The Tucson Life Style - Livin' The Dream

Recently, we reconnected with an old friend from New Jersey.  He voiced his concern for our safety and well being living here in the "wilds" of southern Arizona.  This prompted a rather colorful response from Jim, which I thought I should share here with my followers. 
-------------

As my good friend George Bryan would say, “Don’t believe the hype!”

And, in the words of Robert A. Heinlein, “An armed society is a polite society. Manners are good when one may have to back up his acts with his life.”

While the FBI Uniform Crime Report, and the much-exploited Gabrielle Giffords shooting reflected poorly on Arizona in-general, and Tucson more specifically, things aren't as bad as they might seem.  The Violent Crime Rate for the US in 2012 averaged 386.9/100k; whereas Arizona’s was 428.9/100k… or about 11% above the national average.  But, this is still a statistically small number, and even more, it is surprising.  

Considering that Tucson is a city of nearly 1 million people, 42% Latino/Hispanic by population, replete with Sinaloa, MS13, Crips, Bloods, and a variety of other thugs, and located just 60 miles away from the border of a 3^rd World Country; this low crime rate speaks highly of the civility of the general population, as a whole.  The vast majority of the crime is confined to the enclave of South Tucson, a one-square mile municipality which is comprised 83% of Mexican and 10% Native American.  This demographic segment averages a high-school graduation rate of just over 70%.  

Refusing to assimilate and insisting that this land is theirs because it was stolen from Mexico, they deeply resent gringos and refuse to cooperate with law enforcement, creating a community which harbors illegal aliens, prostitutes, human traffickers, drug pushers, and Mexican gangs.   Yet, crime here still pales in comparison to areas like Chicago’s south side, Washington D.C., Oakland, CA, or Detroit.

On those occasions when they wander into the civilized domain, they find themselves surrounded, outnumbered, and out-gunned by a population of active-duty and retire military, on and off-duty Border Patrol agents and Customs Enforcement Officers, law enforcement of all types, National Park Rangers and Game Officers, Mid-West conservatives, cowboys, and hard-working rednecks… all of which have a total intolerance for hoodlums of any type.

Arizona is a Castle Doctrine state, a Stand Your Ground state, and a Constitutional Carry state.  Over 3% of Arizona’s population maintains active Concealed Carry of Weapons permits in spite of the fact that they are no longer needed.  Arizona is one of five U.S. States that comply with the Constitution’s protection of the law-abiding individual’s right, as defined by the Bill of Rights, to Bear Arms for the purpose of defending themselves, others, and property.  This respect of constitutionally protected freedom includes open or concealed carry without requiring permission from any regulatory entity (read that “infringement”).  Local law enforcement estimates that approximately 17% of the adult male population of Tucson is carrying a firearm at any given time.

Pima County operates three shooting ranges, the largest having 18 50-yard lanes, 12 200-yard lanes, 6 trap & skeet lanes, 6 archery lanes, an education/lecture center, and is currently opening additional pistol & rifle lanes.  It averages approximately 150 customers per day, and is only open Thursday through Sunday. It is the only county-operated facility making a profit. The average number of rounds expended per customer is 100 per visit on an average of once per month, making their customers better trained, more experienced, and more accurate shooters than the average law-enforcement officer.

Arizona takes its armament seriously, there are 7 shooting ranges within Tucson, including the Tucson Rifle Club, which operates 15 long-range, 1000-yard lanes, as well as steel silhouette targets and an assortment of short-range lanes.  The Ben Avery shooting complex up by Phoenix is one of the largest in the nation: ( http://www.azgfd.gov/outdoor_recreation/ben_avery.shtml )

The ultimate result of such an intensely armed civilian population, or perhaps, simply just concomitant with the personality of people who so highly-value individual autonomy, responsibility and freedom; is the level of civility.  Road rage is virtually non-existent, people are courteous and polite, holding doors open for each other, shaking hands, and looking each other in the eye with respect.  Public confrontations are rare, children are very well behaved, and life as a whole is extremely civilized.

