"Sheltering the Creative Spirit"
Taos, New Mexico USA
Board of Directors
President: Barbara Waters
1st Vice President: Imogene Bolls
2nd Vice President: Mark Rossi
Secretary: Arleene Arnell
Treasurer: Mark Rossi
Arthur Bachrach, Nathan Bolls, Marilyn Luther, Tal Luther,
Table of Contents
Please click on any topic below to go directly to it.
Click on image to view enlargement
Early in the fall term of 1914, I became aware of a boy who one day was
abruptly called from the classroom to go home due to the death of his
A few days after this incident in our classroom, I observed this same boy
in short knee pants on the tracks ahead of me. He had a gangly stride and
was wearing an intriguing Irish walking hat. I soon caught up with him and
found his name to be Frank Waters. We became friends at this meeting on
the old Santa Fe tracks. Frank was on his way home to his grandfatherıs big
house on Bijou Street, and I was on my way to our High Street house.
Instead of wading down the short bank of cinders at the Bijou Street bridge,
we went further south to a steeper bank of cinders which scuffed our shoes
as we descended toward Shookıs Run. On the way, we passed the corral of
a Jersey cow belonging to Mr. Crawford, a colored man, who lived on the
crumbling banks of Shook's Run. While I was in high school, Mr. Crawford
was of much help to me, almost in a fatherly way.
To cross Shook's Run, someone had spanned it with a couple of two-foot
square timbers, providing adequate footing about fifteen feet above the
running water. After crossing, we would jog a block up the hill to my house,
the second from the corner. There Frank would leave me and cross Corona
to proceed up the alley to his grandfatherıs large two-story warehouse with
an upstairs drafting room. Although there was a back gate, Frank selected a
high board fence as the most interesting point for entrance. Frank and I
scrambled over this fence many times, fortunately without snagging our knee
We also made a few excursions to the main part of town together. One year,
just before Christmas, we decided to go see the toys in the Tejon Street
stores. After reviewing toys in the various stores, we wound up at
Woolworth's. Frank had a dollar to spend on presents for the family: his
sister, two cousins, mother, grandfather, and several aunts. Frank seemed
satisfied with his selections, and I have always remained amazed at what he
did with only one dollar.
On our walks home from school, we developed rituals of diversion from a
straight path to make the walk more interesting. Two blocks west of the
school, a fence extended from the yard to the sidewalk at the perfect height
for a one-handed vault. Of course after we two had landed numerous times
on the grass, it showed wear. One day, Frank took off with his one-handed
leap. "Ouch!" he cried. The owner had driven brads into the fence, and cut
off their heads. That ritual of diversion stopped abruptly.
Shook's Run always offered us a domain of tranquility and interest. It was
our world. Frank remembered it as part of the area we had shared together
in our youth by writing in my copy of The Wild Earth's Nobility, "To Chuck --
who with us has known as his own that domain from Shook's Run to Pikes
Peak - Frank."
Shook's Run was a natural drainage course which meandered from north to
south the entire length of Colorado Springs. The water flow varied with the
amount of precipitation, at times leaving the bed with small water puddles
among dry spots of sand sediment. At other times, it carried an ominous
torrent of water which cut into the crumbling banks. This alarmed those with
property too near the edges and as high as fifteen feet above the stream
Whenever I recall Shook's Run, a vivid memory of a rainy summer day
comes to mind. We were in Frankıs house on Bijou Street; it was afternoon,
which indicates we must have taken shelter inside from a quick deluge. I
remember hearing a disturbance across the street; upon looking out the
front window, I knew Frank and I had to be there, so I called to Frank to let
him know we had to go across the street. Directly across the street from
Frank's house, a grocery store occupied the corner lot except for a short
distance of ground that extended dangerously near the bank where water
was rising in a raging torrent down the Run. (The store has now been
replaced by Frank Waters Park.) An old woman owned the store. She had
false teeth that clicked when she called out orders to her son, T. J.
As Frank and I approached, we saw this hysterical old woman standing near
the creek bank. Soon we could hear the clicking of her teeth as she
repeatedly called out for T. J. to do something. T. J., a grown young man
still under the bidding of his mother, of course was helpless to do anything
about the situation. He stood near a light spring wagon used for delivering
groceries and to which was hitched a thin little soaking wet bay horse with
his head hung as long as he could get it. The whole situation radiated
trouble, disaster, or worse, so we hurried over beside T. J.'s mother near
We instantly could see what was happening. Water had filled the creek
runway from side to side, high up its banks; and it was constantly rising.
