Truth or Consequences, N.M. — THE name "Truth or Consequences" jumped out at me from maps of New Mexico for years. But it was only four months ago that I actually landed here. I needed to be in the area for work, so I booked a room at Riverbend Hot Springs, a "budget resort" where I could soak in outdoor, natural baths and bring my dog, Shiva.
I showed up tired and ready to relax after a five-hour drive from Flagstaff, Ariz. Dismay set in immediately. Riverbend was a resort on a budget, all right: singlewide mobile homes split into rooms, dwarfed bathtubs, moth-eaten blankets and unrelenting forced-air heat.
"They should pay me to stay here," I thought.
I softened up in the hot springs as evening fell, then joined some of the other guests who were playing harmonicas and guitars around the outdoor stove. That's when Mark Theall, one of the workers, let me in on a secret: If you can't afford the $35 to $55 a night for a private room, you can trade three hours of work per night. He had been doing it for months.
I drove away two days later, half admiring my willingness to clean rooms in the name of thriftiness, and half wondering how exactly I'd been sucked into this wormhole.
Turns out that happens a lot.
"Just off the top of my head, I can name 12 people who came to Riverbend and now they have houses," said Mike Quinn, who was on his way to Hawaii 10 months ago when he stopped off at T or C -- indefinitely. "It happens all the time. People just stay."
Truth or Consequences is a single-stoplight town planted in the high desert and ringed by low mountains. It's sunny and friendly, full of passersby who offer a hello rather than just a smile. It has absorbed perhaps more than its share of modern plagues, including methamphetamine and mental illness, although most locals and the police insist tourists are safe. It was cursed, but it's healing. And it is vaguely, unspeakably strange.
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What's in a name
A couple of the Riverbend workers planted the seeds for my return. They told me that people honor the name T or C by becoming more fully themselves, which often means they become eccentric. They said that if I came back to stay for a year, I would collect enough material for a bestselling novel. I was willing to try a week.
Some newspapers, like this one, tell travel reporters to work anonymously to discourage special treatment at restaurants and hotels. Still, it felt a little dangerous to conceal anything in a place called Truth or Consequences. I held out for almost 24 hours.
No one else seemed capable of lying either. Det. Ron Huff of the T or C Police Department put it bluntly: "We have, pretty much, a higher percentage of people with mental problems. Per capita, we have an extremely high meth rate, and an extremely high homicide rate." The city had five killings in the last two years -- a lot for a community of 8,000.
But tourists aren't crime targets, he added. "You can be comfortable walking from one end of town to the other."
Truth or Consequences used to be called Hot Springs, touting the naturally heated waters that seep out of small faults near the Rio Grande. But in 1950, host Ralph Edwards challenged any city to change its name to "Truth or Consequences" to mark the 10th anniversary of the radio quiz show. The prize? A live broadcast from that community. Residents, eager to publicize their little resort town, voted by a ratio of 4 to 1 for the change.
The Geronimo Springs Museum, next to the T or C visitor center, features more exhibits than I could process in a single tour: mammoth bones, a miner's cabin, local art and truckloads of pottery. A whole room is dedicated to "Truth or Consequences," which was later a TV show. A steady stream of episodes plays on video.
LaRena Miller, the museum's director, has lived in T or C since the 1950s. Back then, she says, the healing powers of the hot springs were a major draw. Attendance waned in the 1960s and 1970s as people turned toward prescription drugs.
Interest in natural healing has increased in the last decade or so, but the benefits are just starting to trickle down to T or C.
Tourism hit a wall here, as it did almost everywhere, after Sept. 11. But 2001 brought two local crises as well. That January, a pizza truck drove into a propane tank near the center of town, causing an explosion that injured 17 people and destroyed homes and businesses for blocks. And in late September, a man was sentenced to 224 years in prison for torturing women in Elephant Butte, only five miles away.
Whatever tourism is rebounding from, it has shown a steady increase. In 2002, 4,096 people signed in at the museum and visitor center. In 2005, more than 6,500 stopped by.
