Tombstone

In somnolent, sun-baked Tombstone, Ariz., stands one big busy building, brave relic of the 1880 frontier style of architecture. It is the courthouse of Cochise County. Soon it will be vacant and silent, a marker over the remains of the all but defunct mining town. Last week Cochise County voted two-to-one to move its county seat from Tombstone to bustling, booming Bisbee, where a $450,000 courthouse will be erected.

In 1877 one Ed Schieffelin set out for the Apache-haunted hills of southeastern Arizona. He told inquiring friends that he was "just going out in the hills to look for stones." "The stone you'll find will be your tombstone," they retorted. But his Tombstone was a rich silver lode in the hills.

Within five years Tombstone grew to be a brawling mine town 14,000 strong. Fourteen faro-banks ran day and night. In 1881 there were no liquor licenses nailed up behind no thronged bars. Two newspapers, the Nugget and the Epitaph, blared frontier scurrility at each other. Between 1879 and 1884 the Apache Geronimo made bloody forays, left corpses at Tombstone.

The town used to glory in its duels, hangings, feuds. Most famed hanging was that of the two Halderman brothers, strung up together in 1900 for murder. Deadliest feud was that between the cattle-ranching Clantons and Earps. Wyatt Earp, sole survivor, refereed the Sharkey-Fitzsimmons fight in San Francisco (1892).

For ten years Tombstone whooped and boomed. When the silver "floats" gave out, people moved away. The last census gave Tombstone 1.200 inhabitants.

During the campaign for last week's county seat election, Tombstoners held a 50th anniversary celebration. The long deserted gambling halls were regarnished. "Dance hall girls" tried to swear robustly. "Cowboys" and "miners" carried six-shooters and tried to brawl. It was a futile fluster. The election was hopelessly lost.

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