We could see and hear segments of the sandy walls give way to become
part of a rushing mass of tumbling water. Several feet of dirt ground
stretched from the bank's edge to the rear of the grocery store. As we stood
by the terrified old woman, her yard grew smaller and smaller as the water
rose higher and higher. Finally, the water stopped rising about one and a
half feet from the top of the arch. Being so close to this uncontrolled rushing
of water was almost as scary to us as it was thrilling.
- Charles Elbert Hathaway
Click on image for enlargement
Charles Hathaway is a most unusual man. Imagine publishing your first book
at age 98, in addition to publishing poetry in local newspapers, and
painting watercolors for your friends! All of this after a noteworthy
business career. Born in 1902, Charles grew up in Colorado Springs. While
employed as cashier at Colorado College, he obtained B.A. and M.A. degrees
in economics and business. Subsequently, he spent 23 years as Director of
School Finance for the Colorado Department of Education. He was also
Business Manager of the Denver Bureau of Public Welfare, a Colorado state
income tax auditor, and a state health statistician. Alert and active, he
now lives at La Posada Park Center in Green Valley, Arizona, not far from
his daughter, Carol Raymond. His book is dedicated to his wife, Bernice, who
died in 1988. An order form for this short charming memoir of his lifelong
friendship with Frank Waters is enclosed. - B.W.
Frank Waters found his great themes in his own life. Several of his books
are explicitly autobiographical, but nearly all of them, in one way or
another, derive from a lifelong self-examination, a patient exploration of
his background, and an investigation into the importance of landscape and
place. This anthology outlines Frank Waters's journey of discovery.
I have just finished reading proofs for the book, which should be out this
year from Ohio/Swallow Press, and I must admit the experience has surprised
me. Maybe it's just that when reading proofs, you have to be slow and
careful, and pay attention. But I think there was something more profound
involved, and the something came from Frank Waters.
It has been an unexpected renewal for me. Going through the excerpts from
The Wild Earth's Nobility, Below Grass Roots, and the Dust Within the Rock,
I began to feel somehow as if I were reading these old familiar books for
the first time, and coming upon a whole new writer. Then with People of the
Valley, The Man Who Killed the Deer, The Yogi of Cockroach Court, and The
Colorado, I felt a kind of philosophical thrill, like being pointed toward a
new, larger world.
How can this be? I'm an old jaded ex-professor! And I've read Frank Waters
since sometime back in the last century. But I think there might be a secret
here in this little personal encounter. It's all about freshness and
discovery. The secret is that Frank Waters was a genuine learner, and he
could convey the inimitable excitement of the moment when the eyes open on
something truly new. He could communicate newness as a state of mind.
I'm afraid our usual, or so-called normal condition, is anything but that
of a learner.
We're so caught up in strategic planning, day to day, and so judgmental
(necessarily, we think) about absolutely everything, that there's no place
for the simple freshness of the world. We accumulate tons of data, but we
don't really have much openness.
One of the pieces in the book is a modest little editorial from El
Crepusculo, dated May 11, 1950. It's about walking to work at the paper,
probably that very morning, going past plum trees in blossom. There aren't
many images, and the whole essay isn't long, but as simple as it is, it
radiates the unmistakable beauty of free consciousness. Frank Waters was
learning that morning, every step of the way, as alive and ready as a human
being probably ever gets to be.
This can be, thank the Lord, contagious. This little editorial, with its so
obviously beating heart, took me across the desert to Taos, to the bright
air and the shadowed mountains and the yeasty feeling of a spring morning,
when even going to town, to work, has something special on it. In Utah,
where I first read Frank Waters, it would be the time of first plowing, when
the dark moist ground is steaming in the sun and gulls flutter above the
tractor. Here, it is southern California, and spring is something more
subtle, but if you're in the mood - if you're for a moment at least, a
learner - it can still work some magic.
Frank Waters, I think, lived a lot of his time at the edge of that
expansion, that young state of learning. Two of his favorite words for
opening out into this mysterious, larger, beyond-thought world were
"apperception" and "emergence." What a good thing for us, that he was
willing to be vulnerable as a writer, and sincerely try to communicate what
was most magical and central in his life.
An Editorial by Frank Waters
As often happens to the best of mice and men, our mind is not on our
We feel immune to the worthy innovations that are making Taos a more
comfortable place to live in. We have no invectives to hurl at Labor, Big
Business, or even the Chamber of Commerce. Nothing in the horrible state of
world affairs could induce us to preach a tidy little sermon on the
injustices of mankind to man.
