Gun ordinance raises legal concerns

ViSIT THIS: Bisbee’s big,

gaping hole

Page 4

REAL LIFE: The Homeless Faces

of Cochise County

Page 3

Cottonwoods shade a river where thou-sands of fi sh swim and millions of migrat-ing birds stop. This green ribbon ebbs and fl ows through an otherwise charcoal brown valley.

Dirt roads lead to farms and homes, cows graze and wind blows through desert trees and shrubs. Usually this area is quiet and peaceful, but recently this valley has been a place of unrest regarding a proposed power line that some say threatens the ecologi-cal purity of the land while others claim is needed to promote long-term economic development.

On Wednesday the Arizona Corporation Commission approved a major permit for the proposed SunZia power line. This is one of the last permits the project needs before construction begins in Arizona.The $2 billion, 515-mile SunZia power line will consist of two high voltage lines that will run from central New Mexico down through southern New Mexico and into southern Arizona, with the intention to sell wind and other renewable energy produced in New Mexico to Arizona and California.

About 200 miles of the line will run through Arizona, but the focal point for the debate surrounding SunZia lies within the 35 miles of line that will fi rst cross the San Pedro River and then run along side the river and up the San Pedro River Valley.

Wednesday’s 3-2 vote comes as another defeat for the community that advocates for the San Pedro River Valley.

Opponents can request a rehearing with Arizona Corporation Commission. If the permit is still approved, the case can be brought to Arizona Superior Court. No de-cision has been made yet to challenge the commission’s decision.

“Some people say the San Pedro River Valley is out in the middle of nowhere and that there is nothing out here,” said Anna Lands, a resident in the valley. “But this place is the center of my universe.”

The San Pedro River Valley is listed as one of the “Last Great Places in the North-ern Hemisphere” by the Nature Conservan-cy, and was named the United States’ fi rst “Important Bird Area” by the American Bird Conservancy.

By Emily Huddleston

The Tombstone Epitaph

Arizona Rangers back in the saddle

Rounding the wooden barricade outside the Bird Cage Theater, the ranger stopped mid-strut at a call for assis-tance.

“We’re stuck,” said a man in his 40s, motioning across the street to his gold SUV blocked in by cars, trucks and motorcycles on all sides.

The ranger, Duty Sgt. Dan Fischer, and partner Jim Politi quickly crossed the street to inspect the situation. Fischer joked that the man should just drive straight over the mo-torcycle to get out and fl ashed a big smile under his grayed mustache.

The rangers laughed, as Fischer stepped aside to radio the Tombstone Marshal’s Offi ce. A minute later, red and blue lights fl ashing, Deputy Marshal Chris Robison pulled up to the scene and ordered the owners of two trucks be-hind the SUV to move their vehicles.

Problem solved. Fischer and Politi resumed their four-block foot patrol.

“And that’s how it works with the Marshal’s Offi ce,” Fischer said. “We’re their eyes and ears.”

Historical Hiccups Fischer, 64, and Politi, 71, were on patrol as part of the

Tombstone Company of the Arizona Rangers.

The Arizona Rangers, a statewide group of volunteers, provide law enforcement assistance and community sup-port — and keep the traditions of the Old West alive. The Tombstone Company, founded in August 2015, was the 19th to join the modern incarnation of the Arizona Rang-ers.

Originally, the Arizona Rangers were known as the Ari-zona Territorial Rangers and operated from 1860 to 1861. Although the Rangers started as a group to defend against Apache raids, according to the Arizona Rangers website, they disbanded early on in response to the Civil War.

In April 1882, the original Tombstone Company formed to fi ll a void in law enforcement following the departure of the Earps after the shootout at the O.K. Corral, company Maj. Kenn Barrett said. The group folded after only one month, however, because of a lack of funding, he said.

Finally, in 1901, the Arizona Rangers received startup funding from Congress and helped clean up the Arizona Territory in preparation of the 1912 statehood. Ultimately 107 rangers would serve between 1901 and 1909 before being disbanded again.

The idea of Arizona Rangers went dormant until 1957. Surviving rangers from the turn of the century company joined with new recruits to keep the spirit of the original rangers alive. They are the modern incarnation. In 2002, the Arizona Rangers were given offi cial recognition by the

state, authorizing them to exist as a volunteer, nonprofi t, unpaid, law enforcement assistance organization.

Tombstone Traditions

Dressed in all-black cowboy hats, sunglasses, dress shirts, ties and protective vests, Fischer and Politi patrolled the tourist district of Tombstone. The two men sauntered easily up Allen Street, despite wind trying to knock off their hats, up to Sixth Street and back down to Third.

Outside the Chamber of Commerce, just around the cor-ner from the Arizona Rangers’ offi ce, another man came up to Fischer.

“Can I get a picture with you?” he asked.Fischer agreed, whisking off his sunglasses.As the man wandered off, Fischer paused. “Anything we

can do to make their stay a little more enjoyable,” he said. “Take a picture, something like that. It’s part of the ambi-ance of the town.”

The rangers’ style refl ects the town’s ambiance. From the cowboy hats to the horse-mounted unit; from the bushy handlebar mustaches to the hint of a lawman’s swagger, the rangers are determined to keep the Old West alive. Ac-cording to Barrett, it is one of the rangers’ four duties to preserve history.

By David Mariotte

The Tombstone Epitaph

RANGERS, Page 2

San Pedropower linesaffi rmed

A new Tombstone city ordinance lets staged gunfi ghts resume, but some ques-tion whether it violates established state gun laws.

The gunfi ght performances Tombstone is famous for had been on a hiatus since an ac-cident in October of last year.

