A unique town:

Mayer is a place of independent people willing to help.

PRESCOTT VALLEY — Smoke was thick and the wind hot as Beth Mattern prowled the Mayer streets in her pickup.

Officials had just ordered residents to pack up what they could and leave their homes. Those who pleaded to stay as the Goodwin Fire approached Tuesday afternoon were warned of the consequences, while others were not given the choice as deputies tied ribbons on their fences and ordered them out.

With towering flames lining a ridge in plain sight, Mattern was ready to leave but wanted to do one last thing.

“I just want to make sure everybody who wants to get out can get out,” she said. “I feel better knowing people are safe.”

With that, she continued slowly toward the flames, peeking into front yards, slowing if she spotted someone.

Such is the character of Mayer, more than a collection of homes scattered across brush-covered hillsides. It had just more than 1,400 residents as of the 2000 Census.

Most know it as a convenient stop on the way to Prescott, a relative mystery on the side of State Route 69.

But those who live there say residents are independent until they need to lean on someone.

When that time comes, somebody’s there to help.

Jacky Gilmore, who’s lived in Mayer 13 years, woke up Wednesday in unfamiliar, though not unwelcome, surroundings. She was among the 30 people or so who needed a place to stay after being evacuated the previous day as the Goodwin Fire marched ever closer to Mayer.

Though she’d spent just one night in the Red Cross shelter at Bradshaw Mountain High School in Prescott Valley, she was already missing home.

Gilmore said she enjoys living alone in the small town with a country feel. She said she gets along well with most people, as well as those she prefers to avoid.

The one hitch is her inability to drive due to a medical condition. Neighbors are there when she needs them, driving her to the store once a week.

“I’ll pay for gas or buy them some groceries,” she said. “Or maybe lunch, if they want. Don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Pam Baker has that independent streak in her. As flames approached Tuesday, she was in her front yard wetting down the thick vegetation with a garden hose. But when the air became impossible to breathe, friends urged her to get out, promising to look after her place.

“I remember when I saw Mayer for the first time (nearly six years ago),” Baker said. “I thought it was an illusion in the desert. A beautiful small town with stores and everything you need. I’ve come to love everything about it.”

Eileen Newton, originally from England, came to Arizona with her husband more than four decades ago to do some mining. He died 37 years ago, leaving the Bradshaw Mountains as her only love.

She came for the scenery, but has come to embrace Mayer and what it offers.

“You have the freedom to do what you want,” Newton said. “But when you need help, it’s there. It’s good to be independent and hardy, to know how to survive on your own. But you can socialize, too. There’s a little place by me that runs Bingo games once a week, and I never miss it.”

Many residents are retired, and many of those probably don’t have a lot of money, Greg Nugent said. In Mayer, no one cares what your house looks like or what you may or may not own.

“No judgments,” he said. “Everybody is free to live the way they want to live. That’s why it’s so eclectic.”

When Nugent and his wife moved to Mayer in 2001, he knew it would be their last home. He fixed it up so his wife, who is disabled, could move about freely in her wheelchair, happy he’d chosen a small community just far away enough from the city.

Even the fire couldn’t make him second-guess his choice. Early Wednesday, he woke up in the family’s van parked outside the Red Cross shelter.

He had grabbed what most people did before he fled — clothes, legal papers, water and a few other necessities. But he’d forgotten to take his wife’s medicine. That’s just one reason he hopes to return soon.

“We don’t smile and nod at one another,” Nugent said of his community. “We say hello.”

Whether rich or poor, conservative or liberal, affable or stand-offish, every resident of Mayer shares a common thought.

“I just want to go home,” Gilmore said. “I hope it’s still there.”