Land of the blue-green water
Lake Havasu in northern Arizona feels like a playground, and in many ways it was created to be one. Founded in 1964 by a wealthy businessman from Los Angeles, this desert community was carved out of dunes and dusty plateaus as a place where middle class Midwesterners and soon-to-be retirees could come for some sun and relaxation.
Many years before that it was the homeland of the Chemehuevi, Native Americans known for their spectacular basket-making techniques. Then the government created the Colorado River Indian Reservation and took away the Chemehuevi’s tribal status. It later carved 8,000 acres out of the 36,000 acre reservation to build Parker Dam and the Lake Havasu reservoir, which helps siphon off water from the Colorado River for California.
According to local historians, when the Chemehuevi first saw the dam they were most impressed by the water. What had once been a silt-browned river was now a magnificent greenish-blue. “Havasu,” they repeated, the Chemehuevi word for the water’s new hue.
It would be years before Lake Havasu became an inhabitable city, however. During World War II the military used the open expanses around the lake to test landings of fighter plans and artillery. It was only when Robert McCulloch, an eccentric entrepreneur, decided to move his chainsaw factory to the remote desert outpost that Lake Havasu earned its mark on a map.
After purchasing 16,250 acres of rock-filled land at a song, McCulloch commissioned Disneyland’s master planner, C.V. Wood, to design his desert city. Then he bought up a fleet of planes to fly prospective buyers in from across the United States. Over the 15 years that he ran his marketing campaign, more than 137,000 people flew in on McCulloch’s dime to check out what Lake Havasu to offer.
McCulloch didn’t stop there. When the city of London put its historic London Bridge up for auction he put in a winning bid of $2,460,000, a fortune by today’s measure. Over the next seven years the bridge was dissembled, transported across a vast ocean and put back together over a canal the city had carved out expressly so the bridge would have something to go over.
The city’s creation is a testament to McCulloch’s ingenuity and evidence of the ideals he was trying to promote. To entice potential new residents, the local Herald newspaper sent out special editions to that contained only good news, with headlines promoting the building of a new variety store or the range of glasswork available at another, according to a display at Lake Havasu’s history museum.
Today, vacationers bring their speed boats to the lake for days of sunning on the cool aquamarine waters, pontoons decorate driveways and jet skies tear white wakes across the lake’s surface.
The city has grown rapidly over the past 50 years, earning a reputation for its raucous spring break parties. It has continued to draw snow birds and retirees from California and further east, but the McCulloch chainsaw factory is no more. When I ask what industry employs most people, my mother shrugs and says “schools, medical facilities, restaurants and bars.”
It feels a little redneck, a lotta country, much like another lake community I’m intimately familiar with — Indian Lake in western Ohio. One of the advertisements at the local movie theatre is for Sam’s Shooter Emporium, which boasts a machine gun at its indoor firing range.
It’s not quite the paradise McCulloch set out to create — though the word paradise is emblazoned on signs throughout the city. But it feels uniform and fun, like a set on a Hollywood lot. Where it’s headed now amid talk of border walls, Obamacare reversals and climate change dissension will be interesting and important to watch.
