Scofield Mine Disaster of 1900

John Lloyd came from Pembrokeshire, Wales. A biographer described him as “Tall, with dark eyes and dark hair. He carried himself erect.” Around 1882 he married Harriet Price of South Brecon, Wales. They migrated to America where they first settled in Colorado, but the climate and altitude was not suitable for Harriet. They heard of a booming mining town in Utah from Harriet's brother, who was living there. With this information, John moved his family to Scofield, not knowing it would bring his own demise. 

John came to Scofield first and moved into a log cabin while his wife stayed in Colorado. Once she arrived, he built her a comfortable home with all the amenities of the day. He was employed at the Winter Quarters mine, just a mile and half west of town. He bought grazing land, probably intending to go into the livestock business. He was involved in civic affairs and was affiliated with the Methodist Church. He read from the Bible extensively. 

Remains of the old Wasatch Store in Scofield Utah.

On May 1, 1900, shortly after 10 A.M., a loud boom rolled across the valley at Scofield. At first some thought it was a salute for Dewey Day, which commemorated the defeat of the Spanish at Manila in 1898. But when they saw the dark billowing clouds pouring from the hills in the west, they knew the situation was much more dire. 

Nobody could say for sure exactly what happened, but it was suspected that a flame from a miner's carbide lamp sparked the explosion by setting fire to the coal dust in the air. A chain reaction ensued, igniting a powder keg and sending a fireball through the tunnels at Winter Quarters Number Four mine. 

The mine's owners, the Pleasant Valley Coal Company, contracted with the Navy to produce two thousand tons of coal a day. The mine had just been inspected and deemed safe, which may have given the men a false sense of security. It was now the first of the month and several hundred miners worked hard to make the order. Each had carried a twenty five pound bag of black powder on their shoulder into the mine. 

Now inside the mine rescue workers found debris, smoke and dead horses. They worked on getting air inside the tunnels, then put the mangled bodies inside coal cars to haul them out. The clerk at the Wasatch Store had the responsibility of identifying and tagging each body that came through. 

Wasatch Store as it appeared in 1900.

The official number of fatalities on that dreadful day was set at 200 souls, but the true number was much higher. On a single day there were 107 new widows and 268 orphans. Among the widows was Harriet Price Lloyd. John was only forty-two. His five children suddenly became fatherless. 

Scofield has long been on my list of places to visit. Although I have lived in Utah almost all my life, the small town of Scofield was hidden in the mountains and not really on the way to any other destination. Consequently, I have never been there. This year, however, I made an effort to visit. 

I didn't know how things would go, but one of my primary goals was to see the ruins of Winter Quarters. Plans did not go as expected. Everything, it seemed, was gated off as Private Property. To make matters worse, I had no cell reception in the entire town. This prevented me from using Google Maps to find the correct road. My entire plan was becoming foiled! 

I had to find a place to sleep so I drove several miles south of town, past Clear Creek and onto a dirt road where I finally found a location to park and sleep in the back of my vehicle. The full moon silhouetted pine trees that grew on the steep slopes of the canyon. I pondered the mine disaster of 1900 and wondered what it was like to live back then. 

One of the many abandoned houses in Scofield.

By morning I had regrouped and was determined again to find the Winter Quarters Mine. On the south end of town I found a road that looked like it could be the one, but it was gated off. The sign on the gate did not say, “No Trespassing,” but asked only to close the gate. Perhaps it was just a gate to manage cattle. I decided to give it a try. As I opened the gate, I was met by a lady on a four-wheeler who said it was private property and she owned it. I quickly learned that luck was on my side. She explained that yes, Winter Quarters was on her property. But, no, they usually didn't let anyone on with the exception of the historical society once a year. She was kind enough to let me past, as long as I didn't leave the main road. She would be my shadow, keeping about fifty yards behind on her four-wheeler. I couldn't complain. 

This is all that remains of the Wasatch Store.

Wasatch Store.  Walls about to fall down.

