The Rescue of John Johnson

While hunting with Jordan, we took a dirt road off Highway 14 on Cedar Mountain that goes toward Red Desert. Along the way we noticed an aged man next to the road with a chainsaw cutting wood. He had an older truck and trailer, heaped with several rounds of logs. 

We continued down the road which eventually became so rocky that I decided to turn around. On our way back we spent ten minutes exploring a lava flow. While there I noticed the old man with his trailer full of logs now driving toward the highway. 

As we finished looking at the lava rocks, we continued on the dirt road. We came to a hill and toward the top I noticed the gray-haired woodcutter stopped in the middle of the road. 

He stepped out of the truck and walked toward the back. I rolled down my window and asked if he was checking his load or wanting to talk to me. 

“I'm wanting to talk to you,” he said. “I've got myself in a bind. My transmission just went out and I can't go forward.” 

What an awful predicament to be in, I thought. Broke down on the mountain, pulling a heavy load of wood. 

“How can I help?” I asked. 

At first he wondered if I could pull his truck and trailer to the highway—a mile away. I had my doubts. That would be a heavy pull and I wasn't sure my truck could do it. As it was, we were already stuck on an incline on a dirt road with little traction. 

We decided that I would try pulling him just to the side of the road to get out of the way. He backed his truck and trailer and strapped a chain from the front of his truck to the rear of mine. 

I shifted into four-wheel drive and began inching forward until the chain was tight. Then I gave it more gas. My rear tires spun, digging a half-foot gash in the road while my front tires struggled to move at all. Needless to say, his truck and trailer didn't budge an inch. 

I backed up a couple feet to release the tension, then shifted into four-low instead of four-high. I had to wait a minute for it to engage, then tried it again. This time both tires turned and I was able to pull the heavy load, but just a couple feet until I once again began digging a hole. 

We tweaked our strategy and he positioned me on the hardest, most compact section of road. He reconnected the chain on his truck to the closest corner. I was to move forward while he angled his wheels toward the side. 

With the chain connected we inched forward again until it was taut, then gave more gas. Once again I began to tug him along. We crept slowly, but didn't have far to go. The more he moved to the side of the road, it pulled at my rear and turned me sideways, but we kept moving until I got the thumbs-up. We had done it! 

Over and over the man was grateful and offered to pay us, but I always declined. 

He needed a way in to town, but didn't want to ruin our hunt. (It was now 4:15 and soon to be entering “prime time” for the evening.) His proposal was that we finish our hunt, then come and pick him up when we were done. I didn't like that idea because it would leave him waiting until after dark for us and there were too many variables. I proposed that I take him to town right then. 

I told him we would have to clear some space in the back seat of our truck, but he insisted that he would just ride in the bed. He was very adamant, so I let him do it. 

He retrieved his chainsaw and can of gasoline, then locked the cab of his truck. He climbed into the back and made himself comfortable in the corner, resting his arm on the wall of the bed as smooth as a teenager. 

The grizzled old man was John Johnson. Perhaps “old” is not the best adjective used to describe him, but he had at least twenty years on me. For his age he was strong. A worn, leathered face told me he had a long life of hard work. 

He had only lived here for four months, having moved from Yuma, Arizona. He moved here to raise his 15-year old daughter. There was more to him. Much more. There were stories and experiences that had sculpted his character, and I knew that for now, and probably forever, I would never know those stories. 

We drove twenty miles down the mountain with John Johnson in the back of my truck, the wind blowing across his body. It reminded me of older times when people gave rides to strangers much more often, and when riding in the back of a truck wasn't frowned upon. 

We pulled up to the duplex where John lived and I helped him get the chainsaw and gas can from the bed. He pulled out his wallet and said, “Let me at least pay you for the gas.” 

I obliged, knowing I only burned five to ten dollars worth. 

Then he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. I acted as if I didn't notice the denomination. I knew that for him it was important that he somehow returned the favor. 

We wished him luck and parted ways. ♠

Stories of Life and Death at the Hurricane Cemetery

Years ago I was wandering around the cemetery in Hurricane, Utah when I noticed an older lady, with snow-white hair, sitting in her walker next to a headstone. There was no car nearby, nor anyone else that I could see. I continued to meander through the grave-markers, one time facing her and nodding my head to say hello. She smiled at me and lifted her hand to wave. 

Finally, I walked up and asked her if she was waiting for someone. 

“No,” she responded. I'm just visiting with my husband. I looked down at the headstone and saw the dates engraved into the marble and learned that he had died about a year and a half ago. Her name was on the stone also, and I calculated that she was about 88 years old. Her name was Emma and we soon engaged in a brief, but heart-felt conversation. 

I learned that her husband died in his sleep. There was no pain or suffering. One of the family members came right away and took a pulse and checked his blood pressure and determined then that he had passed away. 

