The northbound Santa Fe passenger train No. 42 left Phoenix at 6:10 p.m. on March 7, 1924, heading toward Prescott. Little did they know that this train was bound for disaster.
The northbound Santa Fe passenger train No. 42 left Phoenix at 6:10 p.m. on March 7, 1924, heading toward Prescott. Little did they know that this train was bound for disaster.
“Saturday, April 25, 1885, 3:40 PM: The town of Ash Fork is now on fire,” the Albuquerque Evening Democrat proclaimed. “So far nine buildings are in ashes…”
“A telegram was received at Fort Whipple announcing the almost entire destruction of the town of Ash Fork,” the Tulare County (California) newspaper pronounced.
“The greater part of the town was destroyed,” the Sacramento Union declared.
It was around 2:15 AM, September 7, 1898, and FS Davis was sound asleep in his residence on Pleasant Avenue when his faithful little dog suddenly jumped onto the bed and then onto his chest, barking alarmingly. “Davis found the room black with smoke,” the Prescott Weekly Courier described. The first thing he saved was his clothing, throwing them out a side door (which led to the loss of his watch). He then grabbed a pistol and ran out the door, only partially clad, firing his gun into the air to sound the alarm.
Before the Great Fire of July 14, 1900, the Courthouse Plaza was described as a “desolate and neglected waste.” The white rail fence surrounding it was beyond repair, and the Weekly Journal-Miner called for its removal five years earlier.
It was the Great Fire that brought an end to the fence. Not by burning, but by being knocked down and tossed aside as businesses set up shanties and other temporary structures upon the Plaza while the destruction was cleared away, and the downtown buildings familiar and historic to us today were constructed.
Theodore Weld (TW) Otis was a prominent and well-respected Prescott pioneer who served the community as a judge, a coroner, and a postmaster. He speculated in mining, real estate, and was a retail proprietor. He was a pious, charitable Christian and a teetotaling advocate for prohibition.
November 25, 1925, was a disastrous day in Yavapai County. Four banks suddenly and permanently closed their doors, and people’s deposits were frozen and unavailable—a mere month before Christmas!
It was the height of summer, late July 1912, when two railroad accidents occurred on the Santa Fe, Prescott, and Phoenix railway.
MH Dodge and Captain Donaldson were visiting in front of the Catholic Church around 2PM Tuesday, August 16, 1898. Dodge was facing toward the rail yard when he witnessed an immense piece of iron rise 200-300 feet into the air. Immediately, the concussion of a huge explosion reached the men’s ears. Even more disturbing, this giant, rotating projectile was heading straight toward them!
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| One year before the fire; almost all of this would be destroyed. |
The Journal-Miner described it as “one of the greatest calamities in the loss of human lives and destruction of property that has ever occurred in the territory, and it may also be said in the West.”
Consensus knows that Prescott gets snow, but it seldom lasts long—often melting away before evening. This was the reasoning behind the city selling off its “excess” snow removal equipment. But then in mid-December 1967, a below-freezing cold-snap accompanied by four waves of heavy snow eventually produced 72 inches with drifts measuring up to 10 feet.
Ironically, it was the city of Phoenix that sent ten snowplows, at its own expense, to help with the crisis.
The evening of September 24, 1904, was windy, and the smelter’s open building provided some relief from the heat of the furnace. Around 9pm, as part of their routine, workers wet down the furnace and began to remove, or “undrape” the liquid slag. This time, however, there was too much of the by-product, and the slag poured out of the furnace too quickly for the men to control it.
“It spread over the floor, in front of the smelter,” the Weekly Journal-Miner explained, “and the molten slag, coming in contact with the water, caused [an] explosion, sending the hot metal all through the building; setting it on fire in a number of places.” While there was an abundance of water on hand, it was impossible to check the progress of the blaze as the strong winds fanned the flames.
Not only was the building doomed, but so was the five-year-old town of Val Verde.
It seemed a normal July day in 1888 Prescott, but soon a ridiculous, domino-effect of events would cause the most bizarre railroad accident in the city’s history.
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| Ad for Election Day, 1918 |
“Arizona has a compulsory vaccination law, but it has long been a dead letter,” the Citizen wrote. “There has been so much opposition to it that public health officers have never tried to enforce it.” That was until the Spring of 1918 when Dr. WO Sweek, Secretary of the state board of health, decided it was necessary to require children to be vaccinated to attend school.
Many who are familiar with Prescott history are aware of the Great Fire, which occurred on July 14, 1900, and destroyed Whiskey Row. However, twelve years earlier, there was another great fire that wiped out Cortez Street.
It all started with an ill-fated plan to blow the safe at TW Otis’ store. The burglars entered the establishment, under the cover of darkness, shortly after midnight on July 1st, and planted some dynamite around the store’s safe. Concerned that the noise from the blast would sound an alarm, the would-be thieves covered the safe with burlap gunny sacks. They then lit the fuse and scurried out of the building to avoid injury.
William Zadoc “Zeb” Wilson was proud of the brand-new boiler at his sawmill. He travelled to the Ohio manufacturer to deliver the desired specifications himself. According to the Journal-Miner, he “paid an extra price to have certain portions of it built extra strong.” When the boiler first arrived, it was examined by an engineer at Whipple, and he testified that “he considered it the best boiler in the county.” Wilson’s pride was only equalled by the meticulous care he gave his new boiler.
However, at 7:30 in the morning of November 19, 1887, this brand-new, prized boiler would blast Wilson and five other workers straight into the afterlife. Worst of all, it was found to be a premeditated act.
For those back east, it meant troubling news stories, but for residents of the southwest, the Cold War was much more tangible. It was a time when Prescott residents would occasionally be awakened to the ground shaking and an orange glow in the western sky from nuclear testing at Nevada’s Yucca Flat Proving Ground.
It was nearly 3:30 pm, August 17, 1909, when engineer Joseph Reese put his hand on the throttle, and Engine No. 11 began to pull a heavy six-car passenger train out from the Iron Springs Depot. Little did he know he was a mere two minutes from disaster.
In July 1910, William Oliver, manager of the Shumate confectionery, billiards, and cigar store in Humboldt, was vacationing in Prescott. He spoke to the newspaper “in glowing terms” of his new hometown, describing it “as a coming commercial and mining center.” Little did he know that within a month, Humboldt would suffer two “great fires”; the latter of which would start in the basement of the building in which Oliver’s business was housed!