Utah vs. feds: Preparing with road trips, cameras, interviews with old-timers

This road in Dry Canyon in Box Elder County is one of the 12,400 roads the state is seeking title to in its fight with the federal government over preserving access. (Public Lands Policy Coordination Office)

By Amy Joi O'Donoghue
Deseret News

SALT LAKE CITY — A legal team from Utah is traveling to remote areas throughout the state, recording testimony from aging witnesses and filming panoramic views of roads that snake through canyons or cross sagebrush-peppered lands.

The information is being compiled for the state's legal fight against the federal government in which it filed 22 lawsuits in 2012 that have since been consolidated into one case.

In a briefing recently given to a committee of lawmakers, Kathleen Clarke said there is some urgency in getting depositions from witnesses because they are aging.

"Some of these folks are our best witnesses," said Clarke, who is director of the Governor's Public Lands Policy Coordination Office. "Not knowing how long it will take or if any of these cases will ever be heard in court, we have an awfully long line of witnesses to get through."

Clarke said that as part of the requirement that the state prove that the roads existed and had 10 years of use prior to 1976, the legal team is also filming the roads.

"We are filming so the judge won't have to get into a Jeep and drive down these roads."

The roads in question are what's called RS2477 roads — named after a statute enacted in 1866 to promote settlement of the western United States by granting rights-of-way to states and counties for transportation.

The statute was repealed by the Federal Land Policy and Management Act, but that action was subject to "valid existing rights," giving rise to an interpretation by Utah and other Western states that the federal government can't forbid access.

Negotiations with the Department of Interior over title to the roads have lingered for years, finally propelling contentious legal battles in which Utah has alternately been victorious and suffered defeat.

One such loss was access to Salt Creek Road in Canyonlands National Park, which the state and San Juan County contend was illegally closed by the National Park Service.

Harry Souvall, public lands section chief for the Utah Attorney General's Office, said the case has been heard on appeal by the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals, with a decision to be released later this year.

The Salt Creek Road, he told lawmakers, is a good example of why many of the disputed roads are critical for economies of rural counties in Utah.

"Park service attendance and tourism in San Juan County were dropping and it's because people can no longer drive to see Angel Arch. It is now a nine-mile hike to get in there to see it. A lot of people can't do a nine-mile hike in sand to see anything, let alone this gem," he said.

The National Park Service has maintained the road was closed to motorized traffic because it was a streambed that was suffering from environmental degradation.

Souvall said the state has another RS2477 case stemming from a Kane County road dispute that is likely to be heard before the 10th Circuit as well. Together, the two cases have the potential to bring clarity and certainty to the issue.

"There's still that question on what we can or cannot obtain," he said.

The state's efforts have been resoundingly criticized by multiple environmental groups that argue its quest for title to the roads is a costly, irresponsible battle that will only lay waste to pristine landscapes.

"I am sort of shocked when I hear it is 12,500 roads and the largest litigation effort in the state," said Heather Bennett, with For Kids and Lands, an education coalition. "It comes back to the question of what is the best use of resources in this state."

The Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance in particular asserts the state wants "roads to nowhere" that are often narrow deer trails or traverse slick rock vistas.

But Souvall said nearly all the 12,400 roads that are part of the consolidated lawsuit have been vetted through a process that includes historical aerial imagery.

"A road that is closed is going to look like a deer trail," he said.

To support its documentation that the roads were used for a decade or more, Souvall said a legal team has been taking testimony from aging witnesses to preserve the historical record.

"In another case, we had taken a bunch of witness statements from 2000 to 2002. In 2009, when we were going through those statements, we found that approximately 40 percent of our witnesses were either dead or incapable of testifying. We lost almost half our witnesses."

The state struck an agreement with the Department of Justice to take 225 "preservation" depositions from witnesses who are 70 years or older who have health conditions and from witnesses age 80 and older.

"They may not be here to testify in live court," he said, adding that two of the witnesses are more than 100 years old.