In our distorted frame of mind, the world looks like the best possible
abode for mortal man. Still we know that there comes a time in the Fat
Forties when a man must resist the blandishments of nature, and look only at
the facts of life seen through the myoptic gaze of middle age. Not at the
thickets of wild plum blossoms heaped like snowdrifts in the sagebrush . . .
crossing the pastures like a file of white-blanketed Indians.
That is probably what threw us off balance this morning. The deplorable
necessity of having to walk to work through a country pasture instead of
taking a city subway. . . And being inflicted with the unavoidable sight of
that beach of white blossoms flanking the blue pine mountains all the way to
It could be a touch of May fever. It could be us. But the safest bet is to
blame it on those blossoms.
The monsoons had not yet arrived in northern New Mexico and the early
evening sky contained only a cluster of clouds over Taos Sacred Mountain as
I drove my rented car up Route 150 to Arroyo Seco. I was coming for the
first time to the Frank Waters Foundation. I knew only that I had a cabin
for a month, that it was close to Pueblo land, and that I was arriving with
the mishmash of a year's teaching back in Connecticut that needed to be
sorted through and put aside to allow for new poems. I knew only that I was
coming to a primeval valley enclosed on two sides by mountains and facing
out on mesas, high plains, and the gorge that I had first visited ten years
As I stood there on the cabin porch after removing my word processor,
printer, and one piece of luggage from the car, I sensed the expansiveness
and connection that was to be given me through July. And the rhythms and
landscape that I would carry with me back East. Upon my return, sweltering
in a heat wave while remembering the rain and coolness, the web of
friendships that had unfolded in my month in Arroyo Seco, my struggles with
the clawed darkness of my psyche in the poems written there, I fully
realized the blessing of what I had been given: a month of solitude,
bell-clear morning skies, and afternoon and evening storms that brought
water and regeneration to the land and to me.
Arroyo Seco is a special place. A whole mess of people from California and
elsewhere have bought land and built houses back from El Salto Road, where
the Foundation is located, thereby changing the textures and purity of
underground streams. But a few working ranches, pastures, and hay fields
remain. When the air is quiet, you can still hear the old cattle and buffalo
sounds, mingled with the snorting of horses, baying of donkeys, and
screaming of peacocks. How fortunate that Barbara Waters has placed some of
the fifteen acres that her husband bought back in 1947 into a conservation
easement. And how visionary of her to have established this Foundation so
that all kinds of artists might come here to do their work and be nourished.
I, for one, left with a sheaf of new poems about such things as firing
pots in the old traditional ways of pueblo life as well as inner poems I
long had been carrying, about victimhood and pain. I worked and wrote at an
old card table on the porch that looks down on an aspen-pole fence that
stakes and separates a neighborıs house from the studio.
Afternoons I sometimes left to go to book stores and talks, or to meet
friends on the Reservation or in town. But for the most part I stayed on
Foundation property, where I learned all the gullies in both the upper and
lower pastures and marveled at the water flow the Acequia Madre, running
off of the Rio Lucero on Taos Indian land, under El Salto Road, and even
under the little Arroyo Seco creek all the way to the middle of the mesa
where it divides and nurtures Foundation land. Yes, I love protected land
like this. I treasure water. And Iım thankful that there's a refuge called
the Frank Waters Foundation at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
The challenge now is to complete more of their planned studios and to fund
an adequate endowment that will allow for yearly upkeep and administration.
And quite a challenge it is. If the blessings I received here are to be
shared by others, and if Frank Waters legacy and Barbara Waters's faith and
vision are to be honored, support will have to be forthcoming from the Taos
community as well as from those committed to the arts all over the world.
It's a worthy challenge. By meeting it, even in small ways, people will
positively affect the quality of life of those who follow us, besides
sustaining that crucial sacred spirit needed to make human culture and its
relationship to earth more nourishing.
As I write this, I think of the Colorado granite boulder engraved with
Frank's words from The Man Who Killed the Deer. I think of my creative
friends in Taos: Soge, Bernadette, Imogene, Nate, Skip, Liz, Sally, John,
Barbara, and so many others. But most of all I think of how a Foundation
such as this one in Arroyo Seco supports our effort to make an art that
touches and enriches people's lives.
Hugh Ogden has written several books of poetry, including Natural Things and
Gift. He teaches in Connecticut and was a writer-in-residence at the FWF in
1999 and 2000.
