1918

[My great-great grandfather, Charles Adelbert Workman, diligently kept a diary between 1894 and his death in 1923. He and his family lived in Hurricane, Utah, a young town which they helped settle. Although most of his journal entries are small in size, they help to paint an image of daily life, as well as some of the struggles in early Washington County. Of all the pages I read, there seems to be one year that stood above the rest. The following synopsis is taken solely from Grandpa Workman's journal.]

The year 1918 is both an exciting and sad year. Quickly, it is noted that there are a spike in the number of deaths, many of which the cause is unknown, but others which are classified as pneumonia. In February alone, William Stout, Florence Reeve, and Jennie Wright all die from pneumonia. It is interesting to note that of the two funerals where the location is mentioned, they are both at the home of the deceased. Mrs. Shamo's funeral is held “at their tent out in Amos' pasture.” The funeral of Anthony Jepson's little girl is held “at his residence.”

World War I is at its climax. In May, young Henry Pickett goes off to war to join the Engineers Corp. In July, Harvey Hall is drafted and expects to start training camp. Moroni Kleinman and W.R.Terrell's son are killed on the battlefront in France. Charles spends time canvassing the neighborhoods in an attempt to sell War Saving Stamps. This is a way for the citizens to contribute financially to the war, and to be paid back with interest at a future date.

The production of food is a large part of the Workman way of life. Gooseberry, currant, and rose bushes are planted in the hotbed, and strawberries west of the orchard fence. A garden is planted south of the vineyard, where peas, watermelon, and much more are sown.

They also have a lucerne (alfalfa) field that must be cared for and watered, the head gates and head ditches repaired. At harvest time it is cut, then raked and cocked. August delivers one of the heaviest thunderstorms Hurricane has seen in a long time, sending floods down the hills, drenching the fields, and destroying much of the hay, including some that was cocked and ready to be hauled.

Charles is a member of the Bishopric and devotes ample time to his church and civic responsibilities. Sundays are spent resting from everyday activities and dedicated to church meetings: Priesthood Meeting, 9 am; Sunday School, 10:30 am; Sacrament Meeting, 2 pm; Teacher's Report Meeting, 4 pm. He usually attends all meetings, with exceptions such as this one in January when he “did not attend Sacrament Meeting nor Mutual on account of the cold disagreeable weather. Besides, there is no heat in the auditorium.”

Charles and his wife, Josephine, travel to Parowan where their daughter, Flora, is married to David H. Tweedie. Another daughter, Eloise, is baptized “in the swimming pool at the Sulphur Springs.” (These are now the Pah Tempe Hot Springs located on the Virgin River between Hurricane and LaVerkin.)

May 30th is Decoration Day, which is what we now know as Memorial Day. “President (Woodrow) Wilson has proclaimed this as a national fast day and requested all the people to meet in their places of worship and in their homes and pray for the success of our armies in France as they fight for freedom.”

A sudden tragedy comes to the Workman family on September 22 when their son, Eldon, is electrocuted to death while replacing fuse plugs on a pole. Charles and Eldon worked side-by-side during much of his life and were very close. “It was certainly a sad blow to us,” Charles records in his journal, “to see the lifeless body of our dear boy who only a few minutes before had left us full of life and hope. We thought of the many plans he had made for the future, how he had expressed to us so many times his desire to be of use in the world, to help his fellow man, to preach the gospel to the nations, to join the army to help fight for the freedoms of the world, to attend college to prepare to be most useful in society.”

Spanish Influenza is sweeping the nation, and beginning in October, a quarantine is placed on the town of Hurricane. Public schools are closed and public gatherings not allowed. It appears that no traveler is allowed in town, as the duty falls upon Charles to help guard the way into Hurricane. In November it is reported that a dozen cases of influenza have been reported, but they all seem to be getting better. The quarantine remains until December.

