gate near Los Cab to the Golf Course Trail, which goes past the golf course before heading back toward our house. We came through another gate near our neighbor’s house and rode the remaining 1/4 mile home.

Of course these are just OUR names for the trails. The Los Cab wranglers have different names for them, but since the trails aren’t mapped, they don’t really have names.

Why two gates on the way back and only one on the way out? There’s no gate in the slot canyon. The fence that was there was washed away long ago.

It was a nice ride, a nice time out. It was good to get my fat horse some exercise.

And since I won’t have anything to fly for the next month or so, I’ll probably be doing a lot of horseback riding again.

Can You Hear Me?

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I make a phone call for someone in need.

She was an older woman, standing on the sidewalk between Alco and Osco. She looked nervous. I made eye contact with her on my way into Alco. When I came out, she was still there. But this time, she was looking right at me, obviously ready to approach me.

“What do you need?” I said, walking right up to her.

“I am deaf,” she said in the voice of a person who is obviously deaf. “Can you make a phone call for me? I will gladly pay you.”

“Sure,” I said. “But you don’t have to pay me.”

She didn’t hear me, of course. She was deaf. But she understood that I’d help.

We walked over to the pay phone and she pulled out a small folder that she opened and showed to me. She pointed to one of the two names with phone numbers on it. “This is my daughter,” she said. “I need you to call her for me. Let me talk to her, then you take the phone and listen to what she says and write it down for me.” She took out a pad and pen. I picked up the phone. “Call collect,” she advised me. “It will be easier for you.”

I made the call as she requested. A moment later, I was talking to her daughter. “I’m making this call for your mother,” I said. “She wants to talk to you and then I’ll listen to what you say and write it down.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She’d obviously done this before.

I handed the phone over and the woman talked. She didn’t stop to listen. She talked about where she was and about checking the mail. She talked about leaving a check for her daughter’s trip. She said she was fine and hoped her daughter had a good time on the trip. There was more of the same. Then she told her daughter that she’d tried for a half hour to get someone to make this call for her and that I’d finally come along and said yes. “God bless her,” she said. She told her daughter that I’d take notes and handed the phone back to me.

The daughter kept it brief. She thanked me, then gave me a few messages regarding the mail. She ended up with, “Tell her I love her. And thanks again for helping her.”

Meanwhile, the woman was attempting to put money in my pocket. I tried to dodge away, but the phone cord was too short. I said goodbye and hung up, then handed the woman the notes I’d written. She read them aloud and nodded. Then she tried again to give me money. I wouldn’t take it.

“I tried to get so many other people to help me,” she said. “They wouldn’t come near me. They must have thought I was a leper because I was deaf. Please take the money. Just for a Coke.”

I had tears in my eyes, thinking about this woman wasting 30 minutes of her day trying to get someone to make a simple phone call for her. I gave her a hug. When she was insistent about the money, I took it, then slipped it into her purse, which she’d left open just a little bit. Then I said goodbye and left her.

What is it with today’s people? Can’t they take a moment to help someone in need? Someone with a simple request that would take only a moment of time and not cost a penny? It surprises me. You’d expect people to act like that in a big city. But not in Wickenburg.

But maybe it takes a big city person to be brave enough to face someone in need.

I Stand Corrected

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He wasn’t wasting my time after all.

On Saturday, I showed my helicopter to someone who’d flown up from Mesa to see it. He spent 90 minutes looking at it, taking pictures of it, and asking me questions about it. Then he said he wasn’t sure if buying a helicopter with only five years left on the main rotor blades was a good idea. And he left.

I thought he’d just wasted 90 minutes of my day.

But on Monday morning, he called. He made me a low offer, which I turned down. I told him what I’d take and he said okay. So I guess it wasn’t a waste of time after all.

I asked him for a $2,000 earnest deposit and he said he’d take care of it on Wednesday. He was going to Vegas on Tuesday. I worried that he’d gamble away the money he had for the helicopter. We settled on a closing date on or before November 8.

On Wednesday, he called again. He wanted to know what else had to be done for the sale to be finished. I told him I thought the escrow agent had everything he needed. He said, “Then why don’t I just send you all the money? It saves me $20 on wire transfer fees.”

Well, that’s one way of looking at it.

So he sent all the money yesterday and I FedExed my official, signed bill of sale to the escrow agent. Today, Thursday, the money should be transferred to my lender to pay off my loan and to my bank account, where it’ll sit for five to six weeks, waiting for more money to join it. I just hope that other money shows up.

I’ll deliver Three-Niner-Lima to its new owner sometime soon — probably this coming weekend.

I’m sad. I’ll miss Three-Niner-Lima. We had some great times together. But I keep reminding myself that a better ship is on its way. And we’ll be good friends, too.