On the Death of
Ginger, Her Horse
Earth, we gave you foot-paths
and walked singing beside
We laughed together and in
of dream you lay the ground
Barbara came and the morning
and she placed a wild iris
on the ear of Ginger who had
to you, the magpies cackling
and not yet plunging for her eyes.
She knelt and put her hand
white forehead and you cradled
her body and she heard
- Hugh Ogden
by Imogene Bolls
Smoothly is not the way book publishing is supposed to go. Especially when
the press is a smaller one, the editor is over committed, and he wants the
book out ASAP.
But that's the way my third book of poetry, Advice for the Climb, came into
being - smoothly. From initial acceptance of the manuscript to disk copies
to hard-copy galleys, the forward process was interrupted only a few times.
One concern was use of the word "advice." Advice is not recommended for
most titles; it sounds a bit pompous. After Editor Larry Smith and others at
Bottom Dog Press realized that the "advice" in the title was clearly advice I
was getting instead of giving, this problem dissolved. A second problem was
cover design. Asked to offer input, I provided one of my pueblo ladder
photos from among many photographs taken annually in Taos.
Then came the need for an interminable mailing list of potential buyers,
and my chagrin at having to put friends and maybe enemies alike on the spot.
I would never make a good salesperson; I don't promote anything easily,
much less myself. Cover color? I didn't know what it would be until the book
arrived. Blue? Tan? Happily, the editor had hit upon a superb sage green
that perfectly blended the black and white pueblo ladder with my outdoor
Endorsements from fellow poets were next. Fortunately, the top four on my
list replied, "Yes." I am thrilled to have on my book the praise of master
linguist X. J. Kennedy, as well as that of premier Irish poet Eavan Boland;
the sensitive comments of nationally respected Ohio poet David Citino; and
those of esteemed western poet Pattiann Rogers.
The first shipment of completed books finally arrived after a long wait,
and visiting friends remarked that they never had seen me so hesitantly
eager as I was when the UPS truck pulled into our driveway. I must have
resembled an expectant puppy coveting a milkbone. Of course they didn't
realize I didn't know what color to expect, nor if the three typos on the
final page proofs had been fixed.
All of my fears were assuaged when I took a copy outside onto the deck in
the shadow of Taos Mountain. There were the ladder and that delicious sage
green, the book blurbs clean and tight, the right picture of me.
Inside, my book is divided into three sections: "Advice from the Self," for
often we know more than we think; "Advice from the Others," since we canıt
live without learning from others; "Advice from the Universe," which knows
us better than we know ourselves. Readers will have to judge for themselves
the quality of these poems.
Much positive reader input occurred during an Ohio book tour highlighted by
readings and signings at Wittenberg University where I was teaching; Yellow
Springs, home of Antioch Writers' Workshop; and the prized Books and Co.
bookstore in Dayton. Smoothly it all went, in spite of this endeavor that
postponed for a short while the permanent move of my husband, Nate, and me
from Ohio to Taos. Now to our great joy it too has been accomplished, if
not quite so smoothly as the creation of this book.
Imogene Bolls, first vice-president of FWF, is the author of Glass Walker,
Earthbound, and Advice for the Climb. She has published more than 600 poems
in national literary journals and anthologies, and has won numerous awards,
including two Ohio Individual Artist Awards and the Ohioana Library
Association Award for lifetime achievement in poetry. This latest book of
poems is available through FWF for $10.95, including shipping.
by Barbara Waters
My book is meant primarily to be a celebration of survival, a celebration
of life - our greatest gift. And it celebrates some of those persons who
have gracefully created the ups and downs of their lifetime into works of
art, such as my late husband Frank Waters.
By gracefully I mean that they have landed on their feet as clever coyote
most often does in myth and fable, instead of lying around moaning and
groaning about their ill-starred fates.
Elie Wiesel, a survivor of the holocaust, wrote in his autobiography that
survivors of a test must tell their stories. In telling my story I have
added, "Survival is a celebration of mortality or immortality. It is a
celebration of the enduring coyote in our beloved coy-dog Trickster, in
Frank, in myself, in all of us."
In celebrating the coyote we are celebrating that volatile spirit which
exceeds intellect or rationality. Psychiatrist C.G. Jung called the
trickster coyote our "shadow" side, our repressed secret side. The more we
recognize and acknowledge it, the more positively powerful it becomes, just
as the legendary Trickster has gained stature as mankind has advanced.
Frank, an honorary member of the Hopi Coyote Clan, possessed a great deal of
this volatile spirit. And so it was not always easy to live with him. But
it has been much harder living without him since his death in 1995.