To prepare the witnesses, Souvall's legal team takes them out on the road in question to see how much they remember. A Google Earth-style camera also captures a 360-degree view of the road as part of the state's documentation.

"Some of them know over 200 roads and some of them are over age 80," he said. "It is impossible to expect them to remember the details if we don't do this."

The process of gathering the preservation depositions is expected to take the full two years that make up the agreement, he added.

"It is a large effort," he said. "The process is designed to be as efficient as possible while still preserving the testimony of witnesses due to poor health or age."

One lawmaker questioned Souvall about that effort and why the state is pursuing claims to the roads in the wake of such criticism.

He mentioned a road in Uintah County that offered a breathtaking view of surrounding scenery.

"It's a stunning vista. You see people camped there. I don't know how you put a price on Scouting trips, family reunions and everyone being able to go there, from grandpa to infants," he said. "Once it is our right, our road, it is much more difficult to close that road. The fact that it is ours does not mean it will be abused."

African-Americans Shaping the California Desert: Homesteading in the Mojave

by Chris Clarke
KCET.org

Journalist Delilah L. Beasley documented African-Americans' contribution to California in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

In this era when "urban" has become a coded phrase meaning "African-American," it can be easy to forget that California's desert backcountry has a rich African-American history of its own. Black California history isn't limited to the 213 and the 510: the 760 is pretty well-represented in its own right.

For generations the California deserts represented both opportunity and the possibility of being left alone to live your own life. Both of these siren songs were alluring to many African-Americans in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

The deserts of California, namely the Mohave and at Victorville, are government lands, and quite a few colored people have taken up homesteads on this land and are improving them. Some sections have been found to contain oil. Many of the colored people have bought this land and afterwards sold it for a good margin.

So wrote Delilah L. Beasley, the first African-American woman to land a regular writing gig with a major metropolitan daily newspaper, in her 1919 book The Negro Trail Blazers of California. Beasley, quite an interesting figure herself, traveled the length and breadth of the state doing research for the book. The work almost killed her. A poignant note in the preface reads:

During the past year the author has been in very serious ill health and all during the long months of illness there were a few good, staunch friends who voluntarily sent money whenever they wrote and never allowed her for one moment to entertain a thought that she would not get well nor complete the book.

Beasley did live another 15 years after writing that preface, long enough to land a column at the Oakland Tribune, lobby for California's passage of an anti-lynching law, and organize for the establishment of the then-controversial International House at UC Berkeley.

The legacy of the desert homesteaders she mentioned was not always as monumental. The East Mojave's Lanfair Valley, now mostly part of the Mojave National Preserve, offers an example.

In 1910, the first year of homesteading in the Lanfair Valley, six land claims were filed by black people, a respectable proportion of the total number of claims. All in all 17 African-American families homesteaded the valley, most of them in the vicinity of Dunbar - a settlement intended to serve as a center for African-American folks. Dunbar's Post Office opened in 1912, within a month of the opening of another Post Office a tenth of a mile away, in Lanfair. The two offices operated in a kind of de facto racial segregation until 1914, when, according to local historian Dennis Casebier, the U.S. Post Office noticed the redundancy and closed Dunbar's P.O.

Ambitious projects nearby included an orphanage for black youth and the planned community of Harts, billed by its founders G.W. Harts and Howard Folke as "bringing freedom and independence to a limited number of colored people." Neither really got off the ground, though a few young boys did move there from orphanages in the Los Angeles area for a time.

African-American homesteaders proved more resilient. The first half of the decade after 1910 was unusually rainy, and the Lanfair Valley saw a flurry of attempts at wheat farming, some more successful than others. Black families lived with their white neighbors in what must have seemed a liberatingly democratic fashion, the adults helping on each other's farms and the kids sitting together in school. This early integration had its limits, though. As Casebier writes,

In talking with people from that period (black and white) there is an almost categorical denial of any prejudice or discrimination between whites and blacks... In spite of this kind of testimony - which I consider to be honest but somewhat naive - there is evidence of some discrimination.

