Art Deco Extravaganza

By Chip Minty Photographs by Emily Steward

ART DECO EXTRAVAGANZA

Oklahoma wasn’t even a state when Robert Galbreath found himself drilling for oil on

Indian land near a creek settlement called Tulsey Town in 1905. He nearly gave up on the well a couple of times, but the gusher eventually broke free later that year, marking

Oklahoma’s first major oil field and setting a course for the small town and Oklahoma Territory.

The discovery of the oil field turned the small town into a veritable boomtown, bringing with it a surge in population numbers. Legendary oilmen such as Frank Philips, William

Skelly, Harry Ford Sinclair, and J. Paul Getty are among the pioneers woven into Tulsa’s rich fabric, and with their wealth and stature, Tulsa became known as the “Oil Capital of the

World,” a cosmopolitan anomaly amid the roughhewn plains of 1920s Oklahoma. During this period, local entrepreneur and oilman Cyrus Avery was looking at an even bigger picture. As a member of the federal board appointed to create the nation’s Federal Highway System, Avery worked to establish a roadway that would cut across the country from

Chicago to Los Angeles. He fought for that highway to pass through his hometown, arguing that Tulsa’s 11th Street Bridge, built in 1915, was the only viable way for the new highway to cross the Arkansas River. And as we now all know, Route 66 became the highway that would go on to define America.

As Tulsa was coming of age in the 1920s and ’30s, the Art

Deco movement was also taking hold. Fueled by the wealth and prosperity of oil, Tulsa was primed for development and technological advancement. The burgeoning city’s skyline blossomed with the innovation and beauty of the modernism style, establishing Tulsa as a hub of Art Deco architecture. Bold geometric forms, triangular shapes, zigzag patterns, curved ornamental elements, and vibrant colors characterized Tulsa’s downtown large-scale construction.

The Philcade office building, Pythian Building, Tulsa Club

Hotel, Union Depot, and Boston United Methodist Church were among the buildings distinguished by the sleek motifs of contemporaneity. Today, these vestiges of Tulsa’s glorious past still gleam on the city’s skyline, embedded into the Midwest city’s identity. And down on the city’s stretch of the Mother

Road, one local artist is celebrating this Art Deco architectural legacy in a unique and spirited way.

It was Destiny

For artist William Franklin, growing up in Tulsa was like having a front-row seat to the 20th Century’s early days. “You had oil barons, you had flappers, gangsters, Art Deco, Route 66, and Will Rogers. Tulsa was in the middle of all that,” said Franklin. His love of history and his passion for art would serendipitously merge and lead him to an Art Deco extravaganza of Route 66 nostalgia, open for the world to see at the edge of the Mother Road. But that journey took him decades to complete.

Born in 1966 to Anita Anderson, a geology professor and professional artist, and Floyd Franklin, who dabbled in the arts, art and painting were part and parcel of his childhood. Both of his grandmothers were artists as well. Some of his earliest memories were going to art shows with his mother and his maternal grandmother, Marjorie Anderson, an accomplished oil painter who is famed for posing nude in 1941 for a 40-foot “Goddess of Oil” statue commissioned for Tulsa’s International Petroleum Exposition Building at Expo Square, where the Golden Driller now stands. She was only 19 at the time. World War II broke out shortly after, so the statue was never used, but the money Anderson made was enough to pay for art lessons.

For Franklin’s family, art was not just a passion, it was a calling, and Franklin had a knack for it. He would win art contests at school, using some of the tricks and techniques he picked up at home. However, his parents discouraged him from pursuing it, urging that two generations of artists in the family were enough and cautioning him that there were more lucrative career fields than art. And so, after a couple of years in the Army, Franklin enrolled at Syracuse University, but then wound up back in Tulsa, working full-time at UPS and attending Tulsa Community College, bouncing between majors until UPS laid him off. Frustrated about work and school, Franklin acquiesced to the universe, and began his journey as an artist.

“I’d already started doing a little work for some friends and family, and I said, ‘Well, I’m just going to do it, and make it.’ I ended up having to sell my house, and I lost my car, and I moved into a little bitty, tiny apartment,” said Franklin. “I struggled. I was definitely a starving artist.”

