Tag Archives: Arizona

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BIKERS, CIRCA 1983 – 1985 | THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF ANN-SIMMONS MYERS

Kind and patient persistence does pay off. Ann Simmons-Myers, the photographer behind these amazing images that follow, finally after 3 months agreed to allow TSY to publish her Biker series dating back from 1983-1985. It’s very close to her heart, understandably, and I’m so grateful to be able to share these with you now. Ann, thank you very much. And Corrina from LA, thank you as well. These images are just incredible glimpes of authentic “livin’ the life”, taken I believe in Tucson, Arizona– my hometown back in the ol’ school days.

ann simmons myers Dr D Madd's 357

Dr. D Madd’s .357, 1985 — Photograph © Ann Simmons-Myers

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PSYCHEDELIC COWBOY IN SWEDEN | THE LONG ARM OF LEE HAZLEWOOD

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“Lee came to Coolidge (AZ) while I was still going to high school, and he had just gone to a disc jockey school… a broadcasting school, I guess they called it– Columbia School of Broadcasting in Hollywood. He graduated that, and he got his first job.  And it happened to be as a disc jockey– and it happened to be in Coolidge, Arizona. So, I had a friend who wanted to be a disc jockey at the time, and he said, ‘You gotta come out and meet this new guy– he’s really a hoot. Ya know, really funny and all this, and he’s playing Country music.’  So, I went along with him, and I met Lee Hazlewood the first time.”

“At that time, uh, I used to sing… and play too.  And I sang with this other guy, Jimmy Dell.  We sang together– we did up-tempo Country things… just around town there, you know, mostly.  Lee heard that, and like it, and we went in and tried to make a record of that… the two of us with some songs that Lee wrote– his first attempt at songwriting. His first attempt at producing, we went up to Phoenix to someone’s studio… in the back of their house, and well– it was the only studio we knew of.  It was, like, 1954– late ’54 or ’55. And uh, we made a couple of tracks.”

“Lee was gonna put it out on his own label, but Jimmy went and got ‘saved.’  And uh, came in one day and said, ‘I’m saved!’ and I said, ‘Saved from what?!’ And he says, ‘No, in church!’ And I said, ‘Oh, great! Congratulations.’ And he says, ‘Yeah, well, it’s not so good.’ and I says, ‘what’s the matter?’ Jimmy said, ‘I can’t sing with you no more.’ And I says, ‘Oh. Why not?’  He said, ‘Because I can’t sing worldly music no more.’ And I said, ‘oh, oh, well you get to tell Lee that then– he’s just invested all this money in these records.’ So they ended-up sitting in Lee’s garage– and never did get out…”

“So that’s how I met Lee.  Later that year he moved to Phoenix, and got a job at a Country station up there, KRUX. And it turns out he was the first one to ever play Elvis Presley in Phoenix, on the Sun label.  A guy there, brought these records from  down in Texas, a local Country artist who got on a show with Elvis, and he brought these records back and played them for Lee– and Lee thought they were great. So he scheduled them, and started playing them, and it caused all kinds of ruckus! He almost got fired over it… It was a big change!  You know, Elvis doing ‘Blue Moon of Kentucky’ like that, and all…”   –Duane Eddy

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From DJ, to producer, to songwriter/lyricist and singer– Lee Hazlewood would produce a striking string of hits over his career– first with the young guitar legend, Duane Eddy, and later with the down-on-her-luck daughter of a true American icon, Frank Sinatra.

Nancy and Lee were an oddly powerful duo. His thinly-veiled lyrics of drugs and decadence were delivered with such wooden stoicism that nary a soil thought twice. But when Nick Cave himself cites you as one of his biggest influences– you must have been doing something wrong, oh so right. Hazlewood created a signature moody sound– filled reverb, space and mood a-plenty.  Phantasmagoric, at times.

And while his sound had psychedlic elements, he was anything but a hippy, or even Rock ‘n’ Roll. It filled a void in radio that no one else could. Brought up in Oklahoma, and ramblin’ ’round Texas, Arkansas and Arizona in his early days– he had little chance of running into anything remotely hip or forward– he truly crafted his own niche unlike what anyone else was doing.  In fact, he was so unhip, that he was truly ahead of the times. He made “uncool” cool. The Beck of his day, but without the looks and moves.

