It was never my intention to be an archaeologist nor to specialize in glass artifacts.  When I returned to college in 1988 (at the age of 44), I intended to join the ranks of the counselors in an attempt to help save the world.  My original attempt at higher education in 1963 (West Texas State University) had been a disaster, and I became a college drop-out.  After 25 years spent pursuing a number of different jobs, I returned to take classes at El Paso Community College.  A transfer to The University of Texas at El Paso (UTEP) proved to be fortuitous.

     At UTEP, my introduction to archaeology was accidental.  By that time, I was majoring in sociology (which turned into one of my career fields) and was receiving a UTEP scholarship.  The scholarship demanded a minimum of 15 hours of classwork per semester, and one of my needed classes failed to "make."  The only class that fit into my schedule well was entitled "Southwest Archaeology."  The class was taught by Dave Carmichael, and I became deeply interested.  I went somewhat beyond the bounds of requirement in the class paper, and Dave suggested that I submit it to the El Paso Archaeological Society for inclusion in their journal The Artifact.  The paper was published, and I was hooked.  My baccalaureate included a double major–sociology and anthropology (with a focus on archaeology).

     As a way to continue to eat while achieving my goals, I became a work-study student for John Peterson (UTEP's historical archaeologist).  My first job (which he said had driven off three previous work-studies) was to clean and catalog 379 bottles excavated from the El Paso Coliseum parking lot.  I found the job fascinating!  The next semester, I took the historical archaeology course with John (by then, I was working as a research assistant for Dave).  Part of the requirement for the course was to complete a significant project in historical archaeology.  Along with another student, Wanda Olszewski, I chose to finish the Cultural Resource Management (CRM) report on the bottles I had cataloged the previous semester (see Lockhart & Olszewski 1993, 1995).

     Later, during a volunteer excavation in San Elizario, Texas (near El Paso), my interest became stronger.  Involved in the excavation were John Peterson (supervision), Wanda Olszewski, Bill Fling (specializing in faunal remains), and I (as well as other students and archaeologists).  We were working in three different units, and someone unearthed the top of a bottle pit.  He called out the name, Bill.  Someone else answered, "Do you want Bone Bill (Bill Fling) or Bottle Bill (me)?"  The nickname stuck, and I have been involved with glass artifacts (especially bottles) ever since (see Lockhart & Olszewski 1994 for our report on the bottle pit), although Wanda joined the Peace Corps and never returned to archaeology).

     Researching the Coliseum bottles caused me to realize something important: there is rarely (if ever) enough local research on artifacts.  Most people (who care about artifacts at all) are interested in national products because they cover a broader range and bring more prestige.  After all, how many people care about soda bottlers in Alamogordo, New Mexico?  Although there are few of us in each locale, some of the best dating tools we have are locally-researched artifacts.  For example, bottles from Crystal Beverage Co. are dateable within two-to-five-year periods (not counting deposition lag).  Few national products have short date ranges, and most of them have longer deposition lag (for a discussion on deposition lag for glass containers, see Lockhart 2000, Chapter 2).

     In early 1998, I had mostly finished my soda bottle epic (Bottles on the Border:  The History and Bottles of the Soft Drink Industry in El Paso, Texas, 1881-2000) and was researching the El Paso dairy industry (and bottles) when I realized that the Alamogordo Centennial celebration was under way, and I was missing a good opportunity.  So, I began research on Alamogordo's Soda Bottling Industry and published that history through the Pioneer, the journal of the Tularosa Basin Historical Society (TBHS) (Lockhart 1998).  In my ongoing research, I have found a great many additional bits of information, some of it very important in telling the story of the Alamogordo soda bottlers, which is included in this edition.  The following year (1999) was the centennial of Otero County, so I wrote a history of the Otero County dairy industry, again published in the Pioneer (see Lockhart 1999, 2001–the web version).

     As always, as soon as both publications were available, I discovered information I wished I had been able to include.  Fortunately, the Board of Directors of TBHS have allowed me to republish revised editions via the Internet, compliments of the Townsend Library, New Mexico State University at Alamogordo.  Web-based publications have two great advantages which cause them to be my preference for publishing.  First, the information is now available to the public free!  Since I make little or no money from academic publishing, why not pass on the information for little of no money as well?  Second, the work can be ongoing.  Since research is normally limited by publication date, it is refreshing to know that, as I discover new knowledge, I can include it by way of update pages.

     As always, this publication is intended to reach a wide range of audiences.  The major group I hope to help is local archaeologists.  As a result, I attempt to describe all bottles in as great detail as possible.  I know we frequently only find fragments that need identification.  Generally, bottle collectors are more interested in owning than learning, but there is a growing number of collectors who are choosing to research their bottles and are interested in the background of the industry.  Finally, local history buffs should find helpful information about their community.  I hope this research is helpful to you all.