I suppose the luckiest moment in the
history of Phoenix, Arizona came when the first settlers decided to
reject the suggestion of its founder Jack Swilling that they should name the new
town “Stonewall”, after the Confederate General. Instead they
listened to the more educated voice of Swilling's friend, Phillip
Darrell Duppa, an Englishman who had been versed in the classics. He
liked to call himself “Lord Duppa”, delivered with a self depreciating grin, and he had the romantic idea that the ugly little adobe town founded
between the White Tank Mountains and the Salt River was a place of
rebirth, a spot where new life could rise from the ashes of the old, like the Phoenix Bird.
And that appealed to the survivors of the Civil War, from both sides.
On the other hand it was bad luck in May of 1880 that James Reavis
stepped off the stagecoach from California in Phoenix, to raise his
claim of the Peralta Land Grant from its ashes.
It wasn't legally a town yet when
Reavis arrived . That would happen in February of the next year. But
already the town had almost 2,500 citizens, a couple of churches, a
school on Center Street, 16 saloons, four dance halls, a bank and a
telegraph connection to the outside world. And Huntington's railroad
was already reaching out from San Diego. But James Reavis showed no interest in any of that. He told people he was a subscription agent
for the San Francisco Examiner, but he he sold very few subscriptions. He
read the local paper, he listened when people talked , and he gauged
the spirit of the place. He even traveled the 15 miles out to where
the seasonal Salt River and the perennial Gila Rivers met, and
stumbled about the hills for an hour or so. On his return to town, he
boarded the stagecoach for the terrible one hundred mile journey
north, into the mountains, to the territorial capital of Prescott.
Repeated conflagrations had forced the
mining town of less than 2,000 to begin building in brick, including
a new court house (above). It was in that building in May of 1880 that James
Reavis located George Willing's “original” scrap of paper
purporting to be the bill of sale for the Peralta Land Grant. He
presented a letter from George’s widow, granting him authority to
act in her name. And once he had this scrap paper bill of sale in his hand, James caught
the next coach for back to San Francisco.
Reavis had stumbled over a serious
problem in Black Canyon, 50 miles north of Phoenix, His stage must have stopped there overnight on his journey to
Prescott, and he found the ground crowded with people who still remembered how a man named King “Sam”
Woolsey had lead 93 vigilantes into Black Canyon, chasing Apaches in
1864, just a few months before George Willing claimed he had bought
the grant from Miguel Peralta, while both were working claims there. Sam Woolsey had established a ranch
nearby, and had died in Phoenix just two years before Reavis' visit,
and locals could question the
presence of either Willing or Peralta in that area in 1864. James
had been wise enough not to ask any questions about the place, because, whatever the
answers might be, they would just draw attention to himself, and he was
not ready for that just yet. It was something he would have to eventually fix.
But he now he also had a printed English translation of
the grant, the Royal Credula - “The King's Debt”.
After discussions with Huntington and Crocker, James decided to expand the size
of the grant, placing its very center at the confluence of the Salt
and Gila.which he had visited on his day trip. Contained
within the grant now were the towns of Phoenix, Tempe and Casa
Granda. Fifty miles east, and still covered by the grant, was the
richest claim in the territory, the Silver King Mine, producing
$10,000 out of every ton of ore pried from its tunnels. Reavis added
a helpful note from the powerful Inquisition of New Spain, dated
1757, assuring the Viceroy there was no impediment to the grant, and
a statement from the lucky recipient, Don Miguel de Peralta, himself,
dated 1758, which defined the western boundary so as to reach all
the way to Silver City, New Mexico territory, and the silver
deposits under Chloride Flats north of there. Preparing this
paperwork took the entire winter of 1880-81.
In July of 1881 Reavis finally made it
to Sacramento, to repay Florin Massaol and get his hands on the mineral
rights George Willing had pawned back in 1874. In the end, however,
Massaol was so impressed by the people backing Reavis, the forger got
what he wanted for only the cost of a railroad ticket. All he had to
do was sign yet another promissory note, agreeing to pay Massol
$3,000 if and when the Peralta grant was confirmed by an American court. In
exchange Massaol signed over power of attorney on the mineral rights
to Reavis That's all Reavis wanted, anyway. It as not as if he had any
intention of ever digging for himself.
Immediately, Reavis boarded a train for
Washington, D.C., seeking the record book of the Mission San Xavier
del Bac, located just south of Phoenix, Arizona, and a benchmark used
for the grant. The book had been the territories' contribution to the
Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876. After the Exhibition
had closed, the book along with other exhibits, had been moved to
Washington. It was still there, and Reavis was permitted access to
the book because of his contacts with wealthy Californians. Had the book still been in Arizona such
“friends” might have been a source of suspicion, but in far off
Washington the other rule about museum curators came into play - they never miss an
opportunity to impress a potential wealthy patron. Reavis was allowed
to spend several days in private, going over the book. In September
he continued his odyssey in Mexico City, and then on to Guadalajara..
In both cities James Reavis bonded with
the archivists, the librarians and probate clerks in charge of the
documents and records he needed, and probably paid them for small “favors” he received. He did not bribe them. Even an offer of a
bribe could have destroyed his plan. But payments for meals, running errands, even advice, would have subtly shaded their attitude toward and perception of him. He told them he was a correspondent for San
Francisco newspapers, looking for stories about the roots of
California families. And when he left Mexico in late November of 1881, he
had photographs of the documents, as well as typed translations and
certified copies, all paid for by his wealthy investors. Six months
later he was in Lexington, Kentucky, agreeing to pay George Willings
widow, May Ann, $30,000 over time for the free and clear ownership of
the Peralta grant – 50% more than George had paid for it in 1863 –
a transaction which, in reality, had probably never taken place.
This proves again the central rule of capitalism, which is that everything has a value, defined as what people are willing to
pay for what they want. And in most capitalist endeavors, the first
step is to create the want. And that is what James Reavis was
about to begin doing.
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