P.N.ZOYTLOW

In its bleak setting in an arid basin, Quartzsite is peculiar and yet not unique. Centuries and even millennia ago, such places were familiar on the trade routes of the deserts. From afar, bartering folk came to offer their wares–camels, ponies, textiles, tools and whatever else was worth schlepping. Or these were the places where future brides came to the attention of suitors. Think of Timbuktu there on the edge of the Sahara or the Great Khan’s annual fairs held in the Gobi.  [Digression: similarly, Quartzsite in the SonoranDesert is also associated with camels, introduced in the 1850s by the U.S. War Department. No information available on maidens and swains, then or now.]

Perhaps it is a fool’s errand to go to Quartzsite in hopes of making sense of the place.  And yet, readers of these Field Reports know that thanks to the stubborn and unslaked curiosity of the Social Sciences, something can always be found that seems to be at least mildly interesting even if forgettable.  Additionally, there are few places or events that are not worth 75 minutes  (the mandatory limit) of this Observer’s time.

Quartzsite, Arizona is west-centrally situated near the border with California.  It is indeed in the desert, barren, dull colored, and sparsely inhabited during the torrid summer. At that time, the focus is the gasoline stations, fast food restaurants and other services geared to the passing traffic on Interstate 10 connecting Phoenix and Los Angeles.  But in winter, this same little nexus swells to a community of 300,000  (some claim more) temporary settlers and visitors. The habitation of choice is the motor home, a massive, costly thing on wheels sometimes referred to by the more archaic term,  “coach.” Like many places that exist for purposes of commerce, Quartzsite is ugly, an unpaved parking lot made of desert earth in which many thousands of vehicles (motorcycles, autos, trucks and the always dominant coach/motor home) are spread randomly for miles. Quartzsite also features many large white tents or open canvas shelters not much taller than the prevailing roofline of the motor homes.  From the air Quartzsite must appear like a colony of bacteria, some round and others elongated.

The winter months bring the snowbirds, mainly retirees or tourists from the colder parts of the US who merely want to sit in the desert and gloat over the weather reports at home. Others are attracted by the commercial lure of selling equipment for the motor homes, much as a blacksmith might have wandered to earlier horse-powered gatherings. Then there are scheduled exhibitions, under canvas, and of these the most common are the gem and rock markets. The existence for Quartzsite has much to do with earlier mining and as a place where rock collectors and gem enthusiasts might gather. Place a major highway nearby and add mild winters for motor home dwellers and Quartzsite makes sense. Besides minerals, the array of other consumer goods, antiques, curios, and food items add up to more complexity than would be apparent to those stopping only for fuel or the use of a restroom.

As it was, this particular research in Quartzsite was linked to the Observer’s brief visit with persons looking for old engines, tractors and the like. These were not research associates, but focused and serendipitous companions who had business there. For 75 minutes of observation (strictly adhered to!) a few of Quartzsite’s secrets were gently probed before some unexpected questions arose.

Leaving the Interstate, and turning into the community, pavement immediately gave way to sand and chaos. There were few signs as to what was where. The heightened danger of collision either with humans or something vehicular meant maneuvering at a crawl.  Soon you are lost, dependent on the occasional person who looksed like he or she might know the answer to the question: where is the engine and tractor show?  The first informant wore a cap announcing that Jesus Is Lord! There seemed more menace than love in that and especially by the yellow T-shirt worn by his female companion. Printed boldly in dark green, it featured a lengthy paragraph with words like  “rapture” and “righteous” and “castigate” in bold type. Reading the whole thing would have meant staring at her bosom for much longer than good “judgment” (another word inscribed thereon) required. Besides, she had already nudged him with her elbow; what did that mean? The couple stood at the opening of a narrow cul-de-sac of soft sand and tire ruts ending at a tabernacle/tent. A banner hung over the entrance: “God’s Voice in the Wilderness Is Awesomeness in the Desert.” They had no idea of where the engines were and likely cared not.  How deficient we must have seemed to seek such crass worldliness while declining the “awesomeness” at hand.

After another quarter hour winding through the labyrinth that is Quartzsite, past other self-appointed traffic directors proud to move the turgid flow along with authoritative hand signals, our dusty cars, like tired pilgrims, arrived near the land of small and ancient coughing engines. The travel companions, devotees to such matters disappeared, leaving this Observer alone to ponder why he had come toQuartzsite. [Digression: contrary to the usual pattern of social science methodology, the Observer has always leaned towards the theory that sooner or later, something turns up which will justify the research, whatever it is.] With the moments moving along, some research design was needed and soon. The one chosen was elegant and classic: sample the place. In this case, imagine a circle and examine its contents, seeking the essence of a locale that so far had revealed only dust, fumes, and vehicles. Not forgetting the background coughing of ancient and venerable engines. Within the sample circle having an approximate radius of 40 meters, the Observer noted the following:

1. A dealer in Tibetan paraphernalia, mainly religious icons and a hand-lettered sign which promised “Cultural Revolution Kitsch” meaning those hard-to-get Mao Zedong posters. Also featured was a large barrel of crude ten-dollar heads of the Buddha. No two alike, the work of unknown workers in an unknown land.

