Waverly Farrell

Jerome Stories Waverly Farrell

Jerome Stories... Languish in the ambiance of the west of yesteryear. If you have every visited Sedona, Arizona, you have been within a stone's throw of Jerome, one of the most enchanting towns in the southwest. Settled in 1876 by pioneers, its history is still unfolding as it changes its mood along with the times. Jerome Stories is a collection of short narratives centered on a time during the early 20th. century when Jerome was a thriving metropolis build by investors and maintained by miners. Set on the side of a mountain in the midst of a valley, it was home to the Harrington family, immigrants from Ireland. The road from the Verde Valley still twists up Cleopatra Hill past the home that Jim Harrington built in the town that refuses to die. Mary Harrington, my mother and the daughter of Jim, remembered the town as a place of freedom where she could roam the wind swept streets past saloons, bordellos, markets, homes and schools. Jerome was Father Gerals and Miss Lilly. It was the Jerome Market, the U. S. Post Office, the English Kitchen and old Mr. Witty's candy store. It was the Liberty Theater where a piano accompanied the movies my mother seldom every saw. It was swimming in Walnut Creek and exploring the caves on Mingus Mountain. It was a ride on Paddy, the family burro and the bookcase in the living room where she could thumb through books by great Irish writers. Jerome was a fantasy tale that today's children can only imagine. And, it was the childhood home of Mary Agness Harrington. Jerome Stories... Languish in the ambiance of the west of yesteryear. If you have every visited Sedona, Arizona, you have been within a stone's throw of Jerome, one of the most enchanting towns in the southwest. Settled in 1876 by pioneers, its history is still unfolding as it changes its mood along with the times. Jerome Stories is a collection of short narratives centered on a time during the early 20th. century when Jerome was a thriving metropolis build by investors and maintained by miners. Set on the side of a mountain in the midst of a valley, it was home to the Harrington family, immigrants from Ireland. The road from the Verde Valley still twists up Cleopatra Hill past the home that Jim Harrington built in the town that refuses to die. Mary Harrington, my mother and the daughter of Jim, remembered the town as a place of freedom where she could roam the wind swept streets past saloons, bordellos, markets, homes and schools. Jerome was Father Gerals and Miss Lilly. It was the Jerome Market, the U. S. Post Office, the English Kitchen and old Mr. Witty's candy store. It was the Liberty Theater where a piano accompanied the movies my mother seldom every saw. It was swimming in Walnut Creek and exploring the caves on Mingus Mountain. It was a ride on Paddy, the family burro and the bookcase in the living room where she could thumb through books by great Irish writers. Jerome was a fantasy tale that today's children can only imagine. And, it was the childhood home of Mary Agness Harrington.