Then she talked about the miracle. For the previous two days before his passing, all their children were in the home. A daughter came from Virginia, and another from somewhere else in another state. All the locals were there also. Even though they didn't know it at the time, they were all there to say goodbye to Dad. 

Emma lived close enough to the cemetery to go there in her walker. This was her first time here in three months, and she was making sure that everything survived through the winter. 

Long shadows were cast behind the headstones. She told me that she had to return home before it became dark. I clasped her frail hand with both of mine, and assured her that I was grateful to have met her. 

Every headstone in a cemetery has a story behind it. There is a story of a life, and also of a death. The Hurricane cemetery is full of names familiar to me. Recently I have been reading the journal of my great-great grandfather, Charles Adelbert Workman. He, with a handful of other families, were among the first settlers of Hurricane in 1906. He writes of the first water, the first houses, the first church, and the first festivities in the newly-formed town. 

Until his own untimely passing in 1923, Charles chronicled most of the deaths in early Hurricane. The town was very small and tightly-knit. Of some of the deaths he says very little, while others he elaborates with detail. 

I have gathered some of the journal entries that are of greater interest to me, and have matched them with the headstone as it appears in 2020. Where possible I have collected a photograph of the deceased. I believe that these entries give insight to the everyday life and challenges of the early twentieth century. 

Adelia Hall and Lyndon Hyrum Dalton.

[Adelia Hall Dalton was the first burial in the Hurricane Cemetery. She died just a year after moving to Hurricane and just weeks after delivering a child. Her son, Lyndon Hyrum Dalton, died less than three years later and was buried next to his mother. He was only five years old.] 

January 30, 1908—(Mostly clear today, Rain during last night, Sleet and bleak Wind P.M.) Sister Adelia Dalton Died today about noon. She is Alonzo Dalton's wife, and leaves a large family, the youngest being only a few weeks old. The following met and selected a site for a cemetery: Bishop Samuel Isom, Ira E. Bradshaw, Amos Workman, A.L. Hall, A.F. Stout Jr., Thos. Reeve, Thos. Isom, Jas. Jepson and myself. The site selected is in our pasture north of town (3 ¾ acres). Had choir practice here at our place this evening. 

January 31—(Clear and Pleasant, Cold night) Sister Dalton's funeral was held this afternoon. The speakers in their order were Bishop David Hirschi of Rockville, Bishop Morris Wilson of LaVerkin, myself, Bishop Samuel Isom and Daniel Hirschi of Rockville. Funeral was held in the open air on the south side of our new Hall, and the corpse was buried in our new cemetery. 

October 30, 1910—(Sprinkle of Rain) No public gatherings [church meetings] today on account of scarlatina. Only two cases in town but many have been exposed. Linden Dalton died this evening of Laryngitis. 

October 31, 1910—(Clear) Attended Linden Dalton's funeral this afternoon. The speakers were Christian Larson, Frank Barber, Bishop Isom and myself. Eldon and Leonard hauled our hay today.

Jacob Louis Workman.

[Jacob Louis Workman was the younger brother to Charles and the youngest of five children to Andrew Jackson and Sariah Workman.] 

March 11, 1911—(Light Shower of Rain) Put a stove in the back room of the store. Dr. F. J. Woodbury came today to see my brother Jacob and Maria Isom who are both sick with pneumonia. Jacob took sick last Monday, but had the grippe before that. 

March 12, 1911—(Clear, Colder, Frost ‒ Sine North Wind) Jacob died this morning at 6:10. I went up to see him about 4 A.M. He had in some unaccountable manner got hold of a bottle containing about half an ounce of laudanum and drank it while his attendants, Arthur Hall and wife, were out of the room. It was not known that he had taken it until two hours or more later when they found the empty bottle in the bed. It was then too late to do anything to counteract the poison. Dr. Woodbury was called on the phone but he said he could do nothing for him. It is thought that he must have taken the poison when he was delirious and did not realize what he was doing, as he had objected to take the dose of laudanum prescribed by the Dr. earlier in the evening, saying that he did not think it would do him any good, and he had been very anxious to get well, and therefore would not likely do anything knowingly to endanger his life. Wife and I did not attend any public gatherings [church meetings] today. Amos and I went to the cemetery and laid out the grave this afternoon. 

March 13, 1911—(Clear) Jacob's sister in law, Sarah Davis, and her husband, and several other relatives came from Harmony today to attend the funeral which is to be held tomorrow. 

March 14, 1911—(Clear) Attended Jacob's funeral at 11 o'clock this morning. The speakers were President Edward H. Snow, David Spilsbury, Bishop David Hirschi, Christian Larson, President George F. Whitehead, Bishop Samuel Isom and E. N. Stansworth. He was buried in the cemetery northeast of town. Maria Isom (widow of Frank Isom who was drowned in the river between here and LaVerkin about six years ago) died of pneumonia this morning, leaving a large family of orphan children. 

