t was not the cow that made the cowboy; it was the horse. In the early days, it was a range mongrel known as the mustang, those sturdy, unpampered descendants of the Spanish breed that were the greatest contributors to a cowboy’s self-image. There was an aura of aristocracy, shared by the fraternity of horsemen, that bridged all cultures.

The Arizona cowboy was a curious mix of the northern Plains, Rockies, California, Texas and northern Mexico cowboy culture. The influence of all these was strong, yet the Arizona cowboys, or vaqueros, evolved into a unique breed of their own. In a frontier that was closing rapidly at the turn of the century, Arizona offered one of the last vestiges of the freedom that was associated with being a cowboy.

Out of a frontier history that lasted more than 350 years, Americans have taken the era of the open-range cowboy, a brief 20-year span, given it immortality and called it the West. The heroic figures who emerged have come to symbolize all the manifestations of character we ascribe to the winning of the West. Most important, those qualities have come to represent our perception of our own self-image as rugged individuals.

Have you ever wondered how Arizonans spent their leisure time before the advent of lakes, fast highways, tailgate parties, single bars and health spas?

Don’t be fooled by those stoic faces in the old photograph albums. Leisure time might have been limited compared to today, but, if those plucky territorial folks knew something about the good old fashioned work ethic, they also knew how to have a good time.