Marshall Trimble was raised in the small northern Arizona town of Ash Fork. This rural upbringing often plays a part in his books and stage performances, but let's let him tell it:

            I’m proud of my home town of Ash Fork . Most of the kids I knew back then eventually moved to the Phoenix area but they always speak with pride of the small town they grew up in, be it Holbrook, Williams, Bisbee or Globe. 

            Ash Fork was an important junction on the Santa Fe mainline and Route 66.  Anyone heading for Phoenix on the railroad or old 66 in those days had to go through Ash Fork.  Still, Ash Fork remained a small town.  It was so small we had to share our one horse with another town.  Ash Fork was so small you could move to the other side of town and not have to fill out a change of address form at the post office.  The leader of the local sports car club drove a Pinto.  The population always remained about the same.  A woman would have a baby and a man would leave town.  Folks were so laid back they took valium for a stimulant. 

            The wind blows pretty hard up on the Colorado Plateau.  When I moved there in 1947 Ash Fork was only 36 miles east of Kingman and eight years later when I moved again, it was 112 miles east.  We figure that sometime in the latter part of this century Ash Fork will be someplace in New Mexico .

            Ash Fork didn’t have any water so a water train had to haul a load daily from Del Rio Springs over in Chino Valley .  Water was more expensive than whiskey.  I reckon that’s why there were more saloons than water fountains.  Back during the election of 1948, the county recorder in Prescott was taking a survey and he asked our local magistrate, Judge Jack Slamon how many voters we had in Ash Fork, broken down by sex.

            “None that I know of,” the judge replied with a straight face.  “Our main problem here is alcohol.”

            Ash Fork was a tough town, with an attitude.  The epitaph on a tombstone in the cemetery said, “So, what’re you lookin’ at?” The parakeets all sang bass. 

            Buba Clampett got mugged outside the Arizona Bar one night.  Two guys hit him on the head with a sack of potatoes.  When he came to, Junior Frisby, the town deputy, asked him if he recognized them.

            “Yeah,” Bubba replied, “I think they were Idaho .”

            Bubba decided to learn self defense so he went to a store and bought one of those self-help tapes on Karate but he bought one on Karaoke by mistake.  He studied it for several weeks and then went over to Seligman to practice his new skill.  Late that night he walked out of the Black Cat Saloon and got jumped by three guys and before he got through the first verse of “Feelings” they beat the crap out of him.

            Before we landed in Ash Fork our family moved around so much that when my mother went out to the hen house the chickens rolled over on their backs and put their feet in the air to be tied.  I attended nine schools before I was in the fourth grade.  I didn’t do well in school. I spent so many years in the first grade they gave me tenure. I spent the happiest three years of my life in the third grade.  I came home one day and said, “Ma, I’ve got the biggest feet in the fourth grade.  Is that because I’m Irish?”

            “No” she said, “It’s because you’re sixteen years old.”

            One day I brought home a report card and handed it to my father.  It had four F’s and one D.  He examined it closely for a minute then said, “ Marshall , I think you’re spending too much time on one subject.”

            When I went to college, one of my dad’s friends said to him, “What’s Marshall going to be when he graduates from college?”

            With a straight face my father replied, “I reckon he’ll be about thirty-five or forty.”

            And we were poor.  We had to steal garbage from our neighbors just so we’d have something to put out on garbage collection day.  The blue book value of our car went up and down depending on how much gas was in the tank.  My father didn’t have enough seniority on the railroad to work steady so he had a lot of time on his hands.  My mother had to take a job as a waitress at the Do Drop In Café so we could make ends meet.  One day I walked in and said I was going to take up the violin and become a famous concert violinist, make a lot of money and move the family to Williams.

            “Marshall,” she said, “Why don’t you learn to play the guitar, learn some of  them country songs, then you can get a job singing in the downtown bars, earn some money to help out the family…….and you’ll get to know your father a whole lot better.”

            My brother Charlie was a real character.  In Ash Fork I’m still known as “Charlie’s little brother.”  He was an individualist. He’d do anything to be different.  Charlie would sit on the television and watch the couch..  My mother went to Doc Cartmell, the Santa Fe doctor, one day and said, “I’, worried about Charlie.  He wets the bed.”

            “How old is he?” Doc asked.

            “He’s nine years old.” She replied.

            “I wouldn’t worry about that.  Lot ’s of nine-year-old kids wet the bed.”

            She looked at him and said, “From the top of the dresser?”

            One time my dad stopped by the café and told my mom he was taking Charlie to the zoo in Prescott .

            When they returned that evening she asked Charlie how he liked the zoo.

            “It was really fun,” he said, “especially when that horse came in at twenty to one.”

            My mom talked dad into attending one of those marriage seminars on communication being given at the high school. 

            “It’s very important to know what’s important to her,” the instructor lectured, “for example, can you describe her favorite              flower?”

            Dad had a horse that he’d bought from Army surplus.  The horse had a “ US ” brand on his hip which dad later determined            ment "Unsafe".

            One day dad came in covered with dirt, his shirt tail hanging out, and his jeans torn.  He looked like he’d been rode hard and             put away wet.

            “What’s the matter dear?” my mom asked.

            “I’m going to get rid of that danged horse, he tried to kill me three times.”