March 15, 1911—(A few Clouds, Warmer) We attended Maria Isom's funeral at 10 A.M. There were quite a number of speakers among whom were President Thomas P. Cottom and Joseph T. Atkin. She was buried at Virgin. 

Adelia Mariah Gifford Hall.

[Adelia Mariah Gifford Hall's husband, John Thomas Hall, was a half-sibling from plural marriage to Adelia Hall Dalton, mentioned above.] 

March 6, 1912—(Rain – some good showers this morning) John T. Hall's wife [Adelia M.] died this morning at St. George of blood poisoning as a result of an operation performed a few days ago by Drs. Woodbury and McGregor. 

March 7, 1912—(Mostly clear and warm) Josephine attended the funeral of Sister Hall this afternoon. I wrote an affidavit for L.H. Young. 

Franklyn Howard Isom Jr.

[Franklyn Howard Isom Jr.'s obituary states: “. . . while Frank Isom was coming down the Hurricane Hill with a load of gravel his team became unmanageable and started to run. He could see the danger and tried to jump from the wagon, but his foot caught in the tugs and he was dragged under the wagon, two wheels running over him. He was unable to move but called for help and when help arrived they found him in very critical condition.”—Also note that Frank's mother, Maria Isom, is the one who died on March 14, 1911.] 

June 6, 1912—(Clear A.M., Cloudy P.M.) Wrote some business letters. We all went to LaVerkin to an ice cream party at Hattie Woodbury's. We are staying at Henry Gubler's tonight. Frank Isom was hurt by having a loaded wagon run over him this afternoon on the dugway east of town. 

June 9, 1912—(Clear) Frank Isom died as a result of his injuries this morning about 2 o'clock. We all attended the usual public gatherings [the day was Sunday]. Frank Isom's body was buried this evening. Could not keep it until the funeral, to be held tomorrow. 

July 10, 1912—(Clear) Attended Frank Isom's funeral 10 A.M. Speakers were George Spilsbury of Toquerville, Bp. David Hirschi of Rockville, Frank Barber, E.N. Stansworth and myself. We all went to LaVerkin and back this evening. Ralph Campbell has been working for me again today. Eldon cleaned a head ditch in the field. 

William Manti Workman.

[William Manti Workman was a half-brother to Charles from his father's first marriage.] 

May 6, 1914—(Mostly clear) Manti Workman was killed this afternoon about 4 o'clock. He was driving four horses on two wagons loaded with wool, and he was thrown from the wagon and the load tipped over onto him. No one saw the accident. Nephi came up in a few minutes and found him dead under the load. 

May 7, 1914—(Clear, Warmer) Attended Manti's funeral this afternoon. (4 P.M.) Cut our first crop of hay yesterday and today. 

Eldon J. Workman.

[By far the most traumatic death recorded in Charles' journal was that of his son, Eldon, not yet twenty years old.] 

September 22, 1918—(Heavy Thunder Shower P.M. Hail as large as hens eggs fell. The hailstones in shape of discs with jagged edges) We all attended the usual public gatherings. About 5 P.M. Eldon was killed by a current of electricity received from a high voltage wire while renewing some fuse plugs on a pole south east of Petty's store. He apparently was just in the act of putting his safety belt around the pole, but had not yet snapped it into the other side. When he received the electric shock he fell to the ground, lighting on his head. No one was there when the accident occurred except a little girl, Eleanor Isom, but several others who were some distance away saw him while falling. It was raining when Sacrament Meeting was out, so Josephine and I stayed in the Hall until it stopped; but Eldon went on home. When we reached home Eldon had changed clothes. He said that he knew of two fuse plugs that had been blown out by the lightning and there might be others. He was going down in town to put them in. He tried to start the car but only one cylinder would work so he gave it up and went into the vineyard and got some grapes and gave his mother and me each a nice bunch. He was very fond of grapes and he knew we were also, so he very often brought us the best he could find. While I was eating the grapes and trying to make the car go he left to fix up the power line. That was the last time I saw him alive. About half an hour later Jos. T. Wright came up in front of the house on horseback and called me out. When I got near enough to him I could see his lips quivering, so I knew that he had some bad news. He said “Brother Workman, I hate to tell you, but Eldon is dead.” Then he explained how it happened. I turned toward the house and my wife was standing in the door. She had noticed that something unusual had happened. I told her what it was. We could hardly believe it was true. We thought it might turn out to be a mistake. In a few minutes Dr. Wilkinson came in and told us all about the accident. He said he was there and examined the body a few minutes after it happened, and there was no life in it. In a short time (it seemed like a long time to us) they brought the body in and laid it on the davenport. It was certainly a sad blow to us 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 freedom of the world, to attend college to prepare to be most useful to society. All of these ambitions now had suddenly been shattered. He was called to another sphere of action, perhaps to a greater mission where his desires for good can be more fully realized. While his body was lying there and the house was filled with neighbors who had come to help us and comfort us, Hazel who is only 16 years of age, wrote the following poem:
 

Faith 

There's calm within my soul upon this night. 