2. True to its Quartzsite’s reputation, there were several vendors featuring samples of rocks, minerals, gems made into hundreds of objects or simply left in their natural state. Agates! Meteorites! Geodes! Dinosaur dung!

3. Clothing: everything for the visitor who wanted that macho Quartzsite look, a mix of rancher/miner/biker with a touch of NASCAR or something boldly patriotic for the shirt and cap.

4.Covering nearly a quarter of the space within the sample area were food stands emitting the seductive odors of funnel cakes, hotdogs, corndogs, chilidogs, and strawberry-flavored cotton candy. This was an American smell, a happy smell. “Proud to be an American” said the hand-lettered sign on a lemonade stand.

All of these elements came together at one of the small raffle events held in an impromptu (and what wasn’t?) arrangement of folding chairs and tables. For one dollar, said the man wearing camouflage pants, a chance to win one of a number of mystery items hidden behind the red curtain. Sixty or so persons, older couples, northern toads, the obese, the desiccated, a mix, an American mix, a happy mix, smiled and bantered with each other, waiting to see if they were winners. Western gear was what they wore—that Quartzsite look. A number wore clothing advertising his or her devotion to Jesus, a football team or a dead race car driver, but no one (odd in this political year) wore anything partisan. Nothing promoting candidates (for this was and election year) One can either surmise that these were an apolitical lot, or that revealing one’s partisanship would somehow spoil the quiet bliss that Quartzsite seemed to bring to those present. In this particular raffle, the winner collected a tub of plastic picnic dishes to the warm applause of the audience.

Just then a small incident took place which dramatically changed the focus of this research. A man of middle years in a straw hat approached the Observer and inquired as to the location of the restroom, the bathroom, the comfort facilities, etc. The field notes fail to record just which of our euphemisms he employed, but he did not say “toilet.” Few people do. Interesting. Since he appeared to be a foreign tourist judging by the accent and other subtle features such as the slant of that hat on his head, it would have been useful to record his choice of words because that is what social scientists are supposed to do. As noted, one of the permanent features inQuartzsite is a McDonalds, and since this stood a short walk away, that was the best suggestion to give the man. After all, McDonalds is globally recognized for many things including restrooms for the public, no questions asked. He took the suggestion, expressed his thanks by tapping the brim of his hat (likely influence of John Wayne movies) and headed for McDonalds.   [Digression: In fact, this Observer had already noted that the Quartzsite McDonalds features an unusually large “restroom.” It is generally known that MacDonald’s restrooms are small, and while adequate, not restful. They tend to get crowded and at times, tired. But here, the restroom had 50% more porcelain per square foot (PPSF) than elsewhere.]

With a rush only a rare insight (even flawed ones) provides, the Observer knew why he was in Quartzsite!  A great Truth had descended upon him from somewhere, like a voice roaring in the desert: “No Sewer, No Civilization!” Where were the sewers of Quartzsite? How did this mass of humanity take care of that without which there could be no Los Angeles or Phoenix, and maybe no Timbuktu? Time to find out, but time was short: less than 17 minutes left of the allotted 75 minutes research time. Did everyone go to McDonalds?  Answering that would entail observation, mathematical models, a team of research assistants and perhaps lawyers to fend off a threat of litigation from some unexpected source. No doubt there were those familiar portable pit toilets e.g. Porta Potty, somewhere in the twisting maze of Q-town, but who knew where? Motor homes/coaches contain their own solutions (unavoidable pun) by means of capacious holding tanks. Without sewers in Quartzsite and only vehicular tanks of diverse capacities, would this not demand an export of ordure on an unprecedented scale? A motor home or coach, by definition, could start its engine and drive to a so-called dumping station. Already the Observer had seen motor homes e.g. coaches lining up in Blythe, the nearest town, at the public dump station to manage these humble logistics. If all the coaches in Quartzsite went to Blythe, the nearest town, one could, mathematically, anticipate a scenario of long and urgent caravans seeking relief, thus revealing the slender grasp that Quartzsite had on any claim to being civilized! If, indeed, lacking sewers, it had any such claim!

“Things are both simple and complicated at the same time.” The Observer learned this from a fortune cookie in North Dakota some years ago. True, day visitors did go to McDonalds since they would not be welcome on the toilet of a stranger’s coach. And, obvious or not, there had to be mobile potties somewhere. These would be emptied (pumped out) by the very same technology that saved the motor home populace from drifting to Blythe: a mobile trucking service making the rounds with its tanks and hoses and relieving them, with regularity, of their accumulations.  These are known by many vulgar terms, the mildest euphemism being “Honey Dipper.”  Oh, how unlike a sewer is the foundation of this tenuous civilization called Quartzsite!!  When the Romans built their great sewer, the CloacaMaximus, transferring effluent into the Tiber, people were proud of yet another confirmation of their amazing degree of civilization. This set the state-of-the art standard for many centuries, but it took a long time to regain the glory that was Rome.  Quartzsite is keenly aware of this: leaving the place, this Observer spotted from the highway those fat water pipes widely used to establish or expand sewer systems. If Quartzsite wasn’t a civilization, it was an emerging one. An interesting and worthy topic: how civilizations evolve, but too late for this Field Report. The allotted time had elapsed.  What could have been a major contribution to scholarship appears to have lapsed into a mere footnote on sewers.