Going Back to Bisbee is the title of a book written by Richard Shelton, but it’s also the title of this week’s blog.

In the mid-fifties, Richard Shelton came to Bisbee as a teacher in one of Bisbee’s grade schools at a time when I was a student in another. After a few years, he moved on to Tucson and to the English Department at the University of Arizona from which he retired a number of years ago. His memoir of his time in Bisbee came out in the early nineties. I was writing Tombstone Courage at the time, and I was also suffering a terrible case of writer’s block. Naturally, I sat down and read his book from cover to cover, telling myself that it was “research.”

Surprisingly enough, that turned out to be true. Reading his “outsider’s” view of Bisbee taught me a lot about my home town and a lot about my own personal history. I learned, for instance, of the strict blue collar/white collar separation that was maintained in that small mining town back then. Similar class distinctions no doubt held sway in many other mining towns of that era as well. When a parent defied convention and crossed over from the blue collar world into white collar world, his children were left in a social void.

I knew all about that first hand. Our father, Norman Busk, started out in Bisbee by working in the mines. Eventually he moved from blue collar status to white, first by owning his own construction business and later by selling life insurance. His changed employment situation wasn’t the only thing that left me in a social vacuum–being six feet tall and wearing glasses didn’t help, either. It was easy for me to see how what Richard Shelton had written reflected back on my own experience of growing up in Bisbee. That wasn’t so surprising. What did startle me, however, was realizing that I had instinctively written that social outcast motif into Joanna Brady’s life experience as well. The things that had happened to me had also happened to her as her father morphed from working in the mines to being elected sheriff. (Unfortunately, for anyone who is interested, Richard Shelton’s book isn’t available in e-book formats, but it does still exist in paperback.)

I learned a few other important lessons from reading Going Back to Bisbee. For instance, do NOT bring blooming yucca stems into the house. They may be pretty, but the flowers are FULL of bugs. And also, if you happen to be driving to Bisbee late in August when thousands of tarantulas decide to cross Highway 80 at the same time, there is no way you’ll be able to miss running over some of them.

But I digress. This past week, I had the pleasure of going back to Bisbee myself. Several years ago I was invited to speak at a Bisbee High School graduation ceremony, but scheduling was a problem. Usually, by the end of May, Bill and I are back in Seattle for the summer. This year, because I’m doing a special writing workshop at the University of Arizona the last two weeks in May, I knew we’d be here at that time, so I called up the school principal and volunteered.

This last Thursday, May 22 was graduation day. I taught my workshop in the morning. Then, abandoning my students to their own devices in the early afternoon, Bill and I headed to Bisbee, arriving in town a few minutes before four. I was due at the Warren Ball Park at six. Knowing this was going to be a very long day and evening, I wanted to have a sustaining meal to see me through the ceremony.

Lisa Holland, the high school principal, had prevailed on a local restaurant, the Cafe Roka, to open its doors early, at 4 PM, so Bill and I could grab a bite to eat. The Cafe Roka has been a staple in Bisbee for years, much of that time in the space formerly occupied by Bisbee Drug, back in the day. Because it opens for dinner at 5 PM and because most of our visits to Bisbee have been daytime affairs, we had never tried it. This time we did. Once we stepped inside that intimate, elegant space, I was taken aback by its beauty. The burgundy walls, the well-hung art, the matching burgundy table cloths and napkins, and the highly polished stemware were all comfortably inviting. The only hint of the room’s age or distant drugstore history was the stamped tin ceiling. That I remembered from days gone by.

Within minutes we were being served one of the most exquisite meals I’ve had in a very long time. We ordered an appetizer of red hummus and the pita bread without knowing that our order of short ribs was actually part of a four-course extravaganza. We ordered Arizona wines. Bill had a glass of Dos Cabezas Red, and I had the Keeling Shafer Syrah. I don’t know what the other vintages are like but the ones we had were excellent. Look out California. Arizona may just give you a run for your money.

Then came our food, one plate after another. First was an elegant plate of tiny pieces of watermelon freshened tiny pieces of mint and drizzled with an emulsion of same. After that came a plate of gorgonzola stuffed dates, still piping hot from the oven. After that came a salad made of amazingly fresh pieces of leafy greens topped by a rosemary honey mustard dressing. Having grown up on Pay-and-Tote lettuce which was dead long before it made its way home from the grocery store, I have spent most of my adult life avoiding leafy greens. But those greens were locally grown and utterly delectable. As for the dressing? It popped my taste buds wide open. The salad was followed by lemon sorbet. By the time our short ribs showed up we were too full to eat them, but they made a wonderful dinner the next night at home when we reheated the leftovers. In other words, in my first ever venture as a food critic, Cafe Roka garners a definite two thumbs up!!!

Once dinner was over, a glance at the clock told us it was time to head for the ball park. At that point, we called for the bill–which did not come. Instead, the owner/chef came out to the dining room and told us that, since I was speaking at graduation, our dinner was on him. That was unexpected, to say the least, but that’s what small town America is all about, and Bisbee is no exception.

And now it was time for the whole point of our two-hundred mile journey–graduation.

