Utah's Most Haunted Cemetery on Halloween?

It is quite scary how everything came together! 

I didn't mean it this way, but my original plan fell through just three days before I left so I replaced it with a drive through Skull Valley, ending at the abandoned mining town of Mercur. Many consider the Mercur cemetery to be the most haunted in Utah. It wasn't until the day before that I realized I would be there on Halloween.

Now, as I make my little drive, more “coincidences” fall into place. The first happens as I scan the channels above 69 on my car's Sirius XM station. To my delight—or to my horror—I learn that channel 107 is Scream Radio and plays nonstop haunted music and stories. Everything on this channel sounds creepy—nails scraping on glass, laughter of a child doll, the scream of a woman. The music they play sounds like it came from A Nightmare on Elm Street or The Exorcist. 

And to top it all off, due to falling behind in my schedule, I arrive at the parking lot of the Mercur Cemetery right at dusk. I can't really say it's a parking lot, but rather a small half-circle space off the side of the road at the bottom of a hollow surrounded on all sides by sage and rabbit brush. The small cemetery is located on a small hilltop to the south. 

The town of Mercur not only had three lives, cycling from boom to bust, but was also burned to the ground twice. It all began in 1869 when a prospector stumbled on placer gold in the gravel of a creek bed. Claims were filed and by 1870 a village was growing with all the hustle and bustle of a typical mining town. It reached its peak in 1873 when over $80,000 worth of gold was shipped out. But soon the rich ore began to fade and by 1880 the buildings were dismantled and taken away, and the town was dead.

Within a decade it was revived after a lone European prospector discovered cinnabar, the chief ore mineral of mercury. Gold was also found in the cinnabar. In addition to the new finds there was now new technology—cyanide. This chemical compound was used to more thoroughly extract the gold. Mercur flourished, and even though it burned down in 1896, it was quickly rebuilt and grew to a population of 6,000.

The town burned again in 1902 after a grease fire from a kitchen spewed flames that spread and consumed the entire lower town, which included every business. Again it was rebuilt and grew to a population of 12,000 people. But by 1913 the mines stopped making a profit, and by 1917 the town was again deserted. 

Merucur had one more life, which began in the 1930's. This one wasn't as lively as by now transportation improved so that no one had to live there. Instead, most commuted from Stockton or Tooele. Then, during World War Two, the government temporarily banned all gold mining, putting the final nail in the coffin. Since that time there has been virtually no trace of the old mining town of Mercur. That is, except the old cemetery. 

As I walk up the short but steep trail that leads to the burial ground I feel sorry for the pallbearers who once had to haul a wooden box on their shoulders. As I get closer I can discern the distinct scent of smoke. Is it coming from somewhere else, or somewhere near the cemetery? There are no other cars down by the road and I am confident I am the only one here. 

Upon cresting the hill I observe the tiny cemetery. White picket fences surround most of the graves. Most are the same size and clustered together. I notice that none of them have headstones and several are adorned with dolls or stuffed animals. 

And then, on the far side of the graves, I find the remnants of a smoldering fire. A faint wisp of smoke slowly lifts to the sky. No one else is here. The sight of the smoke emits an eerie feeling. I remember that the Mercur fire of 1902 claimed the lives of several people. Perhaps the two smoldering heaps have a connection. 

Mercur Cemetery has had many claims of paranormal activity. Especially at night there have been claims of phantasmal apparitions. An Italian miner has been said to chat with investigators through an electromagnetic field meter. Others have heard voices say, “You don't belong here.” Many guests of the cemetery suddenly experience a drain on their electronic devices. And then there's the young girl who likes it when visitors place dolls upon her grave. (How people know this, I am not sure.) 

Death years of those buried range from 1895 to 1912. The vast majority are children, anywhere from newborn to a few years old. Although many of the graves are protected by wooden slats, others are marked only by a ring of rocks. Many, I'm sure, are not marked at all and are completely lost to time.

One of the graves in particular stands out from the others. The fence around it is smaller than the others and nearly the entire inside is covered with dolls, stuffed animals and other toys for children. I'm quite confident that this is the young girl who likes it when people put dolls on her grave. 

