National Geographic : 1963 Mar
I wandered up Brewery Gulch. The red-brick brew ery, trimmed in weathered green copper sheeting, stood in empty majesty. The street curbs, more like retaining walls, stood five feet high. Steps were cut into the sidewalk as the street lurched up the gulch. There was a hooting and hollering from a nearby dram shop. I hurried over, thinking I might see a rip-roaring Bisbee saloon brawl, as in the old days. Such are these tamed times, however, that I found the noise was made by a couple of ladies cheering on a shuffleboard game. Mission of the Cat and Mouse The most graceful reminders of the Spanish re gime in Arizona lie south of Tucson, in the ruined church of Tumacacori and the serene Mission San Xavier del Bac, both on the sites established by Father Eusebio Kino, the Jesuit priest-explorer. Tumacacori is now a national monument. The National Park Service has stabilized rather than restored the church, doing the work with under standing and love. A model shows how the structures looked when they were in use, and a small museum places Tumacacori in historical perspective. San Xavier serves, as it has for 165 years, as the mission church for the Papago Indians. It is among the best examples of Spanish colonial architecture in the Nation (page 312). Seen across the dun-colored desert, bright, white San Xavier gleams like a jewel. Two terraced towers, one unfinished, flank the 52-foot-high dome, a tribute to the skill of the builders. It was built of burned adobe brick and lime plaster, and, possibly, without scaffolding. The facade frames old oak doors. High on the facade is the figure of a mouse; opposite, a cat. I looked around and found Brother Austin, a Franciscan in brown habit and sandals. "Somebody told me the Indians believe that when the cat catches the mouse, the end of the world will come," I said. Brother Austin's eyes twinkled. "It would cer tainly be the end of the world for the mouse," he said. He pointed to the door handle. "Notice that this is shaped like a snake. Inside, there is another figure of a mouse. We don't know why." Sign Keeps Old Rivalry Warm Tucson has always regarded Phoenix as an arro gant parvenu and carries on a commercial, cultural, and just-on-general-principles rivalry with the cap ital. Ironically, Tucson's tallest building is topped with a sign reading, "Phoenix Title," and it hurts Tucson no less than a dagger in the back. "We're going to put up the tallest building in Phoenix and put 'Tucson' on top of it," I was told. "Phoenix has changed, but Tucson still retains (Continued on page 341) 336 Minnesota? No, Arizona! Sportsmen fish for trout through the ice on Nel son Reservoir in the White Mountains.