It’s said that fortune smiles upon those who are willing to take risks. And for Franklin, his gamble to pursue his calling was about to pay off. Instead of painting on canvases and selling his work at art shows, he took a few jobs painting murals for clients, and discovered his specialty, and road to success. Big murals, tiny murals, it didn’t matter. People wanted murals in their homes and in their businesses. There was a push to place murals in parks and public spaces throughout Tulsa, and Franklin was more than happy and willing to paint them. “I can paint pretty much anything, but my bread and butter at the time was when they were building all the mansions that had an Italian and French look to them,” he said. “They wanted to have their ceilings and walls emulate

Inside of Franklin’s colorful store.

those old frescos and stuff like that. So, that’s what I really enjoyed doing.”

Opportunities Abound

No project was too big or too small. He once painted a tiny mouse in a corner that looked like it was going into a hole in the wall, while other murals were 500 feet across, on walls and ceilings. Franklin even designed and painted one of the largest murals in Oklahoma history at the WinStar World Casino and Resort in southern Oklahoma. He worked for two years on that project and had to build a studio in Tulsa specifically for the job, where he painted a collection of murals on huge rolls of canvas that required a semi-tractor trailer to deliver. The main murals were of classic cities of the world, including Paris, London, Beijing, and Madrid. The largest of them was Rome, which spanned 50 feet across the casino’s ceiling. Franklin’s work has without a doubt been a labor of love.

“At first, I was definitely a starving artist, but then there was a time at the peak when I was doing, sometimes, three homes at a time. I really enjoyed it. It was a great thing.”

You only have to walk around Tulsa to see imprints of Franklin’s distinctive touch in a number of artworks and murals on the city’s walls. While most of his jobs have been in Tulsa, the self-taught artist’s work has been commissioned throughout the U.S. and Europe, including Washington D.C., Texas, and in Florida, where he worked around Disney World.

Change was in the Air

Franklin rode the wave of success and acclaim as a mural artist for around 25 years before he began to transition to other enterprises that eventually brought him to the doorstep of Route 66. He started looking for something that he could do to help make Tulsa better, a more vibrant city. He was hungry to contribute his talents, skills, and interests. Then, while designing an Art Deco poster for Tulsa’s Mayfest event, it occurred to him that Tulsa did not have an Art Deco museum. Considering the important role that Art Deco has had in Tulsa’s history and culture, Franklin knew that he had to do something about it.

He rallied friends and volunteers to begin fundraising and event planning, which culminated in Art Deco displays and

William Franklin.

tours in the Philcade Building. Using the momentum that initial project created, Franklin established a retail business in Tulsa’s Downtown Deco District that he called DECOPOLIS. It was an Art Deco-themed shop with books, toys, gifts, rocks, dinosaurs, and art deco paintings, prints, and posters that he created. When tourist traffic in Tulsa’s Deco District slowed down, Franklin looked for a new venue for DECOPOLIS, and in August of 2020, he found a new home, an old transmission shop at 1401 E 11th Street, just steps from the Mother Road.

At Home on the Mother Road

Route 66 was always a part of Franklin’s earliest memories. Like millions of families in the 1960s and ’70s, road trips were an exciting part of growing up. He still remembers taking the old highway to see the Petrified Forest, the Grand Canyon, and the Painted Desert in Arizona. So, it seemed fitting that his next venture would be on the Main Street of America.

The building that called to him originated as a car dealership that operated at a time when new cars were sold from the showroom floor. Now, fully renovated, customers wouldn’t recognize the automotive kinship that the place once had with the great American road trip. On the outside of the building is a big, blue, and bold DECOPOLIS mural facing Route 66. On one end, there’s a giant yellow crescent moon, smiling like he’s gazing at a piece of chocolate cake. On the right, there’s a giant golden gear, round and spiked with big, squared-off teeth, and there’s a tiny fairy flying above it, leaving a wispy trail of stardust. Across the top, is painted, “DECOPOLIS DISCOVITORIUM” in golden letters similar to what might appear on a Disney World attraction. Near the front door stands a large, green, smiling dinosaur, enticing visitors to step into the wonderland that awaits.