'Tho death's dark wings o'er shadowed us this day, 

We mourn the death of one most dearly loved.

God's will it was that he should go away.

 

There's peace within my soul upon this night, 

Yes, peace! Strange 'tho it seems, 'tis there. 

He's gone, 'tis true, but to a place beyond, 

Where he is in our Heavenly Father's care.

 

There's faith within my soul upon this night. 

I fear not, for his course is well defined. 

'Tho God discloses not his plans to men, 

I know He's just and merciful and kind.

 

And so there's love within my soul this night, 

Love for humanity and God. 

He's gone to do a greater work beyond. 

He treads the path God's chosen ones have trod.

 

I have read this poem many times. It is such a comfort to me! It seems to me that it was given to us by the inspiration of the Spirit of the Lord for our comfort. Every verse contains a revelation. We tried to get a message through to Flora who is at Coronado near San Diego, Cal. But did not succeed. Philena and Orson Hall are staying with us tonight. 

September 23, 1918—(Cloudy) We got a message through to Flora this morning and wired back that she would start for home this afternoon. Bro. Pickett and Ellis Pickett came from St. George this morning. They embalmed the body so that it would keep until Flora arrives. 

September 24, 1918—(Clear) Bro. Pickett returned to St. George today. Walter Stout took our car and went to Lund to meet Flora. Delsy and Hazel and Annie Hirschi went with him. 

September 25, 1918—(Clear) Flora arrived home about one o'clock this morning. Bro. Pickett and Nean came about noon. The funeral was held at 3 P.M. The speakers were Bp. Morris Wilson, Jr., J.W. Imlay, E.N. Stansworth and Bp. Samuel Isom and C.A. Thompson. The services and the burial passed in an orderly manner and we returned to our home which now seemed empty for the absence of our dearly beloved boy. Bro. and Sister Pickett are staying with us tonight. 

Raymond Ruesch.

[Raymond Ruesch was only 15 years old. He was the son of William Ulrich Ruesch and Marilla Sophronia Draper.] 

November 11, 1919—(Clear, Cold) Armistice Day. One year ago today the armistice was signed by Germany and her allies and by England, France, United States and their allies. This brought to an end the fighting in the great world war which had been waged for over four years. Raymond Ruesch died this forenoon of pneumonia. He died very suddenly, as he was at school yesterday and helped his father put on a load of baled hay last evening. 

November 12, 1919—(Clear, Warm in the sunshine, Temperature 27⁰ 7 A.M.) Repaired the fence between J.W. Imlay's field and our Lemmon Field. Our animals have been getting through. Attended Raymond Ruesch's funeral 2:30 P.M. Picked over some raisins. 

Lois Bradshaw Wright.

[Lois Bradshaw Wright died just five days after giving birth to her only child.] 

February 21, 1920—(Warm – Rain – Some Good Showers) It is so wet that I have hardly been out of the house all day. Lois Bradshaw Wright died 5 P.M. today. She gave birth to a baby boy last Monday, and has had a high fever much of the time since. Just before she died her temperature was 110⁰ and several times before it was above 106⁰. Dr. Wilkinson cannot account for the fever, as she had no infection, and apparently no influenza. 

February 22, 1920—(Warm – Rain, Good heavy soaking showers, Over 3 in. rain since 18th) Washington's Birthday. No public gatherings today on account of the quarantine for the influenza (“flu”). Almonds are beginning to bloom. 

February 23, 1920—(Temp. 43⁰ 7 A.M., Clouds and Sunshine A.M., Clouds and Sunshine P.M., North and South Wind) Lois B. Wright's funeral was held 11 A.M. at their residence (next door north of us). I did not attend on account of ill health. The town is grading the street west of us. 

Mary Eleanor Jepson Isom.

[Mary Eleanor Jepson Isom died the same way her mother did, in child birth. She left behind six children under the age of fifteen. Her husband, Richard Isom, is a first cousin to Frank Isom Jr.] 

April 13, 1920—(Temp. 46⁰ 7 A.M., Clouds – Hazy) Mary Jepson Isom, wife of Richard Isom, died today of heart disease together with child birth today. Her child was born dead. Angus Ballard began to take down our barn on the other lot this afternoon. 

April 15, 1920—(Temp. 42⁰ 7 A.M., Cloudy, S.W. Wind, Sprinkle of Rain eve.) Attended the funeral of Mary J. Isom 2 P.M. 

Samuel Isom.