During Helldorado Days, one of the city’s largest events, a live round struck an actor from The Tombstone Vigilantes in the groin and a bullet fragment hit a nearby audience member. The actor forgot to check his gun beforehand and load it with blanks, instead of ammunition.

Now, the shows have started up again af-ter the City Council passed a new ordinance regulating the gun shows on Jan. 12.

The key points of the ordinance state that performers must have an armorer load and check all guns with blanks, a physical barrier must be set up between the actors and the au-dience, and all performing groups must have a $1 million insurance policy.

However, Mike Carrafa, longtime Tomb-stone resident and owner of Doc Holliday’s Saloon, believes the ordinance violates state laws.

“No municipality can regulate the dis-charge of a fi rearm,” Carrafa said.

Marc Victor, a Phoenix-based attorney specializing in gun law, said he also believes

the new ordinance infringes on Arizona state gun laws.

Arizona Revised Statute 13-3108 says that a “political subdivision of the state … cannot regulate the discharge or use of fi rearms or ammunition,” unless relating to hunting or law enforcement.

In May 2013, the Tucson City Council passed two gun ordinances, which then-Arizona Attorney General Tom Horne later said were unenforceable. The fi rst required owners to report a missing gun or face a fi ne. The second gave police the authority to get a blood-and-alcohol test when a fi rearm was negligently discharged.

Horne said Statute 13-3108 pre-empted the regulation of fi rearms at the city level.

When the Arizona Legislature passed the statute in 2000, it included a statement that said, “Firearms regulation is of statewide concern. Therefore, the legislature intends to limit the ability of any political subdivision in this state to regulate fi rearms and ammu-nition.”

There are currently no challenges to the Tombstone ordinance. Although Victor said if it was challenged, he doesn’t believe it will hold up in state court.

Tombstone Mayor Dusty Escapule be-lieves the new ordinance is legal and said the city has the right to regulate gunfi ghts. He said Tombstone City Attorney Randy Bays and an insurance company attorney ap-proved the legality of the new ordinance.

Bays did not return phone calls seeking comment.

Escapule said the city’s reason for passing the ordinance was to ensure the safety of ev-eryone in Tombstone and has nothing to do with politics.

“I hate to think that it could be one of my kids, grandkids or someone else’s grandkids who got shot on the streets of Tombstone,” Escapule said.

As for concerns over whether the ordi-nance violates state law, Escapule said: “The sidewalk lawyers just need to be quiet.”

SAN PEDRO, Page 2

Wineries lobby for looser rules as business boomsBy Ethan McSweeney

The Tombstone Epitaph

Todd and Kelly Bostock are busy at work among empty boxes and wood barrels of wine.

The two owners of Dos Cabezas WineWorks are bottling caseloads of wine in a small ware-house off Highway 82, where last year they produced more than 16,000 gallons of their products. A short drive away, dotted across the rolling landscape of Sonoita and Elgin, a dozen other wineries are at work with tasting rooms open to tourists visiting the areas.

Dos Cabezas and the other wineries here are part of a burgeoning wine industry taking shape across Arizona — an industry that has been increasingly fl exing its muscle as it lob-bies to reduce regulations placed on its busi-ness. The latest effort involves legislation that would remove a requirement that larger winer-ies use a distributor to sell to their customers.

Led by Sen. Nancy Barto, R-Phoenix, more than 30 state lawmakers are sponsoring Sen-

ate Bill 1381, which would allow wineries that produce more than 20,000 gallons of wine an-nually to ship directly to customers. Currently wineries of that size need to go through a dis-tributor in order to ship to customers.

“This is about letting people get access to wine that they want to buy,” said Eric Glomski, winemaker at Arizona Stronghold Vineyards and Page Springs Cellars. He works on legisla-tive issues for the Arizona Wine Growers As-sociation.

Wine distributors in the state have come out in opposition to the bill, Glomski said. Repre-sentatives from the Arizona Wine and Spirits Wholesalers Association and Beer and Wine Distributors of Arizona did not return requests for comment.

The bill, which comes from the California-based Free the Grapes, would also require that wineries, both in-state and out-of-state, obtain a direct shipment license if they wish to ship to customers in Arizona. Customers order-

ing from larger wineries around Arizona and around the country would be limited to 18 cases of wine a year per winery.

This is the latest bill the wine industry has pushed at the state Legislature. In recent years, lawmakers also have rolled back regulations around shipments to customers, wine festivals and other aspects of the wine business.

“Over the years, our efforts have been to open up the markets incrementally,” Glomski said. “When our industry was small, we didn’t have the resources or the time or the under-standing of the industry to duke it out and try to change these laws overnight. Every year, as our industry has grown — and this bill is an example — we take more chunks out of these [regulations].”

Glomski would like to see all the caps on production eventually removed, he said.

David Mariotte / The Tombstone EpitaphMembers of the Arizona Rangers Tombstone Company gather before starting foot-and-mounted patrols down historic Allen Street. From left: Duty Sgt. Dan Fischer, Lt. Mike Gross, Ranger Jim Politi, Ranger Geno D’Ambrose and Maj. Kenn Barrett.

Ethan McSweeney / The Tombstone EpitaphDos Cabezas WineWorks produces about 16,000 gallons of wine a year.WINERIES, Page 2

By Hannah Palaniuk

The Tombstone Epitaph

Hannah Palaniuk is a reporter for the Arizona Sonora News, a service from the School of

Journalism at the University of Arizona. Contact her at hpalaniuk@email.arizona.edu.

