It is nine in the morning and you see walkers, a few bicycles, a golf cart, an older lady buttoned up in her custom round about.The speed limit is 10 miles per hour and a familiar saying is posted everywhere –
” Remember, only you can prevent speed bumps. ”
The village, built on land that was first hunted and fished by the Hohokam Indians, has been here since the fifties.
A dedication to the owner, George Leary, by the front office, calls the park his dream. It is now the realization of his many dreams and locals tell me the old man, in his eighties, still patrols the park in an old Ford pickup with tools and PVC pipe in the truck bed.
In the 1100 available spaces are park model homes, crosses between manufactured homes and RV’s, huge motor coaches, fifth wheels and trailers. About two thirds of the spaces are filled with park models, and in the summer, half of these are vacant. There are permanent regulars who weather snowbird invasion from November to March.
This village has front gate security and enforced rules.
There are no drag races, loitering panhandlers, people sleeping in their cars with a front seat full of eviction papers. You don’t see or hear teens with pants dropped below their butts showing hearts on their undershorts,tattoos and piercings,vehicles with body damage, headlights missing, oil leaks,midnight parties with speakers full blast, drunks singing in the street, soiled pampers thrown in flower beds, shaved heads, profanity.
For those, over 55, who are here, this place is an oasis.
George Leary’s dream resonates.
In the culture wars, it is good to have a retreat where wagons are circled and your guns and bullets and Bibles are close at hand.