A few facts, from a long-time resident.
We’ve lived in Wickenburg for about eight years now. Sadly, neither of us like the way things are going in town.
When we came to Wickenburg, it had small town charm and lots of open spaces. Since then, the developers (and their good buddies or relatives, the Realtors) have taken over. They’ve reshaped the desert so there are flat spots where there were once hills and they’ve planted houses on them. They’re kind of tricky the way they do this. They cut the land into lots, then build on every other lot. Folks buy the houses because they see so much space between them. Then the developer fills in the gaps and gets other people who like close living to buy those homes.
We have 2-1/2 acres in a very hilly area, with a wash flowing right through our property. That’s good because it keeps our neighbors far away — which we like. It’s not that we don’t like people. It’s just that we don’t like the idea of people looking into our windows from theirs. Now they’re all far enough away that we really don’t need to close the curtains for privacy. I like that. I like lying in bed at night and looking out at the stars.
But the rest of the town is being sold off at an alarming rate. One developer, who I took for a helicopter ride so he could get aerial photos, commented to his friends on how he was hoping to buy the land a church and pastor’s house is on so they could bulldoze it down and build some more condos. I was shocked. The church can’t be older than five years. And where will the parishioners go? I’m not a religious person, but I do have feelings for churchgoing people. Sadly, the developers don’t.
It wouldn’t be so bad if the town’s infrastructure would grow with the development. But it doesn’t. The downtown area is dying, slowly but surely, with much of its space taken up with private “Not a Retail Outlet” offices and vacant storefronts. Every strip mall has at least one empty space, if not more. One block downtown had about 50% of its space empty. I spoke to a property manager about renting one of the storefronts with the idea of setting up a cooperative art gallery, a place for local artists to sell their work. I told her I was concerned about having so many empty storefronts nearby — the area would never attract browsers. She assured me that she was talking to others about renting the other empty storefronts. When I asked her what kind of businesses might be going in, she told me a title company would be moving next door. A title company? There was already a mortgage company in that block. And more offices across the street. Why would I want the only retail business on the whole block? I decided to save my efforts — and my money — for a town with more potential.
Wickenburg’s job situation is equally dismal. There are a few good paying jobs with Remuda Ranch, the Meadows, and the Town of Wickenburg. But most of the town’s other businesses offer low-paying, minimum wage (or slightly higher) part time jobs with few or no benefits. The good jobs aren’t easy to get, either. A friend of mine interviewed for a wrangler position at Remuda Ranch a few years ago. She came away from the interview with a bad taste in her mouth. “I wasn’t Christian enough,” she told me. I guess 20 years of experience wasn’t enough for them if the applicant couldn’t meet the unspoken (and unadvertised) religious requirement.
The new business survival rate in Wickenburg is pitifully low. I think that problem is threefold:
(1) Many businesses are undercapitalized when they begin, so they’re doomed to failure. Common business sense says you need enough capital to pay for business expenses for a whole year before you start your business. Too many people depend on revenue that just doesn’t cut it. That’s why that Property Manager’s client prefers to rent to offices; they’re not depending on retail revenue for survival.
(2) Some businesses offer goods and services that there just isn’t a demand for in Wickenburg. The skateboard shop on Valentine Street is a good example. It was a great shop with lots of good merchandise professionally displayed. But let’s face it: Retirees don’t skateboard. And there weren’t enough skateboarders in town to support the business. Another example was the clothing shop that opened in the relatively new strip mall on the east side of the bridge. I never got a chance to get in there — they were open for less than a year — but I was told that their merchandise was expensive. That just won’t fly in a town where the fixed income retirees and minimum wage workers would prefer to shop in Alco or Wal-Mart.
(3) The town and Chamber of Commerce has no clue (or desire) to help local businesses survive. The town seems more interested in increasing town revenues through property taxes than sales taxes raised by thriving businesses. The town fathers have no qualms about allowing chain restaurants to open next door to existing locally-owned and operated restaurants selling the same type of food. (How many pizza places does Wickenburg need, anyway?) Lately, the only new businesses to come to Wickenburg and last more than a few months are the two “dollar stores” and two check cashing/payday advance places. These are the kinds of businesses that appeal to the lowest income tier or, worse yet, the fringe element responsible for the town’s drug problems and crime. The few events sponsored by the local Chamber of Commerce benefit only a handful of businesses — the motels and restaurants on their favorites lists. Many of these events are poorly publicized and have disappointing attendance anyway. Worse yet, they’re the same old events, year after year, without any new twists. Ho hum.
