By Angela (Taylor) Godac
My dad, Ed Taylor, was born in 1919 down on the Doll Baby Ranch about 12 miles west of Payson on the East Verde River. If you’ve been down that way in the last few years, you probably know where the property is that was divided up with hopes of a subdivision. You’ll also be familiar with that huge ramada that sits all by itself. That whole area used to just be wide open fields and in the early 1900’s was owned by Ed Symington and was for decades known as Symington Flats. The Doll Baby is over the next little hill west of those fields.My dad was named after Mr. Symington.
Daddy was the youngest of five children born to Dick and Angela (Belluzzi) Taylor. Uncle Richard was the firstborn, then Aunt Margaret, Uncle Bill, Uncle Fritz, and my dad. Life was simple but not easy and they grew up tough and learned how to work hard and be good contributions to society.
Aunt Margaret had some great stories to tell about their growing up years, stories of climbing and falling out of trees, times playing in the creek, the various pets, and times of working hard in the garden and later, the huge job of canning and preserving the bounty.
Uncle Fritz was known to have a bit of a mean streak and a temper. He once got mad at Richard and threw a fork that landed in Richard’s calf and another time stabbed one of the brothers in the hand. I knew him to be a fun uncle and I got to rope steers with him in jackpots and practices at the arena that used to be by Pete”s Place in Star Valley, back in the day when Pete’s was a great cowboy steakhouse and bar, much different than what it is today, a “gentlemen’s club”…STRIP BAR!!
Grandma Taylor’s brother, Al Belluzzi, would go visit her and her family on the Doll Baby Ranch. Aunt Margaret said he picked on those kids mercilessly! He was always playing tricks on them and would do things to get them into trouble with the parents. He’d get hold of them and hang them by their overall straps from the meat hooks in the barn and laugh and laugh as they tried to free themselves. Then he’d showed up to the supper table and Grandma would be wondering where the kids were and he’d just play innocent as he puffed on his pipe.
Aunt Margaret said they were able to get back at him a few times. One day they encouraged him to go riding with them. They saddled the horses and handed the reins off to him telling him this was a good and gentle horse and they would all have a fun ride. Uncle Al was smoking his pipe and when he landed in the saddle, that horse busted in two and took off across the field from the barn jumping over bushes and bucking and with every jump, a big puff of smoke would be seen as they disappeared over the horizon!!!! She and her brothers rolled around in the dirt laughing their heads off! The story in itself is funny but the funniest part was listening to her tell it as she was trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard!!!
Unfortunately, I didn’t know any of my grandparents except my Granddad and that was only in his old age when he was not very active…his late 80’s. He died at 93. Of course, he was tough in his day. The cowman does what he has to do to protect his livestock and that sometimes means having to hunt predators that wreak havoc with the cattle or horses. One time (maybe more?) Granddad had a lion treed and for some reason was not able to use his gun to dispatch the bothersome creature, so he tied a knife onto the end of a stick and climbed the tree and killed that lion! Have you ever seen a mad kitty cat??? Even the little ones are absolutely VICIOUS and scary!!! Dick Taylor had to have nerves of steel.
Maybe Granddad’s nerves were steeled because he was struck by lightning not once, but twice!! He didn’t really remember one of them but had the burns to show it and the horse had some signs too, I was told. Of the other time, he told my mom that he just remembered being very dazed and feeling cooked inside and getting knocked off the horse. He made it home somehow and lived to see another day.
He was cultivating one of the fields one day and reached over to grab a clump of dirt and weeds that were stuck and a lever popped up and knocked his eye out! He made it back to the ranch house and Grandma hooked up the buckboard and they headed to town, not on the smooth road of today! It was well after dark when they hit Payson and they finally made contact with Howard Childers who had one of the only vehicles in town. They loaded up and hit the road which was rough and long to the not-so-big city of Phoenix. They had to go via the Apache Trail—the Beeline Highway (87) was a thing of the future. Nowadays, this road is treacherous enough with its winding and narrow, cliffside strips and harrowing curves. It takes off from just the other side of Roosevelt Dam and is a challenging but beautiful 39 miles till it intersects with US 60 near Apache Junction. There is one very long uphill climb called Fish Creek Hill and when they started to ascend, my Granddad was in so much pain that he demanded to get out and he walked all the way up that hill with the headlights illuminating his way. They finally reached the valley about daybreak and were able to get medical help. They weren’t able to save the eye of course, so I always knew him to be missing his right eye.
My grandparents and great-grandparents were just typical of the rugged pioneers that tamed this wonderful part of AZ that I’m so proud to call home. I love my rich heritage and am humbled and grateful.
