A State is Born

The following letter was written by Don Shields, who has been channeling the former Governor and, as you will see below, bears a striking resemblance. He performs all over the State and has done extensive research into the life and times of the Governor. He performed during the Historic Home Tour in Globe and we asked him to write a letter about that momentous day in 1912 when Arizona became a State.  This is the letter he believes GWHunt could have written.

**************

The morning of February 14, 1912, dawned in Phoenix with the sun rising serenely over the Superstition Mountains. The fact that the sky was perfectly blue with a wisp of cloud was not lost on me as I stood in the window of my room on the top floor of the Ford Hotel in the middle of downtown Phoenix.  It was, after all, the day when I would become the new governor of the new state of Arizona. I would take office just a mile from where I stood — my inauguration day.

I was born in Huntsville, Missouri, named after my grandfather, Daniel Hunt. Growing up, I was not content to stay in Missouri.  I had seen the family farm after the battles of the Civil War and did not want to stay in the life of the Midwest.  The farm had been devastated by the conflict, and when the family returned from self-imposed exile in Southern Illinois under the protection of my mother’s Uncle Richard Yates, who was the war Governor of Illinois, I decided that I would seek to live elsewhere.  The experience opened my heart to the struggles of people as they went about the task of finding the freedom promised to them in the Constitution, and keeping it.

My mother, Sarah Yates Hunt, was a proud woman who knew that her son was destined to be important. After all, she was a direct descendent of Chief Justice John Marshall and her uncle and cousin were governors of Illinois.   But, on this day in February, 1912, I remembered that she wanted her son to be a doctor, but my education, akin to that of an eighth grader, would have allowed me to be a teacher.  Neither was something I could abide.  So with pressure mounting to enter one of those professions, I stole away early at 4AM one morning in March of 1878 and went to Huntsville, Missouri from the far reaches of the family farm in Darkville where I often would see hoof imprints of buffalo dried in the dirt.    I left because I did not want to see the disappointment on the face of my mother. My mother had taught me the love of literature and raised me with the writings of James Fennimore Cooper, Washington Irving, and Charles Dickens. These three, and their accompanying philosophies on the treatment of man, as well as a verisimilitude of other literary greats would help me in my quest to represent the people.

I imposed upon my cousin, W.S.Christian, the recorder of Randolph County, to give me a letter of introduction.  Having such a letter, I thought, would open doors for me by assuring potential employers I was who I said I was.  I stayed low until the afternoon train for Kansas City. This trip on the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe was to be the initial leg of a journey that would last nearly five years and take me to the point of starvation and ruination.

Kansas City was where I learned one of the first lessons of life—never buy something sight unseen.  I had only $2.05 in my pocket when I reached KC.  As I prepared to find transportation so I could continue, I was approached by a man who told me a seat on the next train was available for $2.00.  Seeing an opportunity to escape rapidly, I readily gave up my two dollars, but when the next train pulled out, I was removed by railroad officials who knew nothing of the man that had approached me, nor felt any compassion for me. I was left alone with only a nickel in my pocket.  I waited until nighttime and hopped a freight train and  I rode in the boxcar to Topeka. There I spent my last nickel on a loaf of bread.  From then on, I recognized poverty, and was able to capture work as I could to make sure I had food.

My parents did not hear from their son for the next three years, and presumed me dead; but I was far from it.  I learned the value of hard work over the period.  I resolved after the incident in Kansas City, that I would never go hungry, and I would always have employment.  I worked my way across the Southwest as a waiter, mine mucker, and flatboat sailor.

As I marveled that I was about to become the Governor of the Baby State of Arizona, I turned from the window and my thoughts turned to my wife, Duett.  She brushed my shoulders, squared my suit coat, and smiled that beautiful smile that had bedazzled me so many years before.  I had first met Helen Duett Ellison when I was on the Ellison Creek Ranch outside Globe while running for Gila County Recorder in 1892.  She was a mysterious beauty who was her father’s “right hand man” and could rope, ride and shoot with the best cowboys on the ranch. She even brought down a bear in her younger years and accompanied her father on a quest to hunt down Indian raiders.  Colonel Jesse Ellison, who was only eight years older than I, saw that this budding politician was enthralled with his daughter and encouraged the two of us to get better acquainted.  But Duett would not be won over easily.