In speaking of her black neighbors one resident] said "I don't think they ever came to any of our dances." There's a reason for this. I have a copy of the bylaws for the social organization in Lanfair Valley called the Yucca Club and under the heading of who is eligible for membership the bylaws stated clearly that a member could be "any white person in the valley." This is the club that organized the dances.

Also in interviewing black homesteaders (remembering they were children in the teens) they seemed to know little about the community picnics and pioneer celebrations held at Lanfair on the 4th of July and they did not attend them. That tells me that likely their parents did not feel welcome at those gatherings - as they were specifically not welcome at the community dances each month.

Black and white homesteaders had a common enemy in those days: the Rock Springs Cattle Company, which held grazing rights to much of the Lanfair Valley, resented the homesteaders and did its best to chase them out. According to the National Park Service,

The homesteaders experienced constant conflict with the Rock Springs Land & Cattle Company. The company considered Lanfair Valley to be some of the best part of its range, and resented the "intrusion" of settlement. The company denied water to the settlers, forcing them to use the few public springs or dig expensive wells. Cattle trampled carefully nurtured crops, sometimes allegedly after the cowboys cut the nesters' fences. In return, the farmers would occasionally help themselves to beef. The cattle company brought in hired thugs, and rumors swirled claiming some homesteaders' cabins burned to ashes under mysterious circumstances.

In the end it was rain as much as racism that undid the African-American community in the Lanfair Valley: by the second half of the decade the climate reverted to its extremely arid type, wheat crops failed, and one by one homesteaders moved away to better opportunities elsewhere. By 1927 the population had dwindled to the point where the Postal Service was compelled to close the Lanfair Post Office. What remains now is cleared land, foundation stones, and the occasional fence line -- some of it still owned by the descendants of the homesteaders.

But in the few short boom years residents of the Lanfair Valley may well have enjoyed more relative freedom, and less hatred, than any other African-Americans in the U.S. In Casebier's words:

The fertile soil yielded crops with which homesteaders (black and white) could sustain themselves. The children made their own games and toys and played among the wonderland of Joshua trees. From where they lived east of Lanfair a half mile or more -- they could see the smoke of the train rising above the Joshuas and hear the whistle as the train came through twice a day - once early in the morning from Goffs to Searchlight and later in the day back from Searchlight to Goffs. They had a fine school in Lanfair with efficient teachers and friendly students and parents. There were outings to magical places like Fort Piute and Piute Creek and occasional visits to Goffs and sometimes even into Needles.

Chris Clarke is an environmental writer of two decades standing. Author of Walking With Zeke, he writes regularly at his acclaimed blog Coyote Crossing and comments on desert issues here every week. He lives in Palm Springs.

Preserving a town time almost forgot

Old railroad town, bypassed by Route 66, gets a helping hand from devoted couple

Andrew Edwards, Staff Writer
San Bernardino Sun

GOFFS - "Hooch" Simpson has been dead for nearly a century, but this cantankerous desert character has not been forgotten.

In a photograph, Hooch's lifeless and shackled body hangs from a noose. A sign shown in the picture states that the dead man was hanged on Easter Sunday 1908 in Skidoo, a Death Valley mining town that no longer exists. The black-and-white image hangs on a wall inside a museum in Goffs, another desert town that itself could have been lost to history, but instead became a place where the past is remembered.

Goffs, once a railroad town west of Needles, is now the home of Dennis and Jo Ann Casebier and the Mojave Desert Heritage and Cultural Association. The Casebiers founded the association in 1993 and have restored the ghost town's red-roofed schoolhouse and transformed it into a museum that boasts a variety of Mojave Desert exhibits. Dennis Casebier said the association's collection includes 6,000 books, 50,000 photographs and the transcripts of 1,000 oral-history interviews.

"We've gotten ourselves embroiled in the history," he said.