LOCAL EDITION

FrIDay, February 12, 2016VOL. CXXXVI NO.VI

NO TOMBSTONE IS COMPLETE WITHOUT ITS EPITAPH

136 YEARS IN THE TOWN TOO TOUGH TO DIE

Page 2 February 12, 2016

Founded on the Southwestern frontier by John P. Clum, May 1, 1880

Editorial PolicyThe Epitaph encourages letters to the edi-

tor, but reserves the right to edit for style and space. Please limit letters to 300 words.

The local edition of The Tombstone Epitaph is published by the students of the University of Arizona School of Journal-ism under the direction of Professor Terry L. Wimmer, Ph.D.

Use of the name is by permission of the owners of the Tombstone Epitaph Corp., publishers of the National Tombstone Epi-taph. The corporation granted permission for the use of the name of the local edition of The Tombstone Epitaph on February 2, 1975.

Contact UsSchool of JournalismUniversity of ArizonaP.O. Box 210158BTucson, Arizona 85721-0158E-mail: twimmer@email.arizona.eduPhone: (520) 626-6575

EditorsEthan McSweeneyDominic BacioccoNick Peppe

in the state.Of the $10.3 billion in product that came

out of the mine during this time was 7.7 bil-lion pounds of copper, along with other met-als – lead, zinc, gold, and silver.

What use is Bisbee’s pit today?Could they tear down the fence surround-

ing the hole, cover it in fl oor-to-wall carpet-ing and fi ll it with more books than would fi t in all of the University of Arizona libraries combined? What about converting what’s left into a go-cart track?

Freeport-McMoRan, one of the biggest mining companies in Arizona, has owned the pit since 2007, when it bought Phelps Dodge, the company that dug the hole. “You always hear rumors about what the mining company is up to,” said Jennifer Luria, su-pervisor at the visitor center in Bisbee. “I always thought it would be cool as a water attraction, something you could walk your dog along next to.”

Luria, who has lived in Bisbee for the last nine years, doesn’t revel in the hole’s weird-ness, but doesn’t mind it much, either.

“When you drive past it everyday, it be-comes part of the normal scenery,” she said.

Devon Confrey is a reporter for Arizona So-

nora News, a service from the school of Jour-

nalism with the University of Arizona. Contact

him at devonconfrey@email.arizona.edu

tion established the Fulton-Hayden Memorial Art Gallery, which features rotating contem-porary exhibits, to provide more context for museum-goers.

Since its establishment, Kaldahl says the contemporary exhibits have evoked the great-est reaction from visitors who don’t necessar-ily interact with native peoples and have lim-ited knowledge of their current lifestyles. As the curator, Kaldahl says he tries to include a diverse range of indigenous artists, styles and subjects to better expose visitors to multiple native perspectives.

Glory Tacheenie-Campoy, a Tucson-based contemporary indigenous artist, strongly be-lieves that museums should house diverse styles and not just those that are traditional. Her artwork, which has been shown at the Amerind Foundation, is abstract.

Although artists like Tacheenie-Campoy and Wilson choose to incorporate Native American themes into their work, Tacheenie-Campoy says the art market often demands that indigenous artists make art in known indigenous styles or that pertains to Native American culture.

Tacheenie-Campoy says not all of her work has Native American aspects, but when it does, it’s often subtle. She can start with a geometric pattern found in a traditional wo-ven rug and abstract it so that her work fea-tures indigenous culture, without reproducing stereotypical images of women and rugs.

This diverse style subtly can work against her in the competitive art world. Tacheenie-Campoy says that because there is always a demand for authentic indigenous art, she be-lieves indigenous artists who fi t that category are better able to sell.

Places such as Santa Fe, New Mexico, where Wilson is based, are renown for their authentic indigenous art. Tacheenie-Campoy explains that there’s a separate market for ig-norant consumers, usually tourists, who have little understanding of the art’s tradition or context but nonetheless want it. Mass-pro-duced, inauthentic and cheap renderings of traditional art fi ll this niche and exploit the culture it comes from, she says.

Many museums, including the Amerind Foundation, now have stores that sell authen-tic indigenous arts and crafts and books on the history and present of Native American cultures to meet the market’s demand on their own terms.

Wilson, too, emphasizes the importance of agency in his photo exchange. Wilson says the subject’s active involvement in the portrait is key to creating a photographic dialogue cen-tered on the recreation of American Indians’ contemporary presence.

He intends the dialogue to disrupt the as-sumed power of the photograph to be objec-tive, and capture rather than construct. This acknowledged subjectivity displaces Curtis’ implied objectivity.

The studio portrait is a powerful tool Wil-son uses to create a link between the photo-graph’s ritualistic quality and the historical representation of American Indians. Wilson describes the portrait process as an intimate experience, with each image containing its own narrative. Ultimately, Wilson hopes his body of photos will “add a layer to how peo-ple think about Indians.”

Wilson will be joining two other featured artists at the Amerind Foundation on March 5 for a gallery talk.

Cali Nash is a reporter for Arizona Sonora

News, a service from the School of Journal-

ism at the University of Arizona. Reach her at

cnash@email.arizona.edu

Many rural Arizona schools lack the prop-er funds to start or expand their AP programs, including Tombstone High School, which lacks any such classes, and educators say this can be a serious detriment to students prepar-ing for college.

“We used to want the kids to go to college and be successful,” said Andrea Overman, Douglas High School principal. “Now we have to think more globally… That’s where the value of the AP classes could be, that they really level the playing fi eld for our kids in a small community.”

