BARRIOZONA A Road Trip on Highway 60 West From Globe to Phoenix in the Summer of 1951

A road trip on Highway 60 west from Globe to Phoenix in a 1949 Chevy in the summer of 1951 sounds
like an exciting trip to a youngster. How does one prepare for such a journey westward? That’s the
question I asked my father when he said that our family was making a one-time shopping trip to Phoenix
and back to buy school clothes for the children, building supplies for the home, and additional items for
the adults. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Just wear comfortable clothes.” Little did I know that, not only would
my three brothers and I be riding with our parents, but also with my two aunts and my grandmother—
and in a car with no air conditioning! Nevertheless, I looked forward to the trip, especially since I had
never been to the big city called “Phoenix in the Valley of the Sun”, with its tall buildings and palm trees
along the street known as “Central”.

The U.S. 60 road trip from Globe to Superior captured my imagination. Because my family’s history is
linked to the history of the Globe-Miami area, I was familiar with the words that are unique to these twin
mining towns: slag dump; head frame; tank house; drifts; concentrator; smelter; ore carts. The terrain
surrounding the twin towns, with the Pinal Mountains in the higher elevations, is blessed by their own
natural wonders: mesquite; oak; ocotillo; and chrysocolla . What did the land look like once we started?

Nearing Claypool, one sees various mine buildings built within the surrounding hills by the Inspiration
Consolidated Copper Company and the Miami Copper Company. The slag dumps we passed along the
way, those huge heaps of mine waste so common in mining towns, resembled the great white sand
dunes of Egypt. The looming Power Plant on Live Oak street, across from the Cleve Van Dyke mansion
and orchards, was another prominent landmark in Miami. Live Oak Street took us out of Miami, and onto
the highway to Superior, dedicated in 1922 and built partly by prison labor.

In the summer of 1951, that Superior highway demanded my dad’s respect, and tested his skills as a
driver because of the many challenges it posed. It was a narrow single-lined highway, with little room for
tourists to stop their cars to marvel at the beauty of the jutting mountains. A 1946 magazine article
stated that the Superior highway had 67 curves, the sharpest of which was 57 degrees, or a radius of
100 feet before it was improved. To a youngster sitting in the back seat of a ’49 Chevy, the Superior
highway brought frightening images of the car falling off the road and down the canyon below. Another
landmark was the old Claypool tunnel, with Superior not far on the opposite side of the entrance. It
looked like it had been blasted just yesterday, its opening so small and uninviting. Past Apache Leap and
into Superior, the smelter of the Magma mine, with sulphur smoke bellowing from the smokestack,
dominated the landscape. By contrast, the Boyce Thompson Arboretum along the highway looked
peaceful and magical.

Up ahead on U.S Highway 60 lay Florence Junction, with its small café and gas station, provided travelers
a chance to rest, eat a meal, have a refreshing cold drink, or fill up the gas tank before continuing across
that hot, dry cacti-laced desert. The only reward the desert offered that hinted of civilization up ahead
was the Buckhorn Baths, with its soothing mineralized hot waters inviting travelers to soak away their
aches and worries. Far away and in the distance was Phoenix. We’d get there one day. My dad promised!