Zeke Johnson and the Raising of the Bones

Zeke Johnson.

Zeke Johnson was named after his paternal grandfather, Ezekiel. His father, Joel Hills Johnson, was a prominent pioneer and hymnist for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. His mother, Margaret Threlkeld Johnson, supported herself and her sister on the plains by selling buffalo chips to the railroad. At age twenty she finally made it to Utah, encountering Indian threats, losing oxen and dealing with broken wagons along the way. Needless to say, Zeke had adventuring blood in his veins.

Zeke was born in 1869 in Bellview, Utah (now Pintura). His life's journeys took him to Johnson Canyon and Kanab, Utah, then to Tuba City, Arizona. Eventually he returned to Utah, this time in Bluff, then in 1908 to the newly settled town of Grayson, which would later become Blanding. 

This new settlement was twenty miles north of Bluff on White Mesa. In addition to the Navajo and Ute Indians that lived in the area, the land was scattered with ruins and remains of the Anasazi, an ancient tribe that once flourished, but for reasons not entirely understood, decided to leave. 

Zeke had a working knowledge of both the Ute and Navajo languages and he was a friend to many. He gave the Indians produce from his garden and his wife, Annetta, would bake them bread. 

Over the years he spent considerable time on the land. In the area around Blanding he raised cattle and farmed, and had an orchard, vineyard and garden. Many places in the area are named after him including Zeke's Hole, Johnson Creek, Zeke's Bathtub, and Shirttail Corner. 

Ruins like these lay scattered all across San Juan County.

In 1908 or 1909, Zeke had an experience “on the mesa” that would stay with him the rest of his life. The land was covered in sage brush and pinyon trees and he worked hard to clear a few acres where he could plant some corn. He would plow a stretch of dirt, after-which his son, Roy, would plant the seeds in the furrow. He would then cover them up. As he worked he noticed remnants of ancient houses beneath the ground. 

What happened next I will leave in his own words: 

“As I was plowing around I noticed that my plow had turned out the skeleton of a small child. The skull and the backbone, most of the bones of course were decayed and gone. Part of the skeleton was there, so I stopped immediately as my plow had passed it a little and I turned and looked back against the bar of the plow between the handles and was looking at that little skeleton that I had plowed out and wondering. All of a sudden to my surprise I saw the bones begin to wiggle and they began to change position and to take on different color and within a minute there lay a beautiful little skeleton. It was a perfect little skeleton. 

“Then I saw the inner parts of the natural body coming in--the entrails, etc. I saw the flesh coming on and I saw the skin come on the body when the inner parts of the body was complete. A beautiful head of hair adorned the top of the head and in about a half a minute after the hair was on the head, it had a beautiful crystal decoration in the hair. It was combed beautifully and parted on one side. In about a half a minute after the hair was on the head, the child raised up on her feet. She was lying a little on her right side with her back toward me. Because of this I wasn't able to discern the sex of the child, but as she raised up, a beautiful robe came down over her left shoulder and I saw it must be a girl. She looked at me and I looked at her and for a quarter of a minute. We just looked at each other smiling. Then my ambition was to get hold of her, I said 'Oh you beautiful child,' and I reached as if I would embrace her and she disappeared. That was all I saw and I stood there and I wondered and I thought for a few minutes. My little boy was wondering why I was there because he was down at the other end of the row anxious to come and plant the corn.” 

Old homestead on the mesa east of Blanding.

This miraculous experience left Zeke speechless. For years he was unable to recount it to anyone because it was so mysterious to him. Why should he, an uneducated and common man, be allowed to witness a resurrection? 

One day on the streets of Blanding he ran into Wayne Redd, a dear friend and Stake Patriarch. Wayne stopped him and said, “Zeke, you have had an experience on this mesa you won't tell. I want you to tell me.” 

Well, he told him, and since that time Zeke has recounted his story to thousands of people in meeting houses, temples and socials. But the question that still weighed on his mind was why he was allowed to witness such a miraculous manifestation of God's power. 

Again in his own words, Zeke recalls how he received an answer to his question: “One day as I was walking alone with my hoe on my shoulder going to hoe some corn, something said, 'stop under the shade of that tree for a few minutes and rest.' This just came to me and I thought I would, so I stopped there and this was given to me. 