That’s right– Beck.

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A LOVE FOR THE OLD WILD WEST | VINTAGE AMERICANA POSTCARDS

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Yes, I have a thing for vintage linen postcards– with old Curt Teich works being at the top of that list.  I also love the lore of the American Wild West (the maverick, pioneer spirit lines-up well with my own modus operandi)– bowlegged, dusty cowboys with tobacco-stained fingers and hooded eyes, and the soulful sages that we call Native Americans with their incredible art, customs and culture.  I could feast on these beautiful little pieces of art for days.

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1917 — American Map Showing Vital Spot to Hit to Kill the American Spirit of Justice. — Image by © Lake County Museum/Corbis

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Circa 1925, Pendleton, Oregon — There are many tribes of Indians in the Northwest and they live on reservations. The Bannocks and the Nezperces of Idaho, the Umatillas of Oregon and the Yakimas of Washington are the chief tribes. Fishing and hunting is part of their livelihood. They have great meetings at the rodeos where they parade in war costumes and perform their tribal dances. — Image by © Lake County Museum/Corbis

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Circa 1943, Elk City, Oklahoma — Texas Kid, Jr., Riding “Joe Louis.” A past time Range Sport of the Pioneer Southwest, being reproduced by a crack rider during Woodword Elks Rodeo. Stock furnished by Beutler Bros., Elk City, Okla. — Image by © Lake County Museum/Corbis

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Circa 1939, San Antonio, Texas — OLD “TEX,” the best known specimen of that hardy race of cattle, the famous TEXAS-LONGHORN, escaped the early day cowboys who herded and drove them to distant railroad shipping points. He roamed the prairies of Southwest Texas to an undetermined age and is now full body mounted as shown and stands as one of outstanding exhibits in the Buckhorn Curio Store Museum, originally the Famous Buckhorn Bar in San Antonio, Texas. — Image by © Lake County Museum/Corbis

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Circa 1933 — NAVAJO INDIANS SPINNING YARN FOR RUGS. Navajo Indian Rugs are famed the world over for their beauty and durability. In infancy children receive the ambition to create designs which express their understanding of life, supply, or surroundings. No two rugs are designed identical. The picture shows one rug just completed, and the never idle fingers are spinning yarn from the raw wool and preparing for another rug of some design which inspired thoughts have conceived. — Image by © Lake County Museum/Corbis

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A LOST ART OF DAYS GONE BY | VINTAGE CURT TEICH LINEN POSTCARDS

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I’m crazy for vintage Curt Teich linen postcards. The warm, fuzzy, softness of color, printed (sometimes slightly off register) on the linen-weave stock, of scenes when America had a youthful glow. It makes me yearn for a life and times that I was born too late for, by golly.  I find myself gazing at neighborhoods and cities, trying to chronologically piece them together.  I ask myself– what was it like here 100 yrs ago… which houses came first… which were layered in later, and when?  A lot of the scenes in these incredible windows to the past are places where I’ve lived, or passed through that are in one way or another core to who I am.

Imagine living again in a time with no cell phones, internet, and the other so-called modern conveniences that “save us time.” I could go back in a New York second.  Technology and consumption is moving at a scary pace, folks.  I wonder what we’ll be looking back at with nostalgia-glazed eyes 25 yrs from now… Planet Earth?

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Ford Model T – 1908-1909, the Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village, Dearborn, Michigan

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Statue of Liberty on Bedloe’s Island in New York Harbor, New York City

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Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street, New York City

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THE LEGENDARY STRIPER VON DUTCH | STILL ALIVE AND LIVING IN ARIZONA ’72

Having grown up a good chunk of my life in Arizona, it was of particular interest to me when my buddy from the internets and writer extraordinaire, Bart Boule, clued me in on this interesting bit…interesting if you’re into this sorta thing, that is–

“…Von Dutch had a studio in the netherlands riverbottom between Scottsdale and Tempe — where the amazing club JD’s was, that Waylon Jennings and the Waylors were in residency, so that cowboys and fratboys could kick each others asses when Paul Revere and the Raiders or Buffalo Springfield played there…”

This sent me on a quest to dig up whatever I could find on this lost chapter of Von Dutch’s eccentric & electric existence.  Then, what I’d been looking for turned up during a google image search (better than porn any day…heck, Von Dutch and “Big Daddy” Roth are my porn…), a long lost article, “Von Dutch is Still Alive and Living in Arizona.” Bingo.  It’s chock full of priceless, colorful quotes from hizzoner, Mr. Von Dutch– and written by his good friend, Bob Burns, for the March, ’72 issue of Road Rider magazine.

