James B. Bull

1887- 1975

Southern Arizona Farming Pioneer

Written by Gladys (Bull) Klingenberg and Rena (Allen) Klingenberg

1995

Transcribed via OCR by Tod G Franklin 2002

The life of James B. Bull spanned 87 years and four states, during a time of great change and growth in the United States. He had a talent for recognizing opportunities and he worked hard to achieve his vision, which enabled him to be a success and leave a mark on southern Arizona agriculture.

PART 1

The Life and Times of James B. Bull

JAMES B. BULL’S BEGINNINGS

James B. Bull was born November 26, 1887 in rural Sebastian County, Arkansas, south of Fort Smith. He was one of 15 children born to William Basil Bull and Sarah Elizabeth (Miller) Bull. Jim’s father died in 1904 at age 50; his mother died in 1941 at age 81.

Jim and his brother Charlie were the only two sons in the family to reach adulthood. Jim’s nine sisters worked, married, and had families. His last surviving sibling, Bertha (Bull) Knight, died in 1993 at age 93.

Jim’s early formal education took place in a one-room, eight-grade schoolhouse, which he attended only through seventh grade. He left school early to begin working to contribute to the household income. In his late teens or early 20’s, he followed the advice of his brother-in-law, Martin Harp, and took a bookkeeping course in Fort Smith. Thus began his career in office bookkeeping.

One of Jim’s first positions was with Seaman’s Mercantile Store in Mansfield, Arkansas, south of Fort Smith. It was there that he met Lee Ethel McConnell, an attractive salesgirl in the millinery department. She was living in Mansfield with her widowed father and maiden sister. Previously the McConnell family had lived in Charleston, 25 miles east of Fort Smith.

Jim and Lee Ethel were married at the bride’s home on June 19, 1912, with her only brother, Rev. James E. McConnell, officiating. The couple’s first daughter, Gladys Opal, was born August 2, 1914 in Midland, Arkansas, near Mansfield. Midland was then a small mining town where Jim worked as a company bookkeeper. But the Bulls did not stay there long.

In 1915 Jim’s brother Charlie and his wife Tiitha contracted tuberculosis and died, leaving two daughters and two sons to be raised by Sarah Bull, the children’s grandmother. After Charlie and Tiitha’s deaths, their doctor told the rest of the family, “If they could have gone west, perhaps they would have survived.” Jim and Lee Ethel took the doctor’s statement to heart, and they decided to move west with their baby daughter Gladys for a better life. Jim’s favorite employer, Mr. Seaman, recommended El Paso, Texas, because of its population size and greater employment opportunities.

Instead, Jim and Lee chose to go to Roswell, New Mexico, in 1916 because it was a smaller town. But when Jim couldn’t find work in Roswell, they moved to El Paso after all. There he immediately found a job with El Paso Ice Company, owned by three Franklin brothers--one of whom later became Jim’s brother-in-law by marrying his sister Nora.

Life was good in El Paso for the young Bull family. Soon, Jim’s maiden sisters began migrating from Mansfield, Arkansas, to El Paso. When Jim’s mother and Charlie’s four orphaned children came they established a household of nine people. Two of Jim’s sisters, Nora and Bertha, continued to live in El Paso until their deaths some 70 years later.

During the 1918 flu epidemic Jim became ill, and as a result he contracted tuberculosis. It was a very difficult year, and Jim and Lee’s second daughter, Margaret Lucille, was born November 21, 1918.

After a time, Jim regained his health and became employed as a bookkeeper for the thriving Peyton Packing Company, a meat processing and sales business. Meanwhile, from 1924 until November 1926, Lee operated two small neighborhood stores in El Paso.

A TURNING POINT

In September 1926 Jim accepted a bookkeeping position with Messrs. Ivy, Dale and Owens, farmers who were operating in the lower Rio Grande Valley south of El Paso. 1926 was their initial year of farming in Continental, Arizona--25 miles south of Tucson--and in September they were beginning their fall harvest of 3,000 acres of cotton there. Thus, after 10 years in El Paso, another move was in store for the young Bull family.

Jim moved to Continental ahead of his wife and daughters, and until his family joined him in Arizona he lived in a two-story boarding house. When his family arrived, they moved into a house originally built by the Intercontinental Rubber Company, directly south of Continental School. This house has since burned down. Other residents in the houses behind the school were Mr. Phillips, who was the farm manager for Ivy, Dale and Owens; a man for the Continental cotton gin; the train master; and Mr. Owens, who lived in the house on the corner. The Continental School teachers lived in two nearby duplexes.

Jim and Lee’s daughters, Gladys and Margaret, attended the Continental grade school. Gladys was one of three students, all girls, in the school’s 1926 graduating class. The Bull family enjoyed the rural life at their new home, only a short distance from the pleasant town of Tucson, which then had a population of about 25,000.

Lee ran the Continental Post Office, which was connected with the Continental Store, across the railroad tracks from the Continental School. The mail was picked up and delivered by train. Jim’s bookkeeping office was in the building that housed the company store, where the employees shopped and charged against their pay.

The town of Continental was sparsely populated by about 200 people when the Bulls arrived in 1926. The town had no modern utility services for many years. Residents used appliances such as wood cook stoves, flat irons and kerosene lamps, and heated their homes with woodstoves and fireplaces. Only the farm office had a crank telephone, and the town had just one party line. The cotton gin generated its own electricity with oil. Later, in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s, the Continental area acquired improved utilities. Bull Farms was one of the first in the area to use natural gas for pumping water, because it was less expensive than electricity and Tucson Gas and Electric Company encouraged the use of gas. Later, use of electric power was resumed.

ANOTHER TURNING POINT

The Bull family’s life in Continental was interrupted abruptly late in the summer of 1927, the year after they arrived. Summer rains brought profuse growth of weeds, to which Jim was highly sensitive. Because he was not in good health due to his previous illness, his allergic condition was the deciding factor in resigning from his job and returning with his family to El Paso.

And so the Bulls moved back to Texas. However, after only three weeks in El Paso, Jim and Lee decided to return to southern Arizona. They lived in Tucson from September 1927 until the fall of 1940. Gladys and Margaret attended Tucson schools; Gladys graduated from high school in 1931, and Margaret graduated in 1935.

Two of Jim’s sisters, Maud and Myrtle, also moved to Tucson and raised their families there. Both of these sisters lived in Tucson for about 30 years, until their deaths. Maud Lindsey worked as a controller in the University of Arizona business office for many years. Three of Myrtle Gilbert’s five children remained in Tucson. Only one of Lee’s relatives ever lived nearby--a niece, Mary Lou (McConnell) Newcomer, and her family; her husband, John, taught in the Tucson school system.

In 1928 the Bulls opened a grocery store in a part of a newly constructed building on the northeast corner of Tucson Boulevard and Sixth Street. The building was a concept for various small businesses, and the area around the intersection was undertaken as a housing development. Unfortunately, with the economic crash in 1929, development slowed drastically.

However, at that time a man named Judge Emery was beginning Emery Park, a thriving development five miles south of Tucson on Highway 89 (south of Sixth Avenue). People bought 2½-acre parcels of land there and built temporary housing in connection with housing for chicken and egg production. In 1929 the Bulls closed their store in Tucson and moved to Emery Park, where their grocery business survived and grew. The original building was remodeled later into a larger home for the family. A new building came into existence to accommodate the grocery business, post office, and an area for receiving, packaging, and distributing the local egg production.

By 1931, Tucson’s growth was pushing eastward and homes were increasing rapidly around Tucson Boulevard, as well as the secluded development of Encanto Estates. The Bulls sold their business and property in Emery Park and re-opened a larger store in their original location on Tucson Boulevard and Sixth Street, this time using the entire building. This business became a well-known quality grocery and meat market. (See illustration, “Bull’s Grocery”.)

These stores were under Mrs. Bull’s supervision, with Gladys as a key employee after her high school graduation. Later Lee also opened and operated a store for a short time at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Fifth Street. Margaret worked with her mother in this store. Meanwhile, Mr. Bull continued in accounting positions with several well-known business firms in Tucson until the fall of 1941. From 1931 until the present date in 1995, a thriving grocery business has been at the Tucson Boulevard and Sixth Street location. However, the Emery Park development eventually became stagnant, and that area is now completely changed from the late 1920’s concept.

THE BULLS RETURN TO AGRICULTURE

As Mr. Bull continued in accounting jobs in Tucson, he kept his eyes on the farm land near Continental. He acquired his first 160-acre parcel of land two miles north of the Intercontinental Rubber Company of Continental (which is now part of the FICO pecan orchards) in the 1930’s by paying the back taxes accumulated during the Great Depression, and over the next 36 years he established a large-scale farming operation in the Continental area. At the age of 50 his interest, energies and health benefited greatly from his new way of life. (See illustration, “Chronology of Bull Property Acquisitions”.)

