Among the few serious requests my mom ever made of me were that I (a) not drive motorcycles, and (b) not get my ears pieced. Since, by the age of sixteen I already had a secret dirt bike stashed at my friend’s house way out in the English boonies, I thought I could bend a little, respect her last remaining wish, and not get holes punched in my earlobes. To my surprise, she didn’t say anything about tattoos so that door was left open if I wanted to explore it.

I have always been interested in tattoo art. I am a bit of a contrary fellow, so things that are regarded as slightly “out there” by polite society are naturally of interest to me. That would explain the delight I take in punk rock, motorcycles, protest singers, animal rights activists, Burning Man, and so on. The world of tattoos fits in rather well with a number of those subcultures. In fact, my girlfriend, and most of my pals have them, and I can only think of a couple of close friends who do not sport the ink.

Despite that, I don’t have one myself—yet—and it seems there are two possible reasons for this. The unnecessary infliction of pain could be one, as could my ever-changing taste in things. I am well aware that the art and music I enjoy today are somewhat different from what I doted on, say, thirty years ago—except for The Clash and The Ramones of course, oh, and I was listening to Abba’s “S.O.S.” this morning. Yes, I know it’s hard for you to believe that I listen to Abba, but “S.O.S” is one hell of a good pop song. Anyway, my hesitation to get inked may be due to the obvious longevity of tattoos. In other words, they are permanent; many of my tastes are not. In addition, my favorite live-life-by quote is: “If something is worth doing, it’s worth overdoing,” so if I were to get inked it wouldn’t be some itty bitty affair on my ankle, but likely a hugely involved tapestry on my back. I’ve always imagined that I would wake up one day—possibly many years hence—look in the mirror, and say to myself: “Idiot! What on earth were you thinking?!”

I was discussing this very concept of the permanence of inked skin versus the changing moods of my own fickle art-mind with one of my staff members, Beth, just the other day. She explained that her view was precisely the opposite of mine: A tattoo that she acquired would always remind her, specifically, and in a very colorful manner, of that precise time in her life. To which I replied, jokingly: “I don’t want to be reminded of those times.”

Fortunately, none of these weighty matters prevented me from journeying down to The Hotel Arizona on Sunday for the Tucson Tattoo Expo. Who wouldn’t want to hang around with goths, bikers, punk rockers, and skin artists? Sounded like a good time to me, and also, I had an appointment to meet celebrated, award-winning Tucson artist Jim Quinn II, owner of Istari Tattoo Studio, as he is working on an illustration project for my company.

Jim Quinn II, owner of Istari Tattoo Studio, with his prize from the 2011 Expo

Tall, slender, jovial, animated yet laid-back, with spectacular wings tattooed on both sides of his neck, it was really quite easy to pick Jim out of the crowd. I looked through the portfolios of his work and was amazed by how well he handled a wide variety of styles, including Celtic knotwork, classical Japanese, and even Aztec/Inca. He’s a serious artist, and we reminisced a little about art school days, and how invigorating it is to be surrounded by the influence of talented people—taking a bit here, taking a bit there, all the while gradually developing your own style.

You know how when you go to a typical expo it’s all very serious and corporate, with products on lucite display stands, monitors running ads, backdrops, banners, and prim, well-dressed hired salespeople who are just a little too eager to discuss their product with you? Well, the Tucson Tattoo Expo couldn’t possibly have been any more different from that stilted vision. They had a bar set up inside the venue, a smoking area, a line of Harleys parked outside, sassy-looking girls wearing dog collars, and guys covered—literally—from head to toe in multi-colored ink. What’s not to like?

I was surprised how many people—in various states of undress—were actually being worked on during the convention. One gentleman had stripped down to his red underwear while a local artist addressed some of his few remaining square inches of unadorned skin; a lithe brunette lay on her side on a big table while her back was decorated; other pro artists were having some of their own tats touched up by colleagues. And that begs the question: When you’re an accomplished tattooist, how do you feel when another artist is working on your own personal canvas? Walking around, I found the soft, layered buzzing of multiple electric needles to be oddly soothing and intriguing, like a hive of industrious underworld virtuosos.