Although my grief over his death frames this story and gives it structure,
it is by no means the main story.
I thought Frank was the main person in this story. I meant him to be. I
intended to honor him and to promote his work. To my amazement, MacMurray
& Beck's executive editor said this book was about me. If this is true,
buyers get five books for the price of one: an autobiographical memoir, a
biography of sorts, a marriage manual, a positive grief process manual, and
a how-to directive on renewing oneıs depleted energy through absorbing that
of the departed as well as helpful energy from friends, warm memories,
animals, and nature. My whole book is a ceremony celebrating my exchange of
energies with the universe. Some may call this "New Age" thinking. It is
really wisdom of the ages preserved by sages like Jung and Frank Waters.
by Barbara Waters
by Barbara Waters
Since books always have been our top priority, it is not surprising that we
devoted the past two years to them instead of to writing newsletters. But
with things simmering down, weıll be back on track again regularly turning
out newsletters for the FWF.
First came the editing of Frank's posthumous memoir, Of Time and Change,
republished this month in paperback. An excerpt was featured in the
September Santa Fean. Next came editing my own book, Celebrating the
Coyote, for which an order form is enclosed. Beginning to write another book
followed, as well as writing a foreword to accompany Tom Lyon's introduction
for a new edition of The Woman at Otowi Crossing. Swallow Press/Ohio
University Press will have Tom Lyon's most recent book, A Frank Waters
Reader: A Southwestern Life in Writing, in bookstores by early December.
Treasurer Mark Rossi and I worked hard on bringing to fruition a dream of
self-publishing as a major FWF goal. Believe me, it's a lot of work! And
without Mark's dedicated help, it would not have been possible, nor half as
much fun. Typist Sandra Miller was another big asset, and continues to be a
godsend on numerous projects. Our first publishing endeavor, Back-Alley
Boys by Charles Hathaway, is featured in this issue along with an order form.
His short memoir about growing up with Frank Waters will be out near the end
of November, when we expect to have a book signing near Charles' home in
Green Valley, Arizona.
FWF vice-president Imogene Bolls also writes here about her third book of
poems, Advice for the Climb, available through the Foundation. Two FWF
writer residents this summer were working on books: Hugh Ogden on another
book of poetry, and Stephen Kress on one about the political environment.
Stephen formerly published Cross Winds. See Hugh's article and poem in this
issue. Although we haven't yet firmed up dates for the next Frank Waters
Southwest Writing Contest, the last two winners are going full speed ahead
with their writing careers. The University of New Mexico Press published Jim
Sanderson's winning El Camino del Rio with great success and is about to
release his second mystery. Clint Trafton's intriguing novel You Canıt Push
a Rope about activist Reies Tijerina can be purchased at:
www.trafford.com/robots/00-0002.html or by calling 505-829-9195.
Another big Foundation project has been establishing an extensive website
Just as Frank always wrote of the general public for the general public, we
have aimed our site primarily at the same audience, rather than at academia,
which as a college dropout was never his first love. There's something for
everyone, however, and room for all to contribute. We still have a long way
to go, particularly with detailed write-ups and critiques of each of Frank's
27 books as well as final proofreading, but it's a wonderful start. All due
thanks for this go mainly to new Webmaster William Farr, who was Frank's
favorite doctor in Tucson and dedicated himself wholeheartedly to making
this a topnotch presentation. In our next issue you'll hear more about him
in detail, along with fellow board members Marilyn and Tal Luther.
We hope that this Christmas you will all support the Frank Waters
Foundation, its projects, and its workshops by making generous donations,
renewing memberships, or joining us for the first time. Though never short
of creativity, we are short of funds after all this concentrated effort,
without requests for contributions. Merry Christmas! - B.W.
A Frank Waters Reader ( A Review)
The author of 27 works of fiction and non-fiction, Waters (1902-95) is best
remembered for his depiction of Native Americans and the American
Southwest. Editor Lyon (The Literary West: An Anthology of Western American
Literature) here presents Waters' best writing, including chapters from 14 of his
books, from Fever Pitch (1930) to his posthumous Of Time and Change: A
Memoir (1998). Waters is at his best when combining memories of Western life,
passionate descriptions, and a sense of the natural beauty of the
environment. He seeks a compromise between the technological and the
spiritual world when, in The Woman at Otowi Crossing, for example, he
confronts the conflict between Native American culture and the development
of atomic weapons. Much of Watersı work is an expression of his emotions,
mystical beliefs, intellectual consciousness, and perceptive insight into
humanity and nature, all of which merge with a tumultuous intensity. This
compilation is a delight, effectively sharing the authorıs life and lifelong
passion for the American West through his prose and a selection of
photographs. Recommended for all libraries.
