2894 Chapters
Medium 9781574411614

Appendix 3 • Names of Indian tribes in Arizona Department

Edited and Annotated by Charles M. Robinson III University of North Texas Press PDF
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Edited and Annotated by Charles M. Robinson III University of North Texas Press PDF



fter a retrospective on Irish officers and their often humorous quirks, Bourke spends much of this section on the rapid development of what, only a decade earlier, was raw frontier.

Homesteaders were pouring into the area, willing to endure privation in order to be their own masters. Visiting one family of settlers, living in squalor in a sod hut and maintaining a subsistence farm, Bourke believed their shabbiness was more than offset by their determination to succeed. “It is of such stuff that good commonwealths are made and, no doubt, in another quarter of a century, this family will be comfortable, prosperous and well-placed,” he commented.1

In contrast to the Eastern and Midwestern farmers, who were doing the best they could and determined to do better, Bourke was appalled by the Spartan conditions of the local cattle ranches. The cowboys seemed to be satisfied with their scant accommodations, and had no inclination to improve them, an attitude he blamed on the influence of Texas, without giving any particular reason. Even so, he developed a grudging admiration for the hard, spare life of the cowboys, their overall good nature, and their generosity. “[A]fter all,” he decided, “our lives are only what we make them and . . . a

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2. Lost Canyons

Susan Spano Roaring Forties Press ePub



From Glen Canyon Bridge on US Highway 89, you can see both sides of an argument. To the north is placid Lake Powell, a big, blue tropical cocktail in the arid no-man’s-land of southeastern Utah. It’s Exhibit A in the case for letting Glen Canyon Dam stand. To the south is the Colorado River, testily emerging from impoundment, cutting through sheer rock walls on its way to the Grand Canyon—wild and free, the way nature made it.

I stood there with my brother, John, one morning in early February, thinking about Seldom Seen Smith, the fictional mastermind of a plot to blow up the Glen Canyon Dam in Edward Abbey’s 1975 novel, The Monkey Wrench Gang.

Abbey wrote that Smith, “remembered the golden river flowing to the sea, . . . canyons called Hidden Passage and Salvation and Last Chance, . . . strange great amphitheaters called Music Temple and Cathedral in the Desert. All these things now lay beneath the dead water of the reservoir, slowly disappearing under layers of descending silt.”

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Fourteen: Pressler at the TCU/Cliburn Piano Institute

William Brown Indiana University Press ePub

A Lecture Presented at Texas Christian University
Fort Worth, Texas
May 2005

Pressler is often asked to judge piano competitions, not the least of which is the Van Cliburn competition held in Fort Worth, Texas, every four years. He has judged the Van Cliburn several times and enjoys having the opportunity to address his audience of young players who are searching for the very nuances of performance and understanding of music that Pressler offers.

During his most recent visit to the Cliburn Piano Institute in May 2005, Pressler addressed an audience of music teachers and students, a forum in which he spoke about his training, his career, and his life-long love of music. He then took questions from the audience. The forum was recorded.

Tamás Ungar asked me to speak to you today. This is the year my Trio is going to be fifty years old, and I thought that would be a good thing to talk about because, in a way, it speaks about what my life is about, not just what the Trio’s about but what my life is about and what music in my life is about. All of you who are coming here to practice, to learn, to listen, to participate are coming for a number of reasons. The very first one—and I hope the most important one—is the love for music, that which brings you here and that which actually nourishes you and that has nourished me.

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2. Canton, Illinois, 2008–

Bob Hammel Indiana University Press ePub


First Cook factory at Canton, opened and dedicated in 2009.

“And here comes Bill Cook, not with hundreds of dollars—millions! He gave us hope. He gave us life.”

—Michael Walters

Even the people closest to Bill Cook aren’t sure how long he thought about it before he began the remarkable, even charming, resuscitation job he did on the hometown he loved: Canton, Illinois, which had been given up as moribund by most.

Harriett Beecher Stowe invented the best word for how that Bill Cook ruminating materialized into today’s revitalized Canton. Like Stowe’s twinkly-eyed slave girl Topsy’s self-description in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, every evidence is that it just growed.

And it’s not done. As so many rusting relics that got their restorative TLC, particularly in the senior years of Bill and Gayle Cook, Canton today has an onward-and-upward look of its own momentum.

It’s a kind of love story not new in Canton. It’s hard to tell if it’s more a case of man influencing town than town influencing man, but either way, “charming” still is what that love story is.

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