The most prominent building on the premises were the ruins of the old Wasatch Store. I don't even know how this structure is still standing. It appeared to be four stories tall, with only two walls remaining. It seemed to me that it would just take one strong wind storm to topple these walls to the ground. 

This is the same store that employed the clerk who had to identify the bodies after the mine explosion. From what the lady told me, the miners got paid in tokens, which were redeemable at the store. Therefore, every employee had to come to the store frequently. The clerk knew everyone. 

She also told me that the building was used for multiple purposes in addition to a store. If I'm not mistaken, the third level was used as a library. 

I ambled around the building, amazed at how it hadn't already toppled. The bottom floor was mostly underground as a basement, while the top story would be like an attic with a sloped ceiling. A handful of windows were still intact. 

Foundation of the old school house.

This equipment building was built after the mine disaster.

Across the road from the store were the foundations of several houses. The lady told me that they go all the way up the canyon. At the time of the disaster, several people lived at Winter Quarters. I explored around the foundations, but didn't dare take too much time or wander too far off the road. She was still watching. 

Further down the road were the ruins of the school house. Beyond that was an old equipment building, which was built after the disaster. [After returning home, I looked on Google Maps and found that old foundations lie along the road much further than I was able to explore.] 

Winter Quarters Mine Number Four was located somewhere on this steep slope to the left.

A healthy stream ran down the valley, but I could barely see it due to the overgrowth of thickets. Next to the stream was a steep slope forested with trees. The Number Four Mine was located somewhere up there. I wasn't allowed to go there. She said it had about 120 years of growth and was a steep half-mile hike up the hillside. 

The foundations of the old school building were as far as I was allowed to go. She watched me like a hawk. She said there were liability issues. I suppose there could be plenty of dangerous surprises in an old mining town. But I was very grateful that she let me on the property at all. My brief visit was one not accomplished by many. I waved goodbye and drove off the premises. 

As for the rest of Scofield, it was a busy town for being so small. It seemed everyone rode a side by side or four-wheeler. I was hesitant to get pictures because so many people were out and about. They sat on their lawn chairs, just passing time. 

Almost everything on the sides of the road was blocked off as private property. North of town is a large reservoir that didn't exist in 1900. It was buzzing with life that day. I suppose that nowadays it is likely the life-blood of the town. 

Scofield, Utah Cemetery. Many of the miners killed in the disaster are marked with wooden headstones.

On the east side of town on a hill is the cemetery. I looked forward to finding something tangible to bring this tragedy to life. The graveyard overlooks the small town. Far to the north you can see Scofield Reservoir. 

I found a newspaper clipping written shortly after the mine disaster: “Out in the cemetery, which is as bleak and barren a spot in which human beings were ever interred, an army of men are digging. Progress is slow, on account of the hard and rocky earth. One grave has been dug large enough to hold two—father and son. Those who have relatives in the cemetery, or who own lots there are to be given a burial on their own ground; but the large majority will find resting places in rows in the southwest portion of the cemetery.” 

The clipping also mentioned that “. . . out in front of almost every home or inside the door usually left ajar, there might be seen a coffin, watched by members of the family, awaiting the time tomorrow when the dead bodies shall be given back to the earth.” 

At the Wasatch Store there were 170 suits for the deceased. Scofield was not the only place preparing for funerals. Many of the men came from other towns. It was said that one train carried those that were north of Springville, while another carried those that were south and east. Among the towns receiving deceased were Elsinore, Vermillion, Spanish Fork, Springville, Provo, American Fork, Salt Lake, Grand Junction, Ogden, Coalville, Helper and Price. 

Grave of Thomas Henry Riley.

One of the notable funerals was that of the Thomas family. They lost four, which included two brothers, and the two sons of one of the brothers. The two elder siblings were placed in one grave, while the two younger ones were placed in another. Apostle George Teasdale offered a short prayer and dedicated the ground. In his prayer he referred to the disaster, stating that it taught them all of the uncertainty of life, and the necessity of always being prepared for death. 

As I walked around the cemetery, I certainly felt that I walked on holy ground. Even though I had anticipated this, I couldn't get out of my mind how many markers there were with the same death date: May 1, 1900. 

