f Native Americans against it. In between, movie stories ran the

gamut from cowboys to labo
r unions, from
Field Laboratories
menacing rattlesnakes to ha
ggling tourists
. The constant the   
me for filmmakers

, though, has been the maj

• estic landscape and its inhabitants. As i
• Sponsored by the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), Office of State and Local Government Coordination and Preparedness (SLGCP) (formerly the Office for Domestic Preparedness)
• f to see the present more clearly with their new cinematic tools, film artists
• focused their cameras on the past - t
  • hat which had endured for ages. Lo
  • oking at their work today, we are s
  • urprised to see the same cliffs, the same hills, the same sunsets, the sam
• e adobe dwellings, undisturbed after a century. They are there on the screen, flickering silver

Scope of Course

• Course Introductionmirrors of what is around us every day, awaiting, in the midst of what can become dully familiar, the thrill of rediscovery. Joseph Dispenza founded
• the Moving Image Arts program and the Greer Garson Studios at The College of Santa Fe. The author of 10 books of fiction and nonfiction, he divides his time between Santa Fe and Los Angeles.
• Introduction to Energetic MaterialsThen theater manager Lou Gasparini and newspaper columnist Chuck Middlestadt drove from Alb
• uquerque to Santa Fe with an idea for then governor, David Cargo, recognizes explosive and incendiary materials, devices and device components.
• they were not fully aware that this trip was the beginning of a small miracle, but it was. The concept of a governor actively heading up a New Mexico F
• ilm Commission was enthusiastically agreed upon by the fated three. The commission was formed, meetings were held and approaches to Hollywood discussed. T
• hen it was discovered that Charles Le Maire (two-time Oscar winner for costume design, in his late seventies and retired to Santa Fe) and myself were the only two on the committee who
• knew anyone personally in Hollywood to call. Outside the committee the idea was met with skepticism, and ridiculing
• statements and remarks were made; "I wanna be in pictures." "Hey, make me a star? Is New Mexico gonna have an official c
• asting couch?" Ignoring this fine mist of doubtees, Middlestadt and Dick Skrondahl, writer/photographer

, were maki

ng press releases

to The Hollywood Reporter and Yuriety -- both show-biz Bibles. Locally, Ralph Looney, a commission member and associate editor of The Albuquerqu

• Initiation systems lab
• e Tribune, was touting
• in print at least once a
• week the possibilities of economi
• c gain for the state. Th

e Albuquerque Journal would soon join in. We had convinced a few people to come from the film capital to give New Mexico a look. By now the project was about seven months old. HOOKED FOREVER The wonderment of movies started for me as a seven-year-old boy during the Depression in the drought/oil-bust town of Hobbs. A few miles south of there, my father, WB. Evans, had turned our small cattle ranch into a tiny town called H

umble City.

The name fit perf   

ectly. He built

a school and a post office. I

n desperation he hand-dug an irrigation well that furnished the water for a big vegetable patch. The strawberries and watermelons flourished. We would haul these to Hobbs in

• a worn-out Model T Ford. I had th
• Improvised explosive devices (IEDs)
• e "honor" of
• peddling these delicacies door to door. A dime was fine pay for a box of str

awberries and 15 cents for a watermelon. On one trip Dad gave me a dime a