Short Creek

Northern Arizona is so sparsely populated that most of the time we used only one inspector to cover Flagstaff and the areas farther north. The job entailed lots of travel.

As a highway safety specialist with the Governor's Office of Highway Safety, one of my jobs was assistant to the director of the state's pupil transportation program.

We hired Dave because of his background as a fleet mechanic. He sounded like an ideal candidate to perform safety inspections on school buses, but we had no idea he was such a talker.

After Dave completed training in Phoenix, the director asked me to take him to the schools in his newly assigned area and introduce him to the transportation supervisors and administrators. By that time I had gathered Dave was a gossip akin to the stereotype of ladies kibitzing across the back yard fence.

We left Page, Arizona on a snowy morning and headed into Utah for a quick run to Kanab, then south to visit schools at Fredonia and Colorado City, Arizona. By the time we crossed the state line again Dave had related much of the office gossip and his opinion of most of the people we worked with and many of those he had met on our trip. (What did he say about me behind my back?) I wondered where he picked up such slimy tid bits of information, most of it straight from the gutter. No reasonable person could agree with him, but you seldom change one's opinion by arguing. I chose to keep quiet.

Snow stopped falling about the time we headed west from Fredonia. Dave drove, I listened.

The Arizona Strip is devoid of the beauty of Zion to the north and the Grand Canyon to the south. The country was much like Dave's conversation--it droned on, but displayed little of interest. I wondered how to tell him about the situation in Colorado City. Finally I chose to not tell him--at least right away.

Colorado City is a small town stuck tight against the Utah state line. Every time I visit the area, I wonder how people make a living there. I see nice cars and large homes but little evidence of farming or manufacturing. The men dress well--like men in urban areas, however the women and girls look like characters out of the nineteenth century wearing ankle-length cotton dresses with long sleeves. You almost expect to see sunbonnets and button-top shoes.

I directed Dave to turn off Highway 389 onto the main street of the isolated community. He marveled at the number of large homes--many of them two-story quadruplexes.

When we arrived at the school I introduced Dave to the appropriate people and he shook hands and said the right words, even cracking a joke at one point. I was releived when we got back in our car.

He made another comment about the large homes on our drive through town.

"Dave," I asked, "Haven't you ever heard of Colorado City before?"

"No, he said. "Why should I?"

"It's not my place to judge whether it's true or not, but Colorado City is believed by many people to be a polygamist community."

"Polygamist?" he said. "You mean like having more than one wife?"

"That's the rumor."

"Isn't that against the law?"

"Yes, it's supposed to be." I did not dare tell him about the highway patrol's nighttime raid back in 1953. The town was known as Short Creek at that time.

He stared at me for a moment, open mouthed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew if I had, every time I introduced you to someone, you'd smirk and think, 'I wonder how many wives you have?'"

Dave turned onto the highway and headed south. He stared straight down the road in silence. After a moment he mutteredl, "You son of a bitch."

My ears finally got some rest on the drive back to Flagstaff.

Story ID:	3506
Written by:	James Baker (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:	Writers' Circle
Story type:	Diary/Journal Entry
Location:	Colorado City Arizona USA
Year:	1979
Person:	Dave