The entry on October 27 reads: “Time is set back one hour today to comply with act of Congress.” This is the first year that Daylight Savings was implemented in the United States.

Newspapers on November 12 announce the end of the war. As Charles writes in his diary: “The greatest war has terminated in the greatest V I C T O R Y. The armistice, which amounted to unconditional surrender by Germany was signed about 6 A.M. yesterday (French Time) by the official German delegation. Fighting stopped at 11 A.M. Thus ends one of the greatest wars that was ever fought on earth.”

As the year comes to an end in the month of December, Horatio Picket, who is the father of Charles' wife, Josephine, dies from influenza, followed by pneumonia. He was residing in St. George at the time of his death.

The very next day, December 22, this is the entry in Charles' journal: “President Heber J. Grant (Prophet of the Mormon Church) has designated today as a special day for fasting and prayer for the relief of the people from the scourge of influenza that is sweeping over the earth. It is one of the most dreadful diseases that the world has ever known. Hundreds of thousands of deaths from it have occurred and almost all parts of the civilized world have suffered from its ravages.”

Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad

One of the fond memories I have with my grandpa Lacy is riding the Narrow Gauge Railroad from Durango. Although it was over thirty years ago, some of the memories have remained with me.

It was wintertime and north of Durango we saw a herd of elk that must have been two hundred in number. They grazed at a distance, in the flat of the valley. It was early when we began the ride and I remember thinking that it must have been cold for the elk and that hoarfrost must have grown on their fur.

Once the train left the sparsely scattered houses and any hint of civilization, we entered higher timber with ponderosa pine trees and then we rode through a slit in the rock and came to a narrow gorge. The train hugged the edge of the cliff and it was a long ways down, but it was the most beautiful sight I had ever beheld. At the bottom of this massive gorge, swishing down-river with visible whitewater currents, was the Animas River. I remember the turquoise-blue color of the river, and that it was more vibrant than any river I had ever seen.

Although it was winter, we sat in the open-air coach for part of the ride, feeling the crisp wind on our face and occasionally getting a burning cinder that floated past. We were with my brother, Walt, and younger cousins, Karson and Lehi. They were young and I wondered if they took in anything they saw.

At Cascade Canyon we turned around and made the trip back to Durango. That is as far as the train goes during the winter.

As an adult, I've ridden the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad three times. Each opportunity was unique in its own way. My favorite time of year was June, when the Animas River is at a turbulent rage from melting mountain snow. If you take the train to its terminus, you will end up in Silverton, elevation 9,318 feet.

Here are a few pictures of what you might expect along the way.

Trains leave every morning from Durango, Colorado's historic downtown. Not only do passengers line up for the train, but tourists also come to watch it depart.

The railroad reached Durango in 1881, and just eleven months later, in 1882, the spur to Silverton was complete.  In the early days it was used to haul silver and gold from the San Juan Mountains, but these days it carries tourists and backpackers.

The Durango to Silverton line is one of the few places in the United States that has seen continuous use of the steam locomotive. This series was built in 1925 by the Baldwin Locomotive Works. 

And we're off!

The route follows the Animas River for 45 miles to the old mining town of Silverton.

The San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado are some of the highest and most rugged of any mountains in North America. Dozens of peaks soar above thirteen thousand feet in elevation, and a handful topple the fourteen thousand mark. These mountains are very rich in minerals, drawing miners and prospectors alike.

Inside the coach passengers feel at ease sitting next to the window, gawking at the scenery. Windows are usually down and occasionally a burning cinder flies inside.

About an hour into the ride, and during the climb between Hermosa and Rockwood, the train passes beautiful Shalona Lake.

One of the most photogenic spots is where the train enters a slot in the mountain and emerges high atop the gorge of Animas Canyon, with the river far below. When everyone rushes to one side to take a picture, you worry that the train will tip over and topple off the edge!

From time to time, the conductor will blow steam over the river and create these eye-catching rainbows.