“It was in answer to my prayer. I prayed incessantly for an answer as to why I was privileged to see that resurrection. I was told why. When the child was buried there it was either in time of war with the different tribes or it was winter time when the ground was frozen and they had no tools to dig deep graves. If it were during time of war they couldn't possibly take time to dig a deep grave. They just planted that little body as deep as they could under the circumstances. When it was done the sorrowing mother knew that it was such a little shallow grave, that in her sorrow she cried out to the little group that was present, 'That little shallow grave, the first beast that comes along will smell her body and will dig her up and scatter her to the four winds. Her bones will be scattered all over these flats.' There just happened to be a man present holding the priesthood (a Nephite or a Jaredite, I don't know which because they had both been in this country.  I've been in their houses and know it.) This man said, 'Sister, calm your sorrows. Whenever that little body is disturbed or uncovered, the Lord will call her up and she will live.' Since that time, I have taken great comfort, great cheer and consolation and satisfaction with praise in my heart and soul, until I haven't the words to express it, that it was I that uncovered that little body. Thank you for listening to me. I just can't tell this without crying.” 

Looking toward Sleeping Ute Mountain from Mustang Mesa.

For me, another fascinating aspect of this story is the parallel it has with a more ancient narrative from the Bible. From time to time as I have read accounts of our faithful pioneers, I have come across stories that seem to closely resemble those that have been recorded in scripture. It is as if the Lord is duplicating the story to reaffirm the authenticity of the scriptures and also to manifest His power. 

The story I refer to is in the Old Testament in thirty-seventh chapter of Ezekiel⸺and I do not believe it was mere coincidence that the experience on White Mesa happened to a man named Ezekiel. I believe it was intended. 

I refer to Ezekiel's vision of the valley of bones: 

1 The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried me out in the spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley which was full of bones, 

2 And caused me to pass by them round about: and, behold, there were very many in the open valley; and, lo, they were very dry. 

3 And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live? And I answered, O Lord God, thou knowest.

4 Again he said unto me, Prophesy upon these bones, and say unto them, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. 

5 Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones; Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live: 

6 And I will lay sinews upon you, and will bring up flesh upon you, and cover you with skin, and put breath in you, and ye shall live; and ye shall know that I am the Lord. 

7 So I prophesied as I was commanded: and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, and the bones came together, bone to his bone. 

8 And when I beheld, lo, the sinews and the flesh came up upon them, and the skin covered them above: but there was no breath in them. 

9 Then said he unto me, Prophesy unto the wind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith the Lord God; Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.

10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood up upon their feet, an exceeding great army. (Ezekiel 37: 1-10)

This vision most likely has a dual interpretation, not only foreshadowing the physical resurrection that would come after the death of Jesus Christ, but also as a prophecy to the restoration of the House of Israel. But I can't help but to see the striking similarities between this vision and the miraculous experience of Zeke Johnson. ♠

 

Empty field with Blue Mountain in distance.

 

A Day at the Races . . . Finally!

The room, built into the stable, wasn't much. It contained a mattress, an old electric heater and papers scattered across the cement floor. 

Like a giant domino falling backwards, my tired body plunged to rest on the cold mattress. I closed my eyes, but couldn't get Arden Black out of my mind. His face was old, beat up with more than its share of wrinkles and cracks. His hair was gray and voice chewed up. His clothes smelled of smoke.

“Hmmm, “I thought, “what is in this room that could possibly pass the time?” I turned on the electric heater and pulled it towards me. The filament wires glowed with orange and brought a comfortable wave of heat. I looked at the scattered papers across the cement floor. I picked up one that looked like a newspaper. “The Daily Racing Form,” was printed in large black ink across the front. I opened it. The inside pages were full of racing statistics which looked as boggling as the investment page of the Wall Street Journal.

My eyes glanced through the pages while my mind absorbed none of it. Fifteen minutes passed until I saw Arden's aged face again. “Kid, I've got a job for you.” He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Have you ever cleaned stalls?” 

“Never,” I responded. 