Mr. Bull began farming in earnest in 1937 on his first 160 acres of land. He purchased a second parcel of land bordering both sides of the Nogales Highway (then State 89) from Mrs. Florence Gorman in 1938. Mrs. Gorman was the remarried widow of Nelson Sawyer. Mr. Sawyer’s grave site still stands there on the hillside land, enclosed in a concrete vault, and after Mrs. Gorman’s death in 1965 her ashes were spread over her first husband’s grave at her request. Today this plot of land, surrounded by land owned by other parties, is a deeded parcel. A deed showing Mr. Sawyer’s ownership of 320 acres of land was signed on August 28, 1913 by President Woodrow Wilson.

In 1939 The Westerner, an Academy Award-winning film starring Gary Cooper and other well-known actors, was filmed in southern Arizona. The film production company was headquartered at Canoa Ranch, south of Continental, and the scenes and action were shot in other locations. The spectacular scene of the burning cornfields was made on the Bulls’ farmland.

The movie was released in theaters in October 1940. In the October 7 issue of Life, the then very popular weekly magazine, The Westerner was featured in a prominent story with pictures of some of the scenes. This classic movie became available on videotape in 1987.

In September 1940, after their daughter Margaret’s marriage in August, Jim and Lee moved from Tucson to their small farming operation two miles north of Continental.

With the onset of World War II, Mr. Bull kept pace with the demands of suitable crops on his land. A camp for about 50 German prisoners of war was located on the Bulls’ land, on the west side of the Continental Madera Canyon Road, three miles north of the Continental School. The camp consisted of barracks to house the prisoners and four 20-foot tall guard towers, one at each corner, surrounded by a 10- foot high barbed wire fence. It was run by Army personnel and served as a labor cooperative, with the prisoners of war repairing roads, weeding, and picking cotton on the surrounding farms in the Sahuarita/Continental area. The cotton produced with their labor was used in the United States’ war efforts.

During the mid- 1940’s, before Farmers’ Investment Company acquired the Continental Rubber Company’s holdings, Mr. Bull leased the entire holdings for one year. He cultivated the land suitable for crops, and sub-leased the remaining land for cattle grazing to a rancher from the Magee Ranch, west of Continental. In 1947 the Bulls built a permanent home on the older Nogales Highway, which followed along the west side of the foothills.

Although cotton had been a major crop for Bull Farms during World War II, years of producing it had depleted the soil. Also, a 1940’s government allotment program limited farm production of some crops, so Mr. Bull considered alternative crops to produce on his land. Vegetables, alfalfa, and grains were diversified crops grown on Bull Farms in the late 1940’s. (See illustrations, “Bull Run Brand Vegetables” shipping box label and “Layout of Bull’s Property”.) Mr. Bull’s farming operation introduced peanut production to Arizona, and today Jackrabbit Hill, where the peanut crops were grown, can still be seen from Interstate 19, several miles east on the mesa.

During the 1950’s, the old POW camp buildings were used to house a new group of farm laborers. Jim employed a number of Papago Indians on his farm, and 8 their families lived in the old barracks, cooking their meals over wood fires outside the buildings. The Papago children attended Continental School. Eventually, in the late 1950’s, buildings in the camp caught fire and burned down.

Occasionally Bull Farms suffered crop losses due to severe weather. Hail storms damaged crops periodically, and runoffs were heavy at times after rains.

Jim suffered seasonal allergies in the fall of each year, and he frequently drove to nearby Madera Canyon for relief. In mid-1950 he finally acquired a cabin there, enabling him to remain longer and derive greater relief from his allergies. His grandson, John (Gladys’ son), is also a victim of hayfever and often accompanied his grandfather to the canyon and the cabin. Today, however, permanent houses are no longer permitted in that area.

In 1950 Gladys’ husband, Paul J. Klingenberg, joined the Bulls’ farming operation when agricultural activity increased in the Santa Cruz River Valley. From 1950 until the retirement of Bull Farms’ operation in January 1970, additionaL land was acquired which justified increased crop production. The crops included long and short staple cotton, milo maize (red), barley, corn, lovegrasses, peanuts, and sorghum. Occasionally yearling cattle were fed on the desert range when the feed justified doing so.

SERVICE AND RECOGNITION

In addition to operating his farming enterprise, Mr. Bull was also an active and influential member of community and agricultural groups. He served on the Continental School Board for 15 years.

Mr. Bull also served as a supervisor for the Soil Conservation District and was a committee member of the Triple A (Agriculture Adjustment Association) for several years. Beginning in 1957, he was also a member of the Board of Directors of the Cotton Producers’ Association, a Leading agricultural cooperative headquartered in Atlanta, Georgia.

Over the years he became a supporter and friend of the College of Agriculture at the University of Arizona in Tucson. After Mr. Bull’s death, his daughter Gladys received a condolence letter from Harold Myers, Dean Emeritus of the College of Agriculture, acknowledging his influence on agriculture in the Santa Cruz Valley. (See illustration, copy of letter.)

Mr. Bull’s achievements caused him to be recognized as a progressive and successful farmer in Arizona’s Santa Cruz River Valley. He received two specific awards for his contributions to Arizona agriculture: Outstanding Farmer in Arizona, awarded by the Arizona Bank Association in 1955; and Farmer of the Year, awarded by the Tucson Kiwanis Club in 1962.

THE BULLS’ LATER YEARS

Jim and Lee celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary on June 19, 1962 in the home they built on their farm in 1947. Their anniversary celebration was highlighted by an open house reception for about 100 friends (local and from Tucson) and family members (from Tucson and out of state). Four of Jim’s sisters--Myrtle and Maud from Tucson and Nora and Annie from Texas- -attended the reception, along with many nieces and nephews and of course the Bulls’ immediate family.

In January 1968 Lee died at age 79 at Tucson Medical Center. Jim remained actively engaged in the Bull Farms operation until he sold his entire holdings two miles north of Continental to the Anaconda Mining Company (Anamax) in 1969. At that time Bull Farm became known as Bull Ranch, and local ranchers ran cattle on the land.

After the sale of his land, Jim moved to nearby Green Valley in January 1970 with his daughter and son-in-law, Gladys and Paul, who still reside there. At age 87 Jim died in a Tucson nursing home in September 1975. (See illustration: obituary and article.)

After several subsequent ownerships of the Bulls’ holdings, a retirement community called Quail Creek was established on part of it in 1989.

PART 2

Descendants of James B. and Lee Ethel Bull

FAMILY CHART

The descendants of James and Lee Ethel Bull are two daughters, four grandchildren, five great-grandchildren, and (at this writing) two great-great- grandchildren.

GLADYS (BULL) KLINGENBERG’S FAMILY

Daughter Gladys married Paul Klingenberg in 1934 after he graduated from the University of Arizona with a degree in agriculture. Paul, a Reserve Officer, was commissioned Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Cavalry in 1931. He worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps and the Soil Erosion Service. The family moved several times between 1934 and the beginning of World War II. They had two sons, John Burton and Dan Mien, during that time.

Paul was called into active service prior to World War II, and was immediately re-assigned to the U.S. Army Air Corps. While he served overseas during the war, Gladys returned to Tucson with their sons. After the war their daughter, Jeanne Lee, was born.

In January 1946, after his active military service, Paul returned to his position with the Soil Conservation Service in Tucson. In 1950 he retired from this position and joined his father-in-law, James B. Bull, in his farming operation. The Klingenberg family moved to the Continental area, and all three of their children finished eighth grade at Continental School. Older son John graduated from Tucson High School, and younger son Dan and daughter Jeanne both graduated from Pueblo High School in Tucson. All three of Gladys and Paul’s children graduated from the University of Arizona College of Agriculture.

Paul retired a Lieutenant Colonel in the U.S. Air Force in 1967. He and Gladys continue to live in Green Valley, Arizona, just west of their two homes built on Bull Farms, east of Interstate 19.

Descendants of Gladys and Paul Klingenberg

John Klingenberg

Gladys and Paul’s elder son, John, married Mary Jean Harper of Tucson in 1959. They have two sons, Jeffrey Paul, born in 1962, and Douglas Eugene, born in 1964. John is actively engaged in agriculture in the Wellton-Mohawk Valley east of Yuma, Arizona.

John and Mary Jean’s elder son, Jeff, married Rena Allen in Tucson in 1985. Jeff earned a Bachelor’s degree in Agronomy at the University of Arizona, a Master’s degree in Agronomy at New Mexico State University, and a Doctor of Philosophy degree in Horticulture at the University of Nebraska. Jeff is currently a plant breeder with Farmers Marketing Corporation in Phoenix. He and Rena have one son, Henry Allen, born in 1995.

John and Mary Jean’s younger son, Doug, married Jngrid Sikora of Phoenix in 1989. Doug earned a Bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of Arizona. He is currently an administrative assistant with Action-Net Group, Inc. of Mesa, Arizona. He and Jngrid have one son, Timothy John, born in 1993.

Dan Klingenberg

Gladys and Paul’s younger son, Dan, served in the Peace Corps and later earned a Master’s degree in Latin-American Studies at Stanford University. He worked for several years as Officer, Associate Technical Director of Agriculture at Chase Manhattan Bank in New York and a year with Chase Panama. Since 1987 he has been employed as Vice President of Marketing and Branch Administration of Farm Credit Services of Southern California in San Bernardino.