But the dolls don't seem to invoke the same kind of loving response that one might normally associate with a cute baby toy. These dolls seem to be more sinister. Imagine them more like Chucky in the movie Child's Play or Megan in the more recent horror flick of the same name. These playthings appear to be stirring the dead or conjuring evil spirits. 

But I'm not here to get sucked into any superstitious claims. 

In addition to becoming acquainted with this old burial ground, I also have in mind to find the one grave that is marked. Although we have records of at least forty-six burials in the Mercur Cemetery, it is unclear as to who is buried where. That is with the exception of five-month old Annie Jones. 

Annie died in the cold of January, probably under circumstances that were less than ideal. Her mother was an immigrant from Scotland who sang in the choir and her father was superintendent of the Sacramento Mine. Annie was the second child of a family that would eventually have eight kids, the rest of them growing to adulthood. From what I read, Annie was the only person in the cemetery to have a grave-marker. 

The sun has set and the rosy glow of dusk has disappeared. I brought no flashlight nor phone, but I can still see with the faint light that is left in the sky. I go from grave to grave searching for any that have a headstone. I find nothing. I search beyond the obvious cluster of graves and find several rings of rocks and other odd configurations, but no headstone. 

Finally I decide to give up and return to the car. My guess is that Annie is the “young girl who likes it when visitors place dolls on her grave.” I decide that when I get to the car I will get my phone and look up pictures of her grave on the internet (if I have service), then it would be confirmed whether or not I already saw it.

I stride down the hill to the car. To my surprise my phone has service and instantly I can pull up photos of the grave of Annie Calderwood Jones. And again to my surprise, the images on my phone do not match anything I saw. There is only one thing to do . . . and that is to return to the cemetery!

It is now becoming dark and cold. I don a jacket and bring a flashlight with a bright beam. I also bring my phone. 

As I return to the cemetery, I notice the dying fire with embers now glowing red in the dark. I squat and hold my hands over the small source of heat. 

Then I find the grave with all the dolls and systematically compare it with the picture from my phone. The fence is very similar, but the stone is definitely not the same. They are both square, but Annie's has a faint etching that reads: “Beloved Daughter.” I look at other rocks on the ground and they don't match either. The website includes a picture of the grave in context to the other graves with fences around them. That for sure doesn't match. 

Then I return to every grave in the cemetery, and one by one shine my beam inside, and one by one I conclude that this is not the grave of Annie Jones. In fact, I go to every grave at least three times. There isn't a single grave I can line up in a way that matches any of the pictures. 

It is now quite dark and becoming late. I am still very far from my final destination. But this little problem is driving me nuts! How can I not find a specific grave when there are only about twenty to choose from??!! 

Not only do I search the main section of the cemetery, but also on the periphery, or in other words, out in the darkness of juniper trees that cover the hill. Now, if there is going to be a ghost or something else to scare me, this would be the place. As I roam the thought crosses my mind that I might get lost. I occasionally come across more rings of rocks which would indicate possible outlying graves. Who knows how many restless spirits are lurking here in the nethermost depths of darkness! 

Luckily I do not get lost or killed and return to the main cluster of graves. Although now I notice another beam of light making its way toward me from the bottom of the hill. More than likely this is someone coming to visit on Halloween. But what if it isn't? What if it is a psycho-man coming up to murder me? What if they are coming to cause trouble? Or, what if it is a ghost? 

Knowing that it is likely a kindly living human, I confidently meet the beam of light as it reaches the top of the hill. “Hello,” I say as I accost the couple. It appears to be a teenage boy and girl, both dressed in ridiculously silly Halloween costumes. “Do you two come up here often,” I ask, hoping they might know the location of Annie Jones' grave. 

It turns out the boy has been here a couple of times, but isn't sure about the grave. (I suspect that he comes up once a year, and always after dark.) The two are very nice and for the next five minutes they help me search the cemetery one last time. 

With no luck it is time for me to go for good. I thank them for their help and let them continue without my presence. My evening would have to end with the bitter taste of not getting everything I had hoped for. But still, it was a good experience. 

Once again I return to my vehicle at the bottom of the now pitch-black hill. I start the engine and appreciate the invention of seat-warmers. Scream Radio once again surrounds the empty space inside my car and the thought crosses my mind that this is the perfect music to listen to after visiting the scariest cemetery in Utah. 

