It was seventeen years ago, during a brief overnight trip to the Grand Canyon, that I first encountered Fred Harvey’s portrait in the lobby of historic El Tovar, first learned a bit of his story from a brochure, and first heard Diane ask “who the hell is Fred Harvey?” So it was amazing to walk into that same lobby—which has been very nicely restored since our first trip—see Fred’s portrait in the distance, but also see signs welcoming me to the Canyon for two days of book signings and a lecture. We had a great time, the Xanterra folks took great care of us (especially Bruce Brossman and Henry Karpinski, who also helped during my research trip there several years ago, and Mike Freeman), and we had a raucous celebratory dinner in the El Tovar dining room—where they are now using Mary Colter’s classic Mimbreno china (and serving on it, among other yummy things, something called Hummingbird Cake–a spice cake that captures everything wonderful about carrot cake but deletes the parts that get overbearing, namely the carrots and raisins). I signed a lot of books for hotel guests, but also for South Rim staff, who are fascinated by the Fred Harvey heritage of the place (in a way you never see employees curious about the history of their employers) and were really very welcoming.

Of course, the highlight of any El Tovar visit–for me anyway–is the chance to slip out at 5:30 am and watch the greatest show on earth, sunrise over the canyon which is slowly, painstakingly illuminated, creating more subtle gradations of color than there are names for. When the sun itself is finally visible over Yavapai Point, you feel a kind of glorious hum that you can’t tell if you’re hearing or seeing or both—the essential “let there be light” moment reproduced there as a daily miracle. It is a mixed blessing that there is now cell phone and wifi service at the Grand Canyon. But to be completely alone at the canyon rim yet still able to send a cell-photo of that sunrise to my nieces and nephews back east (and Diane still sleeping back at the hotel) is a rare technological treat. And to get a text back right away from my niece Miranda saying “that’s so beautiful!” is the only reason I can think of that Blackberries are good for human beings.

There’s no point in posting any of my pictures of the sunrise—cameras can’t really do it justice (especially crappy digital cameras like mine, which go through batteries every seven pictures)—so here’s a shot of Fred and me, reunited after 17 years, and Diane and I doing the famous (at least in our house) “Fred Fist Clench.” (Just for fun, we made Xanterrans Brossman, left, and Freeman do it, too.) As we continue our travels through Fred Harvey’s America (next stop, Winslow, AZ at La Posada) I am continually amazed at what this one guy was able to accomplish and inspire, and how much of what is good about America—then and now—can be accessed through his story.

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