Jeanne (Klingenberg) Herrman

The Klingenbergs’ daughter, Jeanne, married David Thomas Herrman III (Tom) of La Canada, California, in 1971. They have one son, Bryant Christopher, born in 1976, currently a college student. Jeanne is a dietician, and since 1990 has served as Chief Clinical Dietician at Huntington Memorial Hospital in Pasadena, California. She resides with her family in La Canada, California.

MARGARET (BULL) EPPS’ FAMILY

Jim and Lee’s daughter Margaret married William Edward Epps in 1940. Margaret and Ed moved to Chicago after their wedding, where Ed attended seminary. He was ordained at the First Baptist Church in Tucson in 1943 and served as Associate Pastor there from 1948 to 1954. Ed was Senior Pastor with several churches- -first in Oelwein, Iowa, where their only son, William Edward Epps II, was born in 1944; then in Yuma, Arizona; La Mesa, California; and Julian, California, where the Epps still reside. Ed established a Bible Study Center in Julian. He served as the center’s president and it was in operation for seven years when he retired. Margaret was very supportive and active in her husband’s ministries.

Descendants of Margaret and Edward Epps

William Edward Epps II

The Epps’ only son, William Edward Epps II, married Mary Sherman of Santa Ana, California, in 1970. Ed and Mary have lived in Julian, California, since their marriage. They have two sons, Jonathan Brooke, born in 1973, and Julian Andrew, born in 1976. Mary and Ed have both taught in the Julian school system. Their sons graduated from high school there, and as of this writing, both are college students.

PART 3

 James B. and Lee Ethel Bull

as Remembered by Others

MEMORIES OF J. B. BULL AND LEE ETHEL (McCONNELL) BULL

 by John Klingenberg, grandson

My earliest memories of my grandparents, Lee Ethel and James Burton Bull, are probably from when I was three or four years old. This would be about 1939 or 1940. I recall seeing photographs showing both of my grandparents with me in various activities and places. However, because my granddaddy was developing his farm operation south of Tucson in the late 1930’s, I became acutely aware of some of the farm activities very early in my life.

At the onset of World War II in 1942, my father, Paul J. Klingenberg, was sent overseas to be a part of the North African Campaign. He was gone from our family for over two years. At that time my mother, Gladys (Bull) Klingenberg, took up residence in Tucson at 1236 N. Fourth Avenue with my brother Dan and myself.

During the next two or more years, I saw quite a lot of my grandparents. They lived “down at the farm”--as the farm was described for many years.

Grandmother and Granddaddy would generally come to Tucson to attend the First Baptist Church most every Sunday, after which we either went out to Sunday dinner somewhere in Tucson or to our house on Fourth Avenue, where Mother would have a dinner prepared.

I know that I would look forward to trips down to the farm before I was five years old. Granddaddy and Grandmother lived in a small frame house, just east of the Old Nogales Highway and the railroad tracks. Their house was near a small cow barn and corrals. I suppose I started getting my farm and ranch interest about this time.

I remember Grandmother milking a Guernsey cow by the name of Bossy. She also had chickens for eggs and meat. It always fascinated Dan and me when she would kill a chicken by cutting off its head, and sometimes the bird would jump away and flop all around the yard without its head. Very intriguing to small boys.

Another memory of the house site was an old mule that was kept in the corral. Granddaddy would saddle that mule for me to ride, and as I was only four or five (I think), they would let me ride this mule around the house in the yard. I would ride around and around so many times that Grandmother would come out of the house and say she was tired of watching me go around in the same direction. She would then turn the mule around to go in the opposite direction.

The farm was primarily a cotton farm, but Granddaddy did feed cattle in a small lot. At that time, he was putting up silage in a pit for some of the feed. I can still smell the odor of the silage pit.

It was not uncommon for me to ride around the farm with Granddaddy so I had lots of time to visit with him as a small boy. During the War years, Granddaddy drove a pickup truck, but later he began to drive a sedan car. I liked the pickup best. I remember one time he had Danny and me with him in the car and for some reason he needed to cut across a field that was furrowed up. The car was jumping up and down so hard that Dan and I could hardly set in our seats. We had a great time that day.

When I was five years old, and my Dad was away to war, we were visiting the farm for a few days. Granddaddy came home from Tucson with a load of plumbing pipe tied to the side of the pickup. He had parked out on the road, south of the house. I decided to climb around on the truck and promptly fell off and broke my right elbow. My mother and Granddaddy had to rush me to Tucson to have me attended to, along with a police escort down Sixth Avenue to Thomas-Davis Clinic. I had a bad time with that arm for several years.

I started first grade in 1944. Dad came home from overseas duty in the Army Air Corps in the early fall of that year. Mother had gone to get him from somewhere, and Dan and I stayed with Grandmother and Granddaddy during that time. I remember seeing my Dad for the first time in Grandmother and Granddaddy’s house on the farm. It was a strange feeling to see him, after not seeing him for so long. He came into the house in uniform. Dad was a lieutenant-colonel, and I was very proud of him. I guess that makes the old farm house have some special memories in my early childhood.

In that same time period of the fall of 1944, Dad was transferred to Tinker Field Air Base at Midwest City, Oklahoma. On the morning we left to travel from Tucson to Oklahoma we went down to the farm to say goodbye to my grandparents. At that time Granddaddy was engaged in a contract with the U. S. Government to have a prisoner of war camp constructed right on the farm. This camp was to be used as a German prisoner of war facility. The camp was under construction on the day we left for Oklahoma. Looking back, it must have been strange for my Dad to come home and find German prisoners were going to be on the farm after he had just come back from the war with them. We stayed in Oklahoma until after the war ended in August 1945. When we returned to Tucson, the POW camp was still in full swing, so I got to see some real Germans. These prisoners were used as farm labor, mostly picking cotton and weeding. I heard that a couple of Germans had actually escaped, but were caught later.

We again lived at the Fourth Avenue house in Tucson, and Dan and I went to University Heights Elementary School. I finished through the sixth grade. Dad had gone to work for the Soil Conservation Service during the late 1940’s. Jeanne was born in 1948. Dan and I then had a cute baby sister to look after.

In 1950, Granddaddy had been asking my Dad to come to work on the farm. My parents decided to move down to the farm and to build a new house. I was very much in favor of this move, as I always dreamed of living on a farm or ranch. I was in the seventh grade when we moved and Dan and I enrolled at the Continental School. Our Granddaddy was a member of the school board at that time. The school was basically a three-room school, with three teachers. The two years I attended, through the eighth grade, were a good experience. We then had to go to Tucson to attend high school, which was a bus trip of about 30 miles.

During the years I actually lived on the farm and before college, I think Dan and I gained a good rural upbringing. Life was probably harder on Dad and Mother than us kids as far as keeping a good balance between farm operation demands and family life. However, I believe it all turned out very well in the long run.

During the farm years, the main labor crew consisted of Papago Indians. Granddaddy seemed to have some feel for the Indians. I know that he and my Dad had to put up with a lot of problems with these workers, but they were pretty faithful employers to watch after them. Many trips to the Reservation were made to pick up or take back families from season to season. I know that Granddaddy had to go to Tucson several times to bail out one of the men from jail after a weekend.

Our grandparents bought a television set in the late 1950’s. We kids were allowed to go to their house to watch The Ed Sullivan Show and a comedy called Private Secretary with Ann Southern. We looked forward to that time all week.

Granddaddy always had time to chat with his grandchildren. One of his favorite questions to any of us was “whether we thought we would amount to something”. While this was somewhat of a negative comment, it did make one think about the future a little stronger.

Grandmother was always near the house. She did not drive a car herself. She said that she tried to learn but felt dizzy in steering the car. It could be that she came from such a different time that acceptance of a contraption like a car was difficult.

Sunday dinners at my Grandmother’s house on the farm were always a treat. Grandmother could really cook and was able to present a table that you couldn’t go away from hungry. Her fried chicken and pies were especially wonderful.

As we grandchildren got older, I can remember becoming more aware of how Granddaddy would be vocalizing the economics of farming. He seemed to be constantly wanting to remind the family members of how tough it was to farm and keep the finances together. As for myself in the farming business now, I can readily see what his own problems were. Sometimes, when he would indicate to me how tough times were in the farming business, he would ask me if I wanted to “buy a farm”. I, being very naive about what he was talking about, would say that I would not mind owning a farm. Again, sometimes Granddaddy’s remarks were in the negative, but at the same time I believe he felt that we should be forewarned of difficulties one might encounter in business.

After I had completed college and started my own career in agriculture in the Yuma, Arizona area, the farm was sold, approximately two years after my Grandmother had passed away. I was sad to see the farm operation cease, but sometimes good things must end and new endeavors begin. At this time Granddaddy was about 80 years old. He found new challenges in learning about the workings of investing money that was coming in from the land sale to Anaconda Mining Company. Each trip to Green Valley was an education for any of us, as Granddaddy wanted to get us aside and explain everything he was doing to build the income from the growing farm sale payments. He worked on this project mostly by buying municipal bonds. I would say that he spent at least five of the last years of his life working at money management, all with an eye to benefiting his family. I know that I have always been grateful for the benefits I have received and have tried to put them to use as I believe he would have approved.