This “civility” is reflected daily in numerous subtle interactions which color life.  It is the 15 year old teenager who looks you in the eye as they carry on a mature and perceptive conversation.  It is the toll-booth attendant who smiles, asks how your day is going, and wishes you a safe trip.  It is the cashier at McDonald’s who speaks English as a second language with better diction and grammar than virtually anyone in Newark.  It manifests its self in the pasty-white 5 year old from Wisconsin eating sushi with chop-sticks as he sits upright at the table with his back straight and his feet hanging down off the bench where they should be.  It is about always having someone bag your groceries and then asking if you need them taken to your car.  And, it’s in the near total absence of panhandlers and beggars at intersections…  But, people here don’t outsource their charity either; you’ve never met so many people who volunteer, or seen so many charity organizations and non-profits in one town.

  

Last night, as Bev and I were leaving the ATM, a woman who was there by herself asked if we would mind staying and sitting in our car while she made her night deposit.  “We can do better than that, we’ll stand right here and wait for you.”  Bev and I continued our conversation while she made her deposit behind us, and then we waited till she thanked us and got into her car.  This is a “small town” with a million inhabitants.

Back shortly after the Fast and Furious debacle broke, an ATF officer who was one of only three ATF officers in the entire country of Mexico, was being transferred from Mexico City to Tucson as a result of the upheaval.  Originally from the demilitarized zone of Washington DC, he was hiking alone in unfamiliar terrain where there are rattlesnakes, bear, cougars, rock-slides, and flash floods; an area where two or three hikers die of heat exhaustion each year, and another dozen need rescue or airlifting out.  He was hiking without water, without reliable communications, and without any appropriate preparations; and, he had reached the point where he was no longer sure of his location or whether he was even on the trail.  As he walked, he encountered Bev and me, and we immediately recognized his situation.  We did what anyone here would do, we offered him a spare bottle of cold water and an energy bar, then invited him to join us.  As we walked and chatted, I saw him glance apprehensively where the 9mm on my hip was printing through my shirt; and I just smiled wryly and chided, “I see you’ve already noticed things are a lot different from what you’re used to.  You ain’t in DC any more… Welcome to Tucson… it'll take a little gettin' used to, but, you’re gonna love it here.”

All in all, Tucson is a great town.  It has been 75 degrees with blue skies and wispy clouds for days.  Living in a fairly urban area that is walking distance from a half-dozen strip malls, a couple schools, a few churches, gas stations, two car washes, and a dozen restaurants… the neighborhood is quiet, I have rabbits in my front yard, coyote’s trotting down the sidewalks, hawks on my back wall, hummingbirds glaring in the window at me when their feeder is empty, foot long lizards basking on the patio, and the occasional field mouse scampering across the yard.  The mountains here aren’t quite like those in NJ; here, they rise over 7000 ft. above the city, on all four sides. 

When I first went to NJ, my friend Garth told me, “Living in New Jersey is kinda like going to put your pants on in the morning and finding that there is already somebody in them…”  

To put things in perspective:  The city of Tucson is twenty three miles across, and its area is 227 square miles, or eight times the size of Newark.    When the traffic is really bad, it takes 40 minutes to get across town.  Pima County, where Tucson resides, has over 9,189 square miles, which is 467 square miles more than the entire state of NJ.  Yet, the population density of Tucson is one quarter that of Newark’s, the population density of Pima County, again, roughly the same size as the entire state of NJ, is 107 people per square mile, compared to 1210 people per square mile for NJ.  As a state, Arizona has an average population density of 57 people per square mile.

The boundaries of the city end abruptly, as does the pavement of roads that may stretch another 50 miles into the Sonoran Desert or climb the sides of those 7000 ft. mountains.  And Phoenix, the next city north, is 118 miles away.  But, the speed limit is 75 mph, and cars frequently travel at 100 mph between the fixed-location speed-enforcement zones.  With a twenty-minute drive to the east, I can be beyond any visual reminder of the influence of man, other than the road on which I’m travelling.  

But, being a water baby, the fishing here sucks… actually, there is none… the game fish here are what we call "bait fish" in Florida.  And, the bridges cross empty, gaping gashes in the ground that may be filled only two or three times a year, but, then, with 8 ft. of careening water crashing beneath them and ricocheting off the levees.

Five miles away from the house is the Saguaro National Forrest where the 60 ft. high sentinels of the desert silently stretch their arms skyward as if pleading for rain.  A few miles the other direction, Davis Monthan Airbase is one of America's three military "bone yards" where decommissioned and retired aircraft are stored, recycled into replacement parts… or crushed.