More funding could help these smaller schools grow and maintain their Advanced Placement programs. In Gov. Doug Ducey’s State of the State address, he proposed $6 million for incentives of college prep pro-grams such as AP classes to help students prepare and succeed in college.

Rural schools in Southeastern Arizona average about nine AP classes per school, whereas larger schools in Phoenix and Tuc-son average 20 per school. Chandler Ham-ilton, the largest high school in Arizona, has 24 AP class offerings.

Tombstone High School does not offer AP classes. “

“We’d like to offer AP classes, but our stu-dent body is so small and our teachers are spread so thin, it’d be hard to cover AP with regular classes,” said David Thursby, Tomb-stone principal. “If money wasn’t an issue, AP classes would defi nitely be an option.”

For Douglas High School, a lack of money keeps it from introducing new classes, ac-cording to Overman. Although the school has fi ve AP classes with a new one being in-troduced next year, the fi nancial costs of the program have slowed the school’s progress.

Douglas High School has been able to add more AP classes funded by a competi-tive federal grant through NAU called the

Gaining Early Awareness for Undergraduate Programs (GEARUP) program. This grant is currently in year four out of the seven and has provided roughly $544,000 so far.

Like Douglas, Buena High School is also receiving grant money to help expand the school’s AP program. This competitive grant is funded by Northup Grumman and will provide the school about $706,000 until the 2017-2018 academic year. Melinda Escarce-ga, Buena assistant principal, said the school expanded its math and science AP class of-ferings because of the grant.

Having enough money to start an AP pro-gram is also only half the battle of making it effective. Bisbee High School’s fi rst year of AP classes was possible because of their dedicated teachers.

Shannon Higgins is a reporter for Arizona

Sonora News, a service from the school of Jour-

nalism with the University of Arizona. Contact

her at shannonhiggins@email.arizona.eduprepare and succeed in college.

Early college classes missing from rural high schools

RANGERScontinued from Page 1

Modern Members

Tombstone Company has 23 rangers, including Fischer, Politi, Barrett and Lilla DeLuca, the commander. According to Fischer, members are often out three or four times a week, with heavier shifts during special events.

The Tombstone Marshal’s Offi ce contacts the rangers when it needs assistance. The rangers themselves do not have any specialized law enforcement or investigative pow-

ers, laid out in the 2002 law.However, many of the rangers have signifi cant training,

with Barrett a previous town marshal and Fischer part of the Marshal Assist Team, which disbanded before the rangers offi cially settled.

Rangers are asked to attend two monthly meetings. The fi rst acts as a business meeting on the fi rst Sunday of the month. The other, held on the third Sunday, is a training day. Since rangers carry guns, batons, handcuffs and pep-per spray, they must be trained and certifi ed by the Arizona Peace Offi cer Standards and Training Board.

Although their powers may be limited, the Arizona Rang-

ers do what they can. Rangers frequently may be found di-recting tourists to restrooms, checking in on business owners or conferring with the nearest marshal.

More information on the Tombstone Company and the Arizona Rangers can be found at the Tombstone Chamber of Commerce, 109 S. Fourth St., where the rangers are sta-tioned. An Arizona Rangers museum, one of two in the state, is located there.

David Mariotte is a reporter for Arizona Sonora News, a

service from the School of Journalism with the University of

Arizona. Contact him at dwmariotte22@email.arizona.edu.

This bill comes a year after Arizona microbreweries ral-lied behind legislation signed into law that raised caps on their beer production.

Only two wineries in the state produce more than the cur-rent 20,000-gallon limit, said Rod Keeling, president of the Arizona Wine Growers Association. Several other wineries are close to hitting that 20,000-gallon limit, he added.

The bill also would give a boost to Arizona wine clubs seeking to buy wines from larger out-of-state wineries in places such as California, said Keeling. He is also a wine-maker at Keeling-Schaefer Vineyards in Pearce.

“We want the wine culture in Arizona to be expanded and we think this helps that,” he said.

When Keeling fi rst started his vineyard a little more than a decade ago, it was the ninth licensed winery in the state. Now more than 90 wineries are operating in the state.

“We’re still pretty darn small, but we’re starting to get some really good attention,” Keeling said.

So small that the U.S. Department of Agriculture doesn’t keep data on wine grape production for the state, said Dave DeWalt, the federal agency’s state statistician for Arizona.

DeWalt said wine grapes in the state are a “relatively small commodity” and represent a small fraction of Arizona’s ag-riculture industry.

Wine production has risen by more than 53 percent in the state since 2013, according to fi gures provided by the Ari-zona Department of Liquor Licenses and Control.

While wine is not among the top 10 agricultural products in the state, it does represent a “growing and signifi cant” area of production, said Julie Murphree, communications director for the Arizona Farm Bureau, an advocacy group for farmers

and ranchers.“It’s one of the strongest potential new growth areas for

Arizona agriculture,” Murphree said.She added that the top two searches on the Farm Bureau’s

Fill Your Plate service, which allows users to search a da-tabase of products from Arizona farmers and ranchers, are beef and wine.

Keeling said, unlike other states that have increased their wine production, Arizona wineries have a “quality mental-ity.”

The Sonoita-Elgin area, about an hour’s drive southeast from Tucson, is one of the three main wine-producing re-gions in the state, along with Willcox and the Verde Valley in Northern Arizona.

According to a 2013 study, commissioned by the Arizona Wine Growers Association, wine production in the state is valued at $2.2 million, with about 93 percent of the business occurring in southeastern Arizona.

“More people are looking to purchase land and start win-eries out here,” said Lori Reynolds, winemaker at Sonoita Vineyards. “I see really great things coming (for Arizona wine).”

