D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
December 2009
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Cultivating Cranberry Press
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In 2009, Kingston passes in an eyeblink. Driving along Hwy. 152, in or out of the Black Range, the scruffy mountain hamlet barely registers: a campground, a couple of road signs and a handful of structures in various stages of repair. There seems to be no obvious reason to stop.
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Mark Nero and wife
Marilyn have made the old Percha Bank building a museum / gallery
and headquarters for their Cranberry Press. |
Yet in 1889, everybody stopped here, including the likes of Mark Twain, Billy the Kid, Black Jack Ketchum, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. And why not? Kingston was the biggest and liveliest city in New Mexico. Its population of 7,000 souls was at least a thousand more than runner-up Albuquerque. Kingston boasted 23 saloons, 14 grocery and general stores, umpteen brothels, three newspapers, two smelters and a single house of worship. On one occasion a flamboyant madam named Sadie Orchard won a $100 bet challenging her to ride through the streets naked on horseback, la Lady Godiva. On another, the famous Lillian Russell Troupe performed at the local opera house.
Alas, within 11 years of its founding, a crash in ore prices precipitated the literal dismantling of this mining boomtown. Thousands of bricks were carted nine miles downhill to Hillsboro, where a gold bonanza was in play and prosperity lingered.
But wait. In 2009, there really are good reasons to stop in Kingston. Foremost among them, the town's last intact original building now celebrates its bawdy past and quirky present through its Percha Bank Gallery & Museum. Tucked in the former manager's office at the back of the handsome stone structure is Cranberry Press, a hand-operated printery operating in a manner that recalls the stylish esthetic of the late 19th- and early 20th-century Arts and Crafts movement. The room's fireplace was originally a tiny smelter, used to assay silver ore brought into the bank by prospectors. All these facilities are open for inspection each weekend, free of charge.
"Years ago I was one of the first people doing desktop publishing," laughs Mark Nero, the cheerful fellow who directs these enterprises with his wife, Marilyn. "Now I'm feeding ancient printing presses, one sheet at a time, just the way it was done centuries ago." The couple lives next door, in a not-quite-so-old adobe home along Kingston's bucolic main drag.
A bona fide historic artifact, the Percha Bank building was constructed in 1884 and has been restored to its former glory, including ornately carved wooden tellers' windows — complete with original hardware and trim — that frame a cozy lobby. Dominating one corner of the main room, adorned with cursive hand-painted script and delicate engraving, is the original Diebold vault, so big and heavy that the bank was actually built around it. During Kingston's heyday, this classic walk-in safe reportedly stored as much as $7 million in silver bullion. It was never robbed — or moved.
"The vault is in a small free-standing building that has its own foundation as well as two-foot walls made of adobe and stone," says Nero. "We have the combination to the lock, although all we keep inside is stored printing materials."
The gallery and museum portion of the Percha Bank building are operated by a non-profit organization — Friends of Kingston — that the ebullient Mark Nero directs. He seems born for the part, engaging visitors with droll stories and tall tales about the men and women who made this mining center, tucked into a valley that once held an Apache camp, a hotbed of human activity.
The rear section of the old bank, ensconced in a high-ceiling back room dominated by a massive 1889 letterpress, serves as the Cranberry print shop. The Neros use this and other antique equipment to set type and print in vintage style, often employing archival-quality, acid-free paper as well as graphic elements made or reproduced manually. They bind books and frame aphorisms using time-tested methods handed down across generations.
"I believe that the hand has to teach the brain to slow down," says Mark, who last February completed a four-year stint teaching graphic design in New Mexico State University's art department. Marilyn Nero continues to work for NMSU in its financial affairs office, commuting from a Las Cruces apartment back to Kingston on weekends.
"Letterpress printing involves step-by-step, analog thinking," explains Mark. "With computers, where changes are made instantaneously and our hands aren't involved in creating any physical thing, we lose that kind of thinking." The human brain and psyche, he believes, thrive on the sort of tactile, linear creativity that has grown increasingly rare in the high-tech, digital era.
"Working by hand helps teach the brain a logical process for making something," says Nero, mischievous blue eyes sparkling behind wire-rimmed glasses perched upon a rosy, cherubic face "That kind of reasoning affects our lives in all sorts of ways."
Cranberry Press produces cards, illustrated poems, blank journals, invitations, menus and limited-edition books sold on site in the gallery-museum as well as through specialty shops and stationers around the country. The business specializes in hand-crafted designs of the sort that flourished roughly between 1880 and 1920, roughly between the dominant Art Nouveau and Art Deco movements.
The Neros have a particular affinity for the distinctive creations of Dard Hunter, an artist renowned in the early 20th century for a wide range of talents. Hunter's grandson has allowed Cranberry to use various graphic designs and typography either created or inspired by Dard. Cranberry's founders are also influenced by traditions emanating from the Roycroft craft colony, founded near Buffalo, NY, in 1895.
"There's nothing like this stuff," enthuses Mark, pulling one volume after another from his extensive Roycrofters library. "It's exquisite."
Mark Nero and his wife relocated to Kingston nine years ago from the Seattle area, where for years they ran a modern, computer-based graphic arts business — with an intentionally deceptive collection of antique printing gear on display in their reception area. They still use computer technology for some tasks, including the large-scale reproduction of old photos of life in Kingston that line the walls of the Percha Bank Museum. These include pictures taken when the bank was one among dozens of buildings lining Main Street. One such photograph shows the Percha Bank wedged between a bustling mercantile and prosperous pharmacy. Today, only a fragment of a brick wall suggests that anything other than weeds and trees ever stood there.
"The bank itself only operated until 1900," Mark points out. "From then until 1957 the building housed the Kingston post office." The fact that it was in continuous use — including a brief period as a warehouse for mining equipment — probably saved the venerable structure, erected using locally quarried limestone. If abandoned, it likely would have been vandalized or collapsed. Instead, a series of owners kept the Percha Bank in salvageable shape until the Neros bought it in 2000 and spruced it up.
"We moved here," recalls Mark, "after setting off in search of a place that was civilized but unpopulated. This location fit the bill." Only about two-dozen people, including artists, filmmakers and writers, call the community home. Although there is a bed-and-breakfast in the village, the Black Range Lodge, the nearest shopping of any significance is in Truth or Consequences, over 40 miles away. Local cafs and shops come and go with considerable frequency.