Hooch, just one character in the Mojave Desert story, was executed after committing murder in Skidoo, Jo Ann Casebier said. Next to his picture is a display case containing a noose that, according to the museum, was the very instrument of Hooch's demise.

The National Park Service has more to the tale. According to its version, there is a desert legend saying that Hooch was hanged twice by townspeople. The first hanging killed him, but he was supposedly strung up a second time for photojournalists who weren't around the first time. You could call it an early version of the "perp walk."

Goffs has a story, too. The history of the town, as summarized by the association, is the tale of a railroad town that was founded in 1883 and owed the first decades of its growth to the Santa Fe Railroad.

National Old Trails Road also led to Goffs and became part of Route 66 in 1926. But five years later, Goffs began to fade. Route 66 was realigned about six miles south of the town and in 1937, the last classes were held in the schoolhouse that now houses the Mojave-themed museum.

During World War II, Army troops trained around Goffs, and inside the museum, a mannequin wears the green uniform of the 7th Infantry Division, a pack of Domino cigarettes tucked inside the band around his helmet.

"They trained here but they never went to the North African desert. They went to the Aleutian Islands and South Pacific," Jo Ann Casebier said.

Dennis Casebier, 71, grew up in Kansas and joined the Marines as a young man.
In a roundabout way, the military played a role in bringing him to the desert. He entered the service in 1953 before the end of the Korean War, but fighting a war on the other side of the Pacific wasn't in his future.

"The North Koreans knew I was coming so they signed the armistice," he said.

Instead of Korea, Dennis Casebier wound up stationed in Twentynine Palms, where he "got bit by the desert bug." After the Marines, he went back to college in Kansas, took a job in Norco and retired in 1990. He and his wife moved to Goffs that same year.

The Casebiers are visited in Goffs by volunteers who help maintain historical records. Jackie Ridge of San Diego is one of them. She said she comes to Goffs once a month to help catalog records. She began her work in the desert after the museum helped her find Brant, a place where her husband's great-grandfather worked as a railroad-station manager in the early 20th century.

Brant was east of Kelso, Ridge said. Kelso, inside what is now the Mojave National Preserve, was an old railroad stop whose depot still stands. Time has been harsher to Brant. Little remains except for what may have been a chicken coop and burro pen and a rock foundation for a house.

"The railroads have been regraded but it's amazing how close that house was to the railroad tracks," Ridge said. "It wasn't a quiet place to live."

Goffs is quiet, but Dennis Casebier is working to bring the noises of construction to the town. He wants to build a replica of Goffs' railroad depot to serve as a library. In 2005, he received a grant of about $500,000 for the project from the California Cultural and Historical Endowment. The groundbreaking for the depot project was in July, and Dennis Casebier said he's collected about $200,000 of the $250,000 he needs to fully fund construction.

One of Dennis Casebier's other priorities is interviewing as many Mojave Desert old-timers (or their descendants) as possible before their knowledge of desert living is lost.

"Oral history is a wonderful thing," he said. "We're trying to track down people who have first-time experience here."

County Speaks Out on RS-2477 Road Issues

By COREY BLUEMEL
Emery County Progress

As a result of a lawsuit filed by USA-All against Emery County, officials, some who have been involved in the roads dispute for nearly 25 years, were on hand to present an explanation of the county's stance to the citizens of Emery County.

Patrick Gubbins, from the Bureau of Land Management, was first to address the crowd. He covered the development of the route designation plan put out by the BLM. " I will say one thing, working in the public sector for 28 years and having worked with numerous county officials, it has been a pleasure working with Emery County. They are a very progressive county."

Gubbins went on to explain that when he took over the Price Field Office, there were two separate resource areas. One was the Price resource center and the other was the San Rafael resource center. There were two separate management plans, so it was undertaken to combine the plans as the offices were combined into the Price Field Office. It was Gubbins' goal to develop a route designation plan within five years. Eleven years later, the plan was implemented in the spring of 2003.

