Edward J. Jackson, leaning into the touring car with his elbow propped on the door in this 1920s photo, was a mining entrepreneur and unsuccessful political candidate.

Posters promoting a performance of Harvey’s Minstrels filled the window of a Willcox storefront when this photo was snapped in the 1920s. The man standing in the doorway is unidentified. Leaning into the touring car with his elbow propped on the door and a pipe jutting from between his teeth is mining entrepreneur Edward J. Jackson.
A miner to the core, Jackson found an appropriate match in the twice-divorced Edith Kimball Lee Sandberg. Her dowry contained 27 mining claims in Graham and Cochise Counties. The couple married in 1914.
The Jacksons lived an active, vigorous life. They camped, hunted, fished and explored — always with a prospector’s eye. Claims were filed on dozens of locations, and several mines were established and worked.
Most enduring of the Jackson projects was the Gold Rule Mine, an existing but underdeveloped property in the mountains between Dragoon and Cochise. It was a gold mine, but silver and other ore were extracted as well. An old rock house was located near the mine, and near it the Jacksons put up a roomy cabin with a shady porch.
The demands of World War I created prosperity in the precious metals industry, and the Jacksons prospered. A smelter was carved out of a hillside, and dwellings were built for workers. The Golden Rule Commissary — years later it was moved to Dragoon and operated by Edith’s son — was opened as a convenience for miners and nearby ranchers.
A woman who wore Levis decades before they became a fashion statement, Edith was in her element. She had no compunction about calloused hands and worked the mine side-by-side with Jackson and their hired help.
And then came the Great Depression. The bottom fell out of the mining industry and profits plummeted. Edith, for reasons unclear, packed her bags, moved to Benson, and purchased Hotel Arnold, which was never much of a money maker. As a determined miner with no experience in the lodging industry, it was a curious thing for her to do.
Jackson stayed on at the Golden Rule, signing the hotel’s guest registry only on occasion.
An abrupt change occurred in 1934. Jackson was coaxed to Benson where he became the key player in an intriguing drama scripted by his politically active wife. The Non-Partisan Party was born and Jackson announced his intention to run against perennial incumbent P.P. Page for Page’s seat on the Cochise County Board of Supervisors.
Page, so said the amateurish campaign, was a crook, a grafter. He cared nothing about the welfare of his constituents, but marched to the beat of big money interest in Bisbee and Douglas. Page’s dishonesty was clearly demonstrated, said Jackson, when folks saw him behind the wheel of a county car on a personal errand.
Letters to the editor were written by Edith, signs painted, flyers printed, and ads placed in the newspapers. James N. Morrison, a popular physician, joined the ticket as candidate for Benson justice of the peace. Borrowing awkwardly from President Roosevelt, the nuevo politicos offered “A New Deal, and a Square Deal.”
Unconvinced, voters re-elected Page by an almost 3-to-1 margin. They largely ignored the justice of the peace candidate.
Jackson returned to the Golden Rule Mine. Less than a year later, with Doc Morrison at bedside, he succumbed to lingering dysentery contracted during the Spanish-American War. Edith operated the hotel until her death in 1957.
— W. Lane Rogers. Photo courtesy of the author.