Riding On Dragons » Arizona

Paean For Tumacacori

Dick Richards — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 17:06:34 +0000

Last week I spent a few hours visiting the Mission San José de Tumacácori. It was established in 1691 in the Santa Cruz River Valley of southern Arizona. Following a stormy history involving a Pima Indian rebellion, Mexico’s War of Independence from Spain, and Apache raids, it was abandoned by 1848 and began falling into disrepair. Preservation and stabilization efforts began in 1908 when the area was declared a National Monument.

I’ll let my photos and a few quotes from the mission’s early years speak for themselves, and I’d love to hear what you take away from them.

The village of San Jose at Tumacácori lies seven leagues to the south of Guevavi and one from the Presidio of Tubac, in open territory with good lands. In this village they have a church and house for the Missionary devoid of all ornament and furnishing. According to the Census Book, which I have here before me, there are twenty-two married couples, twelve widowers, ten orphans, the number of should in all ninety-three. (Fr. Antonio de los Reyes, 6 July 1772)

Tumacacori…has twenty-three families. This is a village that is somewhat convenient to its fields. Although its waters are not the most abundant, it has the relief of having them nearby. (Bartolome Ximeno, March 5, 1773)

Joseph María of the Divasadero. Today, March 19th I anointed Joseph María with the holy oils. He had already received the water (of baptism). He is the son of Juan Nuñez and Rosa Samaniego. His godmother was María Bojorquez. (Joseph de Torres Perea, Minister for His Majesty, 1741)

The road is ill provided with water and is dangerous because of the enemy. Farther north there are no Christians whatsoever, but only many heathen tribes who lack the illumination of the Gospel and knowledge of Christ. (Fr. Joseph de Torres, March 16, 1744)

They have a very good ear for music, can sing the Gregorian chant from books…though they cannot read, except the choirmaster, yet they can sing in unison from beginning to end. (Fr. Phellippe Segesser, around 1730)

Sonoitac, eleven leagues distant from the headquarters at Tumacacori, has twenty-six families. However, there are only eleven women to be found among them because of an attack made by the Apaches about two years ago in which most of the women were killed where they had taken refuge in the house that was built for the Padre. (Friar Bartolomé Ximeno, 1776)

This morning the Apaches fell upon us on one side of the village, fighting with us in an attempt to take our lives. They drove eleven mares away and of the nine stallions that the mission had, they left eight maimed and wounded. (Bartolome Ximeno, March 5, 1773)

My Governor and Commander: I find a lot of tallow stored at this mission. There is much pinole…and more than 200 fanegas of corn from last year. I inform you of this in case it is needed for the campaign. (Juan Batista de Anza, Captain of Tubac, March 15, 1767)

I…asked Jose Padilla, an Opata Indian and resident of this mission, and Gertrudis Leon, an Indian who comes from the gentiles of the Yuma nation, if they wished to be joined in marriage. Having received their affirmative answer, I solemnly united and veiled them in true and holy matrimony the same day. Known and present witnesses were Jose Maria Montano, Tomas Castro, and Ramon Montano.(Fr. Narcisso Gutierrez, May 31, 1819)

In the year of our Lord 1825 on the eighth day of March, I, Father Ramon Liberós, Minister of this Mission of San José de Tumacácori, baptized a boy of about six years from the gentiles of the Papago nation, on whom I placed the name of Miguel and surname of Borboa. Godparents were Francisco Zapata and Esmerencia Mesa, children of this mission, whom I advised of their spiritual relationship and other duties. (1825)

The greatness of the missions…will be heard in music and the choir of singers. (Eusebio Francisco Kino, 1695)

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Great Service Times Three

Dick Richards — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 21:45:14 +0000

Some years ago I consulted to a company that wanted to improve customer service. The team that designed the improvement program decided to forgo theory, models, talks, videos, expert input, and any of the other paraphernalia that generally populates training programs. Instead, we gathered employees together, asked them to tell stories about great service that they had received, and then asked them what they might emulate from the stories and what they needed in order to do that. You know it when you see it.

I count this among the best experiences of my organization development career. I heard some wonderful stories and the company found evidence that the program was a success.

I offer the following story in the spirit of that program, the spirit of telling stories as a means to improving service somewhere. In this case, I know not where; trust the universe.

I made a quick trip to the bank last Friday to make a deposit. When I came out my car would not start. It was 110 degrees in Chandler, Arizona, there was no shade in the asphalt parking lot, and I had not brought my cell phone. I went back into the bank where Andrea Townsend, manager of the Chandler Boulevard branch of Tempe Schools Credit Union, met me in the lobby and asked how she could help.

I told Andrea that I wanted to find the phone number for my trusted mechanics, brothers Dave and Mike Theile of Theile’s Automotive Services. Andrea handed me a phone book then went to a computer to search for Theile’s website. The number found, I called and got Dave. He asked a few questions to determine the problem, but no luck. He then suggested I have the car brought to them and recommended Dick Reed of Ecology Towing to handle the job.

I called Dick on a phone Andrea provided and he said he could get to me in about fifteen minutes. Andrea handed me a bottle of water as I headed back into the heat to wait for Dick.

I found shade in a small grove of mesquite trees at the side of the bank building where I could sip water and watch Chandler Boulevard for Dick’s arrival. After about ten minutes I decided to try the car again. It started!

I waited for Dick, who arrived five minutes later. He suggested that I drive the car to Theile’s, declined my offer to pay him for his time and trouble, and offered to follow me in case I had problems along the way. During the drive I determined to pay Dick when we arrived but, as I pulled into Theile’s parking lot, he just kept going.

Dave then fiddled with things in the car, replaced the battery, and all is well. The whole episode took about an hour thanks to Andrea, Dick, and Dave! Count ‘em…three…three great examples in one hour!

It feels amazingly good to tell stories like this one.
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Meaning-Making Is Both Blessing And Curse

Wed, 06 May 2009 05:14:39 +0000

…my mind often buzzes with questions about mundane events…

Red Mountain is in close-up view from a picnic area on the southern bank of the Salt River a few miles north of Mesa, Arizona, where the Bush Highway enters the south-west corner of the nearly three million acre Tonto National Forest. I sat there alone at a weathered and rickety picnic bench one day last week, my attention divided between the mountain and a narrow strip of river where a breeze rippled the surface and trout leaped. I had a notebook in front of me to record what I saw, thought and felt.

A small middle-aged woman wearing a white sleeveless shirt and khaki cargo pants appeared a few yards to my right. She raised a point-and-shoot camera to a foot or so in front of her face, aimed it at the mountain, snapped a photo, then retreated to her car and left. I did not know how long she had been in the picnic area and had no sense of whether she spent time absorbing the view or merely drove up, took her picture, and drove away. Her manner seemed perfunctory, so I suspected that the latter was the case.

My contribution to life on earth at present appears to involve making meaning of experience and sharing it, so my mind often buzzes with questions about mundane events such as those that occurred at the river. Questions such as these: What is this compulsion many of us have with recording our experience, with writing things down and taking pictures? At what point does the compulsion interfere with the experience so that the experience is truncated by thought or by some device such as a camera? What experience might be denied me while I am busy making meaning of the last experience? Why would anyone else care about how I make meaning of experience?

I have come to terms with that understanding of my contribution; I get that it is what I am supposed to do and that I am good at it. But there are times when I’d like to experience a river, a mountain, leaping trout, and a small woman with a point-and-shoot camera, without an urge to record them or to make of them anything else.
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