During the process of development, the BLM took more than 12,000 comments from the public into consideration for development of the resource management plan. With 1,200 miles of trails in approximately one million acres of land, the process was lengthy. In the plan, 688 miles of roads are designated for motorized use. Gubbins stated that the plan does not settle the RS-2477 situation and that the BLM will honor the outcome of the RS-2477 decisions.

Sheriff Lamar Guymon was next. He said that the county has wanted an officer on the San Rafael for many years, but because of the lack of funding, putting a deputy out there has not been possible. In the past few years, offers of funding have come about, but the funds have not materialized.

The BLM came forward with the proposition and funding for an officer and as a result, an officer was assigned to patrol the San Rafael. No place in the contract does it allow the officer to enforce federal statutes, only state and county laws and ordinances. The deputy's main duty is to educate the users and hand out information and maps. To date, the officer has handed out more than 500 packets of tourist information and educated those visitors to the area. Very few citations have been written, and those were, as the contract states, only for state and county law violations.

Sheriff Guymon also stated that having an officer present on the Swell has been very beneficial to all concerned, the county as well as the BLM. By patrolling on a daily basis, the officer can note any damage to land or signs, and notify the proper entity. The deputy keeps all parties informed about conditions and happenings on the Swell.

Mark Ward, from the Utah State Attorney General's Office, department of public lands and natural resources, was next. Ward is the supervisor of the team of attorneys involved in the RS-2477 project. He also represents counties on public lands issues. "From our perspective, Emery County has done an outstanding job in the RS-2477 project," Ward said.

Ward went on to say that most of the process is extremely confidential with the anticipation of litigation. "Emery County has been very thorough in everything connected with these issues. It has been a massive undertaking to collect the data necessary to assert rights to these roads. Emery County has not lagged and they have done everything the attorney general's office has asked of them," said Ward.

RS-2477 is a vested claim by virtue of a federal mining statute. That vestiture occurred upon the completion of roads, no one ever thought to record when the roads came into being. In 1976, Congress enacted the Federal Lands Policy Management Act and FLPMA effectively repealed the effectiveness of RS-2477. The claims that are being asserted under RS-2477 now have to be documented as being constructed prior to Oct. 21, 1976.

The RMP is not a formal tool to settle the road claims and is only a part of the transportation plan. These contested roads may or may not be RS-2477 roads, but the county will continue to assert its rights and insert the RS-2477 roads into the plan. Emery County has reserved those rights in the management plan.

Ray Petersen, Emery County Public Lands Director, explained to the group that his goal was to demonstrate the consistency of the county in this situation and its relationship with the BLM. With the signed memorandum of understanding, Emery County maintains cooperating agency status.

Petersen read portions of the letters written by the county and his predecessor, Val Payne, concerning the roads and trails in the Swell. Emery County representatives have attended every meeting held on these road issues and they continue to assert their position that they will not give up roads. "Emery County has, and will continue to pursue their rights, they do not intend to let them fall by the wayside," said Petersen. "Emery County has spent more that $100,000 documenting their ownership of the roads. Margaret McMullin has countless letters, personal histories, video taped histories, photographs, and she has also spent thousands of hours collecting the documentation to substantiate Emery County's claim to these roads," said Petersen.

Dennis Worwood expressed to the audience the necessity to work with the attorney general's office and go through the process as their strategy indicates. "I have been involved with public road issues for 25 years. I am the only surviving member of the original public lands council, and this is my last six months," said Worwood.

"Some of the assertions of the law suit are just not true. The county cannot ignore what their attorney says to do, they cannot be vigilantes in this road war. Other counties have removed barricades and taken down signs, and also graded roads. Although Emery County is not doing those things, they are not standing idly by and doing nothing. Emery County's attorney has advised them to stay the course of the strategy.

"This road war is being fought on three fronts, the legislative, the judicial and the executive branches. The San Rafael Swell is the poster child for the Utah Wilderness Coalition who wants to designate 49.5 percent of Emery County as wilderness. Emery County is very active and involved in this fight. Emery County cannot ignore the advice of the attorney general's office and do what USA-All wants," added Worwood.