- Review by Cynde Lahey, Library Journal
For Sale: For the Benefit of The Foundation
- FOUNDATION MEMBERSHIPS
- Notecards photographed by Judith Bronner, $2.50 each. Frank Waters'
Adobe; Three Black Lambs (next door); Under El Salto (more sheep with
- Taos Landmarks and Legends, text and 115 pen-and-ink drawings (including
the Frank Waters Foundation) by Bill Hemp, clothbound $34.95, softcover
- Sundays in Tutt Library with Frank Waters, introduction by Joseph Gordon,
softcover $20. Frank's speech given in Colorado Springs in 1985. Last
available copies. Book collector Tal Luther says, " . . . a valuable
- "Early School Days in Colorado Springs: with Frank Waters and Charles
Hathaway," video tape, $30 + $3 postage.
- Signed Frank Waters posters, $35 + $5 postage. Unsigned, $20 + $5 postage.
- Fechin's Frank posters, framed, glass, $500-each.
- Notecard packs (6 cards) featuring Fechin's portrait of Frank, $10 + $3
- Luhan-Waters trastero (cupboard) replica, $5,000.
- First editions of Brave Are My People, Flight from Fiesta, Frank Waters:
Man and Mystic, Terence Tanner's bibliography Frank Waters, and Imogene
Bolls' Advice for the Climb.
- Bronze Bust of Frank, $2,500; Bronze Sculpture of Frank's Hand, $250;
Bronze Mask, $750; Bronze Plaque, $1,000 (all bronzes by Mark Rossi;
shipping not included).
1. 1 copy: Frank Waters: A Bibliography, Terence A. Tanner (HB/Dust
Jacket/Presentation/Signed) - $100
2. 3 copies: Frank Waters: A Bibliography, Terence A. Tanner (HB/DJ) - $90
3. 1 copy: To Possess The Land, (PB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $25
4. 1 copy: Cuchama and Sacred Mountains, W. Y. Evans-Wentz (HB
DJ/Pres/Signed) - $25
5. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/No DJ/Pres/Signed) - $120
6. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/No DJ) - $100
7. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/DJ/Signed) - $130
8. 1 copy: Masked Gods, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $140
9. 1 copy: Mexico Mystique, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $40
10. 1 copy: Mexico Mystique, (PB/Pres/Signed) - $20
11. 1 copy: Book of the Hopi, (Uncorrected Proof/Spiral Binding/Wrapper) -
12. 1 copy: Frank Waters: A Retrospective Anthology, Charles L. Adams
(PB/Signed) - $25
13. 1 copy: The Man Who Killed the Deer, (PB/Pres/Signed - 1970) - $50
14. 1 copy: The Colorado, (PB/Pres/Signed) - $25
15. 1 copy: Brave Are My People, (HB/Pres/Signed) - $60
16. 1 copy: Pike's Peak, (PB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $40
17. 2 copies: Pike's Peak, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $55 ea
18. 1 copy: Pike'ıs Peak, (HB/Dam DJ/Pres/Signed) - $50
19. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (HB/DJ/Signed) - $40
20. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed) - $45
21. 3 copies: Flight From Fiesta, (PB/Signed) - $30 ea
22. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (PB/Signed ³Frank²) - $25
23. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (PB/Pres/Signed) - $35
24. 1 copy: Flight From Fiesta, (HB/Slp Cov/No. 12/Signed) - $150
25. 1 copy: Writers' Forum: Frank Waters Issue, (PB/Signed) - $30
26. 1 copy: The Dust Within the Rock, (HB/No DJ) - $40
27. 1 copy: Leon Gaspard, (HB/DJ/Pres/Signed/Fenn Ed) - $160
28. "Studies in Frank Waters," Charles Adams, Ed.: 1 copy Vol. V - $20; 3
copies Vol. VI - $20 ea; 1 copy Vol. VII - $20; 9 copies Vol. X - $20 ea; 2
copies Vol. XIII - $20 ea; 2 copies Vol. XVIII - $20 ea; 2 copies Vol. XIX -
$20 ea; 2 copies Vol. XX - $20 ea.
29. One Bronze Bust of Frank Waters, by Mark Rossi - $2,500
For more information, please contact:
The Frank Waters Foundation
Please choose from the options below.