A lot of small Arizona towns have qualities of bygone years: frontier days, Victorian homes. But only Duncan hurtles me into the 1960s, in the best way.
Five miles from our border with New Mexico, Duncan began in the late 1800s as Purdy, a way station for ore trains on the route from nearby Clifton to Silver City, New Mexico. Later, Arizona Copper Co. money built a narrow-gauge railway from Clifton all the way to Lordsburg, New Mexico, and a grateful population moved from the northern bank of the river to the southern bank to accommodate the new railway. They named their home Duncan, after Duncan Smith, the company’s managing director.
The Arizona Good Roads Association, in its 1913 Illustrated Road Maps and Tour Book, described Duncan thusly: “Surrounded by scenic mountains and historic mining sites, Duncan’s local businesses welcome visitors. Almost every level acre is under cultivation, thickets of cottonwood trees shelter old farmhouses and ranches, and cattle and horses seem to outnumber people.” It’s all still true.
The Simpson Hotel has a wooden toy pony in a first-floor window. Next door, a half-moon sign announces that the turquoise front surrounded by cream-colored, textured brick houses the Bank of Duncan, established in 1908. It looks like a movie set.
Just down the street is the Henrie Brothers Bakery, with a classic round clock on an ornate pole surrounded by bright blooms, like Mayberry at its best. Then, a battered wooden sign for the Stage Stop Mini Mart & Liquor Store advertises gas priced a good 50 cents less per gallon than city prices. Also, “Pellets on Sale.” I guess if you don’t know whether or not you need them, you’re not the target audience.
No franchises. Everything is one of a kind. Peanuts Tire & Lube has a natty, smiling peanut waving from the painted brick edifice. Businesses have earnest, hardworking signage. It’s all so un-self-conscious that I want to pat the buildings as I pass.
Those of Duncan’s 800 residents out today could not be any friendlier. My friend Julie and I walk into Hilda’s Kitchen & Meat Market, where Hilda Goeking’s smile is as wide as a rainbow. She’s been cutting her own meat in her two-room enterprise for 14 years. Half is a store with peachy-rose walls and wood floors full of integrity. Looking at the products on wide shelves feels like I stepped into one of my childhood Golden Books, one where the artist didn’t want to get in trouble for using real brand names. Brightly colored cartons and cans, merry and generic, are mixed with names I do recognize: jellies, preserves, toiletries, dry goods, bagged sugar, canned vegetables.
The other room of Hilda’s kingdom is a diner. Having moved from Las Vegas to Duncan, Hilda doesn’t mention Sandra Day O’Connor, the Supreme Court justice who put this town on the map by writing about growing up on her nearby ranch. She wants to talk about the current townspeople. “Everyone here is good — neighbors, customers — and when I go home, I rest so good,” she almost sings.
The visitors center not only extends the same welcome but also offers space for local entrepreneurs. Cheryl Resur, known as “The Cookie Lady,” happily sells us a toothsome assortment. Alan Hjorth drops in to visit; he and his wife moved from Utah because her family is from here, and now, they love their town. Dianne Vandell, who sells her arts and crafts, came through on a trip from Colorado to Safford, and seeing horses in fields and fairgrounds enticed her to move. “My neighbor ladies and I walk every day,” she says. “These huge trees, the old houses … I love it.”
Down the street is the Ranch House Restaurant I remember, although the only particleboard walls I’ve ever seen have now been painted a rust color. Regulars look up and neutrally recognize we’re not from these parts, then mildly resume their conversation. Someone from Petticoat Junction could walk in at any moment. I keep waiting for the present to swing a fist through the illusion. It doesn’t.
As we head back up the street on the other side, a thick berm of trees with cropland stretching away evokes the idea that children in T-shirts will play actual outside games when school ends for the day. A rustic service station with a genuinely old truck would invite them to clamber over it until their mothers call them home to supper.
Duncan might attract people who now realize they can work remotely from anywhere. If it does, I hope they appreciate it.
EASTERN ARIZONA
Town of Duncan
928-381-1881
duncanaz.us