History Captured Alive

Dennis Casebier is an expert at oral histories




Story by STUART KELLOGG
Photo by LARA HARTLEY
Victor Valley Daily Press



Dennis Casebier, executive director of the Mojave Desert Heritage & Cultural Association (MDHCA), has interviewed 200 people who once lived in Lanfair Valley.

Starting in 1910, the well-watered valley north of Goffs enjoyed a homesteading boom.

But as will happen, bust followed.

“Of 400 homesteads,” Casebier says, “fewer than 200 ‘proved up.’ The people I interview now have all left Lanfair Valley.

“I do oral history in an empty land.”

On April 26, he met with members of the Mohahve Historical Society and students of Leo Lyman, professor of history at Victor Valley College, to discuss what Casebier has learned about collecting oral histories (“an art form, not a science”).

Much of what Casebier shared has as much to do with courtesy as with research technique.

Equipment

“Oral histories take a lot of time,” Casebier said, “so don’t scrimp on equipment. I use a Bell & Howell recorder and standard-size 90-minute cassettes. A 60-minute tape is too short, a 120-minute tape too thin.”

Remarking that Nikon makes a lens especially for photographing photographs, Casebier urged the amateur historians to have their pictures of documents developed at a top-of-the-line photo lab.

Be prepared

Because every interview subject leads to somebody else, Casebier maintains a computerized list of old-timers’ names, addresses and phone numbers. Every now and then, he prints it out and puts the most recent version in his car.

“And I always carry a tape-recorder,” he said. “Who knows, I may have to go to jail tonight, and there I’ll meet an old-timer on my list.”

Advance notice

To assure a potential interview subject that he and the MDHCA are professional, Casebier may put an old-timer on the organization’s newsletter mailing-list.

“Hopefully,” he said, “when I do call, they’ll have been waiting to hear from me.

“But I never send a potential subject a copy of one of my books (e.g., Casebier’s “Guide to the Mojave Road”). If I did, they’d tell me what’s already in the book.

“But after our interview, I may give them a book.”

Knowledge of the topic

Although each subject contributes something of value, Casebier said, “You need to know more about the topic than any one person you interview.”

Citing a subject who remarked, “My grandfather lived in Blake, not Goffs,” Casebier said, “In fact, Blake and Goffs are the same place. Briefly changed to Blake, the name was later changed back to Goffs.”

Potential for intimidation

No matter how much you know, Casebier said, never correct the subject, for that will surely turn them off: “And don’t flaunt your own knowledge of a topic.”

“Shut up and listen”

In line with the above, Casebier said, if an older person gets a blank look, don’t prompt them: “They are thinking, so let them think. It takes time to remember events of 60 years ago.”

Follow-on notes

Rather than disturb the flow of recollection, write down questions as these occur to you, and ask them later.

“Make sure to tell the person why you are writing notes,” Casebier said. “As it is, most of your questions will have been answered by the time a person stops talking.”

He also warned interviewers to watch for signs of fatigue, “for if the subject is tired, they won’t give their top performance. Suggest a break for a few hours or, if possible, come back the next day.”

Maintain control

If a subject goes off about an old hurt (ranting, for example, against the government or a family member), he permits it — for a while. Then he steers them back to the topic at hand.

Military service

In an exception to his “Maintain control” rule, Casebier lets veterans tell their war stories even if these have nothing to do with Lanfair Valley. “I try to get what I need first,” he said, “but they deserve it.

“For veterans of World War II, I always ask, ‘Where were you when the war ended?’ and ‘What do you think of the atom bomb?’

“A guy who’d fought at the Battle of the Bulge was on a troop ship, heading from Le Havre to the Pacific, when he got word of Hiroshima. ‘I’d been good as dead,’ he said. ‘Now I wasn’t.’ ”

Casebier added: “Always ask a vet what unit he served in. This will help historians who come after you.”