In conclusion, I have to say that I am grateful and proud to have grandparents who struggled to do something positive with their lives and to have given me a good heritage to pass on to my own family in the American tradition.

GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDDADDY BULL

by Mary Jean (Harper) Klingenberg, granddaughter-in-law

During John’s and my courting years at college, I have many fond memories of interesting lunches after church with Grandmother and Granddaddy Bull. Granddaddy would fill me in on the Bull family and what they were all doing; he had a good gift of story telling and a sense of humor. He seemed dominant in the family. Grandmother was always the sweet, gracious, obedient wife.

Granddaddy gave me fair warning about marrying into such a large family one day when we visited the farm. Many opinions and lifestyles were there to watch.

I can remember Grandmother’s kitchen with her big chiming clock, and the good smells that came out of there. One day when she was making her notably good lemon pie, I followed her around the kitchen to discover her secret. I watched her add twice the butter to the recipe and that was what made the creamy difference!

For their golden wedding anniversary, I was given the honor of doing the drawings for their special history book. Also, earlier on the day of the party, I had the privilege of combing out her soft curls. It was just beautiful.

John and I both loved them dearly and miss them.

MY LIFE ON THE FARM

by Dan Klingenberg, grandson

I doubt I was really born to be a farm kid. An Army brat, maybe. But when I was 10, my folks gathered up my brother, sister and me and we moved to my grandparents’ farm in 1950. I took to it like a duck takes to water. There was plenty of space. Picking cotton was a kick, and attending an eight-grade, two-room schoolhouse was an experience to treasure. I learned to hunt and the folks put on great hayride parties for their church friends.

Why we moved to the west side of the Santa Cruz River and not close to the Nogales Highway, I’m not quite sure. This meant quite a walk or drive through dusty roads to catch the school bus (a pickup truck), to go to town (Tucson), or to visit the grandparents (they had the TV). In August, there was also the problem of getting trapped when the river flooded.

A redeeming feature of being on the “west side” was the magnificent view of the Santa Rita Mountains, a memory I’ve always carried with me and return often to enjoy. I guess the “west side” was also a good place to raise my 4-H Club projects (mostly beef calves), and I have a fond memory of a marshmallow roast with my friends from town when our house was being built. I’m not sure I liked very much having to mow our huge Bermuda grass lawn with a push mower. Was this a form of character building?

Needless to say, I was glad when we moved to the “east side”, in the foothills just behind my grandparents’ house. Dad built our house in the same floor plan as the other one; but this one faced west, and the view of the Santa Rita Mountains was not as good. Still, we were closer to the school bus and to Grandmother’s Arkansas- style family dinners, which always seemed to include fried chicken, fresh vegetables, and homemade ice cream. I remember the ice cream especially since I got to turn the crank and add the ice and salt.

I knew as a farm family we were making progress when an electric ice maker was purchased and my folks bought a TV for our very own. Even so, we still enjoyed getting together at the grandparents’ to watch I Love Lucy and The Ed Sullivan Show. Progress was also shown in that the grandparents no longer raised the chickens and milked the cows as they did in the very early days before we moved to the farm. As long as I lived on the farm, however, the cotton was sprayed from the air by low-flying aircraft. Never knowing or even thinking of this as a harmful practice, the buzz of the airplane and the smell of the insecticide in the early morning hours is a vivid memory.

By now, the supermarkets were coming to Green Valley which curiously was being developed, that’s right, on the “west side”. And who would ever have thought that they would put a super-highway over there? I guess stranger things have happened. After all, the Continental School Board (my grandfather was a member) voted to add a third classroom and to replace the pickup truck with a real school bus with flashing lights and all. Imagine my surprise when they built a brand new school to the east on the mesa. It was sad to see the old school close.

Life on the farm had its ups and downs, however. The folks insisted that if we were going to buy a horse, it would best be procured at the livestock auction in town. The price was right, although I doubt they realized the wild nature of an auction horse. Larkey, for example, seemed to be the perfect horse for a kid; but get him out in the open, plowed field, and there was no question of who was in control. All I could do was hold on for dear life. And why he always decided to buck me off in the middle of the labor camp right in front of everybody, I’ll never know.

My worst memory on the farm took place when I was 15 years old. Some of us kids had decided to shuck dried ears of corn that were stored in a shed just behind my grandparents’ house. My six-year-old cousin, Elaine, and I chose to do this while sitting on the edge of the old well which was nearby. That’s when tragedy struck. For a fleeting moment, I turned only to see Elaine slip without a sound between the railroad ties that held the newly installed pump apparatus. She fell 60 feet; and we knew, when Dad retrieved her with a carefully and quickly made rope cradle, that she never had a chance. Farm accidents occur all the time, but I still find it hard to believe it could happen to us.

My grandfather had a part to play in my career in banking, which at this writing spans more than 27 years. I don’t think he ever wanted me to drive a tractor. “To be a success, Danny boy,” he used to say, “you have to take bookkeeping, and I’ll give you a job in the office so you can get some experience.” And that’s what happened. I enrolled in bookkeeping at Tucson High School and worked part-time recording time and payroll records for the farm. This all seemed like a good idea since that’s how he got his start. I got paid something and the office was cool. I vow, however, that I will never start work as he did, at three o’clock in the morning.

Well, so much for life on the farm. They say, “you can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” And that’s the way it has been, as virtually all my career has been related to agriculture: county extension agent in Yuma, Peace Corps in Venezuela, cattle feeding in Montana and Arizona, and agricultural banking for the Chase Manhattan Bank and Farm Credit Services of Southern California. And, yes, I still mow my own lawn as that’s good for character, and I tell any kid who will listen to me to be sure and take bookkeeping, as it is the secret of success.

BULL FARMS

THE FOUNDATION OF MY LIFE

by Jeanne Lee (Klingenberg) Herrman, granddaughter

Someday in 1950, my memory of being starts at a brick house on Bull Farms located three-quarters of a mile from Highway 89 on the west side of the Santa Cruz River. After World War II my father, Paul, returned to Tucson and to his position with the Soil Conservation Service. My family moved into our newly built house on the farm in February 1950 and my father became associated with Grandfather Bull’s farming operation shortly thereafter. A house design was selected by my parents from a magazine. The magazine concept was adapted by an architect friend and constructed of brick and included large windows. This was the beginning of my life on Bull Farms; experiencing the unique joy, solitude, and sadness of rural living.

The brick house with a room of my own looks out to a large grassed yard. The yard is watered by flooding. It is mowed by my brother Dan, who often gets speeding reprimands from our mother, Gladys. The mower was a birthday gift to her one year, not totally appreciated! A gas powered mower, I think.

I run around the yard, sometimes hopping over a snake--a rattler perhaps, but I would not waste time identifying the species--and rush inside the house. The snake appears again when my brother, Dan, goes out the back door one night and shrieks at the realization he almost stepped on a rattlesnake on the door mat. To this day when I visit my parents in Green Valley, I cautiously step outside in dim light for fear of meeting the snake again.

The desert land surrounding the house is filled with endless hours of make- believe and play. I would play in the sandy wash beds with friends of Papago heritage, Laura Ann and Arlene Lewis. Other days we would swim in the irrigation ditches, sliding on the algae that grew on the concrete walls. When the planted fields around the house were growing and producing their crop of cotton or sorghum, we would find reason to play hide and seek in the planted rows. At harvest time we would try to participate in the picking of cotton. The task, too overwhelming, would be replaced with jumping in the trailers full of fluffy cotton. A lot more fun, by far! Mother would often call “Jeanne, time to come in”, and I would be so involved in our games that Laura Ann and Arlene would have to tell me “Your mother is calling. You better go home, now!” Mother never could understand why I took so long in reporting home after her call.

A small distance to the east of the brick house was a fascinating adobe building. This was home to Laura Ann and Arlene and their family. The floors were well swept dirt. Smells of homemade tortillas made on a mesquite wood burning stove would fill the air in the evenings. Later I learned that this was a stagecoach station on a route from Tucson to Sasabe.

The mother and aunt of my friends sat for hours making their native baskets from parts of yucca and black devil’s claw. Occasionally for a change of pace they would switch to wire, forming just as intricate baskets. Cherished today are my special gift baskets of quality and techniques that are rare to find today. I never learned the craft or their language, I guess out of respect for their own heritage and not wanting to intrude, but rather marvel from my perspective.

Talk of their homes far away in Sells, Arizona, inspired me to one day to climb aboard my red tricycle and pedal to the “reservation”. In a pea green pickup, my father and brother John came shortly down the dirt road through the fields just before the Santa Cruz River to pick up my tricycle and myself. I was returned safely home. I never asked to go to the reservation again, at least not without escort or motorized transportation.

The brick house was a short distance from a big shed and corrals. My memory has recall of a black and white goat brought home by my brother John from a livestock auction. The goat was my playmate of the closest kind, letting me dress, push, and pull him. But one of my first memories of death happened when he gets into the farm fertilizer in the shed and dies a few days later.

