Weekend Escape: Arizona : Former mining town breaks ground anew as a stage for the arts

BISBEE, Ariz. —  The souvenir shop next to the Copper Queen Hotel sells bumper stickers that say “You Are Now Entering the Twilight Zone--Bisbee, AZ.” One of the town’s many art festivals last year was the first annual “Out of Bisbee Experience” Post Card Show, a collection of post cards received from Bisbee residents who traveled out of town between Memorial and Labor days.

But then this is the town with the One Book Bookstore, featuring multiple copies of just one book, “Me ‘n’ Henry,” by the late local Walter Swan--a homespun, autobiographical tale of two boys growing up in Cochise County, Ariz., near the beginning of this century. A sign in the bookstore window says “Always be kind. Have a good attitude. Never give up.” This could be the local motto, for Bisbee’s had a rough-and-tumble time of it.

It was the largest copper-mining town in the world at the turn of the century, a bustling metropolis of 20,000, and the capital of Arizona from 1890 to 1910. The Lavender Pit, a yawning mine crater just outside town, remains a Dante-esque sight and is not for the vertigo-inclined. But the copper hereabouts eventually became too expensive to mine, and Bisbee has burned down three times in the past 100 years.

Bisbee was my call. My mom, Marion, is one of my favorite traveling companions, and since we’d already planned to visit my younger sister Maggie, a student at Arizona State University, why not try something a little more intrepid than the usual weekend around a resort pool? I wanted to venture into the Sonoran Desert, into the Mule Mountains, to a ghost town still struggling to join the ranks of the living. Bisbee, I’d heard, had a clutch of new settlers who were slowly transforming it into a stage for art, music and poetry, and it had recently been featured in a publication called “100 Best Small Art Towns in America.” Mom was game, even though she’s professed a distaste for the desert since our radiator blew on a trip through Barstow when I was 7 and we were forced to spend six sweltering July hours at an A&W; Root Beer stand.

On a bright Friday in October, with a Friends Fly Free companion ticket on Southwest, we began cheaply enough, flying to Phoenix to pick up my sister in our Avis rental car. Situated just 11 miles from the Mexican border, Bisbee’s a 190-mile drive from Phoenix, and, had we not had to pick up my sister, an easier 90-mile drive from Tucson. From the latter, we took Interstate 10 to Benson, turning south on Arizona 80 through the old Mormon town of St. David and touristy Tombstone. As we grew nearer our target, the bleak desertscape on either side of the road turned into a border of towering red mountains, easing into a series of gentle curves as we climbed a steep grade, then descended, through the Mule Pass Tunnel, into the canyon that cradles Bisbee, population 7,000 to 9,000, according to the Chamber of Commerce.

Like a Crayola-colored toy town discarded by a giant, careless child, the town seemed fragile and deserted from above, no bustling street noises or curling chimney smoke rising to greet outsiders. The rock in Bisbee’s hills runs to vibrant shades of gold, pink and rosy terra cotta, and old miner’s cottages climb ramshackle up the slopes on match-like support stilts.

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We decided to seek out our lodgings first. Bisbee is a weekend sort of place, and accommodations are often hard to obtain for a Saturday night. I’d phoned the famed Copper Queen Hotel, then ran down a list of smaller inns and B&Bs; provided by the Chamber of Commerce. But it was all fruitless--until I called the White House.

Proprietor Edie Dortch’s brochure, when it arrived, described the B&B; as “a linens and lace place catering to special people for special occasions.” But when we turned onto Congdon Street, in the historical district of Warren where many of the B&Bs; are located, I began to have my doubts. Bungalows that had seen better days lined the cracked road leading up to the top of a dry, dusty hill. As we drove up, a painted wooden sign swinging in the wind that whips across these mountains confirmed my trepidation: the White House. Uh-oh.

Quirky, eccentric, eclectic--none of these overworked terms can begin to describe the interior of the home belonging to Dortch and her husband, Harry Harris. Take a small pinch of “Pee Wee’s Playhouse,” mix it with Graceland and add a dash of Disney’s Haunted Mansion, and you’re still not close. Every nook and cranny, every wall and space and shelf is crammed with memorabilia and collectibles from a very full life. “Bisbee was once known for its brothels,” Edie told us, and with its unusual floor plan--8,000 square feet, three levels and a kitchen bigger than most restaurants’--we all bet the White House once was one.

When our first choice for dinner reservations, Cafe Roka (known for its white corn and pistachio risotto cakes), was full, Edie suggested Stenzel’s on Tombstone Canyon road. Before we left, we gingerly inspected our “Honeymoon Suite,” a series of high-ceilinged rooms that led off one another, stuffed full of more knickknacks and collectibles. Wacky as the contrasting blue chintz, lace, red brocade and brass-bed motif was, the suite was spotless and well equipped, with TV, VCR, air-conditioning and candy dishes stocked with Tootsie Rolls.

In town, we combed a few antique stores, actually secondhand thrift stores lovingly arranged like boutiques with plenty of beaded 1920’s handbags, high-button shoes, copper teakettles and hand-painted china. Bisbee’s a cockeyed maze of angled stairways, skinny alleys, narrow passageways and old-fashioned storefronts. We stopped in at the Visitors Center on Main Street. The lively roar of a Harley-Davidson posse cracked the still evening as we wandered into the Copper Queen’s saloon for a drink.

Walking on toward dinner at Stenzel’s, we passed the courthouse, an imposing structure with elaborate Art Deco doors. Due to a general lack of money, nothing new is ever built in Bisbee, and every structure used to be something else. Thus, the big white Baptist church now houses the local theater group. The little schoolhouse, circa 1818, is now the Schoolhouse Inn, a B&B; with guest rooms dubbed “The Principal’s Office,” etc. The OK Street Jailhouse has been converted into a two-story guest house. Many restaurants, including Stenzel’s, are unexpectedly set in tiny cabin-like homes.

Seated in what used to be somebody’s living room, we chose from a menu of fresh mahi-mahi, steamed black mussels, king salmon, wahoo and New York ribs. All dinners included “cheeseball & crackers” (a homemade cayenne-encrusted blend of soft fromage, not the mail-order variety), soup or salad, baked potato, etc. It was simple yet tasty, just the sort of things I’d make at home, if I could cook. After dinner, we ventured into the opening of a new art gallery called 55 Main that had live guitar music, local sculptors and painters and an espresso bar with free java.

Later, driving out of town, back to “civilization,” I thought of Edie in her enormous kitchen, baking a cake in the shape of the White House, chattering to Harry about fixing the roof, and I began to smile. This wasn’t the Twilight Zone; more likely we’d just left the real world behind.

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Budget for Three

Southwest round trip with free companion fare, L.A.-Phoenix: $116.00

One night, The White House: 138.00

Meals: 133.00

Rental car: 78.01

Gas: 14.00

LAX Park One lot: 18.00

FINAL TAB: $497.01

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The White House B&B;, tel. (520) 432-7215; Bisbee Visitors Center, tel. (520) 432-5421.