A. Bintala was one of many miners from Finland.

Most of those killed in the disaster had a wooden marker, surely made in more recent times. I suppose that many had little or no family, and their graves were marked with crude crosses that have since deteriorated away. 

One of those with a wooden marker was A. Bintala, born in Finland. From my research, almost nothing is known about this man, but he belongs to an ethnic group that had a large representation in the mine disaster. At least sixty one Fins lost their lives at Scofield. As the newspaper clipping puts it, “The Fins are a peculiar people in more ways than one.” A minister from “their country” came from Rock Springs, Wyoming to assist in the matter. 

Robert and Llewellyn Williams, father and son.

I came across the graves of Robert Williams and his son, Llewellyn. They both died on May 1, 1900. Robert was born in Wales, but beyond that, almost nothing is known about them. Research shows that Robert was married and had seven children, but no one seems to know where his family went after he died. 

I couldn't help but to think of the families that were torn apart on this catastrophic day. Countless women became widows and children became fatherless. All had to move on without the breadwinner to support them. Most, I'm sure, moved away from Scofield, never to return to the tiny mountain town. 

So, what happened to the family of John Lloyd, the man from Pembrokeshire, Wales? 

I also came across his headstone. It was not wooden, but a modern marker made of stone. That tells me that his decedents have not forgotten him. An inscription reads: “Dear wife and children do not weep, I am not dead, but gone to sleep. I have only gone one short step before, to welcome you on Zion's shore.” 

Oftentimes I wonder what happened to the widows of the Scofield Mine Disaster. When her husband was killed, Harriet Price Lloyd was left with five children to raise on her own. Other than her brother, the rest of her family was in Wales. It must have been a difficult and lonely time. 

Grave of John X. Lloyd.

About a year later Harriet married a man by the name of Asa Wilson, a father of nine children whose wife had died. Asa was a member of the L.D.S. Church, which brought a new element to the life to Harriet, who was a non-Mormon. 

Harriet and Asa had four kids together. Unfortunately, this marriage didn't work out. After the divorce, the L.D.S. Relief Society was very kind and helpful to Harriet, making a big impression with her. After much study she decided to join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. She was 50 years old when she was baptized. From then on she was a faithful member of the church. 

Her biography states the following about Harriet: “In Scofield she was known for her unselfishness and willingness to help others. She was always doing something for someone else—helping the sick, the needy, helping with burials, even helping the doctor deliver babies. She assisted the doctor in delivering many, many new babies—and many times the doctor wasn't there—so Grandma Lloyd would deliver the babies herself. When people became ill or there was a death, “Grandma Lloyd” would always be summoned. She also took in borders, mostly school teachers.” 

In her old age she moved to Salt Lake to live with her daughter, Margaret. The very last part of her life she moved into a nursing home. It was there that she passed away, forty five years after her husband. They brought her body back to Scofield to the cemetery on the hill where she was buried in a plot near her husband. ♠

 

John and Harriet Lloyd.

 

Outlaws, Greeks and Bartenders in a Utah Cemetery

The Price City Cemetery is perhaps the most ethnically diverse burial ground in Utah. Along with early Mormon settlers are immigrants from Greece, Italy, Japan, Austria, and many other places. Sprinkle in some cowboys and a Masonic section, and you have a ripe combination for a fascinating graveyard.

The first settler, Caleb Rhoades, came to Price in 1877, where he built himself a cabin. He later brought his family and soon others followed, many from Utah County.

The railroad would be completed just a few years later, drastically changing the character of the town. Coal mines opened up and thousands of immigrants poured into the valley. Most of the new citizens were non-Mormon, making Price a unique town in Utah, one that is still noted today in its demographic and political makeup.

A walk through the cemetery clearly displays this cultural peculiarity. Large sections of headstones display writing in Greek, Japanese, or Italian. Many grave markers make use of the cross or the Virgin Mary (both which are not used in typical Mormon symbolism). Also, especially in the Greek section, there are several mausoleums, even one containing four different people. This is also a feature not common in Utah.

