Winslow, Arizona - Where the Eagles Landed

My lovely spouse Laureen and I were driving somewhere. Not sure where, since we drive a lot, usually with a purpose, when suddenly a tune began to play on our vehicle’s radio which I hadn’t heard in quite a while. The Eagles were suddenly belting out a song with front man, Glenn Frey singing about taking it easy. 

“Wow, you know where I’d like to visit?” I asked Laureen.

And soon after we found ourselves in Winslow, Arizona, and I was standing on the street corner next to a metal piece of art. Actually, the art was a full-sized bronze sculpture of Jackson Browne. Laureen had sauntered off to stand next to a metal representation of Glenn Frey, about thirty feet away from the corner of Route 66 and North Kinsley Avenue.

Laureen Beyer with Jackson Browne

Jackson Browne and Glenn Frey co-wrote the famous song, ‘Take it Easy’ back in 1972. Actually, Browne had started writing the lyrics in 1971, but was in a bit of a pickle on how to complete it.

The rumor is that Browne had been working on his first album and had these words stuck in his head – “Well, I’m a-standin on a corner in Winslow, Arizona . . .” – and that is far as he had gotten.

The story goes on to suggest that Browne had been stranded in the town of Winslow when his vehicle had broken down. At some point, a woman in a pick-up truck had driven past Browne and lent a helping hand. 

Laureen Beyer standing by the red pick-up in Winslow

We all love legends.

It turns out that Glenn Frey and Jackson Browne resided in the same apartment building in Los Angeles, and being struggling musicians, had started up a friendship in the club – ‘Starving musicians and actors guild of greater Los Angeles.’

Browne played the beginning of the unfinished song and Frey nodded.

“Man, let’s put a woman or women in it, and then we’ll have a hit record,” Frey may have suggested.

So, the following lyrics were born - “Such a fine sight to see. It’s a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin’ down to take a look at me.”

Browne liked the sound, Frey liked the sound and the Eagles released the song on their debut album, cleverly entitled: Eagles.

That is pretty awesome, since the song never would have been written in the first place if Browne hadn’t known Frey when they were struggling musical artists.

In fact, according to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, out of Cleveland, Ohio, the song – ‘Take it Easy’ released in 1972 actually helped shape the sound of rock and roll as we know today.

But, for such creative minds, couldn’t the band had come up with something a little more original for their debut album? Something like:

‘The Eagles have landed.’

‘Fly like a bunch of Eagles.’

Or, ‘We can play great songs but can’t come up with a name for our first album except the name of the band.’

In all transparency, according to my research, it may have been that Browne had been stranded at a Der Wienerschnitzel in Flagstaff, rather than the quaint little town of Winslow.

But, I can’t even imagine the lyrics of that song.

‘Well, I’m a-standin on a corner in Flagstaff, Arizona with a chili dog and fries. My shirt a mess, and such a fine sight to see, a car hop with a handful of napkins.’

Nope, wouldn’t make it in the top billion hits. We’ll stay with Winslow, Arizona for this column.

So, after doing the touristy kinds of things – posing next to the statues for photos, standing in the middle of the street for photos, asking people to take photos of us, taking photos for them, and then taking a bunch of selfies – we were exhausted.

It was time to truly take it easy, and we did.

We were staying at the La Posada Hotel in Winslow and believed an adult libation while sitting in one of the many beautiful gardens would be a resplendent way to take it easy.

Welcome to the La Posada Hotel

It was.

La Posada Hotel was built in 1930, by Fred Harvey of the famous railroad Harvey House chain, and designed by one of his favorite architects, Jane Colter.

In fact, it was Fred Harvey’s vision to create the first restaurant chain, and used that chain and the railroad depots they were situated by, to draw huge groups of tourists to the Southwest. 

This hotel was to be a shining example for all to see and experience, and Harvey spared no expense on his dream. Well over two million dollars was spent on the hotel and the grounds when it was built in depression era 1929 – that is well over a zillion dollars in today’s money.

Main entrance to the La Posada

And Colter had the run of the whole operation, from the design, to the gardens, the linen to be used by the diners, and even the uniforms the staff would be wearing. Colter believed it to be one of her most glorious achievements, and today, La Posada is considered one of the most impressive and beautiful buildings in the entire Southwest.

With the construction of super-highways and the lack of railroad travelers, the hotel only lasted twenty-seven years before it was closed to the public. Most of the interior furnishings were auctioned off in 1959 and by the early 1960’s much of the hotel had been gutted – being used a bit here and there by the Santa Fe Railway as offices.

In fact, in 1994, the railway decided to abandon the property all together and have it demolished.

Those railroad kingpins – where is their love of history?

But, after the National Trust for Historic Preservation learned of the possible demolition by the Santa Fe, the eighty-thousand square foot building was placed on the endangered list.

“Tear down La Posada? Never!” Allan Affeldt may have exclaimed to his wife, the internationally recognized artist, Tina Mion.

“But, Allan, we don’t know anything about running a hotel, let alone renovating it,” Tina likely responded.