This was a time when Von Dutch had moved to Phoenix from California with his wife, Sheila, and their kids to “get away from the race.” He wanted no part of California any longer.  Dutch wanted to take it slow and easy– and do and honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay…

 


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“Steve McQueen had the first two Honda Fours in this country– and he gave them to me to tear into and customize.”

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DON’T DO THE CRIME– IF YOU CAN’T DO THE TIME | A THUG’S LIFE ARCHIVE


“Truth always rests with the minority, and the minority is always stronger than the majority, because the minority is generally formed by those who really have an opinion, while the strength of a majority is illusory, formed by the gangs who have no opinion — and who, therefore, in the next instant (when it is evident that the minority is the stronger) assume its opinion… while truth again reverts to a new minority.”

–Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855)

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Circa 1972, NY– Prisoner reading in his cell with photos of women covering the walls in Tombs Prison. — Image by © JP Laffont/Sygma/Corbis

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Circa 1954– L.A. Gang Squads.  Image by George Silk for LIFE Magazine.

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Circa 1993– South Central LA 40th Street Gang members show off scars from bullet wounds. — Image by © Mark Peterson/CORBIS

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All my friends know the low rider, the low rider is a little higher. The low rider drives a little slower, low rider is a real good goer.

 

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Tattooed inmates of the California State Prison. –— Image by © Ted Soqui/Corbis

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“It’s so easy to laugh. It’s so easy to hate. It takes strength to be gentle and kind.”

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LA GANG LIFE | DICKIES, THUGS & GUNS THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF ROBERT YAGER

When I was 11 or 12 years old, I learned all about the cholo firsthand. I had been born and raised in NY, when in grade school we suddenly uprooted and headed out West for a new start. After a brief stint in Anahiem we finally settled in Arizona– and we were flat broke. For a good many months we (mom, stepdad, sis, myself, and our Doberman pup) lived in a tent out in the alien desert north of Phoenix.

When the family finally scraped up enough money through my mom waiting tables at some greasy spoon and my stepdad running screw machines, we rented a rundown, roach-infested 2 bedroom trailer in Glendale, AZ.  I’ll never forget that place as long as I live.  The trailer park was directly across the street from the Glendale High School. It was anchored by an old, once-stately mansion that was cut-up into cheap apartments, and was surrounded by a sad assembly of rundown trailers and a couple white-washed shack homes.

It was the first time in my life that as a White, I was a minority– and boy did I stand out. I was a lanky stick with shoulder length, fiery red hair that I wore parted down the middle, and to top it off I also wore glasses. This was before the days of designer frames, people. I don’t think there was such a thing as cool glasses back then. I felt like I had a bull’s-eye painted on my forehead. I was fresh meat in a school of tough-ass kids who looked like nothing I’d ever seen before.  The guys all wore pressed Dickies khaki pants, white tees, and hi-top white Chuck Taylors. The uniform didn’t change, except come winter a large untucked flannel shirt, also pressed, and buttoned up to the neck was added to the ensemble. They looked as foreign to me as I must’ve to them. And the funky music, well I’d never heard anything like it– man, I still have Rick James’ “Give It To Me, Baby” ringin’ in my ears…

I quickly learned that if you start runnin’, you’ll be runnin’ the rest of your life. Better to stand and fight– even if you get your ass beat, you can still look yourself in the mirror, and maybe even gain a little respect. Soon enough I’d hear them say in the halls that I was ok– I put up a good fight. Damn if it wasn’t the roughest school year of my life– but I wouldn’t trade those days, even if I could. The cholo brothers taught me to stand up and not take any crap off of no one. I don’t by any means advocate breakin’ the law, but I do advocate findin’ your voice and letting the world feel the weight of who you are.