Between 1892 and 1904, I made numerous visits to the Ellison family. Helen and I had promised to marry, but just could not get together.  Each time we would set a date, Duett would have to “help out on the ranch.”  I was patient; however, until 1904 when I had told my  would- be bride, “I will be in Holbrook on February 24^th.  If your intent is to marry, you should be there, too.”  She was.

Duett was the perfect Arizona First Lady.  The only time she ever wore pants was when she was on that expedition finding the Indians who had raided the ranches livestock.  (Colonel Jesse Ellison did not want them to know they were being pursued by a woman.)    The rest of the time she wore dresses, even when performing her cowgirl duties.  Although she disliked city life, her place was beside me, and she was more than happy to entertain guests as her state duty, but she escaped to the country whenever possible.

As I embraced my wife, seven-year old Virginia entered the room and quickly joined the family moment.  Her youth and enthusiasm for life reminded me of my promise to the people to be sure that every child in Arizona had textbooks and schools to make a future for themselves.  Education, I knew, was the key to making the state successful and the investment would be well worth it.  Students would be given free textbooks, an idea from my youth when I had not been given books, but rather learned from whatever I could.  A youth’s education, I felt, should not be diminished in support of other areas that special interest might promote. Children, after all, I thought, were the backbone of the future and diminishing their chances of being engaged in learning just was not worth the risk.  I reached out and brushed the hair aside from my daughter’s face and turned to my secretary, Winsor Mulford, and said, “Are you ready, Winsor?”

“Yes, Mr. Governor.” Winsor replied.

“Let’s go make a state.”

Winsor and I stepped out into the street in front of the Ford Hotel and began a stroll down the middle of Washington Street.  As I trod into the street, a young man offered me a ride in his new Cadillac Sedan.  I waved him off, thanking him for his kindness, and told the young man, “No, today I walk to work.”  By the time I reached the State Capitol, the crowd behind me had grown in numbers, and although it was mile, I showed no signs of fatigue, except for a shirt soaked in sweat.  The crowd cheered as I climbed the dais to take the oath of office.

I vowed in my first speech that Arizona would be a place “of the people,” where my office would always be open to those that needed my help.  I assured attendees at the inauguration that my job as the leader of Arizona would be, “…to better the condition of the people of our state, and by example, at least to uplift humanity.”

The lessons I learned on that Missouri farm and on the roads and in the hamlets as I walked to this state; those folks who opened doors and had faith in me in Globe, molded me into the leader that I was. Globe will always be my home spiritually, if not physically

Don Shields bears a striking likeness to the first governor of the State of Arizona, as well as a voice and mannerisms reminiscent of the man.  Utilizing extensive research (including interviews with Hunt Family members who say he is a striking likeness), Don Shields presents  stories of the struggle to statehood, and the growth of the Baby State.

Shields grew up in Hoopeston, Illinois, a rural community much like that in which Governor Hunt was raised in Missouri.  He graduated from Eureka College with a degree in Theatre and went on to successful careers in teaching, coaching, and broadcasting. He also published a memoir, “Growing Up Doughnut” in May of 2010.

 

Recognized by the Arizona Centennial Committee as the Governor Hunt Impersonator, Shields has shared the stage with Arizona government dignitaries, spoken at AZ Best Fests in both Phoenix and Prescott.  He was front and center on Statehood Day, leading the re-enactment of Governor Hunt’s walk to the capitol on the first day of Statehood, and then addressing hundreds as the Governor on Statehood Day and during the weekend of Best Fest. In addition, he has appeared on TV and radio as Governor Hunt with broadcasting personality Pat McMahon, relating stories on AZ Statehood and the events surrounding the historic day in 1912.

 

Marshall Trimble, the Arizona State Historian wrote, “Don, I declare you are the reincarnation of ol’ George W.P.  Keep up the good work.”  Governor Hunt’s Grandson, Hunt Brennan, told Don, “You sure look like my grandfather.”

                                    

To schedule a date with “George W.P. Hunt,” contact:

Don Shields

602-218-6391

dshields503@gmail.com