We left the Hotel to mingle amongst the locals along Brewery
Gulch but soon found ourselves having a night cap at the
Hotel bar.  We chatted with the bartender telling her of our
earlier encounter and she shrugged it off telling us of a
multitude of strange ghostly encounters the she herself had
had.  While sitting at the bar listening to a talented piano
player, I distinctly whiffed the aromatic smell of a cigar.  
Being a smoker, I asked if we were allowed to smoke
in the bar.  The bartender said, "Sorry, this is Arizona,
you can't smoke in any bar."  Just then I saw Diane quickly
smack her ear and spin around.  "Someone was just twirling
my hair!"  There was no one there!  The
smell of a cigar was
once again as strong as if someone had blown it in my face.  
Then it was gone.  The smell of cigars is one of the signs
that the Gentlemen Ghost had just visited.

Diane had had enough.  "This is too freaky, let's go to bed.  
If anything eerie happens again we are running to the
nearest Holiday Inn!  I don't care what time of night it is!"  
We ambled over to the slow and creaky elevator and headed
Room 315 - Julia Lowell's Room.
The period detail of Julia's room was complete with
furnishings that bespoke her times and her profession.  
Her portrait loomed over us as well as her
license for
prostitution.  I noticed a touch of lavender that lingered
in the air and for me the thoughts of what my night may
hold made me restless.  We crawled into the too comfy,
too soft bed and as we stared up at the ceiling fan, it
inexplicably began to twirl!  We laid there in stunned
silence as it made five to six revolutions.  The windows
were closed. The door fastened shut.  No air-conditioning
was running as it was a chilled night.  Diane pulled the
covers over her head and chattered, "I've seen enough,
Good Night!"  I could not sleep.  I put in the only DVD
in the room, the episode of "Ghost Hunters" that dealt
with this very room!  They had video proof of the covers
rising by themselves to expose the Hunters feet while
asleep!  I was taking no chances.  I slept with my socks on!  
Julia did't whisper in my ear.  Julia didn't play with my feet.  
But Julia made her presence known (wink, wink) and I'll
leave it at that."

So, if you are ever in these parts and you are looking for
something to do, you could visit the
oldest ballpark in
Warren Field built in 1906 (Wrigley Field was
built in 1908).  Babe Ruth played there!  Or you could take
that mine tour.  But to really get your heart racing, you
could climb the
1,000 Stairs of Bisbee. Or you could brave
my suggestion to book Room 315 at the Old Copper Queen
Hotel, ask for Julia.
Bisbee, Arizona
By a Ghost!
October 2009
Recently my wife, Diane, and I took a venture to the south of Arizona and made a hard right turn into the past.  A trek that
would leave us gasping and grasping for the reaches of hard reality, somewhere between
Bisbee, Arizona and the Twilight Zone. . .

It was her birthday.  She longed for another way to celebrate.  Something other than stale cake and stale beer, something
better than counting candles and counting wrinkles.  It occurred to me that we hadn't taken a trip for a while, so I
suggested a destination that neither of us had reached before, Bisbee, Arizona.  Bisbee sounds like an innocuous place.  
Bisbee was said to be a quiet, historical town in the far reaches of Southern Arizona.  Now known as an Artists Colony,
its economy was based on tourism and the bikers that passed through.  About twenty miles south of the more famous
Tombstone, Arizona, and eight miles from the Mexican border, it’s a long drive through the sporadic high desert
towns.  One you reach it though, you are greeted by rolling hills of desert brush and maybe the
best climate on Earth.

Bisbee made its name as mining district in the early 1900's.  The
Copper Queen Mine soon made it the richest mineral
site in the world.  The Mine produced nearly three million ounces of gold and more than eight billion pounds of copper,
not to mention the silver, lead and zinc that came from the rich Mule Mountains.  Miners and fortune seekers came
from around the world to cram the quiet alcove with as many as 20,000 people.  It became the most cultured district
and was the largest city in the southwest between St. Louis and San Francisco.  Along its "Brewery Gulch," saloons
and shady ladies, who became better known as the "
Soiled Doves of the Desert," plied the miners for their hard
earned cash while earning a reputation just east of the Barbary Coast.  There was nothing that could not be bartered
for, swapped for or stolen from.  Everyone was getting rich and everyone was going broke.
By Daniel Rush
In 1908, it all burnt to the ground.  A fire swept through
the commercial district and ravaged Main Street.  
Undeterred, and with billions left to be sucked from the
mine, they rebuilt the city.  Most of what is standing
today was built then.  Dotted along the mountains of this
mile high town and amongst its narrow and unforgiving
streets are the residents of a town that has seen its
livelihood, the mine closed in 1947, taken away.  They
cater to tourists now or create wild interpretations of t
heir spirit, but they do not carry the weariness that is
so prevalent in other small towns in the desert.  They
wear their
funkiness on their sleeve, in their hopes
on their buildings.  Bisbee is a travelers Mecca
and the air is thick with the past but it manages to
wear it lightly.

There is no doubting it though, the past is always present.
And sometimes . . . the past becomes a presence.
We mine the antique shops along Main Street for the unusual bric-a-brac but I
only come home with a
ridiculous reminder of a fool and his money...