Those of you who have already read Second Watch know that it has a Bisbee High School connection. This year’s graduates have spent the last four years of their lives, walking past Bisbee High’s Vietnam Memorial day in and day out. The memorial is at the entrance to the school, next to the office, and just across from the flag pole. I wanted the graduates to know a little more about one of the names on that memorial, an amazing guy named Leonard Douglas Davis. In high school we knew him as Doug Davis. He was the class valedictorian in 1961, someone whose greatest ambition was to find a way to serve his country, possibly by becoming a physician. The last time I saw him was that year at graduation when he gave his valedictory address. He went from Bisbee High School to West Point, where under the banner of Duty, Honor Country he graduated as a lieutenant in the US Army. He went from West Point to Vietnam where he died, on August 2, 1966, weeks before his 23rd birthday.

I graduated a year after Doug. I was NOT the class valedictorian. I was ranked # 7 among the 128 graduates in the class of 1962. I had spent my school years dreaming of one day becoming a writer, and now I am one. Two years ago, when it was time to write my 50th book, J.P. Beaumont #21, I came up with the idea of creating a book in which my fictional character, J.P. Beaumont, would meet and interact with the real Doug Davis. If you’re interested in reading the story of how that book came about, here’s the link to The Story Behind Second Watch.

I thought that the best way to let this year’s graduates know about Doug’s legacy was to give each of them an autographed copy of the book that tells his story. After dinner, on our way through town, Bill and I picked the books up from the bookstore. When we arrived at the ball park, we distributed sixty some books, one book on each of the graduate’s waiting chairs. The problem was, as the books were set out, I discovered we were one short. I thought the chair missing its book was the one on the aisle in the second row. When I mentioned that to Bill, he said no, it was the next seat in from the aisle. I wanted to be sure so we could be certain that graduate received his or her book. That was why I went back to check. Sure enough, Bill was right, and I was wrong. The aisle seat had a book. The next one over did not. I was reaching down to move the book from one chair to the other when it felt as though something literally stopped my hand in mid-air. Taking the hint, I left the book where it was, on the aisle chair.

Being the Warren Ball Park that night was a heady experience for me, a small town girl who made good. People wanted their photos taken with me–rushing to pose with the girl who had once been the six-foot-tall outcast from Mr. Norton’s seventh grade classroom. One woman sent her grandson racing after me, asking me to autograph a dollar bill. Judy Busk, a celebrity in Bisbee? Nope, it didn’t seem possible.

As the graduates filed in to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance, I turned to the man seated next to me and asked him about the kid in the second chair in the second row. “Oh,” he said. “That’s Michael Edsel. Like the car.”

The color guard came in after the graduates–six old guys from Bisbee’s VFW who carried the flags and then stood at attention while the Bisbee High School band played the Star Spangled Banner. I sang along for a while, but eventually my voice broke. It turns out it’s impossible to sing and cry at the same time, and in that moment I’m afraid my emotions got the best of me.

Once the program started, the principal read off the names of the top ten ranked students in the class. Guess what? The guy who was number seven turned out to be Michael Edsel, the kid in the second seat of the second row. No wonder something unseen had stopped my hand in mid-air! I’m sure I’ll be hearing from Michael directly any day now so I can make arrangements to get his book to him–from Number 7 to Number 7!

The Salutatorian and Valedictorian spoke about how hard high school was and how short. I agree with the short part. But I’ve got news for them. Life will be a lot harder. The Valedictorian spoke about how everything she had done had been done in honor of her father who died of cancer several years ago. She said she hoped he’d be proud of her. I know he was!

In my talk, delivered in a 30 mph wind, with my hair flying in all directions, I told about how, in May of 1961 I had been part of the band playing Pomp and Circumstance as Doug and his fellow classmates marched to their seats. Philip Hirales, the guy who played the trumpet back then, was part of my class, the class of 1962. And who do you suppose is the B.H.S. band teacher now and who do you suppose was playing the trumpet for both the Star Spangled Banner and Pomp and Circumstance? You guessed it–none other than that very same Philip Hirales. I told this year’s graduates that, too. And then I told them about Second Watch. I told them that, through the magic of fiction, someone who had been only a name to them, would now become a person.

I finished by telling them how, fifty years after the fact, Doug’s dream of serving his country and my dream of becoming a writer, had blended together to create the book they now held in their hands. I told them that Doug and I, too, had wondered what our lives would be like once we ventured beyond the walls of Tombstone Canyon and out into the world. I ended by assuring them that just because they came from small town Bisbee didn’t mean that their dreams wouldn’t come true.

Then it was time for the graduates to come up and receive their diplomas. Two of them, boys who are going into the military, paused long enough on stage to shake my hand on their way by. As the names were read, one by one, I was struck by the kids sitting in the front row, the only ones I could see, holding their red BHS diplomas and their copies of Second Watch, stacked together, treasuring them both and treating them with respect.

I don’t know how many of those kids will ever read their books. Maybe they’ll put them away with their diplomas and never touch them again, but I hope they know each copy was a loving gift to all of them from Doug Davis, from Bonnie Abney, Doug’s fiancé at the time of his death, and finally from me.

Once graduation was over, as Bill and I headed back to Tucson, we had the heater on high so we could warm up from being out in that chilling wind. As we drove, though, I found myself coming to the same conclusion Richard Shelton did all those years ago. It turns out Going Back to Bisbee is a very good thing.