Shortly after my arrival at the expo, I realized I’d left my cell phone at the auto parts store on the other side of town, and I really needed to have it with me. Before making the twenty-mile round trip to pick it up, I considered that if I were to get inked at some point down the road, perhaps I should select a stylized cell phone design. Not very interesting artistically, but at least it might prevent me from leaving the damn thing behind on a regular basis, and always at the most inconvenient times.

Text and photograph © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

The Logical Lizard (center, laughing) tries out some super hi-tech equipment at the Odessa meteorite crater while filming Meteorite Men the series. Photograph by Suzanne Morrison.

So, after many thousands of miles, a multitude of flights, a remarkable variety of hotels and motels including one diabolical casino in Nevada, a few boat trips, many weird adventures, eleven flat tires, and three stuck vehicles, we actually seem to have completed all the filming and I am back home just in time to start getting ready for the 2010 Tucson gem and mineral shows.

Before that happens, and before I jaunt off to California to do some PR for the new Science Channel series, I am most honored to be hosting the Flandrau Science Center‘s Science Cafe this very evening, at the charming Cushing Street Bar & Restaurant. Science Cafe is a monthly event, organized by the Flandrau, in which a scientist gives a short talk about her/his specialty, in friendly and informal surroundings, followed by a question-and-answer session.

Not this time: More often than not, a suspected meteorite turns out to be a meteor-wrong. In this case a very large and very old tin can. Photograph by Suzanne Morrison.

Readers of this column will already know that I am a great fan of the Flandrau, so it is a privilege indeed to be part of their ongoing series. Admission is free, food and drinks are available for purchase, and the evening begins at 6 pm. I have been informed that “The Science Cafe fills up fast,” so an early arrival is recommended.

I will be talking about meteorites, meteorite hunting, the making of our TV series Meteorite Men, and why the study of rocks from outer space may hold clues to the formation of our Solar System and the origin of life on Earth.

I hope to see you there. Watch the video teaser here.

On Friday I profiled a few of my favorite local Tucson artists in The Logical Lizard, including Lisa Marie Morrison of Sirocco Design, Suzanne Morrison of Backcountry Photography and photographer Stu Jenks, and much of Saturday was spent visiting with them. On Sunday I made it a mission to meet some new artists, see some new work, and maybe add an original or two to the Logical Lizard’s modest art collection. These were some of my personal highlights:

Artist Chris Bishop and part of the outdoor exhibit at Maiden Arizona

Chris Bishop of maidenarizona.com, is a transplant from New Jersey and her artistic journey to Arizona reminded me more than a little of my own. She is interested in everything from photo mosaics to creative desert landscaping. Chris invited five women artists to help transform her home studio on North Monroe Crescent into a two-day indoor/outdoor art show encompassing watercolors, textiles, mosaics, found-art collage, and other mixed media. She has gathered a fine group of talented people around her and I was particularly impressed by art teacher and fiber artist Jacqueline Bland, and Joanne Pritzen’s colorful mixed media found art collages that somehow managed to happily reminded me of both Roy Lichtenstein and Kurt Schwitters in the same instant (Twosies, a lovely vibrant piece that was featured in the TPAC guide came home with me).

At 2409 North Castro I enjoyed watercolor instructor Bob Goldman‘s beautiful figure work in pen, charcoal, and pastels as well as clasically inspired portraits by Hope Cunningham.

Later in the afternoon I took a long drive down to Pantano and Escalante to view some impressive large works by metal sculptor and blacksmith Jason E. Butler. Jason was at the JCC unveiling a new work, and I was treated to a tour of his workshop by his wife Mary. Jason also teaches metal working at Pima Community College and his sculpture is an intriguing blend of organic and industrial elements.

Metal sculpture by Jason E. Butler

Metal sculpture by Jason E. Butler

Elizabeth Frank is an artist’s artist. Widely admired within the community, she works with fallen aspen branches (collected during an annual pilgrimage to Colorado) and found objects such as discarded tin ceiling plates, vintage photos, keys, hinges and abandoned furniture. The result is a series of magical and whimsical sculptures. Tall, elegant, ethereal figures clustered together on pedestals in her aerie-like space atop the Labor Temple Studios at 267 South Stone reminded me of haunting black and white photos taken in Alberto Giacometti’s Paris studio during the 1960s. After a couple of glasses of chardonnay, I realized I’d fallen hopelessly in love with the delicate and pensive Moonlight Angel, and that piece asked to go home with me too. A venerable Tucson building, the Labor Temple is home to five artists and is a must-see venue on the studio tour.

