Bill Barry’s heart has always been in Phoenix — even during the rare times when the rest of him wasn’t. And Phoenix is in him, from his sun-kissed skin to his hat with a picture of a cactus taped to it.
“You could go not too far out from downtown and see the big pastures and cows,” he says of the tiny version of the city where he was born in 1936. He grew up on a 40-acre dairy farm just 10 miles from downtown, and his memories included riding his horse — which had a little bit of mule blood in it — in a parade down Central Avenue.
But as he grew up, his quiet town grew, too. Before he knew it, all he could recognize were the mountains, but even those changed. “I recognize Camelback and Squaw Peak,” he says before correcting himself: “I mean Piestewa. I’m still with the old name.”
There was one other constant in Phoenix’s skyscape: the Westward Ho. “I remember, as a kid, you could really see the darn thing 10 miles away,” Barry says. “It stuck out, and it was, for many years, the highest building around downtown.”
Now, Barry looks out onto his hometown from his apartment window at the Westward Ho and reflects on the life he lived in Phoenix. The dirt roads have been paved over, the farmlands have been pushed away, and tall buildings have sprouted where desert flora once did.
“Everything has really changed — only the mountains still stay,” Barry says. And the Westward Ho might look the same on the outside, but it’s changed, too.
A CENTURY OF HISTORY
The Westward Ho, at the corner of Central Avenue and Fillmore Street, exudes a historic charm that stands out against its modern surroundings. It opened in 1928 as a first-class hotel that charged $2 per night at a time when other hotels cost as little as a quarter.
Its limestone-colored exterior complements the desert landscape and features Art Deco elements that tell the tale of the era. Ornate embellishments adorn every corner and trim, and the ground-floor windows flaunt a stained-glass design.
But the most prominent part of the Westward Ho is the red-and-white structure protruding from the top of the building. The building itself is 16 floors and 208 feet, but in 1949, a 268-foot metal tower was added, making the building a broadcast site. From that year to 1960, the Westward Ho was home to Arizona’s first television station, KPHO-TV (Channel 5).
“The Westward Ho is iconic,” says Stacey Gandy, who works in the building. “Also, in being iconic, it’s a landmark. You can see the red-and-white tower while you’re driving in off the freeway.” She adds, “There’s a lot of people who have lived in Phoenix a long time that might have some type of memory connected to the Westward Ho, even if they were never in it.”
Presidents, such as John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, and actors, including Marilyn Monroe and Paul Newman, are said to have stayed at the Westward Ho. Some even say Roy Rogers walked his horse, Trigger, up the stairs. Legend has it Al Capone’s car is buried under the building and there are underground tunnels leading to various places. The building even appeared in the 1998 remake of Psycho.
The Westward Ho’s reputation as an iconic destination sustained it until 1979, which a variety of economic factors led to its closure. But its legacy didn’t end there: In 1980, it reopened as subsidized housing for older adults and people with disabilities through the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development’s Section 8 program, which provides assistance to low-income individuals so they can live in an affordable, safe place.
That was how Barry came to call the Westward Ho home. A few years ago, he was at a rehabilitation center for a back problem when his house in West Phoenix caught fire. He lost everything he owned. “That really hurt,” he says. “But at least I keep going when everything is falling down.”
He moved in at St. Vincent de Paul Phoenix; after a year, that organization helped him apply for an apartment at the Westward Ho. His application was accepted shortly thereafter, and he moved in — a seamless process that Job Cannon, a Westward Ho resident service coordinator, says is the goal for all residents. Those residents must meet a few requirements, such as being at a certain income level; being 62 or older, or an adult with a disability; doing a yearly recertification, a HUD requirement; and abiding by the rules.
Some residents, such as Barry, have been at the building for a short time. Longer-tenured residents include 93-year-old Geraldine King, who has lived in the building for 22 years. She grew up in Utah and says she’s related to the leader of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints who’s now serving a life sentence for child sexual assault: “Imagine having to say you’re related to Warren Jeffs. I am!”