A quick perusal of the cemetery database shows men and women born in places from all around the world: Yugoslavia, Spain, Austria, New Zealand, Denmark, Scotland. Within the United States I found people from Oklahoma, Arkansas, South Dakota, Alabama, Oklahoma, Massachusetts, and probably about every state in the Union. Occasionally I found Nauvoo, Illinois, or Winter Quarters, Nebraska, which is a tale-tale sign of a Mormon pioneer. All of these people brought their religion and customs, creating quite the ingredient list for a hodge-podge soup.

Perhaps the most notorious person buried in the Price Cemetery is outlaw, Matt Warner, best know for his alliance with Butch Cassidy. Born in 1864 in Ephraim, Utah as Willard Erastus Christiansen, he was raised in a typical Mormon family. While living on a farm they ran cattle and had a neighboring existence with the Indians.

At age thirteen, while living further north in Levan, Willard got into a fight with the town bully over a girl. After beating the daylights out of the boy and thinking he was dead, Willard saddled up in the middle of the night, said goodbye to his parents, and fled in the veil of darkness through canyons, over a cattle trail, across the Indian inhabited Strawberry Valley, and into Wyoming.

Young Willard Christiansen then took on many aliases, one of them being Matt Warner. He began a career in cattle rustling, bank robbing, and train heisting, and eventually met up with the likes of Butch Cassidy, Elza Lay, and Tom McCarty.

Matt Warner first met Butch Cassidy (then known as Roy Parker) at a saloon in Telluride, Colorado. Of Butch he said: “. . . I noticed a neat-dressed cowboy hanging around the bar like he wanted to talk to me. I liked his looks and sidled over to him, and we began to buy drinks for each other.”

Matt had brought to town a race horse that he hoped to race against the fastest horse in Telluride. When Roy Parker told him he would lose, Matt bristled up and said, “The hell you say. How much you got to bet on that?” Roy didn't have much, but would bet everything he had.

When race day came and the victor proclaimed, Roy Parker handed over his chaps, gun, spurs, and saddle to Matt Warner.

The two men partnered up and went to horse races all over southwestern Colorado, winning lots of money, and spending nearly everything they won. Eventually, they couldn't get their horse paired up for another race, leaving them in need of cash. That's when they conjured up the idea of a little bank robbery in Telluride.

Seven years later in 1896, a gunfight left two men dead and Matt Warner in prison. After serving a four year sentence, Matt decided to turn his life around and begin a new life within the law. He moved to Carbon County where he lived a respectable life and was eventually voted in as Justice of the Peace. 

Matt Warner died in 1938 and was buried in Price.  His headstone is modest and says nothing of his notorious life as an outlaw.  Instead, their is a simple drawing of a horse, an animal that Matt loved his whole life.

The Castle Gate Mine disaster was one of the most tragic events in all of Utah. On March 8, 1924, three separate explosions burst through the quiet morning air, coming from mine no. 2. The blast was so big that it ripped the steel entrance door of the mine off its hinges and hurled it across the canyon and into the mountain side.

A total of 172 men died that day, including one rescuer.

Fifty of the miners were Greek and because there was not enough room in the (Greek Orthodox) Assumption Church, funeral services were held in a public hall. The Salt Lake Tribune reported on March 13, 1924: “The caskets were laid side by side across the center of the floor, and were completely covered with floral offerings evidencing the deep sympathy felt for the bereaved.”

The church bought burial plots for the deceased miners, but the responsibility of grave markers was put on the families, and not all could afford them. Twenty-nine of the miners never received a headstone.

In 2005—eighty-one years after the disaster—a memorial was finally erected for the fallen miners. Money was raised after a conscientious citizen, Andrew Hillas, discovered the social injustice and decided to take matters into his own hands. The memorial is located in the Greek section of the cemetery.