Tucson artist Elizabeth Frank

Elizabeth Frank studio

"Moonlight Angel" (detail) by Elizabeth Frank

At the 7th Avenue Arts District Studios, sculptor Dana Smith‘s work caught my eye. As a paleontologist and science writer I was fascinated by her large scale ceramic work, inspired by fossil ammonites from Morocco and Madagascar, and ancient trilobites. A lively conversation revealed that Dana and I have a long string of mutual friends in the science world, and I accidentally delivered a (hopefully) short lecture on the history of ammonites—an extinct cephalopod in which I have a particular interest.

Sculptor Dana Smith and some of her fossil-inspired recent works

As usual, I ended the day with my pal Stu Jenks. I was treated to a preview of his gorgeous new fine art photography book, Hoop Dancing: More Journeys Through Nocturnal Photography, Book Two which will be published next week and limited to 300 signed and numbered copies.

Photographer Stu Jenks in his studio on North Seventh Avenue

So, after consuming two long days, numerous slices of brie, and almost half a tank of gas, that left about 145 artists I didn’t get to visit this year. I wish I could get everywhere and see everything, but the Open Studio Tour would have to last at least two weeks to make such a thing even possible. But what I did see underscored something I already know well: Tucson is blessed with a diverse, friendly and fabulous arts community.

My compliments to the Tucson Pima Arts Council for organizing another successful event, and also to the supporting sponsors. And if you missed the fall tour this year, don’t worry. Next weekend’s outdoor Tucson Museum of Arts Holiday Craft Market is another excellent opportunity to revel in the beaux arts of Tucson. See you there.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission. Artworks pictured are © by the respective artists and reproduced with express permission.

Burning Man 1998. Black Rock Desert, Nevada

Going to Burning Man is an extraordinary, life changing journey, but it finally got too vast and crowded for me. The art installations and theme camps began—at least in my experience—to be eclipsed by partiers, gawkers and all-night desert raves; the creative elements that are the heart of Burning Man were, to a degree, marginalized.

And now, sadly but I suppose inevitably, our annual All Souls Procession is facing similar hurdles. All Souls is our city’s most fantastic and dazzling event of the year. Read my earlier pieces for TC.com, “It All Started with All Souls” and “All Souls is Tucson’s Night of Nights,” and you will appreciate how much I adore this vibrant spectacle. However, success does come with a price.

Tucson silversmith Lisa Marie of Sirocco Design helps friends with their makeup before the 2009 All Souls Procession

Last night I attended my sixth consecutive All Souls parade, and I don’t just show up with a camera. I walk the walk. I also work on costumes and masks so I can make my own small visual contribution to the parade. Yesterday’s procession was staggering in its size. So many people marched, and there were so many floats and giant puppets that Fourth Avenue was nearly choked, and several times the parade came to a complete standstill. Sidewalks were packed with spectators all the way from University and Fourth to the loading docks across from Toole. And this is what I mean by the phrase “Burning Man Problem.” When an arts event is so exciting and intoxicating that it attracts an ever-growing number of participants and spectators, it faces the possibility of getting so big that it loses touch with the very thing that made it fabulous in the first place. When a unique, cutting-edge, local event grows to titanic proportions, is it possible to remain true to its original vision? I think it is, and I have a suggestion:

Local artists Jewels and Ismist with their spectacular 13-foot float honoring Shirley who passed away earlier this year

If you want to watch the parade, then watch the parade from the sidelines. If you want to be a participant, then really be a participant. A rough estimate—based on not very much but walking the length of the parade a few times, and prepared quickly in my somewhat addled brain—told me that at least one in four people walking with the procession were in ordinary house clothes and not bringing anything to it but their bodies. I fully appreciate that All Souls is not only an arts event, but also a spiritual event in which many mark the loss of loved ones during the previous year. As such, of course, it should be open to all. But—and this is a big but—many participants spend weeks or months building marvelous floats and designing elaborate costumes and masks. Out of respect for those who have given up time and money to make something beautiful or scary to bring to All Souls, I propose that marchers either dress up or stand aside. A spectacle like All Souls is only as good as its participants and I’d hate to see it populated by thousands of people shambling down Fourth Avenue in t-shirts and blue jeans. Really, what is the point of mystical parade in which people don’t wear something special?