King is one of many residents at the Westward Ho who have stories to tell. “There’s a lot of history in the building, but there's a lot of history in the people, and that's a part of my job that I like, too,” Cannon says. “I'll have a resident come in [wanting] to talk, and they’ll tell me their whole life story, and their life story is like a movie. I’m like, ‘Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe you went through this.’”
RESOURCES FOR RESIDENTS
Cannon’s office door remains propped open so any meandering resident can pop in to chat. Giving residents his time is part of his job, and he and his colleagues do everything from offering cellphone lessons and replacing debit cards to coordinating federal benefits and helping with mental health petitions. “A lot of adults don't like to admit that they struggle with things, so it takes a lot for somebody to actually come into my office and say, ‘I need help,’” Cannon says. “So, when they come in here and say, ‘I need help,’ I'm very humbled by that, [and] I try to help them to the best of my abilities.”
Matthew Hillman is the Westward Ho’s other resident service coordinator, and he’s worked there for seven years. “Unfortunately, we deal with death and see things that are very difficult to see at times,” he says. “It wears you out after a while, but I focus on self-care and taking care of myself so I can be of service to the residents.”
Then, there’s Gandy, a clinical assistant professor in Arizona State University’s School of Social Work and the coordinator of the ASU Community Collaborative, a student-run clinic and community center on the Westward Ho’s first floor. The group provides assistance for the building’s residents, giving students hands-on learning opportunities in the process.
Social work students run operations such as food carts, social hours, appointments, counseling and case management. They also can identify additional needs that arise and come up with ways to address them. “Every time we get a new resident, I tell them about [the collaborative],” Cannon says. “I love Stacey and all the interns that come down here, because they're like another resource for us.”
But the most prominent need the collaborative fills has nothing to do with services — it’s providing residents a break from social isolation, which Gandy says is the biggest challenge low-income older adults face. Many of them are disconnected from their families or don’t have any surviving family members. Gandy tears up while recalling a 2023 reunion, during which residents were able to reconnect with former students. “Their faces just lit up when they saw each other, and they were chatting like long-lost friends,” she says. “There was so much laughter and joy in the room.”
A LASTING REPUTATION
Before they lived at the Westward Ho, William Howard and his Chihuahua-dachshund mix, Nemo, were homeless — standing under the Arizona sun, “flying the sign,” so they could get money and food. Howard had applications filed in nine different housing complexes or shelters, but he thought it wouldn’t hurt to try another one. He sent an application to the Westward Ho, and it ended up being the first place that got back to him. He moved in on November 19, 2019.
“I stayed positive,” he says. “I didn’t let myself get run-down. When I put my mind to getting someplace to live … I kept my eye on the prize. … I may be homeless, but I’m not helpless.”
Now, the 70-year-old enjoys the little things about having a place to live, such as locking his own door, taking a shower and eating when he wants to. He said he even loves paying bills. “I love it here; I love my neighbors,” he says. “When I first moved in, I said, ‘Only way you gonna get me out of here is if you blow me up with dynamite and pull me out with a bulldozer.’”
He reflects on the pivotal moments of his life: four years in the U.S. Army, working as a ride operator for a traveling carnival for 15 years, being homeless in New York City and sleeping on steam grates to keep warm. And when he bought a car in Florida, set out for San Francisco and broke down in Phoenix, where he’s been ever since.
Now, Howard’s stories have become part of the Westward Ho’s history, and those who work there hope that legacy continues for a long time to come. “I want the Westward Ho to remain here in use,” Cannon says. “It’s great for the community, it’s great for the residents here, and I just want to see the building thrive.”
— Savannah Rose Dagupion is a writer whose bylines have appeared in Lonely Planet and State Press Magazine. When covering communities, she places importance on preserving culture and being a good steward of the land — values she maintains from her Native Hawaiian culture.