By far one of the best distractions in this little hamlet is the
Queen Mine Tour.  
Within a spiffy little museum on the inherent dangers of mining, you buy a pin
which permits you entrance into the legendary mine that fed generations of
Bisbee families and made the Phelps-Dodge Corporation one of the largest
mining endeavors in the world.  After outfitting you with
your miner's gear,
you hop onto a
HO gauge mining train that propels deep into the heart of the
Mule Mountains.  Barreling headlong 1500 feet into the dark abyss, you risk,
claustrophobia, falling off the train, bats, cold, losing limbs against the rocky
outcroppings and cave-ins, but it all feels very safe.  The actual miner gives
you a detailed tour of the incredible life of a miner and you are constantly
weighing the risk/reward quotient that he must have endured.  He teaches
you to
spot a silver vein, how to dynamite, where to run in case all goes wrong
and where the rest room is.  It is a crisp 47 degrees at all times in the mine
and the Arizona sun feels good after the tour.  We learned a lot but will never
really have any idea.  All I really know is that they will never pay miners
enough and pennies should be cherished a little more.

With dusk falling quickly upon us we make our way to our lodgings for the night.  
This is no Motel 6 or even a comfy Sheraton, it is the most famous address in all
of Southern Arizona, the
Copper Queen Hotel.  Built for the Robber Barons that
would occasionally look over their mining millions in 1902, it was designed in
Italian-style with a breathtaking mosaic floor and cathedral ceilings outfitted
with Tiffany stained glass that has disappeared over the century.  
Decorated in
period detail it still carries the charm and sophistication that the Victorian-era
was known for.  The 52 room hotel has five stories and is the only building in
Bisbee to ever have an elevator.  The hotel became known far and wide and
such luminaries as Teddy Roosevelt, Lily Langtree and later
John Wayne
stayed in its lushly appointed rooms.
The cast of characters ranged far and wide from prostitutes,
celebrities, rich miners to scallywags, rogues and Presidents.  
Some of the lodgers of yesteryear still appear but not in
the normal sense.  The Hotel is said to have a least three
resident ghosts that appear on a regular basis.  One is a
mischievous child that died in the nearby San Pedro River.  
He was said to enjoy the Hotel and you can hear his laughter
throughout its halls.  Another is a stately gentleman whose
apparition has been seen throughout the Hotel and appears
before and after the smell of cigar smoke.  The most famous
denizen of the otherworldly Hotel is the prostitute Julia Lowell.

Julia used the rooms of the Hotel for her clients and it is
said that she fell madly in love with one of her Johns.  She
conveyed her love to him and was flatly rejected.  The
devastation was too much for young Julia and she killed
herself inside the Hotel.  She still wanders its halls and it is
said men can see her dance seductively at the foot of their
beds and she will occasionally tickle the feet of gentlemen
guests and whisper seductively in their ear.  Diane and I
reserved her room.  
After checking in and inquiring into some of the local lore we decided to dine at the Hotel Restaurant, the Winchester.  Off
the Main Lobby it carried the same old world charm as the Hotel.  An outside porch was a delightful setting and the warm,
breezy night air made it a romantic setting for Diane's Birthday.  We dined in casual comfort on fine beef and salmon
and talked about our plans for the next day.  We were both enjoying the attentive service and richness of the food when it
happened, ¦Diane had her back to the wall facing the street and someone?  Something shoved her right shoulder.  I saw the
immediate reaction in mid-sentence.  She said nothing.  Then it happened again!  She quickly turned to berate the shover
but no one was there!  Nothing but the wall!  She assumed it was an inattentive waiter moving thoughtlessly through but no
one was there!  She was dumbfounded, then scared!  "What was that!"  I could see immediately from her reaction that she
was as serious as a soldier in a firefight.  A little shaken from the experience, she eventually got hold herself and tried to
enjoy our evening.
The drive to Bisbee is pretty much devoid of any outstanding features.  After blowing past Tucson on I-10 you make a right
at Benson and fork through the high desert which turns out to be an excellent elevation for growing grapes.  In a beeline
south of the always fun and always interesting Tombstone you come upon the only thing worth turning your head for,
Cross.  A towering beacon of faith it was built by the Jesuits adjacent to their "Resort."  I, Daniel, am greeted at its
entrance by
the lions that guard the Cross.  Back on the road we encounter a rarity in Arizona, a tunnel burrowed through
the mountain.  Bursting forth at you after exiting the tunnel is Bisbee.  It reminds me of the way
Pittsburgh is thrusted at
you after leaving the Fort Pitt Tunnels.  There is not as much grandeur as Pittsburgh but it is much more than I was led to
believe.  They even have a small overlook to encapsulate
the view.  We drive through the treacherous streets trying to get a
feel for the place but it is so enigmatic the feeling left us scratching our heads.  There are lovely
little cottages tied to the
hills and there are weathered bungalows that may house meth labs.  There are colorful little salons and hulking buildings
from the turn-of-the-century.  There are rough-neck saloons and towering churches.  They have garish pink storefronts
classy metalworking boutiques.  Something for everyone and everyone is something.
Downtown Bisbee