But, we are outcasts.  People here keep to themselves and are skittish around people that are too loud, too boisterous, too outgoing, and from big cities back east... or even farther… because, “back east” means Michigan, Wisconsin, or Illinois… the New York metropolitan area is a vague illusion, a far, exotic place where nobody they know has ever come from.  You were born here, or, you’re an outsider.  It’s not that people are unfriendly; they just keep to themselves and mind their own business.  Bev spent 8 months trying to get the city to get rid of a limousine service being run from a house up the street, as well as get the junkyard cleaned out of another person’s back yard.  She was being exactly what I came here to get away from… but, she’s finally beginning to "get it".

Michael Bloomberg and his narcissistic, self-absorbed, control-freak ilk are not welcome here.  There’s a reason the speed limit says 5 mph… it’s a gravel road, there is no guard rail, and that's a 300-foot sheer drop off the side of the mountain… if you are driving a car, that means you are an adult capable of reading and following road signs.  It is your own fault if you slide off the road and kill yourself.  Or, if you get into a car and ride up the side of a mountain with someone irresponsible; that is your own fault too.  You want to ride your motorcycle without a helmet, that’s fine, but, you better have good insurance.  Decide to break into someone’s house and get cut on the broken window glass, slip and fall, get attacked by the pit bull, or get your ass shot…?  Neither you nor your family will be getting one red dime from a lawsuit settlement against the property owner's insurance in this state.  That road-sign that says, “Stop 200 feet ahead”?  You better be paying attention, because thirty feet past that stop sign is a concrete barrier and a hundred-foot drop into the 80-foot deep Roosevelt Lake reservoir.  Arizona is a state for people who want to be adults.

When Bev opens her mouth and the Jersey accent spills out, you can see the change on the countenance of people’s faces.  Is she mafia?  Is she liberal?  Is she socialist?  Is she atheist and unprincipled?  It takes years for some people to warm up to us… but, those that have, will be friends for life.  People go for years without seeing or speaking to each other, then, one day, you’re sitting in a restaurant talking to the owner, and a man walks in.  “Greg?  Greg Seder?  Oh, my God!  I haven’t seen you since Mrs. Tomlinson’s class, what was that, sixth grade?!”  And this man will sit down, introduce himself to me, and pick up a conversation with Greg that has been waiting for forty years, until his take-out order is ready for him to pick up, and he goes back to his job site.

And, there are the monsoons.  It’s mid-July and, in the beginning, the air is so dry the rain evaporates before it gets to the ground, sculpting long foreboding slate gray streaks which twist and wind their way along with the breeze, tapering and fading-away to nothing before they even reach the ground.  Then, one day it arrives, the first rain which actually reaches the ground pounds the earth with five inches per hour and brings forth the earthy, nostril-stinging stench of a year’s worth of urine that has dried in the desert sand.  Everything must pee… birds, lizards, dogs, cats, coyotes, possums, skunks, horses, cattle, javelina, bugs, scorpions, snakes… Everything must pee, and the pee dries instantly on contact with the ground where it waits patiently for the first monsoon rain to wash it away.

But, the next rain, the second rain of the season, brings the crisp smell of creosote bush, and brittle bush, and junipers and pines, and the honey-sweet smell of mesquite and musty smell Palo Verde.  Life-giving torrents fill the arroyos and washes, cascade off the sides of the mountains, and slowly meander in a crystalline path across miles of desert until they disappear.  Within hours, flowers burst out into the landscape, filling it with yellow, purple, blue, white, and more yellow, and more yellow.  The life of a flower is short here, and desperate to get the attention of bees and pollinators, there is a profusion of iridescent yellow everywhere.  And, the mountain sides glow with bright green as grasses grow feverishly, but, this too will last only a couple weeks.  As broken clouds glide past the mountains, casting shadows on their rugged and convoluted faces, the mountains seem to move, to change shapes, and to change moods.

As summer gives way to fall, the rains begin to ease.  Now, rain will be predicted by elevation, and the weatherman on the nightly news will announce, “Tomorrow, expect rain at 2800 feet and above.”  A trend that will continue as rain is replaced by snow becoming the normal form of precipitation, greeting the sleepy, hazy mornings with brilliant snow-capped mountains to the north and east crested by flannel gray waves of clouds.

And, so it goes…