[The death of Samuel Isom was a major event in town. He was the first Bishop of Hurricane and served in that calling until his death. He was a brother to Richard Isom, mentioned above. A newspaper article at his passing states: “Bishop Isom was a spiritually minded man and was thoroughly converted to his calling. He accepted the Gospel as literally being all that it is claimed to be, making its promotion his life's work. He was generous and kind and was loved by all.”] 

February 2, 1923—(50% Cloudy - ½ in. Snow – Precip. .02 in., Cold North Wind P.M. Temp. 16⁰ 8 A.M.) Bishop Samuel Isom died 7 A.M. of heart trouble. Denor Ballard, Grand Sanders and Eldon Lemmon pleaded guilty to using tobacco in my court 4 P.M. They were fined $5.00 each. 

February 3, 1923—(95% Clear – Temp. 18⁰ 8 A.M. - N. Wind) Philip Barkdul's baby died. 

February 4, 1923—(98% Clear – North Wind – Temp. 16⁰ 8 A.M.) Bp. Isom's funeral was held 1 P.M. Pres. E.H. Snow and Thos. P. Cottom and a number of other from St. George were present. The Auditorium was packed to its full capacity. Many were there from towns from Springdale and Leeds.

Charles Adelbert Workman.

[Charles Workman spent most of 1922 and all of 1923 sick. He rarely mentions his illness in his diary, but I have included the few entries where he has. I also include the final entries before his death.]

December 3, 1922—(Cloudy – Sprinkle, Rain .02 in.) No public meetings were held today [Sunday] on account of plumbing repairs that are being made in the School House. I would not have attended had there been any, as I have been staying in bed the greater part of the time, trying to nurse myself back to health. I still have a little fever and am very weak. 

December 31, 1922—(Clear – 80%, Sprinkle of Rain) I have been in bed all day as usual. I always sit up a few hours in the evening. The rest of the time I spend in bed as a rule. My bed is on the sleeping porch where I can get plenty of fresh air. 

January 1, 1923—(90% Clear, Temp. 25⁰ 7 A.M.) New Year's Day. I have been sick for about ten months. Had the Influenza last Feb., and have not been strong enough to do much more than just walk around a little since. I stay in bed almost all of the time in this cold weather to keep warm and still be out in the fresh air, as my bed is on the sleeping porch. 

March 18, 1923—(90% Clear – Heavy North Wind) No public services today [Sunday], as quite a number in the ward are sick, besides many are attending Conference in St. George. 

March 31, 1923—(85% Cloudy) Took Mother up to Amos' to stay for a while. March has been extremely windy not only here but all over the U.S. Throughout the Missouri, Mississippi and Ohio Valleys blizzard has followed blizzard during almost the whole month, leaving death and great destruction of property in their path. Much sickness over the state of Utah. 

April 8, 1923—(85% Clear) I attended Sacrament Meeting today for the first time since last fall. Josephine has gone to stay with Flora tonight. Her baby (Barbara) has been sick for several days. 

April 26, 1923—(55% Cloudy – Rain .01 in.) This is our Wedding Day. 31 anniversary. Received 50 baby chickens from Alfred Bleak, St. George, but they belonged to Grace Jepson. My wife planted some Sweet Corn, String Beans, etc 

April 30, 1923—(90% Clear – North Wind) The health of the people in general has improved some during April. Business conditions in almost all lines are getting better throughout the United States and in almost all of the other nations, and people are looking for better “times.” The Union Pacific R.R. Has already built a branch line to Fillmore and are now building another branch from Lund to Cedar, which will deliver iron ore from Cedar mines to Columbia Steel mills near Provo. 

May 30, 1923—(50% Cloudy – Sprinkle of Rain – W. Wind) Decoration Day. Delsy gave birth to a baby girl 3 P.M. [Vauna Mae Leany]. Hyrum arrived 5 P.M. Myra Lemmon attended her. 

June 15, 1923—(95% Cloudy) Dave Tweedie came from the Zion Saw Mill today. The first passenger train came into Cedar City last Monday, the 11th. 

June 22, 1923—(90% Clear – Warmer) Josephine and Flora and David went through the Temple today. Flora and David were endowed and married by the laws of the Church and their children, Wilden an Barbara were sealed to them. 

June 27, 1923—(95% Clear) Carl and Eloise went over to Toquerville to greet Pres. Warren G. Harding and company this forenoon. There were a great many people there from the western part of the County. Pres. Harding and company are on their way to Zion Nat. Park. They are touring the Western States en route to Alaska. In his party are Mrs. Harding, several Cabinet Officers and other Govt. officials and newspaper men. 

July 1, 1923—(90% Clear – Very Warm). 

July 2, 1923—(95% Clear) We packed eight crates of Greensboro Peaches to ship to Hancock Bros., Salt Lake City. 