Tucson fire troupe Flam Chen upped the ante with a particularly dazzling show during the 2009 All Souls finale

Thanks are due to the Many Mouths One Stomach volunteers who devote so much time and energy to making All Souls live, and to the Tucson Police Department, who once again managed the large and excitable crowd with courtesy and patience. And finally, it is important to remember that you live in an arts-friendly community in which a giant flaming cauldron is hoisted into the air by a crane, over a crowd of thousands, on a Sunday night. I really cannot think of another city in the country that would even consider allowing such a wonderful thing (San Francisco banned the original Burning Man from Baker Beach because it got too big).

All Souls is still the greatest, but let’s not lose sight of what makes it great. See you in front of Epic Cafe next year, and please, think about wearing a costume.

Photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

All Souls is already well known to many of you, I’m sure, but I am delighted that this year two of my friends will be experiencing their first procession. If you’ve never seen it, turn off the TV and get yourself downtown by 6 pm. You will not be disappointed. If you’ve watched as a spectator, but never participated, throw on some black and white face paint, don a costume or mask, revel in the ritual, and spare a moment for the memory of a loved one who has moved on to the next world (or whatever you believe in) during the past year.

With local media director, rock star, and bon vivant Caroline Palmer during the 2008 procession

One of my happy annual tasks is designing and building an elaborate mask to wear during the procession. Last year I wore a Hopi-inspired sun god and it was my best-ever effort. I had grand plans for this year—a giant gila monster faceplate was the winning idea—but, alas, the previous two months have been entirely filled by on-the-road adventures filming the new season of my television adventure series Meteorite Men. As such, there was no time to create something new for the 2009 parade. And that, dear readers, also explains why I have been absent from TC.com, lo these many weeks. I missed you, but I am back, and just in time for my favorite, favorite event of the year.

The mighty Flam Chen tear it up during the grand finale to the 2007 All Souls Procession. Photo by Geoffrey Notkin.

I’ll be on Fourth Avenue this evening, likely more than a little fired up, looking forward to bounding through the Fourth Avenue underpass in the company of drummers, dancers, and walking skeletons, watching fire troupe Flam Chen do their amazing thing at the loading docks, and I am hearing rumors of a surprise appearance by Calexico. I hope to see you down there, and I’ll be seeing you here tomorrow as well. I have more than a few tales to tell about life on the road with the Meteorite Men.

Learn more about Tucson’s All Souls Procession

Curatorial Specialist Sven Bailey patiently studied the history of the University of Arizona Mineral Collection and recorded the five other temporary homes it occupied before relocating to the spacious and airy basement of the Flandrau Science Center.

A view across part of the main gallery of the University of Arizona's wonderful mineral museum. Photograph by Geoffrey Notkin

If you walk into the Science Center, past the planetarium, maybe pausing for a moment to admire the Mars Wall, and then scamper down two long flights of stairs decorated with brightly painted murals, you will come upon a geologist’s dreamscape. The main collection comprises some 19,000 specimens, plus 7,000 micromounts. Of special delight to me was the mysterious Silverbell iron meteorite. Discovered in 1939, somewhere northwest of Tucson, the exact find location has been lost to science, and the UA Mineral Museum has the largest piece in the world. In addition, I was intrigued by a mock-up of the famous Tucson Ring meteorite, appearing as it did back in the 1800s during the least glamorous part of its life (it was once used as an anvil in the Tucson presidio, and has now been promoted to the rather magnificent centerpiece of the Smithsonian’s meteorite display in Washington, D.C.).

At the mineral museum, a detailed recreation with full-scale models demonstrates how the Tucson Ring and Carleton iron meteorites were once used in a blacksmith's shop in frontier-era Tucson. The actual meteorites are now part of the Smithsonian's collection in Washington, D.C. Photograph courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

“Our collection is actively used for research, and the curator is currently building a new mineral database,” Sven tells me. He is a tall, soft spoken, and thoughtful man. He seems wonderfully at ease in the beautiful and elegant underground collection; he could almost be the custodian of a secret treasure mine. “Some of our meteorites and minerals are studied by Planetary Sciences,” he continues. “And they are also available for students. Some university instructors lead field trips to the museum and assign extra credit.” Now, that’s my idea of school Extra credit for looking at rocks!

