April 17, 2019
It all started with the bench - that impressive piece of furniture that has so far refused to give up its story. And certainly there must be a story to tell.
We acquired the family heirloom by having it shipped from North Carolina, a not inexpensive proposition. Mom W. was leaving her long-time home there, and we couldn't bear the thought of the bench going out of the family.
Mom said it had belonged to her grandfather, Frederick Van Buren, but she initially offered no further information about it. During a more recent conversation, she remembered a nugget: the bench was perhaps Swiss. That tidbit rang true for us: Fred Van Buren's maternal ancestral line was Swiss; in fact, his mother, Rosina Buhlmann, immigrated to the U.S. in 1851, aged 12, with her parents, John Buhlmann and Anna Haldeman from Berne, Switzerland.
Unfortunately, even with that newly-acquired knowledge, we are no closer to identifying the bench's origins. Who painstakingly carved the odd tableaus on its double panels? And when and why? Do the scenes reflect some moment in history or are they flights of fancy from the craftsman's imagination?
There are no identifying marks of any kind; our research has netted nothing that answers our questions, so when the Antiques Roadshow planned to produce a segment of their popular television program in Phoenix, we thought we had an answer to the mystery.
Following directions, we emailed photos and information off to those folks who seem to be the end-all and be-all of solving mysteries of antiquities' origins. Much to our surprise, they did not deem the bench to be of sufficient interest; for each session, they choose only ten furniture pieces out of hundreds submitted.
That left us only with the option of transporting it to the city ourselves and somehow carting it around the grounds of the botanical gardens where the show was produced, a seeming impossibility given its weight and awkwardness.
After months of awaiting the producers' verdict, we were pretty much hyped to attend anyway and because we had obtained coveted tickets to the show, we decided to go sans bench.
Sidetrack #1: the desert . . .
The day of the Antiques Roadshow was a rare one away for us; to take full advantage, we left home early although our tickets did not gain us admission until 3:30 in the afternoon. We were not even out of the county before we pulled off the highway to scout out some lower-elevation countryside.
Just happened that after a short distance on our chosen dirt road, the place we parked was at a trailhead for the Black Canyon Trail - perfect! - we were happy to utilize that meandering track to trek out into the high desert terrain.
Our path afforded us views of our Bradshaw Mountains off to the west.
Not surprisingly, we were met with incredible amounts of an overwhelming variety of plant life - sprouting, blooming, seeding - bursting with life not often seen in arid climes - the result of a winter and spring replete with unusual amounts of snow and rain.
We even found a bit of flowing water in one canyon bottom, although we didn't have to use our waders to get across it.
Grandma's house & the Thompsons . . .
Our hiking detour complete, we continued on down the hill into Phoenix-land, place of my birth but no longer of my heart. We followed through with a semi-plan to wander through an east-side neighborhood where my Grandma Grace had lived.
I was remembering an estate bordering her neighborhood and wanted to get one decisive look around at whatever might remain, and boy oh boy, did that ever set me off on a tangent of epic proportions!
We did find what remained of the compound and got a few pictures of Rancho Juaquina. I had not known the place's name, nor even that it had a name, had always just called it Thompson's farm. The next photos illustrate why it was known to me by that moniker: they are front and back of a painting I own that Grandma painted of what I remember her calling "Thompson's barn".
Throughout my younger years, I was fascinated with the mystery of that oasis hidden behind those adobe walls and a wooden gate that was seldom opened. What I have learned since our recent jaunt makes me very sorry that I did not pursue my youthful interest.
The manor house, as I term it, is a most impressive edifice; I have no idea why I had never seen it before. There it sits, magnificent in all its splendor, at the end of a cul-de-sac in a housing development of far-less-impressive and far-more-modern structures. The 6,709-square-foot adobe revival home was built in 1924, and is on the National Register of Historic Places. Rancho Juaquina truly evokes a sense of stepping back in time.
Wallace and Ladmo . . .
This is where my little tale becomes a bit tangled. In a way that I will relate in a bit, I found out that the Thompsons of Grandma's Thompson's barns painting were none other than the family of "Wallace". Now that might not mean anything to some folks, but if you ask any Arizonan who came up in my era, the name conjures the Wallace and Ladmo television program, an iconic Arizona staple.
That show was one of the longest-running daily, locally produced children's television shows in American broadcasting history. It was aired for more than 35 years, from 1954 to 1989. Among many other awards, it garnered nine regional Emmy awards. It's worth reading about the evolution and development the program went through, beginning with Bill Thompson's debut as the nephew on the Gold Dust Charlie show, which I remember, having now survived so many years that those events of the earlier time fade into the mists that seem to be someone else's life.
Like virtually every other Phoenix child of the times, I faithfully watched Wallace and Ladmo, in addition to attending some of their events. My dear mother even transported her brood to the Wallace and Ladmo turtle races. Despite my urging, my entrant did not win the race; at least I don't think he or she did; surely I would remember such glory, but as is my wont, I digress.
Okay, moving on from the children's program to more recent life: I have known for many decades now that the mysterious estate by Grandma's house was owned by the Thompsons, and I have also known for decades that Wallace was in actuality Bill Thompson, but somehow, the knowledge that those estate Thompsons were the same Thompsons of Wallace fame had completely eluded me.
Must . do . research . . .
My attention was gotten - in Ritaland, a tangent was unavoidable. Research had to be done to determine just how Bill Thompson, the creator of the iconic Wallace character, fit in with the creator of Grandma's neighboring farm - what an exercise that became and what a fascinating family our Wallace sprang from!