July 3, 1923—(95% Clear). 

July 4, 1923—(95% Clear) Independence Day. Celebration as usual. 

July 5, 1923—(100% Clear) 

July 6, 1923—(75% Clear – Thunder) Hazel and Verlene came from Lynndyl. Arrived 7 P.M. Came through by auto with Dolphie Johnson. 

July 7, 1923—(45% Cloudy – Thunder – Rain .16 in.) Carl is working for Nephi S. Workman (Haying). He began last Thursday. 

July 8, 1923—(80% Cloudy – Thunder – Rain .20 in.). 

July 9, 1923—(80% Clear). 

July 10, 1923—(95% Clear) Hyrum and Dr. Cox came about 8 A.M. Took Delsy and the children back with them. 

July 11, 1923—(75% Cloudy). 

July 12, 1923—(50% Cloudy). 

July 13, 1923—(75% Cloudy – Thunder – Rain .10 in.). 

July 14, 1923—(80% Cloudy – Sprinkle). 

July 15, 1923—(50% Cloudy – Rain). 

July 16, 1923—(80% Clear). 

[Charles Adelbert Workman died on Sunday, July 22, 1923, at the age of 52. His wife, Josephine, would live to the age of 98, passing away on January 13, 1970. The Workman Family History book states: “Charles Adelbert Workman, fruit farmer and prominent church and civic man of Southern Utah, was one of the first vice presidents of the Workman Family organization, serving from 1920 until the time of his death.”] ♠ 

Family of Charles and Josephine Workman.

[Postscript: Gathering the material for this post has been a multi-year endeavor. Not only was there a lot of information to find, but I went in spurts, often doing nothing for months at a time. 

Do you remember Emma, the sweet old lady sitting next to her husband's grave? The encounter with her happened several years ago. Recently I returned to the Hurricane Cemetery to collect headstone photos of all the deaths I have documented. I was humbled to find that Emma Hall Bradshaw had died last year. It was surreal to think that the lady that was once sitting right there with her walker was now buried six feet below. But it was also refreshing to ponder that she was now with her husband, free from the bondage of old age. 

Of interest is that Emma's grandfather was Alfred Lorenzo Hall. Alfred was a sister to Adelia Hall Dalton, the first burial in the Hurricane Cemetery.] 

Emma Hall Bradshaw.

 

Climbing Mount Baldy

I knew we were in for an adventure when the wind started blowing. The air filled with haze and all the trees blew side-ward. 

Jordan and I began at 2:30 pm. I had no idea how long this would take and I brought my flashlight just in case. And to add to the adventure, I wasn't feeling so great. But we moved forward. 

The trail begins on the outskirts of town and follows along the foothills. The mountain was ravished by fire nearly eight years earlier and now the grass and scrub oak came in thick, but with no tall trees. 

For the first half-hour we paralleled a field of cattle. Other trails connected with ours, as well as a dirt road. We crossed through a couple gates meant to keep out cattle. At this point in the hike, the mountain blocked the bulk of the wind. 

The trail begins climbing upward.

Soon the trail made a hard turn toward the west and instantly we began climbing elevation. The trail was rough and rocky, with growth on both sides. I observed yarrow, mountain mahogany, and clumps of wild grass. 

Our destination for this afternoon was Mount Baldy. As the crow flies it was only 3.7 miles, but of course, no one can climb a mountain on the same path as the crow. I estimated that our serpentine route would add a couple more miles. 

As we progressed, the trail became steeper. The growth became taller. Now, stands of scrub oak became higher than our heads. We almost needed a machete to cut through the trail. We could see the valley below us become smaller, but Mount Baldy still loomed in the distance. 

Gaining elevation.

Then I shrieked like a girl and jolted backward. One more step and I would have been . . . dead meat! There, coiled on the trail, partially hidden by an overhanging leaf, was a wily-eyed rattlesnake! 

I am always worried about rattlesnakes when I hike. I brought a snake-bite kit with me, but didn't know how to use it. What would I do if I got bit? Would I call 9-1-1 and wait for a helicopter to pick me up? Unlikely that would happen here⸺especially with these winds. It was definitely best not to be bitten.

Now that I was sure I wouldn't step on him, we watched the serpent from a safe distance. His tail was tucked beneath him, but the diamond pattern on his scaled flesh revealed his identity. Soon he uncoiled and slithered beneath the bushes. Jordan was able to confirm the rattles on his tail. 

Rattlesnake #1.

We continued our hike, but were now a little paranoid. Instead of enjoying the scenery, I held a steady gaze at my feet and the trail just in front of me. 

As we continued to climb, the vegetation became thicker and greener. Now we found a few manzanita bushes, as well as patches of white columbine. A cluster of tall pines had escaped the wrath of fire. 