Sonoita Vineyards is the oldest continually operating win-ery in Arizona, opening in 1983. The winery got its start when Reynolds’ grandfather, Gordon Dutt, a former soil scientist with the University of Arizona, researched wine-growing near Elgin.

The soil composition in the area, he discovered, is a “99 percent” match to what is found in the wine-producing re-gion of Burgundy in France. Following the experiment, Dutt acquired land south of Elgin and planted a vineyard there.

Over the years, Reynolds has seen wineries spring up along the rural roads extending out from Sonoita Vineyard’s 60-acre farm. Reynolds said it’s “exciting” watching new startups bring more attention to the region’s wine-growing prowess.

“Because now we’re not a surprise,” Reynolds said, “and people don’t say, ‘What? There’s wine in Arizona?’”

Ethan McSweeney is a reporter for Arizona Sonora News,

a service from the school of Journalism with the University

of Arizona. Contact him at emcsweeney@email.arizona.edu.

WINERIEScontinued from Page 1

that lives within this valley has a great appreciation for the land and has fought hard to protect it. They think these lines will irreparably harm some of Arizona’s most natural and cultural resources, dis-rupting and damaging a crucial ecosys-tem.

“It’s the wildlife, the bird life, the qui-et and the dark,” said Norman Meader, a homeowner in the San Pedro River Valley and the co-chair of the Cascabel Working Group. “For those of us who live there, the environment is just so wonderful, we would hate to see it all broke up.”

The Cascabel Working Group is a volunteer organization that networks and shares information about the San Pedro River Valley with environmental

and other organizations both local and national.

The San Pedro River Valley is also one of the least fragmented areas in Ari-zona. In the last 40 years, more than $40 million has been spent by government and non-profi ts to protect the area and to mitigate other impacts from projects around Arizona.

This is “the very watershed that is de-pended upon for mitigating the impacts of growth in the other major desert wa-tersheds of Arizona,” said Peter Else, a homeowner in the San Pedro River Val-ley.

Opponents are also concerned about additional roads being built throughout the otherwise untouched valley.

Many opponents see the potential for bird collisions and electrocutions with the towers and lines. The Bureau of Land Management is requiring bird diverters, which are 6-inch pieces of refl ective metal or plastic to catch the

birds’ attention.Opponents also foresee this project at-

tracting other infrastructure projects in the valley.

“Our overriding concern is not only that this project proposes to go through Arizona’s richest biological treasure and an area of outstanding natural beauty, but that by awarding a Certifi cate of Environmental Compatibility, you will be opening the gates for cumulative im-pacts by a host of other large-scale linear utility projects,” David Omick, a mem-ber of the Cascabel Conservation As-sociation, told the Arizona Corporation Commission.

Emily Huddleston is a reporter for

Arizona Sonora News, a service from

the school of Journalism with the Uni-

versity of Arizona. Contact her at emily-

huddleston@email.arizona.edu

“Because now we’re not a surprise,” Reynolds said, “and

SAN PEDROcontinued from Page 1

Photo by Devon Confrey/ The Tombstone EpitaphStagnant water and runoff collects at the bottom of the old copper mine outside of Bisbee.

By Shannon Higgins

The Tombstone Epitaph

ARTcontinued from Page 4

HOLEcontinued from Page 4

February 12, 2016 Page 3

The displaced faces of CochiseThere are over 578,000 homeless in the United States, 10,000 living in Arizona. These homeless

individuals from Cochise County are challenging people to look into the eyes of those who may be different than they are, to discover that in many ways, they are also the same.

Steve Burks

It’s a Saturday, 3:30 in the afternoon, and Burks hasn’t spoken to a single person all day; in fact, these are the first words he’s said aloud in two whole days:

“I am lonely, I am lonely always,” Burks said. Burks, 32, who has been homeless for the last

seven months, spends the majority of each day sit-ting in his definition of a bedroom. It’s the backseat of the white van he calls home. His windows read, in faint white writing, “Homeless, Needs Help.”

He parks his van during day time hours in Sier-ra Vista’s Martin Luther King Veterans memorial park, and behind a Walmart at night.

“You have no idea how many times police have accused me of stealing this van,” he said.

Burks was living with his parents in an RV and working as a dishwasher at a local school. When his mom and dad decided to buy a house and leave Burks out of their plans, and his 9 to 5 job suddenly stopped calling, Burks began living a lifestyle he described as “hopeless.”

“It’s so hard to get a job when you don’t even have an address to put down, or a place to get cleaned up for interviews, or clothes to wear,” Burks said. “I’ve spent too long looking for a job without results. It’s hard to not lose hope.”

So instead, Burks plays on his computer for most of the day, which, he said, is the last possession and hobby he is proud to have.

A man of a strong build, he sits shirtless in his car with his legs crossed, his dirt- covered hands folded, with a sheet over his long messy hair; but still he smiles warmly.

“If the public could just change their mindset even just for a few minutes,” Burks said. “I know I could show them who I am and what I know, but instead all I get are dirty looks.”

Emmanuel Jenkins

Young, educated, and homeless, Jenkins, 26, has something to share also. “People just want to see something beautiful in their life, I’m going to give that to them,” Jenkins said.

Jenkins danced with the energy of 5-year-old, on the sidewalk of a busy Si-erra Vista street. With a smile on his face, his hope was manifested on a large white-board with calligraphy drawn on it in rain-bow letters.

“God bless you for helping me; peace and love; travel safely; Jesus loves you,” reads his sign.

“I hold up a sign that says Jesus loves you because that’s what I’d want people to do for me,” Jenkins said. “Even when people cuss at me and tell me my sign is a lie, I still love them.”

