Life at Phoenix’s Green Parrot Motel during the Great Depression

Almost a century ago, the Green Parrot Auto Court opened at 2360 E. Van Buren St. in Phoenix. It was one of many accommodations on the road designated as U.S. Highways 60, 70, and 80, the main route for motorists heading to southern California. The Green Parrot featured 30 individual units separated by carports, which surrounded a central court.

Six years later, in 1934, 1-year-old Bill Baker and his family moved in. “We call them motels now, but they were called auto courts back then,” the 92-year-old Baker says. “The Green Parrot had two sections: the front had nice cabins with toilets and covered parking for overnight visitors, while the back area was for people like us with limited funds.”

Life at the court was a happy time for Baker. “We lived in a tiny, old shack without a carport, but there were lots of kids, people, and things to do. Our cabin had a front room with a bed for Mom and Dad, a center section with a kitchen with an ice box, stove, sink, and a booth to eat at, and a back room with a bed for me and my sister, who was born in 1938.”

The cabin had electricity and, at times, more running water than they could handle. “The roof leaked like a sieve when it rained, so we would have pots, cans, bowls, and whatever to catch the dripping water,” Baker says. “Mom made a game of it as we watched to see what pots needed to be emptied.”

During the winter, the court’s owners set up a kerosene stove, 30 inches high and 10 inches in diameter, in the front room for heat. The heater had a wick that absorbed the kerosene in its base, which could be raised higher for increased heat or lowered for reduced heat.

The Baker's cabin lacked a toilet, as long-term lodgers in the rear had access to a community lavatory with showers for both males and females, as well as a laundry room. “You don't miss what you never had, like inside toilets,” Baker says philosophically.

The family kept perishable food in an oak icebox. “It was about 4 feet high, 18 inches wide, and 15 inches deep, with an opening at the top where the ice went,” Baker says. “Another door opened to shelves for food, and it had a flap door at the bottom where the melted ice drained into a funnel connected to a hole in the cabin's floor.”

A truck delivered ice daily. With our icebox, 25 pounds was the largest we could fit in. If we needed ice that day, a square card with the number ‘25’ was in the window for the truck driver to see,” Baker says. “He would chop a block that size and bring it in. When it was hot, we would all scramble to the truck to get a free piece of ice to lick. The drivers never turned us down."

The Bakers kept drinking water in a large, round, unglazed clay jug made in Mexico. It was 15 inches tall, widest at the base, and tapering to a narrow top. “It operated on the principle of water evaporating in the slightly porous clay, which cooled the water," he says. There was a matching clay cup on top from which we all used to drink. Being made of clay, it had a particular taste that was quite pleasant.”

The Green Parrot’s office was on the west side of the entrance off Van Buren. Inside, the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Cilley, sold snacks and registered overnight guests.

Traffic on Van Buren ranged from new vehicles to old rattling jalopies stuffed with belongings. “One thing they often had was a water bag hanging either on the passenger door or in front of the radiator,” Baker says. “They were made of tan canvas material, were rectangular and measured maybe 12-16 inches on a side, and had a screw cap. The bags were slightly porous, so when the air blew over them as the car moved, it cooled the water for drinking.”

The highway brought all sorts of travelers, some of whom set up camp in a vacant lot across from the Green Parrot. These included carnivals, vaudeville shows, and walk-a-thons. “At a carnival, I saw a man shot out of a cannon,” Baker says. “Dad and I rode on the Ferris wheel, where he loved to scare me by rocking the seat when we stopped at the top. Maybe for that reason, Mom never came along.”

After a decade at the auto court, the Baker family moved to a home in Phoenix in late 1944. The court later evolved into the Green Parrot Motel, which was renamed the Jay Hawk in 1954 and the Wrangler in 1957 and closed in 1975. Two years later, the complex was razed.

The origin of the court's name remains a mystery. “To the best of my recollection, no green parrot was living there,” Baker says.

Douglas C. Towne is the editor of Arizona Contractor & Community magazine, http://www.arizcc.com/, which received the 2022 Arizona Historical Society's Al Merito Award.