The shed housed tools--tools to remove my training wheels on my Schwinn bike. Hastily on a hot day I pedaled to the shed, maneuvering down a dip in a small wash, only to tip the bike and my scantily clothed body fully into the arms of a cholla cactus. The next memories are of hot tub baths, mother with tweezers, and sitting on pillows at dinner with the family.

In the brick house are special places and things. A liquor cabinet with a special hidden wooden lock. Swinging door from kitchen to dining room. A hand crank phone with a ringing system to identify the intended caller. Was ours one Long ring and two short rings? The spot where my Siamese cat “Mimi” took long naps and who I startled awake one afternoon receiving many scratches on my face. The bathroom where I watched my mother shampoo her hair and one time tested electricity by poking a hair clip into the socket. Ouch! My bedroom became more of a hideaway due to my many medical conditions (allergies, Valley Fever, and measles). Memories of opening exciting “Get Well” gift boxes provided by my first grade teacher, Mrs. Hughes. The boxes are filled with a gift a day and letters from my classmates. The Letters are on wide lined writing paper with near perfect penmanship, decorated with colorful crayon drawings.

The back patio holds memories of mother washing clothes in a Maytag wringer washer. Rinsing the clothes required two large laundry tubs, and moving the Maytag with wringer from tub to tub to thoroughly rinse and wring the water from the clothes. This took hours, followed by hanging the clothes outside on the clothesline with clothespins. It was an all day chore and heavy work, considering the quantity of Levi’s and T-shirts the three men of the house would dirty. Mother would be wet all over. The next day was spent ironing and ironing. Also, in the back patio were solid metal patio chairs and mesquite couches and chairs. Classic and fashionable in today’s decorating themes.

The corrals remind me of horses that I dearly desired to ride, but which I could not master. One fall still is vivid in my mind, as well as the scary fall Dan took between the back patio wall and car resulting in his broken nose. Since riding a horse was not for me, I turned to reading books of horse fantasy and the mysterious “hidden valley”.

John and Dan raise 4-H calves at the corral. Dan also raised ducks and rabbits. The Hereford calves impressed me with their beauty; white-white and red- red fur, and longest eyelashes. I learned that death came hard to them, when one of John’s calves ate poor feed and bloated. John, Dan, and father walked and walked the animal in an attempt to save her. She dies. Her remains were left in the river bed, which I visit to experience the deterioration process.

Life was good at the house. Father built a great swing down by the water tank that stood high in the air. He built the frame out of pipe and stood it tall next to the water tank. The seat was attached to the pipe frame with heavy chain. The wooden seat was wide so two of us could swing and swing.

Sometime around age 5 my cousin, Elaine, moved to the farm across the river, near to my grandparents. What fun! I think she was one year older. It was a short memory. She was playing one day with my brother Dan and his friend, James Bowden, at a new well site past my grandparents’ house. It was safe, but she was small and thin. She slipped through the railroad ties and plunged a couple of hundred feet below. The phone rang (one long, two short rings) to the brick house and my mother and I rushed to the other part of the farm. My dad had lowered himself down the well shaft on a rope, and pulled her out. An ambulance was at her house when we arrived. They could not save her. She died on the couch in her new home. (I had never seen an ambulance this far from Tucson.) I lost my best, new friend. I experienced a funeral of a little girl in a white casket. Her mother, ma, fainted and had to be revived with smelling salt. The family gathered at Grandmother and Grandfather Bull’s house to console Elaine’s family and to eat homemade Arkansas recipes.

Off to first grade in a yellow bus with my metal lunch box and thermos and my friends Laura Ann and Arlene. Mother usually drove us through the fields, down through the Santa Cruz river bed and to Bull Farms’ mailbox on the Old Nogales Highway to wait for the bus. The bus was big (seating probably 12 kids maximum)! And the “long” drive through the big dip by the FICO cattle lot and past the Continental store over the railroad tracks to the three-room country school.

The school had wonderful sights and sounds. Blackboards that covered a full wall in each room. Erasers with chalk dust that we each had to take turns at cleaning. Clocks with pendulums. The call to class with a hand bell usually rung by Mrs. O’Brien. Three lines of students formed by the assigned classroom. Each morning by 8:45, a different student steps out from the line formation to state “Ready”, and the rest of us follow with “I pledge allegiance . . . .“ Bookcases with glass doors. Behind the doors were rows and rows of Hardy Boys books. I eventually read the whole collection. Friends of all colors with lots to learn and to share. Friends with different native languages strongly punished for not speaking English on the school grounds. Friends who could not stay the entire school year because their fathers followed the rotation of crops or the availability of work on ranches in southern Arizona.

At the end of the school day we would ride the school bus back to the mailboxes and walk the three-quarters of a mile to my grandparents’ house to watch TV (we did not have one) until mother came and picked us up. Grandmother would leave snacks- -often warm pot roast, Rainbo white bread, and mayonnaise. A flavor I still savor, but cannot duplicate. Grandfather always kept Juicy Fruit and Double Mint Gum in the secret drawer of his grand roll-top desk in the office space at the house.

On special nights of the week our family would visit the grandparents to watch TV (The Twilight Zone, Alfred Hitchcock, Ed Sullivan, Lawrence Welk, and Maverick). Sundays Grandmother often fixed fried chicken, pressure cooked fresh snapped green beans with salt pork, homemade biscuits, fresh peach pie. Peaches came from the trees behind their house--another taste I can’t find today. At very special times, she prepared homemade ice cream which we cranked and cranked. The salt and ice chemistry always mystified me, as well as the mystery of why turning a liquid mixture would create ice cream.

When I was 10, for some reason not clear to me at the time, the folks decided to move. That was scary because they looked at houses in Tucson. I did not want to leave my house, my school, and my friends. Finally Father decided to build on the hill above the Bulls’ house. His nights were spent designing the house himself, using the current brick house layout as the foundation. It was great watching him be creative and then to see his ideas turn into a new house. One day in 1959, we moved. Stake bed trucks made many, many trips back and forth. The view from the hill was wonderful. We looked out over the grandparents’ house and across to the Sierrita Mountain Range, Twin Buttes and just barely visible was the Magee Ranch. I was away from my friends across the river in the stagecoach house, but more friends were near my grandparents’ house--Jo-Jo, Pauline, and Yvonne.

Two rows of adobe apartments were just beyond my grandparents’ house. The Papago families often cooked outside when the weather was good on large mesquite fires. The women patiently formed tortillas from small balls. They were cooked on oil drum lids placed carefully on the burning mesquite logs. At Christmas tamales were cooked special. The adobe apartments had wooden screen doors and window shutters covering deeply set openings. These have always remained as an architectural implant in my brain.

I had new areas to explore and new adventures. The hills were covered with broken, painted pottery pieces from Indian tribes of centuries past. A grave protected by a wrought iron fence sat silent just north of the grandparents’ house east of the “Old, Old Nogales Highway”. It was the grave of a former owner of the land. Another corral. I would watch cowhands brand calves. Continual memories of Elaine since the corral was built by the well; happy memories, though. A realization that farming was a 24-hour commitment, watching my father assure that the fields of cotton, grain and peanuts were watered and harvested day and night. The employees also took a lot of time to recruit and transport. Sometimes one of the helpers would get in trouble and Father would be called to assist. A man died in one of our houses from a kerosene stove explosion; a worker died on the Old Nogales Highway because he wandered onto the road and was hit by a car.

By now I was aware of the expanse of the farm my grandparents and parents were managing. The area of fields covered east of the Santa Cruz and east past our second house to an area on the hill we called “Jackrabbit Hill”, and sections near Sahuarita. They also leased land from the government and tried their hand at grazing cattle on the grass east and south of our second house. I also was aware that they were the largest producers of peanuts in Arizona. Peanut harvest was as much fun as cotton season. After the peanuts were harvested by a potato digger, we would go out and collect the ones that fell off the machine. The coyotes really liked this time of year also. Lying in bed at night I could hear them chatter as they ate the peanuts in the fields.

During these years I became closer to my grandparents, Lee Ethel and James Burton. My grandmother possessed, in addition to her cooking skills, the masterful art of sewing and crocheting. Grandfather, although a very stern and demanding person most of the time, could be light and merry. He would pinch my elbow and say “Jeanne Girl”. While we watched TV together, if someone performed an athletic feat he would say, “Jeanne Girl, bet you can’t do that!” Grandfather would often swirl together honey and butter on his plate to put on Grandmother’s biscuits.

I went through the years adapting to life on the farm; going to and from Continental school; going from season to season in school plays; raising 4-H lambs and a calf, sewing and cooking for the Pima County Fairs; awaiting out of state visits from my cousin Ed; and playing with my cat Mimi and dog Penny and numerous other cats and dogs.

On a birthday, my 12th, I believe, I received a different birthday present from my grandparents. It was a viewing of blueprints for a planned community just beyond our first brick house. It showed a freeway in place of Highway 89 and sketches of apartments and a shopping center. This would later become Green Valley. The drawings were on loan from the owner of FICO, Keith Walden. Wow, this was exciting!