“Well, it’s a really cool building, so let’s see what we can do to preserve it,” Allan may have been overheard replying to Tina.

And preserve this architectural marvel they did. 

It took three long years of negotiating with the railroad before Allan and Tina were allowed to purchase the run-down hotel. They moved in on April 1, 1997.

Though it was April Fool’s day, the couple knew it was no joke and a lot of work was ahead of them. Then came along their third partner, Daniel Lutzick who took the role of General Manager.

What they accomplished in restoring a building which had been virtually abandoned since 1959 and fallen into almost complete disrepair, is stunning.

Today, La Posada is one of the most sought-after hotel destinations in the United States. It has been rated in the top twenty for hotels in the Southwest by Conde Nast Traveler, and has received numerous other awards marking this as a worthwhile place to visit.

Besides a first-class hotel and with a tasty restaurant, The Turquoise Room, La Posada is also a showcase for unique artwork, much of which was created by co-owner Tina Mion. In fact, the entire complex is a living museum, with artifacts from the early days when Fred Harvey owned the hotel, to Native American history, as well as the history of celebrities who had spent time there in the early days of the hotels creation.

Such early big names such as: Gene Autry, Howard Hughes, Charles Lindbergh, Dorothy Lamour, Clark Gable, just to name a few.

It was the place for the rich and famous to plop down after a long day’s drive along Route 66 heading east or west.

But getting back to the town of Winslow –a small town located in Navajo County, Arizona with a population of nearly ten thousand citizens.

The famous corner in Winslow, Arizona

It boasts a main street which brings back the nostalgia of the early days of Route 66, with businesses lining both sides of the street. There is a homey feel to the downtown area, with restaurants and brew houses within walking distance from just about anywhere.

Downtown Winslow, Arizona

“I like this town,” I stated to Laureen, while we sauntered down the sidewalk.

“You like any town with a local brewery,” she responded.

I nodded. “You gotta have your priorities.”

Winslow is also the gateway for so many outdoor activities – Meteor Crater, the Homolovi Ruins, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest, the Apache Death Cave, and so many other places lie within a short drive.

There is a lot to do in this little berg.

Just be careful in Winslow, as John Beyer learned

One such place brought a tear for both of us. That was the 9-11 Remembrance Gardens. It is just on the outskirts of town, heading east on Route 66. A flag which was flown at the Pentagon flutters not far from two large steel beams from the World Trade Center, twisted and broken. These were donated to the town, and the park which was built around the beams, was dedicated on September 11, 2002. 

The city of Winslow paying their respects

Actual beams from the tragedy in New York City on 9/11

These beams are the largest entrusted to any community in the nation, and it is the community of Winslow who truly got behind the effort to create this memorial. Everyone from elementary and ROTC students, to local business owners, volunteered to pitch in to build and maintain this garden.

These beams stand tall and strong in that place for all to see – and for all to never forget.

That alone, is reason enough to visit Winslow.

Even John Beyer had to get into the act

The Haunting at Apache Death Cave

As Laureen and I were driving west along Route 66, after visiting Winslow, Arizona – we decided to stop by a place that is so haunted, so scary, so unnaturally spooky that most humans would not dare to tread there.

Not being like most humans, we knew it was an experience we just had to visit on our very own.

Laureen is not that fancy on these spectral sorts of sites but since I was driving . . .

After pulling south off Route 66 by the ruins of the town of Two Guns, I was busy scanning my hand-held GPS looking for the scariest area near Two Guns.

Welcome to Two Guns, Arizona

“I don’t think this thing is working,” I told Laureen. “If I’m holding it correctly, we’re somewhere between Vienna and Salzburg.”

No reply from Laureen.

Suddenly I heard her from about 50 feet away. “It’s right here, I can feel it.”

Laureen Beyer looking for the Apache Death Cave

The reason Laureen does not like to travel to many supposedly haunted places is due to the fact she actually ‘feels’ something. A sense or foreboding of what may have occurred in the past at such a place.

Me, I usually feel hungry or thirsty. 

As in earlier articles concerning ‘haunted places’ I tend to be a bit of a skeptic. Don’t really think folks from the afterlife are lingering around waiting for me to invade their space.

“Hey, you are now in my personal ghost space. So rude of you that I will throw this antique rocking chair at your head.”

Of course, I do have to admit I have heard or seen things that I can not explain while traveling here and there.

I once saw a boy scout escort an elderly woman across the street in Houston, and I thought that only happened in Hallmark films.

“What is right here that you can feel it?” I asked Laureen, finally giving up on the hand-held GPS which had me now somewhere east of Moscow.

“The cave, it’s right here,” she replied.

The Apache Death Cave

The cave, Laureen was mentioning, was the famed Apache Death Cave located about 12 miles west of Meteor Crater in Arizona along Route 66.

The legend is terrifically sad.

In the late 19th century, the two dominate native tribes residing in the area were the Apache and the Navajo. These two groups did not get a long well together and often raided and killed each other over territory or perhaps because they did not like each other.