DECOPOLIS is part art gallery, part museum, and part gift shop. Inside, Franklin has turned every corner, every nook, every tiny passageway, and every shelf into a unique adventure. DECOPOLIS is not dark, but the lighting is muted, with music in the background, and the splashing sound from a fountain that Franklin created for one of his rock exhibits. Walking through is like traveling Route 66, all 2,448 miles of it. There is quirky, and comical, and stuff that makes you wonder: stained glass, lava lamps, there’s a volcano and dinosaurs, along with biplanes and blimps. And then, there are things that you just can’t identify. Franklin’s Art Deco paintings are still prominent. In fact, they seem ubiquitous, spilling from his gallery into the general population of merchandise, seasoning the atmosphere like salt and pepper. And, like Route 66 itself, there are designated stops and photo ops like the “SITTON INDADARK THEATER,” the “LOTABARGEN’S DEPARTMENT STORE,” and “The Great Atomic Tiki.” The store has become a popular stop for both locals and tourists alike, and Franklin attributes a lot of that success to his neighbors in the surrounding Meadow Gold District: a node of shops, restaurants, and businesses that surround the giant neon Meadow Gold sign that has been a Route 66 icon for years. Travelers can stop to eat lunch at the Wildflower Café, walk over to Josey Records, or visit Jenkins and Co. gift shop, and the Sky Gallery. Across the street from DECOPOLIS is the popular Buck Atom’s Cosmic Curios on 66, which itself resides in a former PEMCO service station building. The shop is a Route 66 spectacle in its own right, with a blue and red neon “Bucks on 66” sign and a 20-foot-tall, fiberglass muffler man dressed like a space cowboy, holding a rocket ship.

Franklin’s establishment has only been on Route 66 for a short period of time, but he’s already an ardent advocate, looking ahead to the Mother Road’s centennial in 2026. In fact, he has been enlisted to help design exhibits for the AAA Route 66 Road Fest in Oklahoma City and Tulsa. Set for June 18-26 of this year, the event begins a five-year countdown to celebrating the Main Street of America’s first 100 years. It’s an event that is set to launch events and celebrations across the eight Route 66 states.

“I’m one of the lead designers on the project,” said Franklin. “The theme [will be] going through the different decades to show how our culture has evolved and developed over time on Route 66. There will be a 1920s section, a 1930s section, and so on. You’ll go into these pods, where you’ll be immersed in that decade. There’s a lot of research that goes into it. What are the colors, what were the clothes that people were wearing? What were the toys and the objects of the era, and the things that were being built along Route 66? What music were they listening to? So, you kind of get a feel for the era. And of course, they’re going to have the vehicles in there from each of the decades.”

As for Franklin, he’s an artistic entrepreneur whose life journey led him to a destiny on the Mother Road. After fruitful decades of painting murals, DECOPOLIS is the new canvas for his flamboyant muse – and maybe that is not even big enough for him. Franklin’s vision for Tulsa and for how his art can positively impact the world is enormous, and his enthusiasm to spread the joy is contagious. These days, as Mother Road travelers approach the old Meadow Gold sign and Tulsa’s storied Art Deco skyline, they will find a new roadside stop waiting eagerly for them. Route 66 has always been a road of change, an iconic highway that still takes the pulse of America and showcases its enviable diversity and varied culture. There has been a myriad of characters over the hundred years who have played their part in bringing a Route 66 journey to life. William Franklin is right at home.

LURE OF CADIZ SUMMIT

LURE OF CADIZ SUMMIT

Photograph by Billy Brewer

The road toward the Pacific Ocean, through the Mojave, has always been plagued with difficulty, yet early motorists, throwing caution to the wind, headed west anyway, paving the way for opportunistic entrepreneurs to sell gas, food, lodging, and vehicle repairs to those who dared challenge nature and the rugged terrain.

That opportunity is the voice Thomas and Frances Morgan heeded in 1928 when they built a desert oasis at the top of Cadiz (“Katies”) Summit, a location that today is a favorite photo opportunity for Mother Road tourists. The town of Cadiz itself was a few miles south along the railroad, and the highway had been moved north a few years prior. The road was still dirt back then, and not paved until a few years later. Today it is a desolate area, but back then it was notably harsh country.