Before long the yellow school bus changed to a Greyhound Bus which took me and my other classmates to Tucson either to Pueblo High or Sunnyside High. The time on the bus was long, with the bus stopping whenever the pull cord directed it. We, the school kids, enjoyed our time to socialize in the back of the bus. The paid passengers were diverse and sometimes unfolded interesting events. At high school we met the “rich” kids from the district of Sahuarita arriving in their yellow bus and merged with the city kids in a large building. For me it was Pueblo High School holding 1800 students, and requiring rotating classes of 90-minute durations. Our interests and circle of friends changed slightly.

In 1966 I graduated from Pueblo and went on to the University of Arizona to major in Foods and Nutrition. In 1968 my grandmother passed away, setting in motion the decision by my grandfather to sell the farm to Anaconda Mines. At the age of 20 my life on Bull Farms was concluded, to be viewed from across the valley, in our third house. Again my father designed the house basing it on the second house. This time the house is located off of the Continental Road and Interstate 19 (the freeway I saw on the blueprints).

My grandfather spent five years in the apartment of this house with my parents. Visits were spent with him reminiscing about many special times on the farm. He often would direct tours of the farm and Green Valley area when family came to visit. He would sit in the passenger seat and point silently as to the direction he expected the driver to take at a moment’s notice!

Today I live in La Canada, California with my husband Tom and son Bryant. Memories of the farm come around often since many sights and smells of the farm are now trendy in Southern California--mesquite cooking, southwestern furniture and architecture, and reruns of The Westerner movie. My professional direction spun off from my experiences on the farm; dietitian functioning primarily as a supervisor/manager in food service and clinical nutrition care of patients in hospitals. Visits back to Green Valley to see my parents are always partially reminiscent of the past and filled with astonishment at the growth in the area. I take great pride in knowing I am a descendent of Mr. and Mrs. James B. Bull, and Mr. and Mrs. Paul J. Klingenberg, who had the vision and fortitude to cultivate the potential of the Land in this gorgeous and historic valley.

MEMORIES OF MY GRANDPARENTS

 by Ed Epps, Jr., grandson

There is a flood of memories that fill my head concerning my grandparents and their effect on my life, and they are all positive. My grandparents represented stability and success for me at that time. I admire the saga of leaving Arkansas before World War I in 1916 and heading west for a new life. They had humble beginnings and worked hard to make a new life for their family. (Apart from a few business trips, they didn’t seem to know how to enjoy their wealth according to today’s standards.) Apart from personal achievement I was proud of the awards that Grandfather won in his field. Knowing them in those days, my formative years, gave me an appreciation for all the hard work that small farmers all across America do.

Grandfather cared for all of us and showed his love in many ways, but he was not affectionate, as were not many men of that era. I was always glad to be with him. We shared a bedroom when I visited. Sometimes he would scratch my back at night and pretend to be planting and caring for cotton. He always had to be working”.

My Grandmother made up for any faults that Grandfather may have had. She was very affectionate with me and always seemed to have a sweet spirit. The meals we had on the ranch were legendary. Great cook! I can also remember her having headaches and having to go to bed.

Driving around with Grandfather as a boy and later as his chauffeur was an important memory. He talked, I listened. Cruising the ranch, checking on the irrigation and the farm hands was fun for me. I can remember him signaling me to turn the car with the slightest flick of his finger. The car was followed by billows of dust no matter how slowly we drove and the tires somehow always got covered with mud. This provided a job for me when we returned to the house and I spent many hours washing his car.

On these drives Grandfather would always get around to what I would be when I grew up. At that time, I was living from day to day and could barely think about what I would be doing during the next summer. So to forestall the big question and to put him off, I would say that I wanted to park cars for a living. I don’t know if he thought it was a joke or not, but I meant it that way. He cared for me and was concerned that I make a good living as an adult. I always got the feeling that it would be great if I were a bookkeeper like he was, something which I had no aptitude for whatsoever. He did help me out financially with my college education and eventually with the purchase of our first house. 

A lot of what I remember about my grandparents centers around their ranch, although I did get to see them doing the “California scene” once a year during hay fever season, which was in August. And I have inherited something besides their wealth--I have inherited his genes which leave me susceptible to allergies. My sons, too, have the same problem. And so it goes down the generations.

In California they would always rent a place at the beach and we would be invited to be with them there. It was great fun. He rented my first TV during one of those times. This was my exposure to technology in the 1950’s. I suppose if he were alive today, we would be hopping on the information highway together.

Back to the ranch . . . . Holidays were always very special for our extended family in those days. Grandmother was a great cook and enjoyed seeing all of us eat up. Her pies and biscuits were outstanding. Being part of a large family felt like I belonged to someone besides my parents. The things we did and the old house almost seemed to have a magical quality. I’m very thankful for that experience.

The house was a real shelter from the summer storms that blew across the desert. The sky would turn black. Lightning would strike the earth, knocking out the electricity, and the wind and rain would rage on the land. The smell of kerosene heaters and lamps takes me back to that era. I felt safe inside the thick adobe walls. Occasionally the arroyos would flood, cutting off the ranch from the rest of the world. Exciting! In the summer the house was a shelter from the killing heat. The drone of the air conditioner meant all was well and cool inside. After the ranch was sold, I returned with my wife to show her the house and it seemed so small and frail, hardly the place that I had remembered. I have learned since growing up that a child’s view of things is always different from what really happened.

In summary, my grandparents did what they could to make the best of life at that time and they did an outstanding job. The unique circumstances they had to deal with did not stop them from getting what they thought was best for them. They provided a stable relationship and family in spite of the challenges of that day. I know they would be proud of their grandchildren for what we have accomplished, as well as their great-grandchildren. They certainly did their best to help us all get a good start in our various lives.

THE J. B. BULL I KNEW

by Bishop Harp, great-nephew

 (Son of Autry and Argie Harp;

Bishop also had three sisters: Margie (deceased), Lona, and Blanche)

My family went to Uncle Jim’s farm in 1937. My father, A. A. Harp, was a nephew of J. B. Bull. During the Depression years Dad was laid off from the Southern Pacific Railroad and needed work. So Uncle Jim gave him an opportunity to farm for him.

Dad had been a farmer in Mansfield, Arkansas, before he went to El Paso, Texas, to live and work on the old EPSW that was owned or became part of the Southern Pacific. But the cotton that was grown in Arkansas was entirely different from the irrigated cotton grown on the Bull farm in Arizona.

Uncle Jim was an imposing man, tall and aristocratic looking. I can’t remember seeing him outside the house without a hat on his head. Most of the time Uncle Jim came to his farm on Sunday afternoon. If it was during the irrigating season Dad, Uncle Jim and I would walk the ditch banks making sure that the water was within the ditch banks and was being moved onto the fields.

When we first went to Continental the irrigation system we used was two ditches side by side. The main ditch was moving the water into the ditch that had rubber hoses within the walls of the bank that let the water flow onto the cotton rows. These rubber hoses were discarded air hoses from rail cars. To keep the water flowing we had sticks that we used to clear mud and debris from the hoses. As we became better irrigators we found that a single ditch with flexible hoses could siphon a more efficient flow of water to the cotton.

The source of water we used was a 1500-foot well that was pure, sweet and cold. Our main ditches took off from the well in three different directions. The southwesterly supply moved through an underground concrete pipe to the big ditch. The outlet area was covered in Bermuda grass and was about 6 to 8 feet deep. It was a great place on a hot summer day to go skinny dipping. Our irrigation crews worked around the clock keeping the water moving.

The machinery on the farm consisted of a John Deere model 0 tractor, a two row cultivator, a disc, a barrow, a three batten turning plow, and a two row cotton planter (converted from horse-drawn). During cotton planting season the school authorities were very generous about letting me miss school so I could ride the cotton planter pulled by the tractor. Actually the cotton planter was really designed to be a corn planter but could be used with the proper insert to plant cotton.

Around 1939 Uncle Jim’s prized possessions were two big, dapple-gray Percheron mares. Both were with foal when he bought them. I can’t remember their names but we used them to pull stumps as we cleared additional acres and to pull the 40-foot float we used to level the fields so that water would flow properly. During the summer months Uncle Jim would come down on Sunday afternoon and we would give the mares a swim in the irrigation ditch outlet. Then Uncle Jim would brush their manes and tails, clean their hooves and take care of their teeth.

One of the mares had a beautiful foal, black with a white blaze on his forehead. Uncle Jim halter-broke him and was training him. When I was working the team in the fields the colt would cavort around for a while, then walk alongside his mother; then I would stop the team so he could nurse. The other mare’s foal was stillborn. It was a very sad day on the farm. It took a great deal of coaxing to get the mare away from her foal.

The making of The Westerner was a financial boon for all of us. I was hired as security to keep people from entering the farm during filming, and Dad was hired as a technical advisor. I made $3.50 per day and Dad made $5.00, I think. The movie company also fed us lunch, and if filming took place late in the afternoon there was also a meal or snack for us.

As a technical advisor, Dad’s main function was to record the use of crops or property that were to be paid for, and he kept a daily diary of what was used or misused.

