Young Ralph Hardy looked up at his Dad with wide eyes.
Ralph didn't know what to say. He Dad never spoke to Ralph. The tall father towered over Ralph's short frame--his arm draped loosely over Ralph's small shoulders.
The two stood in the Hardy blacksmith shop, a rough hewn, ramshackle building set far away from the simple ranch house the Family called home.
A large rectangular opening on the southwest wall of the blacksmith shop looked out toward distant Bill Williams Mountain. It was cold that day and a skiff of snow lay upon the land.
The coal fire in the forge warmed Ralph as he shivered beside his Dad. Ralph's Dad had never put his arm around the young boy before and Ralph couldn't remember his Dad ever speaking directly to him. Ralph didn't know what to say, he was tongue-tied.
The Father and Son simply stood there beside the glowing embers of the smithy's fire, staring out the window toward white-topped Bill Williams Mountain.
Ralph's Dad looked down at his Son and slowly repeated himself, ""Son, I have one hope and dream for you..." He let his words sink in on the small boy. Ralph looked up at his Dad, eyes wide with wonder.
"Son, I dream that someday you will earn a dollar a day." Ralph's heart raced and felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest. All he think to do was put his hand up into his Dad's and squeeze. He felt tears begin to well in his eyes and his breath became short.
Ralph himself had never dared to dream he could ever earn a dollar a day. He didn't even know how to imagine what that might mean. A rush of feelings ran willy, nilly through Ralph's spirit and nerves. All he could do was turn to his Father and say, "Thank You, Dad."
And with that, the Old Man turned back to his work at the forge and said nothing again to his son.
Ralph was standing amid some weather-beaten boards scattered aimlessly across the dusty ground. He had asked me, "John, wold you like to see our old blacksmith shop?" "Sure, Ralph," I replied as we walked around the faint vestiges of his boyhood home in the shadow of Hardy Hill northeast of Williams.
"It was right over here," Ralph pointed. Then he walked around pointing to where the corners of the building had been and how the forge was located and where all the materials were stored. And then Ralph, pointed to the southwest and said, "That's where the big window was located so Dad could look out at the mountain while he did his work.
And Ralph and I stood silent and simply stared out the imaginary window as a slight wind rustled the Northern Arizona landscape.
And as we stood there staring out that big, broad, beautiful window, that's when Ralph began his story. He spoke slowly with no visible emotion. He took a long pause between each of his sentences as if to collect his thoughts.
As Ralph worked his way up to the Dollar-A-Day part, I felt a little dizzy. It was almost as if I was being transported back in time to that very moment in a drafty old building beside a murky stock pond and an old corral made from abandoned railroad ties.
Somehow, my heart could feel Ralph's heart that day and I sensed his spirit had come full circle back to that special spot.
You see, there wasn't anything left of Ralph's boyhood ranch home. Some boards, a few railroad ties, some foundation materials, a dry stock pond and bits and pieces of a life once lived.
Ralph was descending into dementia. He knew he wouldn't be around much longer. So he asked the people he trusted most to take him back to his boyhood home for one last visit. I was put in charge of the Year 2000 excursion. We traveled in a caravan of 3 or 4 vehicles. We enlisted the US NRCS District Conservationist and some of his Staff. We recruited some other Board Members of The Verde Natural Resource Conservation District (NRCD). We even cajoled a videographer to come along to record the trip. It was quite a group.
Ralph held a fine court there that day. He took us all around the ranch as if it was alive and well and fully functioning once again. We learned about his humble room in the small ranch house. We learned how Ralph's Dad used the stock pond to tighten wagon wheel spokes and long-handled tools.
He told us about The Trestle and how it figured in his childhood. We all dutifully trooped over to see the trestle. Ralph regaled us with many a story that day. It was truly his last hurrah.
Not long afterwards, Ralph went into managed care and lived many years in steadily declining health before he passed away in November 2007 at the age of 84.
Ralph lived a full and mostly happy life. I first met Ralph in late 1988 at the very first Board meeting I attended of the Verde NRCD in Cottonwood. Everyone there that evening was cordial and nice but Ralph even more so.
Somehow we bonded almost immediately and I had many enjoyable days with Ralph over the next 10-12 years. He continued to serve on the Verde NRCD Board until he finally went into managed care.
Ralph parents were strict fundamentalists. The Hardy Place prior to moving near Sitgreaves Mountain was in Rimrock, Arizona, beneath the hill was later well known as The Rimrock Ranch. Ralph's Dad served on the Beaver Creek School Board. When the school became strapped for funds, other Board members proposed the school house be used for Saturday night dances. A small pocket change fee could be charged to attend the dances and maybe the income could he the school get through tough times.
Well, Ralph's Dad (and his Mom, too) were aghast at the idea of allowing dancing inside the school. Ralph's Dad vehemently opposed such an ungodly plan. However, he was outvoted and the school board proceeded to approve dancing in the school house.
That decision through the Hardy Family into life-changing turmoil. The Family quickly sold off their property, pulled up stakes and moved to a new, remote and isolated located at Hardy Hill.
There the Family stayed largely out of contact with other people. Ralph was only occasionally allowed to accompany his Dad into Williams. His parents did not want Ralph to be corrupted by the uncouth temptations rife in that railroad and lumber town.
On occasion, Ralph would visit our straw bale house in Rimrock. Ironically, our home was (is) located only a stone's throw from the old Hardy Place nearby. Even though Ralph never lived in that location, he had taken time to well know where his folks once lived before the Saturday night school house dances drove them to higher ground.
Ralph was born in January 1923 in Williams. During WWII he worked in the Seattle shipyards. Later, he went to work for the Post Office and served 35 years in Flagstaff before moving to a secluded oasis along West Clear Creek in Camp Verde.
I will always cherish my memories of our day at Hardy Hill. I think often of Ralph's Dad's words in that blacksmith shop so long ago.
And, yes, Ralph fulfilled his Dad's dreams and went on to earn a dollar-a-day...and more.
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