This spectacular example of the mineral pyrargyrite from Hartenstein Germany is just one of 19,000 specimens in the museum's main collection. Photograph by Sven Bailey / Courtesy of UA Mineral Museum

The mineral museum welcomes school programs, and children of all ages have enjoyed the remarkable collection with a concentration of students from First through Eighth Grades. Last year over 100 school groups visited the Flandrau and the mineral museum, and that translates into a lot of kids getting a first-hand look at geology, mineralogy, mining history, and meteorites.

The museum is also open to the general public and Sven and his colleagues are available to answer mineral-related questions. For many years, Senior Curatorial Specialist Shirley Wetmore, served in a “first contact” capacity with visitors who stopped by with samples hoping they had found a meteorite or rare mineral. Shirley was universally liked, did a great deal to further the public’s understanding of rocks, minerals, and meteorites, and recently retired from the museum.

Sven is a hard working man, handling the equivalent of several different jobs at once. In addition to showing visitors around and answering questions, he is engaged in an ongoing project to photograph the mineral collection (see photos on this page), keeps the website up to date, and helps design and coordinate signage and special exhibitions.

A large and intricate specimen of natural silver from the museum's collection. Photograph by Sven Bailey / Courtesy of UA Mineral Museum

It always feels good to see people happy in their work and Sven is especially enthusiastic when he leads me into a back room, opens an impressive safe, and produces a genuinely staggering specimen of leaf gold. Found on the Crystalline-Alabama Claim in Jamestown, California, it was recently acquired by the museum with the rest of the Hubert de Monmonier collection, a significant group of minerals, never before seen in public. Approximately 870 pieces, including some very important specimens, and 300 books, were donated by the de Monmonier estate. A stunning exhibit of some of the finest pieces from that collection is currently on display in the Flandrau’s main exhibition space.

So, doesn’t all of this sound great? A world-class mineral museum with active ongoing research programs, rare meteorites, beautiful displays, a friendly, enthusiastic and knowledgeable staff keen to interact with, and inform the public. Too good to be true? Almost. Due to budget cuts the University of Arizona Mineral Museum is only open on Fridays and Saturdays, and to school groups by appointment. If the feared permanent closure of the Flandrau Science Center does take place, what will become of this extraordinary collection?

Curatorial Specialist Sven Bailey and a leaf gold specimen from the Hubert de Monmonier collection, recently acquired by the Mineral Museum. Photograph by Geoffrey Notkin.

117 years ago, UA set out to build a mineral collection that would reflect the epic geologic and mining history of Arizona. They succeeded admirably. Now this great collection is open for only two days a week, and even that may be nothing but a temporary stay of execution. After six years with the museum, the talented Sven Bailey is moving on to a new job unconnected with the university. “Will we miss his expertise terribly,” said Executive Director Alexis Faust. But with the museum and the Science Center facing an uncertain future, who can blame Sven for moving on? Maybe if the Flandrau had a sufficient operating budget he would have stayed.

In a recent letter to Tucson Weekly, former associate director of the Flandrau, Joe Ruggiero, shared this fine sentiment: “For 35 years, through good times and bad, Flandrau provided this community with some measure of wonder, a place where one could come face to face with phenomena and see the beauty of the sky explained in vivid detail.”

Alexis, the current director states: “We have wonderful resources here. There should be a conduit for that information to get to the people of Tucson, the taxpayers.”

The Flandrau Science Center and the UA Mineral Museum are part of that conduit. The mineral museum is an extremely important and unique educational and historical resource. Allowing it to be closed, and therefore lost to the people of Tucson, would be a crime against science.

Michael also informs me that people identify a planetarium as a source of valid information and I, of course, agree with him. “When we have an event in the skies, people come here to find out about it.”

So what happens when they arrive at Tucson’s wonderful Flandrau to find it closed?