Settlement day came when the movie was completed. Uncle Jim, Dad and I had our bills ready. We had stopped at a little cafe to have a glass of iced tea, and Dad and Uncle Jim went over the list and priced the items that the movie company was to pay for.

Later, after the producer paid Dad and me in cash, he asked Uncle Jim if he had his statement ready. Uncle Jim gave his statement to the producer, but after studying the list, the producer asked, “Are you trying to make me the laughing stock in Hollywood?” Uncle Jim was taken aback and told the man he had tried to be realistic but if it was too much, he would refigure the statement. The producer told Uncle Jim that it wasn’t enough and that he should refigure the statement at ten times what he had submitted. The producer added, “Refigure it and bring it back.”

After another glass of iced tea, Uncle Jim had refigured it and presented his bill; the producer said, “That’s more like it.” He gave Uncle Jim a check which we walked across the street to Valley National Bank, and Uncle Jim paid off his mortgage.

The introduction of Pima cotton to the Bull place was exciting. Our short staple cotton was about 48 to 50 inches high, but the Pima cotton (XSP) grew to well over 6 feet.

Uncle Jim walked the fields of his farm, but he also wore out many cars in his career. The closest way for Uncle Jim was right across the fields.

The corn grew to great heights, sometimes as high as 14 feet. The green corn was made into silage that was put into a pit silo, and the Percheron mares would pull a four-wheel steering wagon down into the pit and out for long periods of time. The feed lot was lit with electric lights and the cattle were fed 24 hours a day. The fermented smell was intoxicating to a boy. The four-wheel steering wagon was made by putting together two Model A front ends that were fixed to steer in a very tight circle.

When we first started farming the cotton was picked by migrant workers that wandered through following the harvests. They were mostly families that were supplied with tents and wood burning stoves to cook and heat with. Most of the migrants had their own lanterns and the stores in Sahuarita and Continental stocked kerosene for them.

Uncle Jim and Dad also made frequent trips to the “Hobo Jungle” in Tucson to hire migrant cotton pickers. The workers would work all week and when they were paid on Saturday at noon they would take their bedrolls and disappear. On Sunday afternoons Dad would take the truck to Tucson to the “Hobo Jungle” and pick up a crew for Monday. A great many of those that had left Saturday afternoon were broke, hung over and ready to come back to work another week. Uncle Jim had an arrangement with the Sahuarita store to give the workers enough food to live on but not over what they would earn.

The unstable work force caused Uncle Jim to go to the Indian reservation and get several families and transport them to the farm. We built a migrant workers’ building of corrugated metal and provided a water supply as well as wood for the cook stoves. The children would travel to Continental School on the school bus--a Ford farm pickup with a wood frame, covered by canvas with wood benches.

We would drive the farm truck as a flatbed to the reservation and load up people, bedrolls, groceries, pets and belongings and take them to the farm. We had another corrugated building that during harvest time was turned into a store. We had all types of non-perishable foodstuffs--flour, lard, beans, salt pork, canned tomatoes, vegetables, cornmeal and such. The workers would sign IOU’s that were deducted from their wages on Saturday. Uncle Jim would drive down from Tucson on Saturday morning about 11:30 to figure the payroll and make the deductions. Then sitting at a table with a muffin tin as a cash drawer for silver and stacks of 20’s, 10’s, S’s and l’s in front of him, they would start to pay the workers. The Indian men would have on their Levi’s, colorful shirts, neckerchiefs, and big black hats. They would stand patiently in line waiting their turn. When it was a worker’s turn to be paid, his wife would hold out her hand to Uncle Jim to accept her husband’s pay, then give her husband $10 or $20, keep a few dollars for herself, and put the balance back in Uncle Jim’s hand to be on deposit with him until the cotton picking season was over and they returned to the reservation.

On Sunday evening Uncle Jim would go by the county jail and pick up the Indians who worked on the farm and bring them back to our migrant group. Even the dogs would snarl at them at night.

Sometimes we had picnics at White House Canyon, where we would go and spend the day. There was always great food and homemade ice cream--at least two freezers of it. Aunt Lee or Mother would bake a big cake and the wedges of cake and ice cream were great. But these outings were limited to occasions like July 4th, Dad’s birthday, etc. because we were farmers and that was a 24-hour-a-day job.

We had chickens, cows, pigs and steers for our food sources. We also had a garden and were able to supply the needs of the Bull and Harp families. We grew a great many of our own vegetables. We had rows of potatoes, peanuts, corn, tomatoes, green beans, etc.

PART 4

Contributions by Gladys and Paul Klingenberg,

Daughter and Son-in-Law

BULL FARMS, INC.

MR. JAMES B. BULL, OWNER

participation 1950 to 1970

 by Paul J. Klingenberg, son-in-law

The opportunity for me to move to the farm and join Mr. Bull in the operation came first as an invitation to build a new house and move the family there while I maintained my position with the U. S. Soil Conservation Service in Tucson. Upon returning from World War II duty I had been able to fill a position in the Tucson office instead of returning to the Phoenix office where I was located when ordered to Active Duty in 1941. (I was separated October 7, 1945.) This assignment had eliminated the necessity of moving the family to Phoenix from Tucson.

On February 15, 1950 we moved to our new house on the farm, a beautiful setting, and I began commuting to my job in Tucson. So far so good! The catch was that Mr. Bull would stop me on the way out to the highway to request that I do an errand for him in town. That would have been fine except that my job took me all over Pima County with little chance to run errands. I guess he got the picture so he decided to invite me to join him full time on the farm.

This proposition took some “soul-searching” since I was well situated with the SCS. However, after Gladys and I talked it over, and after considering all family factors, we decided to accept the offer.

I resigned from the SCS effective April 28, 1950 even though I had a “twinge” of regret. This hesitation was justified when I received the attached letter from Mr. Kinnison, the Arizona State Conservator of the SCS in Arizona. (See illustration, Kinnison letter.)

However, the commitment was made! We spent the next 20 years as a family: Gladys, Paul, John, Dan, and Jeanne along with Mr. and Mrs. Bull on the farm.

Now, when you say the word, FARM, there’s a world of difference in duty hours and job description between farm and Civil Service. This I was to learn over the next 20 years.

At the time we moved to the farm in 1950 it was a fair-sized operation but it grew more by the time of its sale to Anaconda Mining Company in 1969. The illustrations, “Chronology of Bull Farms Acquisitions” and “Layout of Bull’s Property” will give an idea of the size of the operation. Of the 6331.87 total acres, approximately 1000 were cultivated.

The farming operation in the earlier days was primarily cotton as well as corn and other grains. Later, peanuts and a specialty crop of various love grasses were added. Sorghum grain such as milo maize was sold to the nearby feed lot for silage. We always knew when the silage was “ripe” because we lived “down wind” from the feed lot.

Any cattle ranching activity would take place whenever the range feed was adequate. Usually a hundred yearlings would be bought and a cowboy “rented” to look after the herd. When the cattle had gained enough weight they would be sold at the Tucson Auction and the cowboy would move on.

Labor to accomplish all the field work and other labor had been created for the most part from the Papago Indian Reservation (The word “Papago” was used here because it was the only name established during this period. In later years the tribe preferred the Indian name “Tohono O’Odam”). In the earlier days cotton harvest was done by hand so at this time the labor camp could have as many as a hundred people.

In order to recruit these people it was necessary in most cases to provide transportation from their homes on the Reservation. Many came on their own, but I found myself available most of the time as the “GO-FER” person. It certainly was an opportunity to get acquainted with a good many villages on the Reservation. The following are the ones I visited the most: San Xavier, Sells, Topawa, Cowlic, Gu Didak (Little Tucson), Haivana Nakya, and Comobabi.

There were some Indians who lived on the farm most of the year for irrigating, weeding, carrying sprinklers, driving tractors, etc. In later years harvest was mainly done by machine, but “scrapping” still had to be done by hand.

Of course, when you have all these people on the place medical problems develop such as sickness or births, so whose job was it to transport pregnant mothers to Tucson Medical Center in the middle of the night or to the Indian hospital at San Xavier Village?--PAUL! As for the men, as long as they were working they were sober, but on the weekends or other off time very few stayed sober. Perhaps I felt a kinship for these people, except for the drinking, since I had been born on an Indian Reservation in North Dakota myself.

There were of course other people living year-round on the farm who had specific duties peculiar to the farming operation. As for myself, I never had a title for the duties I performed unless I could be satisfied with the “Mr. Bull’s Son-in-Law” handle. Maybe “GO-F7ER” would have been appropriate after all.

In 1958, after eight years living in our new home, which was located on the west side of the river, it was decided that it was on the wrong side of the river, as well as the fact that a land deal caused a change of ownership for our isolated portion.

So we had to move! There were mixed emotions for everyone and all because it had really become home for all of us. Move where? Well, build another house of course.

We chose a site on high ground not far from the Bulls’ house. It was a place where a stack of baled love grass straw was located and provided ample level area for a house. This location was administratively best because it was located between the valley farmland and “Jackrabbit Hill” fields on the mesa. This land had been cleared and put under cultivation since we moved to the farm in 1950.