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“WISH I WERE BORN IN BEVERLY HILLS”

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Alice Cooper

Alice Cooper drinks a beer as his two companions enjoy a glass of champagne in front of a white Rolls-Royce in Hollywood, California. -- Image by © Neal Preston

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When I was around 10 yrs old the family needed a new start, so we packed up and left upstate NY– headed out west.  We jammed everything we had, including the ol’ man’s ’79 Harley Low Rider, into the back of a rusted-out old maxi-van and hit the road.  That cross-country trip is one I’ll never forget… After a quick stop in Anaheim, we set sight for Phoenix, AZ.  We didn’t have a whole lot of prospects, no job waiting or family to speak of.  But if you’re determined and willing to roll up yer’ sleeves and work your way up, you can get ahead in America– even now, no matter what people say.  Mom wasn’t above waiting tables to feed us kids, and badass biker man worked at a machine shop that ground-out those threaded connectors you see on the end of coaxial cable.  It was a nasty place– the oil flowing through the massive screw machines hung in the air like fog, and he’d come home at the end of the night shift soaked to the bone.  We started our new life in Arizona living out of a tent in the desert north of Phoenix.  It was pretty wild out there– you could sometimes feel the rattlers slither under the tent at night to cozy-up to the warmth of our bodies just on the other side of the thin tent floor.  Soon we had graduated from the tent to a trailer in Glendale, and finally to a modest rented home of our own on the west side of town– all thanks to a lot of elbow grease and grit.  I admire the work ethic and sacrifice my mom and stepdad put forth back then, and consider myself lucky to have been through all that I have, because I know I’m a survivor who can face most situations head-on and come out on top– or at least alive.

Try to put the screws on me, and I’ll screw right from under ya’.

I remember when we started to do pretty well as a family, and moved from the west side of Phoenix to the more affluent east side.  Well, I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t say that it felt like The Jeffersons— movin’ on up, brother.  I spent my formative years living, working, and carousing town– Biltmore, Arcadia, Paradise Valley and Scottsdale.  The Valley as they call it, while well populated and spread-out, still had a small town feel back then.  Now it’s mostly an endless, soul-less strip mall with a revolving door of comers and goers.  People around town knew each other back in the day, and put down roots.  And we had our share of local celebrities that you’d see out and about.  Guys like Rob Halford of Judas Priest, Glen Campbell, and you guessed it, Alice Cooper.  Where did I meet Alice Cooper?  Where else– at church.  Oh, and the car wash.  Alice is one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet.  And a helluva golfer to boot.

Don’t go judgin’ a book by its cover.

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ALL BIKES AZ | A RYE SENSE OF HUMOR

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Legend has it that sometime back in 1988, All Bikes proprietor, Ron Adler, pulled-up anchor in Tacoma, WA and headed for Rye, AZ with his massive collection of bikes, scooters, motorcycles and other wheeled-oddities packed into eight semi-trailers.  The rest is either history or misery- depending on who you talk to.  All Bikes has a reputation for being difficult, surly and well, eccentric.  Looking at the place, it shouldn’t surprise anyone at all.  You have to be a little different to make this your life’s work. And different is good, it just isn’t always “ready-for-prime-time.”  Good.  I prefer life a little salty.

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Wanted- A Place in the Sun.

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You won’t fide a whole lot of actual shade at The Shady Dell, but you will find an artsy, desert haven down in Bisbee AZ.  If I had the dough, I’d pack up and head there right now to escape my winter blues.   Once New Year’s has come and gone, I am officially over it and ready for the sun.

The Shady Dell is run by a young, retro couple with a passion for 50s vintage living.  There are 9 fully-restored campers ranging from a ’49 Airstream to a ’57 El Ray— often mistaken for an Airstream, but actually more rare and coveted.  

Nestled perfectly within walking distance from each trailer is Dot’s Diner. Built in the 1950s by the pride of Wichita Kansas, The Valentine Manufacturing Company, this authentic diner was originally purchased by John Hart in 1957 and delivered to the corner of Ventura and Topanga Canyon Blvd in Los Angeles. The diner was transported by flatbed truck to the Shady Dell in November, 1996.

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