I must confess that after getting a flat tire 20 minutes before
reaching Bisbee—and then discovering that my spare tire was flat
as well—I was pretty much over my entire trip before even setting
foot inside the Shady Dell trailer court.
I arrived annoyed and quite a bit overheated—and I was far
from impressed. I had been hearing rave reviews from folks around
Tucson for a while, and as I looked around, I began to regret my
decision to see what all the fuss was about.
“All that hell for this?” I thought to myself. The place
looked like nothing more than a gravel lot with several trailers and
some patches of AstroTurf thrown in for good measure.
I wandered around for a few seconds, past a big white gazebo and
another patch of bright-green AstroTurf, until I found Jennifer, a
tough-but-sweet rockabilly-looking chick who runs the park with the
owner, her boyfriend Justin.
“Where should we start?” she asked, smiling.
I asked how much longer Dot’s Diner was open, hoping she’d pick up
on the fact that I felt like I was dying of thirst. She handed me a
water bottle, and we headed for the diner, which, she told me, was an
original Valentine 10-seater that was built in Wichita, Kan., and
transported to Bisbee on a flatbed truck from California.
I looked around the diner and was immediately impressed by its
condition. The mint-green paint on the walls looked as if it had been
painted the day before. Being the clean freak that I am, I also took
note of how spotless the whole place looked—it was as if the
whole diner had been successfully wrapped up and preserved in 1950,
before being unwrapped at that very moment.
The waitress—an extremely friendly woman—greeted me
before promptly getting to work making the strawberry shake I
ordered.
While she scooped the ice cream, I scoped out her attire: a light
blue, button-down dress with white embroidered flowers that vaguely
reminded me of the threads worn by the waitresses in the movie
Grease. It was just vintage enough to look authentic, but,
strangely, it didn’t strike me as the least bit cheesy.
Jennifer then introduced me to the chef, Ian, who, like her and
Justin, lives in a trailer onsite.
As I finished my shake—which came in an old-fashioned shake
glass—Jennifer pointed out the many small, subtle details that
make the diner and the outside of the park feel genuinely retro. For
example: The glass soda bottles that were on display in front of me are
all authentic and shipped in from Washington and Scottsdale, she told
me. Then there were the vintage Coke machines outside and the curtains
hanging in the trailers—just a few of the many authentic finds
that she and Justin are always on the lookout for, Jennifer said.
The first trailer I stepped into, called Crown, was a lot roomier
than I’d expected. At a modest 12 feet long, Crown’s inside was
maintained with the utmost care and attention to detail. The light-oak
interiors were shiny and new-looking. I imagined this was what a 1954
trailer would have looked like fresh off the lot in 1954. Vintage
cherry-print curtains shaded the windows, and an inviting,
old-fashioned yellow booth was in place near the kitchen area.
As we were about to head for the next trailer, I noticed something
that significantly added to the old-time ambiance: the radio. The Shady
Dell has a radio station, Jennifer had explained earlier, which is
broadcast throughout the park using her and Justin’s iPod. To add to
the authentic retro feeling, the station only plays songs that could
actually be heard during the ’40s and ’50s. It was a mix of music,
commercials and old rhythm and blues, she explained.
In addition to the radios, each trailer is equipped with working,
old-fashioned iceboxes, TVs and phonographs. Inside the cabinets were
DVDs like The Long, Long Trailer and It Came From Outer
Space, while records by musicians like Herb Alpert and the Tijuana
Brass sat on shelves, waiting to be played.
I walked with Jennifer from Crown to Airstream, and Spartanette to
Royal Mansion, and she talked about the quirky touches that made each
one unique—like the big, green vintage couch in Spartanette, and
the leopard-print carpet and vintage martini glasses in Royal Mansion.
Other artifacts from the era—like a Life magazine dated
July 29, 1940, and the delicate chenille bedspreads that were in each
trailer—made it seem as though staying at the Shady Dell not only
promised a change of scenery, but a change in decades.
Coffee percolators, Melmac dishes and old yearbooks sat in each
trailer, waiting to be discovered and marveled at by the next
guest.
In total, nine vintage trailers, plus a 1947 Tiki Bus and the Chris
Craft Yacht, are all available for rental, Jennifer explained as the
tour wrapped up.
Whether it’s to experience an era long before their time or to
relive the simple pleasures of their past, the people who stay here,
I’m more than willing to bet, feel the same way I felt: The Shady Dell
is one hell of a Dell, a place more than worth a flat-tire
adventure.
For more information, visit www.theshadydell.com.
This article appears in Jul 16-22, 2009.