So people might ask who’s buying all these houses if the town has these economic problems. I ask it all the time. But the answer is clear: retirees.
Wickenburg regularly makes a list of top places to retire. So the folks from the midwest flock to Wickenburg and buy homes. Some of them live there only half the year, which, in turn, further deteriorates the town’s economy by making it impossible for some businesses to survive in the summer. Others live here year-round, but do most of their shopping down in Surprise, at Wal-Mart. That’s also where they fill their cars with gas and visit their doctors. Every once in a while, they clamor that they want a Wal-Mart in Wickenburg. I guess it really doesn’t matter to them if Wickenburg’s remaining small town charm is destroyed by a big box store, as long as it makes cheap shopping more convenient for them. After all, it might increase the choices of minimum wage jobs: clerk in housewares, clerk in electronics, clerk in ladies clothing, etc. It certainly won’t increase the number of employers — if a Wal-Mart comes to Wickenburg, just about every other retail business will be forced out of business.
I wish I didn’t have to report these sad truths about Wickenburg. I wish I could lie or paint a rosy picture of town, the way the Chamber of Commerce and newspaper do. But I’m not a liar. And my rose-colored glasses just don’t tint the picture enough to report it any other way.
One of the many things I don’t have on Howard Mesa is an Internet connection. Sure, I have my PowerBook and sure, the solar panel on the trailer roof provides enough power for me to keep it charged. So I can compose e-mail messages, write blog entries, play with my GPS’s connectivity features, and work on my novel. But I can’t surf the Web, send and receive e-mail messages, or publish those blog entries. Enter Java Cycle. This funky little coffee shop, which used to be a bicycle shop, offers a full range of coffee beverages and free wireless Internet connection. Conveniently located on the eastbound side of Route 66, west of Grand Canyon Boulevard, I can usually find a parking space right out front. So I can take my PowerBook down to Williams, order a latte, and sit at a comfortable table while taking care of my Internet needs.
Last year, when I worked at Papillon, I had my R22, Three-Niner-Lima, up here with me. Sometime during the summer, we had a load of cinders (volcanic gravel which is widely available here) delivered and we — well, mostly Mike — spread it out to make an oddly shaped landing pad. That’s where I landed Three-Niner-Lima, and this year, that’s where I’m landing Zero-Mike-Lima. The pad is less than 50 feet away from our trailer and its screened-in room. It’s also less than 50 feet away from the horse corral, where our horses go to drink and to eat whatever we throw down to supplement their grazing. As I sit here in the screened-in room, typing this, it’s right in front of me. I put a little fence around it to keep the horses from wandering in. That’s probably a good thing, because they’ve been itchy lately and scratching themselves on anything handy: the corral gate, tree stumps, the BBQ grill shelf. I can just imagine them scratching themselves on the helicopter’s stinger and cracking a tail rotor blade in the process.
I didn’t see or smell smoke all day yesterday. But in the evening, as the sun was setting, I saw the smoke on the northwestern horizon. Probably the fire out in the St. George area about 120 miles away. This morning, the smoke from Arizona’s big fire — the second biggest in its history — had drifted north, past the San Francisco Peaks, shrouding the eastern horizon. I almost missed the sunrise. The sun fought to be seen through the thick smoke, appearing as an orange globe poking out through the top of the thickest of it. There was little light from the sun at first. Then, when it broke clear of the cloud layer, I could feel its bright warmth. The smoke cloud faded back to a blue-gray blanket on the horizon.
Horses are herd animals. That means they like to be together. When the lead horse moves, the rest of the herd follows. My horses follow that rule. I only have two of them: Jake, a sorrel Quarter Horse, and Cherokee, a Paint Quarter Horse. Jake is generally the boss, but they’re good buddies and they’re always within sight of each other, if not right next to each other.
It took some doing, but I finally found Jake about a third of the way down the hill, at least a quarter mile away. I called him, but even if he heard me (which I doubt), I knew he wouldn’t come. (Jake is not like a dog. He’s more like a cat.) So I called Cherokee. At least he indicated that he heard me. But he was too panicky to even think of why I might be calling him. Long story not as long: I went back to the round pen, put the lead rope on Cherokee, and led him down toward Jake. When I had a good view of him, I pointed him out. But horses don’t understand pointing fingers. He looked everywhere except where I was pointing. Then Jake saw us. He let out a loud whinny that seemed to say, “What the hell are you doing up there?” Cherokee whinnied back. I took off the lead rope and he trotted down to his buddy.