In front of the Flandrau Science Center: The large white dome houses the planetarium, and the smaller dome, far right, is the observatory. The U of A Mineral Museum is located in the basement, and the Henry Moore-like sculpture on the lawn cradles a splendid iron meteorite. This internationally recognized institution must be kept alive at all costs. Image courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

Author Grace Flandrau could informally be described as the Science Center’s mom. A successful novelist, columnist, radio show host, and frequent visitor to Tucson, she died in 1971, and a year later the University of Arizona used a bequest from her estate “to fund a facility that would increase public understanding and appreciation of science.” The official website goes on to say:

Originally known as The Grace H. Flandrau Planetarium, the facility was part of the UA Department of Astronomy. Its location on campus, near the Astronomy Department, Optical Sciences Center, Lunar and Planetary Laboratory and historic Steward Observatory, reflects its continuing connections to the research community. The Planetarium was designed by Tucson architectural firm Blanton and Company and opened its door to the public in 1975.

Previous directors have included my friend, the late O. Richard Norton, a highly respected science writer and astronomer, and Richard R. Willey author of the short book The Tucson Meteorites: Their History from Frontier Arizona to the Smithsonian, which chronicles one of Tucson’s most enduring and mysterious legends. What the Flandrau website doesn’t mention is that the planetarium and mineral museum were almost forced to close their doors permanently earlier this year, and manage to maintain minimal opening hours due to the generosity of donors and supporters.

My initial plan was to conduct an interview with Alexis R. Faust, the current Excecutive Director of the Flandrau, then make a short visit to the superb U of A Mineral Museum, housed in the Flandrau’s basement. I thought I might get two interesting columns out of the one visit. I was late for my meeting and waited, briefly and comfortably in the conference room, for Alexis. I was graciously served good coffee, cold spring water and some snacks. My misguided belief that I would be satisfied by a short visit to these two astonishing resources was just that—misguided. I was there for half the day.

“The greatest economic value is the intelligence of people,” Alexis told me within the first couple of minutes. “Knowledge is the currency of the future.” And I was immediately and entirely captivated by her devotion to learning and her observations and predictions—both remarkable and numerous—about the future of education. “The mind is an amazing thing before we beat it to death with rote memorization, prejudice, and fear.”

To my surprise I did not hear any complaints or bitterness about budget cuts and the partial closing of the Science Center. Although the remaining staff have contracts that only run until December, the pervading view seems to be that when cuts need to be made, the money has to come from somewhere. But there is plenty of optimism among the few determined educators who walk through the quiet and nearly empty buildings.

Under the dome: The science fiction-like projector generates astral light for planetarium shows. Image courtesy of Flandrau Science Center.

“We’re not just sitting here,” Alexis elaborated. “We’re writing grants and raising funds so we can bridge this period of time. We are dedicated to finding it, and we are competing against the rest of the country for those funds, so we have to be as good as we can be.” With their their passion for education, their portable planetarium shows, a fine meteorite collection, and “the largest to-scale model of Mars anywhere in the world,” the Flandrau’s protectors are keeping it is as good as it can be, but the public gets to enjoy their best for only two days a week.

Alexis left me with this thought: “A lot of people still come by and knock on the door. They haven’t even heard about us closing. It’s not the university’s fault. I am incredibly grateful that we’re as alive as we are. Education is not getting funded the way it needs to be funded, and education is in the midst of a revolution. We need to keep up with it. That’s why institutions like this are so important.”

So, Alexis isn’t just hoping for better times ahead for the Flandrau, she intends to be part of a global change in not only how we teach, but how we learn. Tucson needs brilliant people like her, and Michael Terrenzoni, right here doing what they do best.

University of Arizona please take note: When times are tough, and we tighten our national belt, some will suffer, but Tucson’s venerable science center, with its international network of colleagues and collaborators, its long history of education and sharing the wonders of astronomy and the natural world, is too important, and too unique a resource to be one of those left to die in a wasteland of economic cutbacks.

Mr. James Hadden, master of machines and guardian of a piece of American history, alongside his latest project: A 1936 International about to be restored to its former glory

James F. Hadden is eighty years old and dressed in blue overalls, with a battered but still dapper cap, bright eyes, gentle smile, a lively sense of humor and more energy and enthusiasm than many men I know who are half his age. In 1972, James sold his large dairy farm in native Pennsylvania and moved the entire family to Tucson, because of his health. The move evidently worked out very well for him in the health department.

James and his wife, Betty, have been married for 62 years, and while Betty tends her gorgeous garden of marigolds (those orange flowers are evidently heaven for butterflies; there were about twenty in rapturous attendance) and grasshopper-proof vegetable operation, James finds, fixes, and restores vintage tractors.