We were now two hours and fifteen minutes into our hike and had climbed nearly 2,000 feet in elevation. We came to a very small stream that trickled down the mountain. 

Steep climb to the summit.

White columbine.

At this point we had to leave the trail and scramble up the hillside. This was the only way to reach the peak. The climb was steep, but at least it was somewhat cleared from the burn. 

Then we crossed rattler #2. 

This one hissed at us, and once again startled me. Anytime I see a snake I recoil back, but even that is a scary proposition because you don't know if there is another one nearby that you may be stepping on.

Luckily for us, there was only one. He hid under a small bush and was heaped upon himself as if someone had squeezed a large sausage from a press and let it fall into one large, bulky pile. 

Rattlesnake #2.  Can you see him?

I surveyed different angles to get a picture, but none of them were great. The leaves of the bush stood in the way and I sure wasn't going to reach and move them! This serpent scarcely moved and we just decided to walk away. 

Forty minutes later, and after a couple false summits, we reached the peak of Mount Baldy! The wind picked up to near hurricane force, but the view was worth the strength of the gust. 

In the distant north we could see the hazy peaks of the Tushars. Before us, Kolob Canyons stretched out in a band of Navajo sandstone. To the south of them in alabaster white, the cliffs of Zion. We could spot Sand Hollow, Quail Creek, all the towns up the corridor, and a sliver of Bryce Canyon. It was truly spectacular. 

View from Mount Baldy looking southeast.

We sat on the lee-side of a rock at the summit and ate our lunch. Judging from the white droppings on the rock, we weren't the only creatures making a stop here. 

As we searched below and saw the freeways and little towns, we contemplated the remoteness of our situation and were amazed at the ruggedness of it all. Even in the midst of civilization, we were very removed from it. 

View from Mount Baldy looking northeast.

Snakes were also on our minds. Even though we had reached our goal, we would still face danger on the way down. It was humbling to know that no matter how cautious one might be, extreme danger may only be a step away, lurking in the grass or lying hidden beneath low-lying growth. 

We spent just over half an hour at the summit. Our walk down was pleasant, with the sun now blocked by mountains. The wildflowers and scrub oak felt a bit crisper. 

We enjoyed a pleasant conversation for most of the journey down. It was largely uneventful, having come across no snakes. Perhaps with our thoughts diverted with conversation, we simply didn't notice the snakes as we passed them by. ♠

 

A Jewish Colony in Utah

I could sympathize with the citizens of old Clarion. 

The summer of 2020 was almost over and there had scarcely been a drop of rain. Dry, hot and dusty. No condition to grow crops. As I explored this long-abandoned town, I suspected that it felt very similar to how it must have felt to this desperate colony of Jews who attempted to settle here in the early 1900's. 

The ghost town of Clarion is located in central Utah. To have a town entirely inhabited by Jews seems out of place in a region dominated by Mormons. But that's what makes it so fascinating. 

The Jews have much in common with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Both claim to be God's chosen people and each have their own Zionist movement. I would add that both are hard-working, adhere to a higher standard than most, and would prefer to live in a place where they can worship in peace. Put succinctly, each are a peculiar people. 

Foundation of old structure in Clarion.

The impetus for the town of Clarion comes from the “Back to the soil” movement of the late nineteenth century. For years it had been very difficult, if not impossible, for the Jew to own land. They had been driven from Europe and many of them found their way to the eastern United States where they lived in ghettos. They made a living by peddling, working in factories, and owning their own businesses. 

In an effort to pursue a life outside the ghetto, Jewish leaders began pushing an agricultural lifestyle. “He who does not own land is not fully a person,” wrote Rabbi Eleazer. Over forty Jewish agricultural colonies were established throughout the United States. One of these colonies found its home in the Gunnison Valley of Utah. 

Although this was a pioneering effort for the citizens of Clarion, it came much later than the “pioneering era” of the Mormons, which lasted between 1847 and 1869. By the time the Jews arrived in town, the Mormons had become seasoned experts with the dry Utah landscape. And to add to their handicap, most of the new colony had no agricultural experience at all. 

Photo of Clarion, Utah.

The first Jews came to Clarion in 1911 when they purchased 6,085 acres of land and water rights from the state of Utah. They were told it was “the best land in the state.” They were promised that a new canal would be completed to bring them water. To welcome the newcomers, the L.D.S. Church threw in $500 to help with the purchase. 

The settlers came in phases. First came the men to prepare and work the soil. In the following years came the families, most of them from New York and Philadelphia. They planted wheat, alfalfa and oats. Without a canal they had to haul water from Gunnison. 

The colonists built homes and ran forty-acre farms, most connected by a principle street. The machinery and equipment were shared by the community, similar to the Israeli Moshav. Moshav is a Hebrew term to typify a cooperative agricultural community. I can't help but to think of the United Order, a similar concept in Mormon ideology that was practiced during the late 1800's. 