And then another thought crosses my mind. 

There is no doubt that Annie Jones was buried in the Mercur Cemetery. There is no doubt that her grave at one time had been documented to exist in the exact place I had just searched. Perhaps (and I know that I am inching closer to the crazy people who claim to see ghosts and hear voices) the grave has vanished and is gone forever, just like the old mining town of Mercur! ♠ 

 

 

Thistle Landslide of 1983

I was ten years old in 1983. Two events that spring still stand out. First, I recall seeing video on the news of the “State Street River” in Salt Lake. This was an artificial river created by sand bags and other barricades that diverted overflowing snow melt coming from the Wasatch Mountains. Fall of 1982 brought heavy rains that saturated the ground, then winter saw a record amount of snow. When it warmed up in April and May, all that melting snow wreaked havoc and needed a place to go. 

The other event was related to the record precipitation. It was the Thistle landslide. I also remember watching that on the news, but I also had a more personal connection. My father, who at the time worked for the Utah Highway Patrol, was assigned to block traffic. 

All the Highway Patrol from that side of the state took turns as security guards at Sheep Creek, about eight miles east of Thistle. They worked 10-hour shifts for five straight days and spent nights at a hotel in Helper. Their purpose was to let nobody through. When it was slow Dad spent his time reading books and reloading bullets. He never did see the landslide. 

My father in his younger days.

At the time the Thistle disaster was the most costly landslide the nation had ever seen, costing over 200 million dollars. It marked the first ever Presidential disaster declaration in Utah. 

Thistle was a small town located 67 miles south of Salt Lake City. The first white settlers were Mormons, who arrived in 1848.  Later, when a railroad line came through connecting Salt Lake with Denver, more people moved in. 

At one time Thistle boasted a population of 300 people. During the era of steam locomotives, the servicing of trains was the town's primary industry. But with the invention of the diesel locomotive, railroads became more efficient and could travel greater distances between stops. As a result, work in the town of Thistle dwindled and all that remained were about a dozen families. 

Looking toward Soldier Creek and Thistle from the east.   Soldier Creek and Thistle Creek combine in Thistle to create the Spanish Fork River.

All was peaceful and quiet in Thistle until fifty years later when one event would change the place forever. 

During April of 1983, the land north of town began to noticeably move. Train tracks became disfigured and the highway started to buckle. Soon they had to close the highway and divert the railroad through Wyoming. 

The slide then buried the Spanish Fork River, which ran through the center of Thistle. Workers labored desperately to dig out the river so water could continue to flow, but soon it became a losing cause. Suddenly the water of the river began to dam up and create a reservoir atop the town of Thistle. The town was evacuated, and as you can imagine, a lot of homes and livelihoods became buried beneath the new lake. 

Finally, almost exactly forty years after the landslide, I made it to Thistle myself. Although I had passed by a few times on the highway in years past, this was my first time stopping and examining things for myself. Before going there, the details were nothing but a blur in my mind. 

I felt this spring was a fitting time to visit. Not only was it the forty-year anniversary of the landslide, but during the previous winter we had near record snowfall that resembled that of 1983 (although 1983 still outdid us!). 

It was strange to drive through “town” because it was as if some of the debris from the landslide had never been cleaned up. A berm of dried mud remained on the other side of the guardrail. Debris from dead trees littered the riverside. Pools of muddy water still gathered at the roadside. I had no idea why these pools still collected water. They were not near the river. One pool still had a wooden house three-quarters submerged. 

I saw two other ruined buildings. Both had graffiti, but neither had any apparent effort to clean them up. One of these ruins, I believe, were the remnants of the old schoolhouse, of which I had seen pictures. Fields were still used by ranchers as I witnessed loose horses roaming nearby. 

Remnants of the old schoolhouse.

Unknown building in ruins in Thistle, Utah.

Pool of water near the highway.

I drove back up to Highway 6 and north through a big cut in the hill. From what I understand, before the flood the highway was located at the bottom of the canyon near the river. After the flood they rebuilt it higher and made a big cut in the hill to facilitate it. 