Jenkins said he is a high school and college graduate from the University of Arizona South at Douglas, but he is now registered as a felon, making getting a job almost impossible.

“I was a crack baby, I obviously didn’t have a good upbringing, so I did some stuff when I was younger, I tried to make fast money, I made mistakes,” Jenkins said. “Now I am doing all the right things but it’s hard being on the streets, people don’t want to know who you are.”

Jenkins also suffers from systematic de-pression, which he said is mostly due to not being allowed to see the daughter he has never met.

“It’s like I can read lips now, people think I’m asking for money for drugs or something,” Jenkins said while watching drivers on the road turn their heads away from him.

He describes himself as a comedian, a dancer and an artist, open to sharing who he is now and where plans to go in life.

“I don’t care how long I have to hold up this sign, Jesus will show me the path to something or someone great soon,” Jen-kins said.

Photos and story by Kristine Bruun-Andersen

Elton Elton Elton, 61, was recently shown a long, life chang-

ing path, from Louisiana to Arizona.“I used to be a cowboy, now I live in my car,”

Elton said. He uses the same first and last name be-cause he doesn’t remember any other.

After three homes, three wives, and three chil-dren, Elton thinks being homeless is much like be-ing in a marriage.

“You can’t help who you love, even if they’re not right for you and you can’t help the cards you’ve been given, even if they’re not the best hand,” Elton said.

The former cowboy and welder recently had a stroke and could not afford to pay for inhalers for asthma caused by high humidity in the south.

“I packed up my car, used all the money I had on gas, and moved to the driest place I could find: Arizona,” Elton said.

He is now sleeping in the back seat of his small four door vehicle in a city park, until he can pay off his car and use that money for a home.

Elton is homeless, but he is just like any other homeowner, with bills, a shower routine, and neighbors.

“You never know who you’ll meet around the park. It’s unpredictable and I’m not just talking about other homeless people,” Elton said.

He has experienced what he categorized as cru-elty, discrimination, and judgment from park visi-tors, simply by using a parking spot during day time hours in a public park.

“Everyone is against the homeless, they always have been and always will be,” Elton said. “People will talk badly and people will listen, but they never want to find out the truth for themselves.”

“We’re like anyone else,” he said. “We are strug-gling but somehow we are making it.”

Rick Dempsi

Dempsi, 53, is waiting, patiently, in front of a Safeway market with a cardboard sign, and 30-year-old dream.

“I’ve been on the streets since the 1980s, I was a drum technician for the Mötley Crüe; I didn’t have a home when we got off the road, and never wanted to get one,” Dempsi said.

Dempsi explained how those who are homeless, even if it’s by choice, are viewed stereotypically rather than individually.

“If anyone took the time to talk to me, they’d know I’m actually a really happy-go-lucky guy,” Dempsi said.

After he was given a donation with a backpack full of clothes, shoes and woman’s hygiene prod-ucts, the weathered, but wise rock n’ roll groupie began handing items out to other homeless in the area.

“I tend to keep to myself, I sleep in my own tent and avoid shelters because things suddenly go miss-ing,” Dempsi said. “But if I’m given something I’m always thinking about if I know some people who could use it. All I need is enough for a pack of ciga-rettes and some food.”

Dempsi is waiting for next month, where a band will fly him out for an audition to work on their tour bus. For now, he said he will walk, take the bus, or hitch hike, through Southern Arizona.

“Believe it or not, but by being homeless for the last 30 years, I’ve seen more amazing things in my life than most people ever will, I wish I could share that with people,” Dempsi said.

Kaylena Fox

Fox, 45, has been living this reality since 2005. She wiped salty tears from her dusty face while de-scribing what it feels like to be a woman, a veteran, a schizophrenic and homeless.

“I’m just not able to keep jobs for very long and most of the jobs I’ve had are paid under the table, so I can’t even collect unemployment,” Fox said.

Fox explained her struggles with employment due to her diagnosed schizophrenia and mood dis-order. She said she becomes scared of the voices she hears inside of her head. which makes work for her near impossible.

“I was living on disability for five years, but nei-ther social security, or veteran’s disability will give me grants,” Fox said.

Fox divorced her husband, who, she said, “took their home and moved another woman in.” She has since been living on the streets.

Fox said that there is a quality homeless shelter in the area, Good Neighbor Alliance, but that there is not enough beds to accommodate Sierra Vista’s homeless population and that it has been full since Thanksgiving.

So for now, Fox spends her days sitting on a sidewalk near a local Target, with her friend, David Riche, who is also homeless, and her dog, Sasha.

Fox’s last job, where she worked dispatch for a company, only lasted three days.

“I got bed bugs from a mattress someone gave me to sleep on, so I had to leave work early to get treated for it, I was so itchy.” she said. “The next day they called me and said they didn’t need my employment anymore.”

Fox, as a disabled homeless veteran, “is over-whelmed with frustration,” she said when it comes to finding jobs and government financial support.

Kristine Bruun-Andersen is a reporter for the Arizona Sonora News, a service from the School of

Journalism at the University of Arizona. Contact her at klbruunandersen@email.arizona.edu.

Page 4 February 12, 2016

Come one, come all, visit Bisbee’s gaping hole

Left with a hole, what’s a town to do?Bisbee – with its tunnel, red rock, hip-

pies, stairs, the Copper Queen Hotel, mo-torcycle geeks singing Fleetwood Mac, slag, the coffee roaster with dreadlocks – is here because of a mile-wide hole on the town’s edge.