“Well, I'll teach you. I'll make it simple. First of all use that pitch fork over there and scoop the manure off the ground and toss it into the wheelbarrow. Then grab the . . .” he paused in his sentence to light his cigarette. He held it in his lips and lit the end with a lighter while using his hand to cup the flame. He took a puff and then continued his talk. “Rake the hay into a pile in the corner, then use it to level out the dirt. When you're all done, make sure each stall has three cans of oats and plenty of water. I'll feed them fresh hay later. Got it kid?” 

I nodded. 

He took another puff and walked away. 

Stable area at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California.

I found the empty stalls and began cleaning. The labor wasn't too hard although my muscles weren't used to working so early in the morning. 

The stalls smelled exactly like horse stalls should. Like dirt and manure. I shoveled the horse chips over and over. It seemed endless. They were all over the place. Just when I thought I had them all I would find more beneath some hay. Despite the mess, I worked until every stall was nearly fit for a human to sleep in. Because I had no idea how clean Arden wanted it, I went the extra mile to ensure his satisfaction. 

While I was busy shoveling manure, my best friend Tony was out on the track running the horses. I didn't see him much that morning, but he was the reason I was there. 

Tony left home at age 15 ½ to become a jockey. He weighed well under a 100 pounds and was tough as nails. For the last six months he had been an apprentice and now his time had come for his first official race. 

Tony's dad invited me to come. On a Saturday morning he picked me up and we made the two-and-a-half hour drive to Farmington, New Mexico where he would be racing at San Juan Downs. We found Tony at his apartment where he was excessively nervous. This would be his first real race. We drove to the track in Tony's mustang with another jockey. 

I was memorized from the beginning. 

"And they're off!"

Tony was in the first race and I watched intently as the bugler made his call and the jockeys mounted on their horses rode onto the track, trotting around to the back side to warm up. Then the announcer said: “They're getting into the gates, they're in the gates . . . they're off!!!” 

Tony took dead last in that race. For three more races he did slightly better, but overall it was a dismal day. 

I was invited to stay another day. I stayed at Tony's apartment and we woke at six the next morning and with no breakfast drove to the track. This is when Arden, the trainer, put me to work in the stable.

Later that day was another round of racing. Tony did much better this time, taking a second and third place. He would have taken first on another race but he accidentally bumped a horse and got disqualified. 

"And down the stretch they come!"

Tony went on to do great things in the world of horse racing. After Farmington he raced in California at great parks such as Santa Anita, Del Mar and Hollywood. Then he went to New York and competed at the infamous Belmont Park. Later he proved his skills at Wyoming Downs in Evanston and Ruidoso Downs in New Mexico. 

Although I had only been to the races a handful of times, the whole environment of the the horse races became magical to me. Over thirty years had passed since I had been to a race. I longed to hear the bugler play his trumpet and call the players to the track. I dreamed of hearing the announcer in the heat of the race yell out, “And down the stretch they come!” I wanted desperately to bring my wife and kids to the track and show them what all the hype was about. 

Well, I finally got my chance. 

This spring all the stars aligned and we secured a day when we could go to the races at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California. To prep my family we watched Seabiscuit, which was partially filmed here. 

Seabiscuit was a thoroughbred race horse who became a legend when he beat the Triple Crown winner, War Admiral, in 1938 in a one-on-one race. His career began on shaky ground as he raced on the East Coast, but when jockey Red Pollard took over he gradually began to win. He was then brought to California where his fortune continued. He won many races at Santa Anita, including the Santa Anita Handicap in 1940. 

During the 1938 season Red Pollard fell during a race that injured him so severely he couldn't continue. The reins were handed to George Woolf, a Canadian jockey, who rode Seabiscuit in the legendary race with War Admiral. Ironically, less than a decade later George Woolf would also fall off a horse, this time during a race at Santa Anita. Unfortunately, he would die from his injuries a day later. 

Santa Anita Park.

We arrived at the parking lot of Santa Anita Park an hour before the first post time. I was super excited to show my kids what a day at the races was really like. 

The outside grounds were filled with manicured trees, beds of bright yellow flowers and a handful of life-size statues of both horse and human. I was pleasantly surprised to find a sculpture of George Woolf. 

Sitting in the grandstand.