For me, the Price Cemetery is a special place because I have many family members buried there, including two sets of great grandparents. They, like many of the citizens of Carbon County, came from other parts of the country. Hailing from Kansas, Earl and Garnette Lacy spent a few years in Palisade, Colorado before moving to Wellington (just six miles south of Price) where Earl worked in the Columbia Coal Mine.

Earl was a former professional wrestler in the Mid-west, making the circuit at carnivals and once wrestling for the light heavyweight championship of the world. He had slickly combed blonde hair, and the physique of a body builder. Although very kind and lovable, he rightfully had the reputation of a tough man.

Garnette was the solid partner in the relationship. She was smart and knew how to manage money. Patience and hard work made her a good mother to their four children.

The family lived on a farm for a while, then moved into town in 1949 where they ran a tavern. The bar had tables and a dance floor. In a back room, their son, Claude, would deal poker at an oak table that they had cut in half. They also had a punch board where people could pay to push out a piece of paper from the back of the board and possibly win a prize. All the gambling was in the back room.

As could be expected at a place with lots of drinking, there were plenty of fights at Lacy's Tavern. My favorite story is one that shows the “charitable” side of my great grandpa Earl.

Orval Rich frequented the bar, never drinking a lot, but tending to nurse a drink for a long time. He liked to play the punch board and visit with people. Orval had no legs, having lost them both in a mining accident. One day, a large, husky man came into the bar on the fight and started harassing Orval. Earl was tending bar and told him to leave him alone. Then, the rabble-rousing man pushed Orval off the stool.

Earl was out from behind the bar like a bullet! Within seconds, a no-holds barred fist fight was in full swing.

Earl's young daughter, Alice, watched the fight in horror, knowing that her dad was in his fifties, and that this man was much younger and much bigger than her father. She ran to their adjacent apartment where she found her mother mending a pair of pants.

“Mom,” she yelled in a panic, “Dad's in a fight with a great big guy!”

Garnette seemed unconcerned and continued her task. “Your father can take care of himself.”

“He's going to get killed, Mom!”

“Your father can take care of himself.”

When Alice returned to the bar, she found her brothers, Claude and Earl Jr., watching the fight with arms folded. I think all these people knew a little more about Earl Lacy than did young Alice.

Earl was having to swing upward because the guy was so much taller than him. Somehow they tripped, and the guy ended up in Earl's lap, where Earl continued to pummel him. Claude and Earl Jr. eventually pulled Earl off because they were worried that their dad would really hurt the guy. When they did, the man who chose to pick on Orval Rich couldn't see out of his right eye.

When they pulled him off, he kept saying, “I need to talk to that guy (referring to Earl).”

Claude told him, “You don't want to talk to him. He's the wrong guy for you to talk to.”

The Lacy's had other ventures in the area, including a sawmill that they owned near Schofield. Earl was also the town Marshall in Hiawatha, and then in Wellington.

Hard times eventually drove them from Carbon County, first to Wendover, Nevada, and then to Dugway Proving Grounds, a military facility, where Garnette had found a small job. Earl was at the age when he could soon start drawing social security. After getting all the paper work squared away, he was excited about getting his first check.

After supper one evening, Earl said he was feeling bloated and was going on a walk. He never returned. Garnette went out to look for him, and after getting help from the landlord, they found Earl in the camp trailer, fallen back from the edge of the bed, dead of a heart attack.

His first social security check came within a week. They had to send it back.

Earl's body was returned to Carbon County, to the place they called their home. He was buried in the Price City Cemetery, where he would be joined nineteen years later by his beautiful wife. ♠

A private mausoleum in the Price City Cemetery.

A headstone in the Masonic Section.

The use of crosses and other Catholic symbolism is less common in Utah. 

Headstone with Greek letters.

Sources

Barker, Alice Lacy. Interview by John Lacy, March 30, 2009.

Gorrell, Mike. "Greek miners get their due 81 years after their deaths." The Salt Lake Tribune 6 March 2005.

Warner, Matt, updated by Joyce Warner, and Steve Lacy. Last of the Bandit Riders...Revisited. Salt Lake City, Utah: Big Moon Traders, 2000.