In the 1930s, Oscar Webster lost much of his cattle herd to drought and starvation, as did many Arizona ranchers. The government paid a paltry sum for the cattle and shot them on the spot as they were too emaciated to ship to slaughterhouses. Oscar’s Angora goat herd, however, was considered unworthy of the price of a bullet and left to fend for itself. Those goats became the lifeblood for Oscar’s family over the ensuing years.
At a time when work was almost nonexistent, Oscar acquired a job buying mohair for the Boston firm of Ryder & Brown. He traveled around the territory buying mohair from other Angora goat ranchers and shipping it east. His daughter, Zola, rode with him down deep-rutted roads and across desolate, thirst-quenched plains collecting the precious commodity.
Narrow canyon roadways were the most dangerous with towering walls climbing up one side and sheer cliffs plummeting down the other. In 1933, as Zola and her father maneuvered their truck up a particularly narrow passage, they were confronted by a vehicle coming in the opposite direction. Oscar inched closer to the edge of the cliff hoping the other car could squeeze by them. The rocky edge gave way, sending Oscar and Zola plunging over the cliff and into the ravine far below.
Within seconds, Zola was flung from the truck but Oscar rode the truck until it landed on the canyon floor, his leg damaged beyond repair. Refusing to lose his leg, he lost his life a few days later.
Zola realized it was up to her to continue the mohair business to keep her family afloat. When she asked Ryder & Brown for her father’s position, the company was not convinced a woman could handle the job but finally gave her a chance to prove herself. Zola ran a successful operation for 12 years, expanding her territory to include not just Arizona goat ranches but New Mexico and southern Utah as well.
A native Arizonan, Zola Webster was born on Feb. 28, 1897, in the southeastern community of Thatcher. A birth injury left her with a damaged hip the rest of her life.
She married Marcus “Marc” Claridge in 1918, and son Geral was born in 1924.
Zola and Marc partnered with Zola’s father on the UB Ranch in the Santa Teresa Mountains, a remote, rocky range now part of the Coronado National Forest that, even today, has few passable roads. The closest town, Safford, was 70 miles away and a two-day horseback ride.
Zola quickly learned how to handle most injuries and illnesses that occurred on the ranch. Thatcher physician W.E. (Doc) Platt taught her how to set broken limbs, deliver babies, and calm a feverish brow.
She also knew if she was not well herself, much of the work on the ranch stopped, such as the day she was helping repair a washed-out road and a rattlesnake bit her hand. Tying a tourniquet around her wrist, she told one of the workers to spit some of his Brown’s Mule tobacco juice on her injured finger while she made a poultice. Soaking her hand in coal oil and salt that night, she still managed to cook dinner for the ranch hands. She experienced a little numbness and queasiness for a short while but had no other complications.
While Marc handled the needs of the cattle on the ranch, Zola was responsible for the welfare of the goats.
An adult Angora goat can produce 8 to 16 pounds of mohair a year, a hefty amount when as many as 7,000 animals sometimes roamed the ranch. Mexican herders living in nearby camps watched over the goats.
At the time, mohair was stuffed into burlap bags and transported by rail to Boston. And it was obvious where one shipment came from when one of the bags delivered to the Boston company contained a live rattlesnake.
When Zola’s first load of mohair was ready to head east in the fall of 1937, one newspaper noted the shipment contained “a pooled carload from 11 Graham county herds, consisted of 50,000 pounds of fine mohair. … Mrs. Claridge is believed to be the only woman wool buyer in the United States.”
In 1938, Zola and Marc sold their property and bought a farm in nearby Central, Arizona. Zola was elected chair of the Graham County Republican Party, a post she held for 15 years. She set her sights on organizing the local women as she was keenly aware, “If you want good political workers, get the women.”
She attended the Republican National Convention in Chicago in 1952 and was a member of the Electoral College in 1964. She and Barry Goldwater became good friends.
Shortly after the end of World War II, Zola’s nephew, 8-year-old Dennis, visited the farm and spent several summers with Zola and Marc. The youngster was amazed at the work accomplished on a daily basis, along with the honesty and friendship that existed within the community.
“When we took the six-mile ride into Thatcher to purchase a hay baler, gas, tires, wire, or seed,” he remembered, “nothing was ever written down; transactions were based upon a person’s word. At the end of the month my aunt or uncle would ask, ‘what do I owe you,’ and then pay the bill. There were no questions asked and no paper was exchanged. I marveled at this set of business ethics.”
Dennis watched his Aunt Zola take food and medicine to anyone in need. “The morals, ethics, and values that comprised my aunt’s and uncle’s rural and agricultural lifestyle became a part of me and formed an essential part of my overall education.”
That young boy eventually followed his aunt Zola into politics. Dennis DeConcini, a Tucson Democrat, served as a U.S. senator from Arizona for 18 years.
Zola died on June 15, 1974, at the age of 77. As someone once remarked, she was “tough as a boot,” outspoken in her views, and not shy about expressing them. All of these traits served her well on Arizona’s rough, rocky rangeland.