Rancho Juaquina was once a very different place: it well deserved the moniker of "estate" as an 80-acre horticultural preserve conceived and executed by "Wallace's" grandfather, Joseph Edward Thompson. The compound included multiple guest cottages, stables, pools, bath houses, lagoons and much more. Said to be a botanist's paradise, its maintenance required the work of many, including 15 gardeners. With trees from every country in the world and multitudes of flora of every ilk, it must have been an incredible oasis in the Valley of the Sun, and to think - it was right across the road from Grandma's house - I am positive she must have loved it, being the extraordinary gardener and lover of flowers that she was. In the course of my investigations, it became obvious that Grandma's house and her entire neighborhood had been developed out of Rancho Juaqina's original acreage.
More surprises were revealed as the story twisted and turned. Not only was Joe Thompson, Sr. Wallace's grandfather via his father William Thompson, but he was also the brother of William Boyce Thompson, who built the 1920s mansion known as Picket Post near Superior, Arizona, and who founded the celebrated Boyce Thompson Arboretum there. It is the largest and oldest botanical garden in Arizona, and one of the oldest botanical institutions west of the Mississippi.
The Thompsons were extremely wealthy mining engineers, financiers, stock brokers and very generous philanthropists who made a multitude of positive contributions during their tenure on Earth. I recommend reading about the elders of the family as well as Bill of Wallace fame - a fascinating bunch!
How I got there . . .
To conclude my absurdly roundabout saga, I will go back to the beginning: Grandma's house. My mother's mother, Ada Susan Grace (Rhodimer) Catron Smith (known as Grace), created a lovely home in 1950 in what is now known as the Arcadia district in East Phoenix. We all loved being there; Grandma was a gracious warm woman, and so talented as an artist and needleworker/seamstress in addition to her gardening prowess.
On the rare occasions when I am in that city, I stop by her place; as I said, this was one of those times. The last visit there was disappointing because the property had deteriorated enough that I thought I might not return. I was pleased on this occasion to see that the downward trend was reversing. After much agonizing about asking permission to take a photo, I determined to do so (these things are not easy for someone of my shy nature).
A very cordial lady answered our knock on her door and spent some time talking with us. She related some of her history with the neighborhood and the house and I responded with my memories. She is the one who explained to me that the "Thompson's farm" folks were the "Wallace/Bill Thompson" folks, which is what set me off on my circuitous tangent of research.
I took my current photo . . .
. . . and in appreciation, sent that nice lady some pictures of the house when it was new in 1950 and Grandma and Gene had recently moved in . . .
. . . and others of how it evolved through the years as they added on and Grandma planted and tended her flowers. . .
 |
| That's Pogo posing on the walk. |
The next chapter of my adventure came when I received a lovely text from Angela in response to my letter and photos: she thanked me and identified herself as the "care giver to Grandma's house" and invited us back.
In my book, that is absolutely the sweetest ever! Doncha just love it when people rise to the top like cream on a bottle of fresh milk! Thank you, Angela!
We made it . . .
Can you believe it - at long last, we arrived at the Desert Botanical Gardens in Phoenix for our 3:30 ticket to the Antiques Roadshow!
 |
| The gardens are punctuated colorfully and dramatically with Chihuly glass installations. |
Thus began a whole lot of standing in one long line and then another long line and another long line, ad infinitum. After months of anticipation, the experience was far different than what I had anticipated.
In the first place, photography is not allowed in the inner sanctum, so the only shots I got were before we were admitted. As we met people in the parking lot leaving after their earlier sessions, we asked about some of their items and occasionally photographed them and asked about their significance. The photo below is of a rug that was used in President Harry Truman's office (which was not chosen for televising, by the way).
Although the bench was not accepted, we were each allowed to take two items to be appraised. Much agonizing ensued in the weeks leading up to the big day. Our choices were a Zapotec rug that a dealer had told us was very valuable (it wasn't), a hand-painted Dalck family coat of arms that includes an explanation of what it depicts and why it was awarded (we thought the date on it of '09 meant 1909, but turns out it is probably 1809 but it is not as valuable as I thought it would be; since we would never part with it, it doesn't matter), an early 20-century painting that was left to us by a dear friend (meh!) and an 1911 silk embroidered evening bag from Honolulu (higher than expected), all of which means we are not adept at antique valuations.
I was amazed at the huge, awkward, heavy and unwieldy items that people brought along. I would have had a blast photographing it all, but alas, it was not to be.
I alleviated the line-standing tedium by horning in on other people's sessions. That activity made up a bit for my disappointment at not getting to view and hear about most of the items. One of the sessions I butted into was a family that had "Grandma Dorothy's wastebasket" - at least that's what they had marked on its storage box, a ruse to save the venerable Native American basket from possible burglars in their storage unit. They said it had belonged to their great grandfather Kendrick, who was the first sheriff of Flagstaff, Arizona. Admittedly, by the time I am writing this, I have no idea if I have the story even halfway correct, but that's my best effort (their baskets were not deemed particularly valuable, either, due to their deteriorated condition, and they were scolded for bringing a collection instead of one item).
We watched one of the few filming sessions that was in evidence: for a poster (maybe it was an original) of Sun Valley, Idaho, and the Union Pacific railroad. Pretty sure I heard the valuation of $10,000, although I, in my lack of infinite wisdom, would have thought it wasn't even worth keeping.
In my loved "small world" category, we arrived at the back of one line to discover that we were right behind a couple we know from Prescott. That was a highlight; it was after all a very long line and we had quite a nice conversation. On the other hand, we could have done that if we had all stayed home.
