JOHN P. CULL
Recorded by Helen M. Smith

I was born in California in 1873, and was the sixth child in a family of eleven. I came to Arizona in the year of 1889, going to Wilcox where I hoped to get employment.

I had been told that I would strike “the wild and wooly west” when I reached Arizona, and at the end of my first three weeks in Wilcox, I almost believed that I had. There were two killings and a suicide there during that time.

I went to work for J.H. Norton, Mercantile Company as stenographer and assistant bookkeeper. During the spring there were thousands of head of cattle shipped through Wilcox, and it was my duty to keep track of the number, details of shipping, etc. In the spring of 1899 there were 49,885 head of steers shipped, according to my record. The yearlings sold for ten dollars, the two-year-olds twelve dollars, and the three-year-olds for fourteen dollars per head. Cattle from a hundred mile radius passed through Wilcox at that time, coming from almost as far north as Globe.

The mines were booming. Pearce, Dos Cabezas, Johnson, and Gleeson were all running strong. The J.H. Norton Co., furnished the cash for the payrolls of these camps once a month. It kept us figuring to get the cash to these locations each time without being robbed. Sometimes we had the money shipped to Pearce, sometimes to Wilcox, sometimes to one of the other camps. Then it had to be transported in some way to the other places. We seldom used the stage, because of hold-ups. Occasionally we used the Wells Fargo express on the train. I have sent the payroll to Pearce and Gleeson in a dry goods box with a freighter, who, of course, did not know what he was carrying. Sometimes a negro drove a mule to a one-horse buggy with the money under the seat. More than once I have taken another young man and a girl apiece and gone to a dance at Pearce with the Pearce payroll under the buggy seat, my friends being unaware that they were being used as a convoy for a large sum of money.

When Burt Alvord, Billy Stiles, Matt Burts, and William Downing held up the stage at Cochise on the ninth of October, 1899, they were expecting to take the Pearce payroll from the Wells Fargo express car. We had let it be understood that the money would be sent in that manner, but in reality it had already reached Pearce in the convoy of one of the store clerks. Alvord was a friend of most of us there, and I know that he did not rob our store as he could have done because he wished the Wells Fargo Company to be losers instead of J.H. Norton. Their haul was little enough for their pains in holding up the train.

Once when the total payroll had been sent to Pearce, a part of it which we had to handle further, came to Wilcox. I went out to meet the carrier and was returning to the store with the box under my arm, when someone came up behind me and slapped me on the back. I turned and saw that it was Burt Alvord.

“What have you there?” he asked.

“A box of dry-goods,” I answered; but I knew by the smile on his face that he knew the nature of its contents as well as I.
However, that was one time there was “honor among thieves,” so I reached the store with all the money.

It is singular that all four of the above mentioned train robbers died with their boots on. William Downing killed a man, Bill Trainer by name, in the street in Wilcox. He was cleared of a murder charge because he was able to establish the fact that each had threatened to kill the other on sight at their next meeting, and that this was their next meeting. Downing was later killed within a hundred foot of where he had killed the other man.

Matt Burts was night officer in Wilcox during the time I was there. One night he gambled in several saloons, losing heavily in each; consequently he was in an evil humor. The next morning, instead of going to bed, he began “shooting up the town.” He commenced at the lower end of the street, at a hotel, and systematically shot into every place of business on both sides of the street. When he reached Norton’s he did not shoot, but entered, twirling his six-shooter about one finger. All and sundry immediately found business outside the back door, with the exception of myself and a clerk who was weighing potatoes at the big scales and did not know that we had company. Burts decided that he would shoot the knob off the scales, but as he would hit the clerk if he missed the knob, I was not in favor of the procedure. I talked as calmly and as calmingly as was possible under the circumstances, and finally persuaded him that it might be friendlier to omit shooting up the store.

He left, still vowing vengeance on someone for his losses of the night before. After he got outside he decided to begin at the beginning, so he returned to the hotel from where he had started. This time the bartender was evidently tired of him, for he rushed upon him quickly, put both arms around his waist, and disarmed him before he knew what was happening. Then the bartender took Burt’s handcuffs from his own pocket and fastened his wrists together, after which he took Burts and locked him in his own jail. The Norton store was the only business place Burts did not shoot up that day.

One of our principal amusements was dancing, and we really enjoyed it. Mrs. J.T. Hood, rode horseback, side saddle, into Wilcox from their ranch forty miles away, shopped a little, and then rode on to Fort Grant, thirty-five miles father, in one day to attend a dance. She danced all night, and rode back home the next day over the same route. This feat was quite typical of girls and women of that day.