The Morgans and their three young children had migrated from Iowa to the desert around 1920. Tom established a small general store in Amboy, but the store burned to the ground. His stockpile of fireworks for the 4th of July served to fuel the flames. He then toiled in various jobs for a while, borrowed money from his father, and then packed up his family and moved, to homestead 160 acres about 14 miles to the east. When they arrived at the Summit, as it was known locally, only the native creosote and sagebrush awaited them, somehow growing in the eroded detritus of the Marble Mountains.

Traffic was initially not very high during the early years of the Great Depression. The flow of travelers did increase after 1930, though, with Dust Bowl refugees chasing hope farther west in the Central Valley.

The Morgans lived in a tent at first, but the mild winter and spring weather allowed Tom to finish a long building on the north side of the road that served as residence, restaurant, and office. He then added a gas pump in front under a Texaco banner, along with a few tourist cabins and an outhouse in the back. It was a hardscrabble existence, but Tom created a roadside stop out of nothing. Working by himself, he was motivated by the fear of not being able to provide for his family.

During these early days there was no electricity at Cadiz Summit, and there wouldn’t be for decades. Water had to be hauled in, and kerosene was used to heat a stove as well as for lamps. The gas pump was hand cranked. In spite of this, Tom saw fit to add on to his little empire, building a garage and another cabin across the highway on the south side. Cadiz Summit had prospered to the point of occupying two sides of the highway at once.

Traffic over Cadiz Summit was never really enough to render it a prime location, but it was enough to sustain the Morgans. It even became a designated stop for Greyhound buses. But in 1931, when the road was finally paved, the road was widened and lowered five feet to reduce the grade. This created a hardship for Tom in particular, who suddenly found his cafe and gas pumps far above the new roadway, making it impossible to fuel cars. However, ever an innovator, he moved the pumps, and then built both a stairway leading up to the restaurant and a retaining wall.

After six years at the helm, the Morgans had endured about enough, and they left for Los Angeles. Incomplete historical records leave gaps in the narrative, but in 1936 George and Winifred Tienken bought the property. The couple had been living a short distance south of the Summit, where George worked in the mines. They, too, only survived six years before leaving. In 1944, Clint and Dorothy Hunt took their turn for five years, followed by Jim and Mae Flannagan, who endured until 1961. The last operators were Dick and Nadine Cruse, who were at the helm from 1965-1973 when Interstate 40 opened a short distance north.

And then, just like that, the lights—which had only been running on electricity since the late-1960s at Cadiz Summit—went dark. What hadn’t collapsed, burned, or been demolished by then, did so in short order. Today, there is no evidence of any commercial activity on the south side of the road, and on the north, concrete slabs, vestiges of the icehouse and gas pump island, and the walls of the garage that had been built on the east end of the complex are all that remain, harbingers of the distant past.

Duke Dotson spent some of his formative years nearby at Road Runner’s Retreat between Cadiz Summit and Amboy. His parents had bought the place in 1962, and he recalls vividly what happened the day the freeway opened. “The only person who came down the highway to our area that day was someone who worked for the railroad, and he bought a cup of coffee,” he said. “My dad stood up [at the Road Runner], looked at the employees and said, ‘Folks, it looks like this is the end.’” And it was, for virtually every business along 66.

“I don’t know what happened to the Cruses after the freeway opened that day. It was very abrupt and very unceremonious. It just kicked everybody,” Dotson added.

But until that moment, it was business as usual at the Summit. “They had a couple of houses there. The restaurant was still intact, and the gas station was in full swing. He also had a couple of tow trucks.” The grade often caused cars to overheat.

In many regards, little has changed since the Mojave became a transportation corridor. Its inhospitable climate kept any of the numerous towns and railroad water stops from ever growing beyond a couple of hundred residents. While the roads introduced more than a century ago evolved considerably, the desert itself never did, at least not discernibly so. It is, for all intents and purposes, identical to how modern humans have ever known it: a no-man’s land, aside from the most hardy.

Today, Cadiz Summit is popular if only because it is easy to imagine how it all once looked, even if there are only a handful of extant photos from the intervening years. The garage’s walls are popular graffiti targets and have been used for many photo shoots. The large Route 66 shield painted on the road adjacent to the ruins provides a convenient foreground focal point for photographers looking up toward the summit.

And were it not for that one building and shield, travelers would never know that this quiet lonely spot has impacted so many people’s lives.