Could this be the site of an old grain silo?

Perhaps the fragment of a rake or farming equipment.

At its peak, the town of Clarion boasted of 156 residents. This included women and children. They built attractive homes, barns and corrals. From the east they brought their fine furniture, china, rugs and art work. A school house was built in the center of town and a community well dug. In 1915 a Post Office was established. For a moment, there was a glimmer of hope for the town of Clarion. 

I came here during the summer of 2020. Like I stated earlier, it was hot and dry, scarcely having a drop of rain in six months. I drove four miles west of Centerfield along farmland, eventually coming to a graveled road at Barex Dairy. Suddenly, hundreds of cows loitered the fields and cattle stench was ever-present. 

A walk-in basement that once was.

The graveled road south of the dairy is the main road of old Clarion. There is not a single house still standing. After the abandonment of Clarion, most, if not all the homes were moved to Gunnison. All that is left are the rectangular outlines of where the houses once stood, some with a short stretch of remaining wall. 

Upon examination of the grounds, there was more to find. Rusty cans and other metal lay scattered. I found what could have been the fragment of a rake. A tangle of barbed wire. Was that from the residents of Clarion, or later from the cattle ranchers? 

A couple of the houses had basements dug out and another had small indentations in the ground which could have been a cellar. A perfectly round foundation, I suspect, was a grain silo. One house had stubby posts in the ground, which could have been part of a fence. I found bricks on the ground. 

Remnants of the old Meeting Hall.

Scattered bricks along the ground.

So, what brought Clarion's demise? 

First, the soil was very difficult to cultivate. The drought left it hard and it had too much alkaline. Although some accounts say that the Piute canal wasn't finished until two years after the colony was abandoned, another account said it was finished, but heavy rains broke the canal's banks, flooding the fields and destroying crops. 

Another factor was the inexperience of these city Jews. Robert Goldberg, who wrote a book on Clarion, stated the following: “These people had come directly from Eastern cities. They were not prepared for the hardships and requirements of this kind of life. Their knowledge of farming and their funding were both inadequate to sustain them. As each new disaster presented itself, it became harder to accept the difficulties, harder to say 'wait until next spring,' harder to deal with dissension and division.” 

By 1916, the colony went bankrupt. 

Most of the colonists boarded trains back to Philadelphia and New York. Some continued west to California. A small handful, including Benjamin Brown, stayed in Utah for a while. Brown, a leader in the colony, helped form the Central Utah Poultry Exchange, which originally focused on chicken and egg production. This eventually morphed into Intermountain Farmers Association, or I.F.A., which is a large supply store for farmers, located in many locations throughout Utah, Idaho, Colorado, Nevada and New Mexico. Brown returned to the east in the 1930's. 

Benjamin Brown, a leader in the colony of Clarion.

Now I had another matter of business. 

My goal was to find the two isolated graves on a hill, the only two known burials from the existence of Clarion. In fact, I knew where the graves were located and from one vantage point I had spotted them in my binoculars. The problem was that they sat on the other side of the fence. (They sat on a hill adjacent to the massive diary.) 

I waved down a lady on a four-wheeler who was working at the diary. When I asked her if it was possible to cross the fence and get to the graves, I quickly learned that she didn't speak much English. I tried flipping on my Spanish switch, but it sputtered as it turned on. We were finally able to communicate and she said I would have to talk to the dueño and he would be at the lechería. 

So, there I drove. 

I walked inside the first door of the dairy and found three Central American men milking cows on some sort of revolving turn-table. I caught the attention of one and he told me to check the owner's house. 

Finally I found the owner driving up in an old blue milk truck. It turns out he doesn't even own the property with the graves, but thought it would be fine as long as I closed the gate. He made it clear, however, that he had no authority to say one way or the other. 

One of two graves on a hillside near Clarion.

I drove to the two graves. They are each surrounded by a small fence. Both headstones are mostly in Hebrew, although one is larger than the other. I couldn't help but to think of how far away these two burials are from any of their posterity. 

There are stories beneath these headstones. 

The larger is that of Aaron Binder, a young man who hadn't arrived at the age of thirty. On August 14, 1913 he was in a nearby canyon gathering a wagon-load of logs for a barn. On the way down he was unable to negotiate the road with his heavy load, and his wagon tipped, burying him under the load. He was buried on a remote corner of his farm. 

Translated from Hebrew, his headstone says the following: 

“A son of our people, a humble, 

hardworking Jew, 

With a great Jewish soul, 

He died a martyr, in the cause of 

raising our level,

And not permitting shame on the

Jewish name.”

 

The other grave is that of an infant that died a few months later of meningitis. 

The two burials stand as lonely reminders of a colony that once lived, with hopes for a future, but died and withered away. ♠

 

Headstone of Aaron Binder.