The city built quickly around a hill that mining tore open. Now residents live look-ing away from Bisbee’s ugly side, pre-serving what’s pretty, decorating a waste-land.

Bisbee’s big hole, made up of three open-pit mines — Sacramento, Lavender and Holbrook — that began a century ago, is an eyesore but one of the town’s great-est attractions. Closed since the 1970s, and surrounded with a rust-colored fence topped with multiple layers of barbed wire, the big hole is 4,000 feet from east to west, 5,000 feet from north to south, and 850 feet at its deepest.

The hole is a stone’s throw from old downtown. Old Bisbee resembles a small San Francisco, but without the ocean, and years after being hit by a life-obliterating copper-mining meteor. The pit – gold, red, yellow, brown, gray, tan, orange – looks like Mars.

Life on such a planet may have been ex-pectable — or at least acceptable — in the past, when money was brought out of the hole as fast as people and machines could carry. Miners worked for days without go-

By Devon Confrey

The Tombstone Epitaph

This Google Earth view shows the size of the gaping pit outside the town of Bisbee.Photo courtesy of Google Earth

Zika bug

lives in AZ

but fear not

By Cali Nash

The Tombstone Epitaph

Consider the ubiquitous sepia portrait of an American Indian, donned in an elaborate headdress, embodying a kind of displaced dignity. This image irks Will Wilson.

The stereotypical depiction dates back to Edward S. Curtis, the celebrated photogra-pher of the early 20th century. Curtis created an extensive body of photos intended to por-tray Native Americans as they actually were. Yet his sentimentalized lens captured the fantasy of Americans and arguably served to further displace indigenous cultures from the norm.

Wilson, an indigenous photographer, com-bats this romanticism with his own collec-tion of Native American portraits. His work subverts stereotypes, yet as a contemporary indigenous artist, Wilson himself defies ste-reotypes of the types of artwork that Native Americans “should” produce.

He is part of a larger group of native art-ists that rejects the frozen ideals of Native American art as painted clay pots and vibrant

ing home when they hit a “hot vein.” In the time of the mine, Bisbee boomed.

A purple, pink sunset turns a pool at the base of the pit the color of vomit; under the full moon, beetle black. On a morning in January, the brown pond in the hole looked to be 50 feet in diameter and who knows how deep.

A ditch directs rain and snowmelt into the mine to evaporate, keeping chemical drain-age away from wells.

A road remains into the pit’s final level though other roads have washed out. Visi-tors, cancel your trip to Italy to see ancient amphitheaters. The walls of the hole in Bis-bee’s backyard are now more eroded than any ruins.

Most of what came out of the mine re-mains in mountains of dump. The town is so surrounded by rock waste that Bisbee doesn’t try to disguise its ugliness.

The first shovel went in to dig the pit in 1917, though the first shipment of copper came out of Bisbee in 1878. Underground mines, once mazes for miles into the moun-tain, are marked now by oil rig-looking ele-vator shafts to nowhere. Mules were brought into the ground and left there to work for the rest of their lives. These entrances to the underworld have been flooded and filled since.

Up until the 1970s, miners removed more than 151 million tons of ore and waste rock from the hole. Let’s compare that to Arizona today: that’s 22 tons of dirt for every person

Foundation exhibit probes native visual stereotypes

By Nicholas Cada

The Tombstone Epitaph

Nestled in the Rió Yaqui basin 19 miles east of Douglas, down Geronimo Trail, is an ecological wonder unknown to many.

This unique area where Arizona, New Mexico, and Mexico meet is the result of four vastly different ecological regions col-liding. The Sierra Madres, Rocky Moun-tains, Sonora Desert, and Chihuahua Desert converge to form an uncommon wetland in an area where water is scarce.

In 1982, the San Bernardino National Wildlife Refuge was established to help pro-tect this oasis tucked into Arizona’s south-east corner.

“The most unique thing about the refuge is the amount of water,” said Christopher Lohrengel, assistant manager of San Ber-nardino National Wildlife Refuge, “You don’t see that in Arizona outside of the Colo-rado River.”

Small rivers and streams branching off the Rió Yaqui in Mexico provide this area with water.

Due to the abundance of water, the refuge is home to a vast variety of birds, mammals, reptiles and amphibians. The refuge is also home to many species that cannot survive in the harsh arid environment of the Sonoran Desert. A variety of toads, frogs and turtles nest in these wetlands.

The refuge is excellent for hiking and wildlife photography. Dove, quail and rab-bit hunting are also allowed on the refuge in designated areas.

After a short hike from the gate at Geron-imo Trail, visitors will arrive at an overlook. In the distance, across the border in Mexico, the Peloncillo Mountains fill the skyline. Down below, small lakes scatter across the landscape merely hinting at the amount of water waiting below.

While hiking down into the basin, visitors will notice the desert shrubbery dwindling away to reveal a hidden oasis of grassy, rolling plains intersected by small running streams and creeks. Visitors who explore deeper into the refuge can follow trails cut-ting through the cottonwood trees that reveal streams, ponds and a small cemetery.

The refuge begs to be photographed. Cir-cling above in the sky, three red-tailed hawks search for prey. Inside a pond, ducks swim above a school of the protected Rió Yaqui fish species. Small game birds such as quail and doves nest in the cottonwood trees.

More than 350 wspecies of birds have been documented on the refuge, and a few of those species are found nowhere else in the United States. According to Lohrengel, almost 6,000 people visit the park annually, and it is one of the more popular bird watch-ing destinations in Cochise County.

The biggest draw to the refuge is the wild-life. While other national parks and monu-

ments have more intensive hiking trails and camping, the refuge’s quantity and diversity of wildlife is unmatched.