In early summer, when water levels are high, rafters can be spotted rolling on whitewater.

Just past Tank Creek is the Tall Timber Resort.  Anytime the train passes, you're sure to find a show-off going down the zip-line.

Needleton is one of the few stops along the route. A bridge that spans the river connects with other trails, including the path to Chicago Basin, a popular spot for peakbaggers. Here, a lone prospector plans to try his luck panning for gold.

Needleton was a station on the old Denver and Rio Grande Western railroad, with a post office between the years 1882 and 1919. Today there are just a few relics that remain.  

Just beyond the Needleton flag stop, there are two water tanks.  This wooden water tank seems to be more for appearance. . .

. . . while this one serves a more practical purpose.  Here the train stops to fill up with the water that will help run the steam engine.

It is silver that gave its name to the area. Since 1860, the San Juan Mountains have been a destination for those hoping to strike it rich. Hidden on steep mountain slopes and behind thick timber are abandoned silver mines such as this one.

Also hidden, but sometimes peeking out, are beautiful waterfalls cascading down the hillsides. Several streams feed into the river, most of them having to wend their way through tortuous landscape to get there.

The Animas River is cold and clear. I had no hesitation stooping down and taking a long drink from its rushing waters, or filling up my canteen.

Riding through some of Colorado's most scenic country, it would only be natural that you would find the Colorado Columbine.

You never know who you might find loitering along the track.

Before the days of the railroad, the ore was hauled out on burros and mules, each being able to carry 150 and 300 lbs., respectively. A packer normally led the mules tied together by ropes, and just herded the burros like sheep, along a variety of pack trails throughout the mining district. It was a daunting task considering the amount of animals and men needed to do the job, and the terrain of the mountains.

An old bridge crosses the river alongside the new bridge, just south of Elk Creek and Elk Park Siding.

The narrowness of the mountain canyons open up and the valley of Silverton comes into view.

The arrival of the railroad to Silverton in the summer of 1882 was a blessing. Ore could now be shipped to the smelters in Pueblo, Colorado at a rate of only twelve dollars per ton. The new, cheaper transportation proved to be a boon to Silverton, drawing both miners and businessmen alike, and dubbing it “the new Leadville.”

The train stops in Silverton (elevation 9,318 ft.) for a couple of hours and we take in a meal at Grumpy's Saloon. Without the tourists that come in on the train, Silverton is a sleepy town of 531 people; but a few times a day, it sees a significant influx.

Our saloon is complete with mounted deer heads on the wall, and a tireless girl at the piano.

Anytime during the day, especially along the upper elevations near Silverton, be prepared for a sudden burst of rain. This storm drenched the street just outside our saloon, but only lasted about ten minutes.

The mining district suffered some major setbacks, including the silver crash of 1893, and the Spanish Influenza that killed 10% of Silverton's population in 1918. Eventually, the train shifted from hauling ore, to hauling tourists.

After a little over two hours in Silverton, it is time head back to the train. People tromp over muddy ground to the train yard.

The three and a half hour ride back to Durango seems to take a bit longer.  We are tired and have just seen the same scenery. Now we struggle to stay awake. But there are moments when one can't help but to pop their head out the window and get that perfect picture. ♠

Blessed When Afar

Panic began to set in as I poked through my money belt for a second time: passport, debit card, drivers license, a few hundred baht, keys to our locks.

We stood at the ATM on an unknown street in Bangkok on our very first day in Thailand and felt like throwing up. I had lost our credit card!

That evening when we returned to our hotel, I immediately began rummaging through everything I had—on the nightstand a handful of loose change, my journal, and granola bar wrappers. I checked my pants pockets from last night and pulled them inside-out. We looked in the bathroom and under the bed and all over the floor.

Then I retraced my steps at the airport last night. It was late. The plane landed at 1:40 am and we were both tired when we threw packs over our shoulders and walked for what felt like miles through the terminal of a foreign airport and went through immigration.