Our $10 tickets allowed us sit wherever we pleased in the long grandstand. We chose seats as close to the finish line as possible, with a great view of the final stretch. 

The track had an old feel to it, perhaps from the 1960's. The seats were old, as well as the wagering windows. When I used the men's restroom I felt as if I had entered another era. Above a floor with bluish-green tiles sat a long line of toilet stalls. In another nook was a row of urinals—trough style. I had to get a picture. 

Grand view of the racetrack and San Gabriel Mountains.

Men's restroom at Santa Anita . . . a walk back in time.

The view from the grandstand was epic. Not only was the racetrack lovely with its evenly raked dirt, fully manicured turf and tall, skinny palm trees, but the San Gabriel Mountains in the background drew the eye. 

Before we knew it we were standing for the National Anthem and then the bugler sounded the horn. The horses with mounted jockeys entered the track and paraded themselves to the crowd before trotting toward the starting gate. There would be eight races today. 

For the first race we sat as a family in the grandstand and enjoyed the moment. The race was six furlongs and started at the far corner of the track. When the horses left the gate there was an excitement that filled the stands. People clapped and cheered. My wife and girls felt that excitement and without realizing were on the edge of their seats. The horses came down the final stretch, sprinting so fast that their galloping strides could be heard from the stands. I knew my family was hooked and would enjoy the rest of the day. 

I was surprised at how little I sat still. None of us could stay put. Our seats in the grandstand sat empty for most of the races. Why? We kept moving around. We watched from different locations, including up close near the track. 

My favorite place to go was down at the paddock between races. This is where the horses and jockeys come out to parade themselves before entering the arena. It was a chance to see the two up close. It was a place to see how sculpted and stout the horses were and how short, but strong the jockeys were. 

The Jockeys' Room.

Walking from the Jockeys' Room to the paddock.

3-time Kentucky Derby winner and Hall of Famer, John Velazquez.

The paddock is a great place to see horse and jockey close up. Tyler Baze atop Divine Feminine.

It was here, in the center of the paddock, that I noticed a life-sized statue of Seabiscuit. In front of the statue was a popular place for pictures, especially among family members of those who owned horses, or had an interest in the race that day. 

It was near here that I talked with one of the workers on the grounds. He wore gray scraggly hair with sunglasses that had a nose-cover. He told us that he often waked the grounds at night and that this place was definitely haunted. He said there were ghosts of both men and horses that wandered the grounds. Then he pointed to the statue of George Woolf and said there are times when the head will turn and look at him. 

The Seabiscuit statue is a popular place for photos.

Seabiscuit.

Does the ghost of George Woolf haunt Santa Anita?

Among the many questions from my kids had to do with the betting aspect of the sport. I had to explain win, place, show, exacta, trifecta and whatever other terms I could remember. I also explained how odds work. 

A couple of my daughters were already making verbal bets on which horse they thought would win, stating that they were betting on #3, or the green horse, for example. But Kaitlyn, who is twenty one, wanted to try the real thing. 

So twenty minutes before race #7, she and I went to the wagering window. (We decided that we would just use my cash and I would do the talking—but she would choose the horse!) I had never done this before either, so it was a learning experience for both of us. 

The sweet lady at the window made it easy. When I stated, “I would like to bet $5 to win on #7,” she responded: “That's all you're going to bet?”—I knew she was teasing and we both had a laugh. 

When the race began, Kaitlyn had a fun time cheering on her horse. But in the end, Funkenstein came in fifth place and we were out five bucks. 

We're almost on T.V.!

For the final race of the day I decided to just sit back and take no more pictures. I would just enjoy the race. It was another 6-furlong contest, but this time on turf. 

This final race was a maiden special. The gates opened and eight mares and fillies, all four-years old and upward sprinted around the track. While they were on the backstretch I appreciated the view of the distant animals with the majestic mountain behind them. As they came around the final bend and into full view I admired the strength of their bodies and the sheer speed at which they moved. I don't even know who won, but they all had won my respect. 

We left that day fully satisfied. I had spent many years dreaming of this day and it did not disappoint. I have a feeling that we will return again. If not here, then at some other track. ♠

On the back-stretch.

 

Racing the turf course.