When I asked him how he acquired this unusual skill, James replied that he had been born with it. While still working as a farmer in Pennsylvania he would: “Work in the shop until about 11 o’clock at night fixing the tractors, then I’d get up at 4:30 to feed the cows. I was the repair man for the whole neighborhood.”

The splendid and sporty 1940s Ford 2N is one of James' favorite restorations

James’ amazing collection of tractors fills one large barn and half of a second, which also houses his labyrinthine workshop. Additional vehicles are neatly parked in front of the Hadden’s home, under a crowded car port. One of his favorite machines is the Ford 2N, a feisty red and white survivor from the early 1940s, and a monument to good old-fashioned American engineering with just a hint of Deco thrown in (the gas tank cap was beautifully streamlined). “I had to take three coats of paint off of that one to get it down to the bare metal,” James commented. He removed each piece, cleaned it and then hung it in a corner of his workshop for repainting. James pointed out a red grille perfectly positioned on the front of the Ford. “That piece was missing, and they wanted $125 for a new one, so I went to my junk pile and made one myself.” Don’t you wish you could do that in your own home when you need something?

The current project is a rusty 1936 International. Its massive wheels look as if they were fashioned from a giant’s bicycle chain, and James demonstrated how he could easily remove the bolts—cemented in place by decades of rust—after heating them with a blow torch and then chilling them down with water.

I asked James how he managed to locate these remarkable veterans of cultivation. “I go to auctions and buy them if they go reasonable. I don’t put a lot of money into them ‘cos I do all my own work.” And when I asked about the International: “I’ve got a friend in Wilcox and one day he showed up with that on a trailer and asked if I wanted it. I said, ‘Sure, I’ll take it.’”

Plenty still to do: "All the parts are there," James told me. "She just needs to be put back together." I plan on stopping by next year to see if she is up and running.

Not only are these wonderful machines in beautiful condition, they actually work. All except for one which, James admitted, was temporarily out of action due to a bad radiator. “I need to fix that,” he noted. Once a year James fires up all of these grand old cultivators, and displays them on his property for visitors to see. I have no doubt that this year, or maybe next, the venerable International will be purring away, lined up, in immaculate condition, next to its descendants.

It was such an enjoyable visit, and I was so very charmed by Mr. and Mrs. Hadden and their labors of love, that I pretty much just forgot about the other story. So, would the city of Benson, or Cochise County please give this man a grant or a knighthood and help him continue his extraordinary work.

The finest gentleman I have met all year, and the secret of James’ health, vigor and longevity? “Keeping busy is the secret. Keeping busy and doing things.” I couldn’t agree more.

The B-29 Superfortress at Pima Air & Space

Top of my list is the Pima Air & Space Museum, an aviation exhibit of truly staggering proportions. With about 300 aircraft on permanent display, the dedicated air and space fan will want to assign the better part of a long summer day to enjoy this vast museum — part indoor, part outdoor. Sure it’s hot, but that’s the price you pay for being able to stare reverently at President John F. Kennedy’s Air Force One without being distracted by scurrying kids demanding ice cream.

To my mind, the most graceful aircraft ever to touch the sky: The Lockheed Constellation

Better yet, go on one of the guided tours. I have a friend who is a volunteer docent and once had the great pleasure of accepting a private tour from him. And I thought I knew a lot about aviation history! These volunteers are full of fascinating and obscure knowledge related to the world of wings, and it adds a unique spin to spend part of a day in their company.

Camouflage-colored vent on the side of a massive B-52 bomber

Some of the many highlights include World War II heavy bombers including a pristine B-17 and B-29, Cold War era weapons such as a B-52 and a collection of Russian Migs. Hanger 3 is my favorite, of course, as it is dedicated to WWII aircraft and features a Dakota transport with fancy D-Day markings, a B-24 Liberator and a B-25 Mitchell.

Blu sky on aluminum

Don't tread on me!

You always know museums have a lot to offer when their website says “9:00 AM – 5 PM Daily. Last admittance at 4:00 PM.” Do me a favor and don’t show up at 4. You won’t even get through the first building, and there are many. Bring some water, a floppy hat, a good camera, and a healthy respect for the daring men and women who pushed back the boundaries of flight.

The whole things is quite an experience and, as you can tell from these pictures, it is the details that I find most fascinating.

Photographs © Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.