I knew I needed Thai baht if we were to pay for a taxi ride to our hotel. I fumbled the credit card from my money belt, which was hid beneath the waist of my pants. I had to pull the belt up to my stomach and unzip the pouch and finger through the pockets to find the right card.

At the first kiosk they told me I had to go to the “machine” that was further ahead. I kept the card in-hand and found the machine and withdrew 2,000 baht.

I know I had the credit card at that moment and that is the very last time that I can say with certitude that it was with me. I don't remember if I tried returning it to the money belt, or put it in my pocket, or just held it in my hand until I sat down and had a moment to put myself back together. I remember waiting on a bench at the front of the airport for Jenelle while she was in the bathroom. Maybe I dropped it on the floor, or perhaps it slipped from my hands when I intended to replace it to the belt.

Once Jenelle got back from the bathroom to tend the bags, I took my turn. You take care of business and you unbuckle your pants and maybe it was there that the card dropped. But anytime I leave a place, it is always my habit to look behind me as I walk away. I'm sure it was no different then.

On our way to call a taxi, our burden was heavy. We both carried a backpack on our shoulders and I carried my camera also, strapped in a case that slung cross-ways over my body. We ordered a taxi from a booth near the exit of the airport and they handed us a paper receipt. Just something else to hold in our hands. It is no wonder that I would have lost a credit card as there were so many different distractions calling our attention.

Of course, it could have been lost in the taxi. It was dark when we sat down in the back seat, relieved to finally be on our way to the hotel. The driver spoke almost no English, but the ladies at the booth had already given him the address of our lodging.

He looked like an honest man and if we had dropped it on the floor of his cab, I don't think he would have used it. But you never know. Jenelle and I enjoyed the twenty minute ride, cruising along a nearly vacant freeway, watching signs pass by in Thai script, completely oblivious that we had just lost our credit card.

After learning our sudden misfortune, a dismal gloom hung over us. As far as we knew, a stranger from Singapore had been racking up the purchases as quickly as possible during the last twenty hours. Not only did we not know the password for our Citicard account, but we only had one phone, and without a tourist SIM card. Without that, we couldn't even make a phone call. We carried an extra credit card and one debit card. Two weeks left in Thailand was a long time and the thrill of our trip was squashed on day one!

Luckily, Jenelle finally figured out the Citicard password, and we gave a sigh of relief when we learned that there had been no new purchases. Perhaps the thief was a little slow at shopping. We still had to cancel the card. We couldn't do it online, and then we worried of losing our debit card. Then we'd really have nothing. We'd be begging in the streets!

Each day as we walked the streets and came by a 7-eleven, we would walk inside and ask for a SIM card. And each time they would look around and come up with nothing.

But also each day, we would check the account, and still, no one had made a purchase. As time went on, we began to breathe easier and feel more confident that our card had fallen into the hands of an honest person.

Now as I write two months later, I am pleased to say that no one took advantage of our credit card. It is a huge relief and I am grateful that there are honest people in the world.

Not all are so lucky. A friend of mine has a son who is living in Cameroon. He lost his debit card and someone drained the account, making purchases in Vietnam and Houstan, Texas.

Just last week I went to the store to buy food for my wife's birthday dinner. I picked out a large round seedless watermelon that would have been a treat during the off-season of April. Instead of bringing it into the house, I left it in the back of my truck while we left in another vehicle to a church party.

I returned home that evening after the sun had set, and spent my time in the kitchen working on dinner. As I turned off the stove and set the table, I pulled out a knife and cutting board, then eagerly ran outside to grab the watermelon. It was gone! Stolen!

I was quite perturbed that in my own apparently safe neighborhood, I had something swiped from the back of my truck. My mind quickly turned to a group of teenage boys that tend to wander after dark and cause trouble.

At least it was only a watermelon. I would much rather have that, than a compromised credit card. ♠