Another of our amusements was rodeo stunts, bulldogging, bronce busting and the like. One Fourth of July a friend of mine named Bob Warren was to ride in a bronco busting contest.

“Do you want me to tell you how to win the prize?” I asked him.

When assured that he did, I advised him to wear a derby hat belonging to me, and to smoke a cigar while on the horse. This he did, and sure enough he won the prize.

The cowboys often did a little innocent shooting on such occasions, but they rarely had a chance to enjoy themselves, and very few minded their fun.

During my first year in Wilcox I went out to spend two weeks with Fred Moore at his ranch in Rucker. He seemed to like me very much, but he evidently had the idea that I was a bookkeeper and consequently no rider. A splendid rider himself, he thought he would have a little fun with me. He asked me if I would ride with him and I replied that I would if he could give me a good horse. He gave me a horse and we rode all that day, reaching Riggs’ ranch that night. The next day we reached Shaw Brothers place, and the third day we made it back to Rucker. The morning after this three day trip Fred asked me if I would like to ride with him again, and I again replied that I would if he would give me a good horse. Fred was a little stiff himself and so he replied, “Hell, I haven’t got a good horse!” He was not so anxious to ride continuously when he found that he could not tire me.
About a year after my arrival in Wilcox I was made head bookkeeper of my firm, and I remained so with them until March of 1903. About that time I bought a half interest in a grocery business in Bisbee, with W.H. Anderson. The firm name was ‘Anderson and Cull’. We started business on a shoestring, but we seemed to have started at just the right time. In six months we were doing a twenty thousand dollar a month business. We continued so until a big strike, when business dropped off in thirty days to about seven thousand a month. We sold out soon after.

In 1908 I bought out a grocery store in Nogales and hired a friend of mine, R.J. Hart, to run it. In January of 1909 I bought a half interest in a general merchandise business with B.A. Taylor, running the store under the name ‘John P. Cull’. I soon sold out my store in Nogales, but continued the Courtland store for some years.

Courtland certainly sprang up overnight. Within three months after its beginning there were thirty five hundred people living there, but not even one decent house. Almost everyone lived in tents. I often sold three or four wagon loads of freight, lumber and household supplies mostly, before I could get them to the store to unload them, driving them directly to the purchaser’s place of residence.

When the lots of south Courtland were first put up on the market, people stood in line for as long as forty-eight hours before the sale opened, to get a chance to buy. Some tired during that time, and sold out their places, the regular price for a place in line being four hundred and fifty dollars. When the sale did start, those in line found that the business men of the town had gone in through the back door and purchased all the best sites.

I remember a queer incident while I was there. A leaser from one of the big companies stuck rich ore at grass roots, and was making big money. The company tried to make him pay more for the lease, and took it away from him when he refused. He remarked to me that he would have like to retain the lease for another two weeks, since there was about five thousand dollars worth of ore in the property remaining, which he would like to get out. The new leaser ran his stuff through my store, and it amounted to exactly five thousand dollars before it played out completely. Most of the ore at Courtland seemed to be at the grass roots, but none at all appears to be found at any depth.

When the El Paso and Southwestern and Arizona Eastern built railways into Gleeson and Courtland there was quite a lot of contention. Both companies wanted the railroad depot site at Gleeson, and both companies had men, teams, and scrapers working on the site. There were some free-for-all fights about that time.

The wagon road between Gleeson and Courtland went through the hills and was quite sandy and bad generally. We wanted the Supervisors to build a road just below the mountains as it is now, but they had no money. They told the businessmen to build the road, and they would reimburse them when they were in funds. We did so, building three miles and a half of road for five hundred dollars, where it would have cost the Board of Supervisors about ten thousand dollars. They reimbursed us, and are still using the road. This incident shows that business and politics don’t mix.

In 1914, I bought a grocery store in Douglas, still retaining my Courtland place of business until 1925, when I sold out. I closed my Douglas business in 1920 and bought a cattle ranch near Douglas, which I still operate. I “did time” in the state legislature for a while, and have otherwise tried to serve my community when possible.

CULL, John P.: Banker, Merchant; b. Calif., 1873. S. S.T. and Minerva Cull; Educ.: Pub. Schs., Calif.; m. Minnie Henninger, Kansas; Career: came to Ariz. 1897, entered mercantile business Willcox, later removing to Bisbee; Entered real estate and hotel business, also established mercantile business, Courtland, Ariz., Jan. 1908; stock-holder in Miner’s and Merchant’s Bank, Bisbee, Ariz.; established groc. store, Douglas, 1914. Affil.: K. of P.; B.P.O.E.; Home Douglas, Ariz. (H.A.)