That is why the protection provided by the National Wildlife Refuge System is so important. This oasis in the desert is home

to many species that cannot survive in the harsh conditions of the desert. And without the refuge, this unique area and its inhabit-ants would be in danger of extinction.

Located adjacent to the refuge is the Slaughter Ranch, a small ranch-style home

built next to the shore of a pond. Nourished by the pond, a sea of green grass envelops the entire estate. The ranch was originally the home of Old West gunfighter John Hor-ton Slaughter. He was elected sheriff of Co-chise County in 1886 and worked to rid the area of lawbreakers. Slaughter was respon-sible for tracking and capturing Geronimo, the legendary Apache chief caught on the San Bernardino Ranch in 1886.

The Slaughter Ranch is now museum for those with an interest in the history of the Southwest.

Because the refuge is next to Mexico, the area has a heavy presence of Border Patrol officers. Their presence, however, fails to di-minish the excitement many find when they come here.

“The amount of water and wildlife here is really something special,” Lohrengel said. “It really is a unique area.”

A wet wonderland tucked into Arizona’s SE corner

beadwork. These artists work within the con-temporary medium to create art that is both modern and relevant to their experiences.

Wilson says he seeks to “supplant Curtis’s Settler gaze” with a contemporary vision of Native North America. His photos mimic the infamous sepia headshots but cast their gaze on modern subjects.

His exhibit, “Toward a Critical Indigenous Photographic Exchange,” is featured in the gallery at the Amerind Foundation, a hub for art and research in Texas Canyon dedicated to the increased understanding of native peoples in the United States.

The Amerind Foundation began to incorpo-rate contemporary artwork into its museum, alongside its historic indigenous artifacts, in the early 2000s, says Eric Kaldahl, the foun-dation’s deputy director and chief curator.

Kaldahl says the museum did not want visitors to leave with only the impression that “native cultures are of the past, rather than of the present, with vibrant communities and issues that they’re tackling.” So the founda- Will Wilson’s exhibit at the Amerind Foundation.

Photo by Cali Nash/Tombstone Epitaph

Photos by Nicholas Cada/The Tombstone EpitaphA stream flows along cottonwood trees in the San Bernardino National Wildlife Refuge, in Arizona’s Southeast corner.

A Jack Rabbit moves along a trail.

The Zika virus is taking one country at a time, and although the mosquito that carries the virus is present in Arizona, the mosqui-toes here do not carry the virus.

The mosquito-borne virus is transmitted by the Aedes aegypti mosquito, which is also the main vector for dengue and chikun-gunya, and has also been detected of car-rying the West Nile Virus. Arizona is one of the states in the U.S. that the mosquito considers home, according to Dr. Laura Ad-ams, who is with the Arizona Department of Health Services.

“We have healthy population of Aedes ae-gypti here in Tucson,” said Michael Riehle, an associate professor of entomology at the University of Arizona who researches and studies the mosquito. “Certainly if some-body is infected with Zika virus and comes into Arizona, our local mosquitoes can pick it up and transmit it.”

Zika, despite its possible link to causing a birth defect in the brain called micro-cephaly, is also considered to be the milder virus of the three diseases that the Aedes aegypti can carry. There have been no re-ports of death from the Zika virus and only a few reports of hospitalizations, according to Jessica Rigler of the Arizona Department of Health Services.

“With Zika virus, only about one in five people who get an infection actually de-velop symptoms,” Rigler said. “For those 20 percent of people that do experience symptoms after infection, it’s a pretty mild illness. Typically, those who do experience symptoms are sick about a week or so, and they get a rash, fever, pain in their joints and then red eyes, something like pink eye.”

Still, President Obama has asked Con-gress to approve $1.8 billion in funds to help U.S. scientists learn more about Zika and how to vaccinate against it. Also, preg-nant women are being warned not to travel to regions affected by the virus, including Latin America and the Caribbean.

Rigler said that although the mosquitoes are here, the likeliness of seeing a rapid vi-rus outbreak in Arizona is still unknown.

“We’ve seen outbreaks of dengue virus and of chikungunya in other places of the world,” Rigler said. “However, in Arizona, we haven’t really seen any widespread out-breaks of either one of those diseases, so if we consider Zika the way we would think about dengue or chikungunya, it is possi-ble, but not necessarily probable that Zika would spread rapidly.”

The most recent case of dengue in South-ern Arizona is from the fall, according to Michael McGee, interim director of the en-vironmental health division of the Cochise Health and Social Services.

“It showed up in Douglas,” McGee said. “It was brought in – they were visiting far-ther south and it was a traveler that came back – so it wasn’t one that was caught here.”

One of the most prominent mosquito-borne diseases in Arizona is the West Nile virus, which can be fatal.

“We definitely have cases of West Nile virus that are reported in Arizona every year,” Rigler said.

Protecting yourself from mosquito bites is essential.

Health officials such as McGee and Rigler suggest wearing long-sleeved shirts and long pants to avoid mosquito bites.

“Also, use an effective insect repellant,” Rigler said. “[Centers for Disease Con-trol] has a link on their website that dem-onstrates some different kinds of effective insect repellents.”

The Tombstone EpitaphBy Joanna Daya

ART, Page 2

HOLE, Page 2

Nicholas Cada is a reporter for the Arizona Sonora News, a service from the School of

Journalism at the University of Arizona. Contact him at ncada@email.arizona.edu.

Joanna Daya is a reporter for the Arizona Sonora News, a service from the School of

Journalism at the University of Arizona. Contact her at jofran15@email.arizona.edu.