But in 1878 it is rumored that some Apaches entered two Navajo camps and killed everyone except three young girls whom they kidnapped.

Other Navajo warriors hearing of this diabolical action started to chase the Apache to seek their revenge and get the girls back.

The Navajo were closing the gap of the fleeing Apache but suddenly lost sight of them near the edge of the Canyon Diablo, a long arroyo that meanders through the territory.

Getting off their horses, the Navajo looked high and low and low and high but could not locate the Apache.

Just then, as the story goes, one of the Navajo thought he heard voices coming from somewhere below him and then found a deep cave carved into the Kaibab Limestone.

Sure enough, the Apache had ridden into the large cave with their horses and captives hoping to trick the tracking Navajo.

The ruse did not work.

Grabbing a lot of sagebrush, the Navajo decided to smoke the Apache out of the cave by lighting the bushes on fire.

Moments later, a few Apache ran from the cave but were immediately killed by the waiting Navajo.

It only took a few minutes to realize the captives had been murdered by the Apache, so the rest of the Navajo posse decided to finish the job and continued to throw large amounts of burning sagebrush into the mouth of the cave.

There was no chance for escape for any of the Apache trapped within the walls of the cave. 42 Apache succumbed to the smoke and fire.

I wandered over to where Laureen was standing by a small rock border, and she pointed downward. Sure enough, there was a cave which seemed as though the walls may have been smoke damaged sometime in the past.

“The hairs are standing up on head,” she stated.

Looking at her perfectly quaffed hair, I did not know what to say. So, I said nothing.

An old wooden ladder type of bridge ran across the width of the cave allowing the visitor a chance to get closer into the cave.

The bridge leading to the cave

“You first,” I said.

“Me never,” Laureen replied.

After a few tense moments of rock scrambling and teetering on the wooden bridge, I found myself at the bottom of the cave. 

It was dark inside the cave. 

“Do you feel anything?” 

“Yes,” I replied.

“Wow, what?”

“I think I dislocated my right shoulder.”

The cave was longer than I had thought it would be. I wandered a bit bumping into this wall or that wall, once nearly knocking off the top of my head on a low ceiling and thought that if the ghosts of the murdered Apache were not going to talk to me, it was time to call this adventure off.

Besides, it did seem rather spooky in that dark hole in the ground alone.

Not a lot of room inside the Apache Death Cave

“You want to come down, and see?”

“Nope.”

After dusting myself off and making sure my forehead was not bleeding, I noticed that Laureen was not looking quite herself.

She told me that there was something in the immediate surroundings she could sense. A sense of doom, of tragedy, of unmistakable horror.

“They were afraid to die in such a way.”

I do not question her feelings. I may do it inwardly but not outwardly.

But there was something different in that cave – I am not saying I felt what Laureen did, but it was rather oppressive in the cave. Almost suffocating, but that could be the close quarters and wandering around in a dark place by yourself.

New Reality paranormal investigators, Shawn and Cody, had visited the Apache Death Cave in the past and recorded their investigation for their hit series.

They felt and heard things while pulling their stint within that cave.

We spent time with them when they investigated a haunted ranch house in Lucerne. We all heard and experienced things that long haunting night.

These guys are experts in this paranormal field.

But I am still a skeptic. I am waiting for Casper to come sit next to me on the sofa and explain clearly why he is a ghost and why I need to believe.

In 1881, a bridge was built across Canyon Diablo by the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad and a small tent city, named Canyon Diablo was constructed for the workers.

Canyon Diablo

But that little tent city grew up to be a rootin’-tootin’ full-time town which made Tombstone look like a children’s nursery school.

The population boomed to 2,000 folks overnight and there was at least one killing in the streets near the dozen saloons, gambling halls, and brothels each day.

In fact, the first Marshall hired to protect the town was shot dead three hours later. It was a lawless town.

Boot Hill became so full that the undertaker ran out of room for any new customers.

One problem with this tale, according to the Republic Newspaper out of Arizona, is that this town probably never existed.

Images of town that may have never existed?

In an article written by Scott Craven, the town had been created by a fictional writer by the name of Gladwell Richardson who passed away in 1980 who had written nearly 300 western novels under various pseudonyms.

When the bridge was completed, the tent city moved on.

It was also Richardson who first wrote about the Apache Death Cave in his only non-fiction book about the town of Two Guns, Arizona. Prior to him writing about it in his book the tragic event had never seen print.

Seems, that both a town so wild Doc Holiday would have circumvented it and a horrific story such as the Apache Death Cave had occurred there should be more mention of it in the history books.

But, as with many historical records, things may get a bit exaggerated by those writing those histories.

Those silly writers. Who do they think they are embellishing here and there?

We walked around studying the layout, checking this out and checking that out and Laureen said she could still feel that something tragic had occurred here in the past.

Perhaps something had happened to the Apache and Navajo in the 19th century and perhaps not.

A town may have been here that was totally lawless but perhaps not.

That is the way with myths and legends, they grow stronger as the decades slip by.

Are they true or does it really matter?

Something was here at some time