One person at a time

Dismissing family reunions as “having no value except as a chance to add to your old-timer list,” Casebier stressed the importance of not allowing other people to interrupt a subject: “Be willing to say to an adult child, ‘I’d like your mother to answer this.’ ”

But having interviewed two people separately, it can pay to talk with them together.

This is what Casebier did with a man and a woman who’d gone to school together in 1914 and hadn’t met since:

“By interviewing them separately, and then together, I got so much more than I could have gotten from either one alone.”

Raise the comfort index

“Most of my people are elderly, simple folk,” Casebier said, “and so I start with easy questions: What is your full name? Any middle name? Your date of birth and where? Who were your parents (you may get a story out of that)?

“Maybe I’m chicken, but if there is a touchy issue, I put it off. For example, if I already know that the subject’s grandfather made moonshine.

“Once I was scheduled to interview the only man to spend time in San Quentin for cattle rustling. When I rang the bell, an elderly man with an oxygen tank opened the door.

“I thought, ‘Oh, no!’ But he brought up San Quentin right away.”

Transcription

Back home from an interview, Casebier promptly duplicates the tapes.

“Never transcribe from original tapes,” he cautioned. “Instead, transcribe from duplicates. You can also mail dupes to a volunteer transcriber who may not be the best interviewer but is a much better typist than you.”

According to Casebier’s wife, Jo Ann, “All transcription is verbatim. No language or factual errors are corrected.”

Remarking that he prides himself on capturing candor, Dennis Casebier said, “There was once a lot of prostitution in Searchlight (Nev.).

“When I mentioned this to one woman, she said, ‘Go down the street and talk with so-and-so. She was a whore.’ ”

Which may be why it’s Casebier’s policy not to enter a history in the MDHCA data base as long as the subject is alive — without their express permission.

Photographs and documents

To preserve homestead papers, postcards and other ephemera, Casebier brings a photocopier to each interview.

He also solicits photos: best of all as gifts to the MDHCA, next best as loans. Barring that, he photographs pictures on site.

In any event, Casebier said, “I organize the photos in the order that they’ll be copied — and ask the person to talk about each one. I also photograph what’s written on the back.

“The best interview subjects are teachers. They’ve spent their whole lives talking, appreciate what we are doing, and understood the need for caption material.

“I believe the caption is 50 percent of a photograph’s value.”

Just as he duplicates tapes, Casebier copies every image twice and in the same sequence. “That way,” he said, “I’ve got a backup set in case one batch of negatives is lost at the photo lab.” He added that “a scanned digital-image is no substitute for a continuous-time print from a negative.”

Leads for other interviews

An important part of any oral history is developing leads to other subjects. To make it easy for people to contact him, Casebier leaves cards with everyone he speaks to.

“Another way to get leads,” he said, “is to print an old photo and caption in the newspaper. This is sure to provoke calls from people eager to tell you the truth of the matter!”

Established in 1883 as a siding for the Southern Pacific Railway, Goffs grew in importance when, in 1907, a short-line railroad connected it to the rich mines at Searchlight.

By 1911 there were enough children living in Goffs (the sons and daughters of railway employees) to require a school: at first a rented, frame structure; later a handsome Mission-style building.

The school served a total of 412 students before closing down in 1937, obviated by a new school in Essex.

The old Goffs schoolhouse is now the centerpiece of the 113-acre Goffs Historic Cultural Center (founded by Casebier and his wife, Jo Ann, in 1989) and headquarters for the nonprofit Mojave Desert Heritage & Cultural Association.

“The other day,” Casebier said, “we were having a board meeting, and an elderly lady appeared in the door of the schoolhouse. When I asked, ‘May I help you?’ she said, ‘I’m part of the puzzle.’ “She was one of the 412 students.”

Of their shared passion for oral history, Casebier told his audience: “My only regret is that I didn’t start earlier. It’s taught me how to listen and how to appreciate the elderly.”