This new house was to be build out of home-made adobe instead of concrete brick. By using adobe we could use our Indians, who were experienced in making adobes.

In due course the home was completed and we moved in. Never again would I have to cross country on high ground, where Green Valley is now located, in order to get to the Continental Bridge and across the Santa Cruz River at flood time. Another reason moving to this location was important was because the workload was increasing since, in addition to Jackrabbit Hill, 200 acres of rental farmland had been acquired at Sahuarita. Initially this property was used to establish the Lehman love grass crop. Now to make the rounds of the entire operation I would travel 25 miles. Thus, being in a central location was a big help. A bonus for the move was the view of the mountains and the valley. We were given a view of the first Green Valley lights that came on.

In the on-going farm work there were many emergency trips to get parts in case of breakdowns. The only duties I was not involved with had to do with bookkeeping and accounting, since Mr. Bull was a very good professional in that field. I did a lot of work pertaining to field mapping in connection.

The farm crop program that had developed up to this time (1958) would continue pretty much the same for the next 12 years when the property would be sold. During this period Mrs. Bull passed away (1968), leaving Mr. Bull alone in his big house.

Gladys and I became more involved in his personal needs. however, he was able to function very well as far as the farm was concerned.

As for the Klingenberg family, moving to the farm was a good move from the standpoint of providing a stable environment for growing children, each one completing their education. In fact, all three graduated from the University of Arizona College of Agriculture with a Bachelor of Science degree (BSA).

JAMES B. BULL, 1887 - 1975

FARMING, SUCCESS, AND RECOGNITION: YEARS 1926 - 1970

SANTA CRUZ VALLEY, CONTINENTAL, ARIZONA

submitted in 1995 by Gladys (Bull) Klingenberg, daughter

 The following account was given by request. It is to be recorded in the University of Arizona College of Agriculture History, which will be placed in the College ‘s History Section at the Arizona Historical Society building located on North Second Avenue in Tucson, Arizona.

 My name is Gladys Bull Klingenberg. My husband, Paul J. Klingenberg, received his Bachelor of Science degree in the class of 1933, College of Agriculture, University of Arizona. He was associated with my father, James B. Bull, in his farming endeavors in the years of 1950 to 1970. The operation was known as Bull Farms.

I am giving an account of my father’s farming interests in Continental and two miles north on the old State Highway 89 as well as lands in Sahuarita. The years are from 1926 to 1970.

Mr. Bull was living in El Paso, Texas, in 1926 with his wife, Lee Ethel, and their two daughters, Gladys and Margaret. He worked as a bookkeeper for several prominent business firms after his arrival there in 1916.

In September 1926 Mr. Bull accepted a bookkeeping job with a group of Rio Grande Valley farmers, namely Messrs. Ivy, Dale and Owens. The group had leased the holdings owned by the Intercontinental Rubber Company in Continental, Arizona. The first years 3000 acres of cotton were planted and harvested on lands which now are either developed into a retirement community known as Green Valley, Arizona, or planted with pecan trees. Both ventures began in the early 1960’s. The entire holdings of the Intercontinental Company were sold to a group of investors in 1949 and are now known as Farmers’ Investment Co. (FICO).

Due to health problems related to severe allergy reactions, Mr. Bull was forced to give up his job and the pleasant lifestyle with his family in Continental. He truly regretted having to leave the area. However, he and his family did settle in Tucson, Arizona, where Mr. Bull continued his bookkeeping career with several prominent businesses.

Through the ensuing years Mr. Bull longed to be able to return to the Continental area and to farm on his own. Farming was his boyhood family’s background and livelihood in Sebastian County, Arkansas. As a young man, after only a seventh grade level of formal education, he had enrolled and excelled in a business school in Fort Smith, Arkansas.

In 1931 Mr. Bull succeeded in acquiring his first parcel of land of approximately 100 acres located two miles north of Continental, lying west of State Highway 89 and to the east banks of the Santa Cruz River. In 1933 he began his farming in a primitive way with the help of a few people. The year 1937 brought more farming production and continued activity.

In the fall of 1940 Mr. and Mrs. Bull moved to the farm and continued to live there until their holdings were bought in 1969 by the Anaconda Mining Co. Through the years Mr. and Mrs. Bull continued to acquire additional adjacent lands. Their ownership of 2200 acres of patented land was located on both sides of old Highway 89. In addition, several sections of state and federal land leases were held. (This part of the highway is now designated a Pima County road called “Continental/Madera Canyon Road”.) In 1989 a retirement community was established. The development is known as “Quail Creek”.

Shortly after Mr. and Mrs. Bull moved to their farm he became full time manager and bookkeeper for his growing farm operation. In the World War II years the production and demand for cotton were tremendous.

Beginning in the mid- 1940’s and continuing for the remainder of the farming years, diversified crops were rotated. In addition to cotton, both short and long staple, other crops included vegetables, various grains, peanuts, and grasses for seed production (see illustration, “Bull Run Brand Vegetables” shipping box label).

Back in the early years of the Great Depression financial help for small farming was almost nonexistent. When Mr. Walter Bimson, “Gila Valley Bank”, acquired the old “Consolidated Bank” in Tucson, he saw a definite need to finance agriculture in Pima County. Subsequently, the banks were renamed “Valley National Bank of Arizona”. An Agricultural Department was established, and Mr. George Pond of that department handled Bull Farms’ financial needs for many years.

In Phoenix, Arizona, 1955, Mr. Bimson and the Valley Bank recognized Mr. Bull with other Arizona farmers in a ceremony as outstanding agriculturalists in the state.

Through recommendations of the Valley National Bank Mr. Bull was sought as an active independent farmer by “Cotton Producers’ Association” in Georgia. During 1954 through 1967 Mr. Bull served as a director on the association’s board in their Atlanta, Georgia, headquarters, representing the association’s Pima County interest.

The Tucson Kiwanis Club presented Mr. Bull with an award for the outstanding “Farmer of the Year” in 1962.

The Pima County Soil Conservation District was established in 1949. Mr. Bull served as a supervisor for the district from 1949 through 1962.

Locally, Mr. Bull was active in the Farm Bureau of Pima County. Also, for many years he served on the Continental School District #39 Board as a trustee.

Information came to Mr. Bull early for his new farming venture first through the Pima County Extension office and then the agriculture agent, Mr. C. B. Brown. Earlier Mr. Bull had no contact nor interest in higher educational institutions. He befriended a young University of Arizona professor in the Plant Breeding Department, William (Bill) Thomas, whose family had moved into the local farming community. Mr. Bull became more interested in his contacts with the College of Agriculture from whom he received a great deal of information which benefited his farming.

When my father, James B. Bull, died my family gratefully received a letter of condolence from Dr. Harold Myers, Dean Emeritus, College of Agriculture. (See illustrations: letter, obituary, and newspaper story).

Three of Mr. and Mrs. Bull’s grandchildren and two great-grandsons have received degrees from the University of Arizona:

John Klingenberg, eldest grandson

Dan Klingenberg, second grandson

Jeanne (Klingenberg) Herrman, granddaughter

Jeffrey Klingenberg, eldest great-grandson

all received Bachelor of Science degrees from the College of Agriculture;

Douglas Klingenberg, second great-grandson received a Bachelor of Arts degree from the Liberal Arts College.

PART 5:

Early Development of Continental, Arizona

During World War I rubber was in great demand because rubber imports from the Malay states had been cut off by Germany. President Woodrow Wilson authorized the establishment of the Intercontinental Rubber Company to produce and process guayule for rubber. This company, which was headquartered in New York, was led by Joseph Kennedy (father of President John Kennedy), Bernard Baruch and Mr. Stone.

The Intercontinental Rubber Company guayule farm and processing facility were located in Continental, Arizona, and the company established the town in 1916. The Intercontinental Rubber Company Land was the northern half of the 9700-acre San Ignacio de La Canoa Land Grant that had previously been acquired by the Manning family in 1908. In addition to the guayule processing buildings--which consisted of a chemical laboratory, extractor-compressor facility, and power plant to fuel the lights and machinery- -the company built Continental School, ten houses, and workers’ quarters. The Intercontinental Rubber Company also drilled irrigation wells for the guayule production.

When World War I ended, however, the demand for rubber decreased and the guayule was no longer needed, so the Intercontinental Rubber Company abandoned the acres of guayule production and the facilities that had been built for processing it. In 1926 the entire land was leased by Ivy, Dale and Owens of El Paso, Texas; 3,000 acres of cotton were planted and harvested for only a few years. The old guayule chemical plant building was later used for additional classrooms for Continental School, until it collapsed in the early 1950’s.

In 1948, the Continental Farm was purchased by Keith Walden with one-half interest owned by Henry Crown of Crown-Zellerbach. Their corporation was named FICO (Farmers’ Investment Company), and their farm on the old Intercontinental Rubber Company land produced first cotton, then cereal grains, followed by vegetables, fruit and wine grapes, and finally pecans. The first young trees were beginning to be planted in the early 1960’s.

(See illustration, “Continental- -A Brief History” from the back of the Continental Feedlot restaurant menu.)

PART 6:

Illustrations