I continued further and flipped around to a stop on the west side of the highway. From here I could look down into the canyon. There was still a definite demarcation of the slide. The shape and color of the slide area was different than the rest of the mountain. With imagination I could see it slowly oozing down the hill. Nowadays grass and a few trees grow atop the slide area. The surface of it was indeed massive and I could understand how nothing in its way could survive. 

View of Thistle Landslide from Highway 6 in 2023.

But I did have one nagging question: How is it that the river is still flowing? I saw the Spanish Fork River flowing freely on both the north and south sides of the slide, but the bulk of the landslide still completely blocked the canyon. 

My investigation brought me back to the main part of Thistle and onto a road near the shooting range, which at the time was being used by the local Sheriff's Office. I drove to the end of the road and parked on a section of dirt near the river. 

I followed the edge of the river and saw that it entered a tunnel, right into the rock face of the mountain. It appeared that they blasted a new diversion tunnel through the mountain that completely bypassed the landslide. Very interesting. It made sense if one considers the fact that most landslides continue to move, and if they were to drill a hole through the landslide part, any new movement would destroy their tunnel and once again the river would be damned. 

Spanish Fork River is diverted through a tunnel in the mountain.

I snapped a few pictures, but when I turned around a deputy sheriff had come to chat with me. Not surprisingly, I wasn't supposed to be there. He was nice and answered a few of my questions. 

I later studied the rise and fall of Thistle Lake, as it was called. Within fifty days of the blockage from the landslide, the level of the lake rose to 180 feet. The Spanish Fork River swelled with heavy spring runoff and it didn't take long before the small town became submerged. Residents had only a short time to grab whatever belongings they had and flee. Their homes would be destroyed. 

At some point during this time workers did what they could to drain the lake. Long pipes connected to a barge used centrifugal pumps that pushed 22,500 gallons a minute over the dam and into the river, but this was no match for the amount of water still coming in. 

During the first of June the level of the lake began to go down due to water now flowing out a high-level emergency spillway tunnel. Over the next 120 days the lake level dropped a mere twenty feet, but at least it wasn't rising anymore. Beginning October 1, the water began to drain through a low-level outlet tunnel. From that point the lake level dropped dramatically and in just 130 days the entire lake was drained. I assume this “low-level outlet tunnel” is the same one still used today. 

View from the north.  You can see part of the landslide, train tunnels, Spanish Fork River and high-level emergency spillway tunnel.

It must have been a terrifying time for many in the area. Imagine having your home and all your belongings suddenly buried and ruined beneath a lake. Imagine if you lived downstream and had to worry for an entire year about the possibility of the dam bursting, and in a moment having your home swept away. Imagine if you lived upstream in Carbon County and now your main route to the Wasatch Front was blocked. 

I spent more time driving around the former town of Thistle. It didn't take long. After all, it is a ghost town. Here and there I saw debris and an occasional pile of rubble. Most of the debris from the flood had been cleaned up years ago. 

Abandoned rubble.

The railroad had also been rerouted. The new design included a tunnel through Billie Mountain near the same location where the highway was rerouted. The railroad was vital as it was a major means of shipping coal from the mines in nearby Carbon County. 

The railroad tracks were my last stop. I walked along them for a moment, then got in my car and waited for a train to come. I didn't have to wait long. A diesel locomotive carrying a bevy of cars whizzed past like a fleet of racehorses. I watched and marveled, but took note that Thistle was no longer a stop on the railroad. But, of course, that ended many years before the flood. ♠ 

Railroad track east of Thistle. In the background you can see the cut in the mountain for the highway.

A diesel locomotive whizzes past carrying a bevy of cars.

Ghosts of Silver City

Like father, like daughter. 

My second-youngest child spends a lot of her time as I do—on Google Maps. For the last couple years she's been eying a location 173 miles from our home. She couldn't tell what it was exactly, but a spattering of rectangular foundations and solitary walls suggested a place that now sat in ruins. “Dad,” she asked, “some day can we go to Silver City?” 

I knew exactly where it was and had wanted to go there myself. I wanted to go for the historical aspect. Silver City was part of the Tintic Mining District and a satellite town of Eureka. Like so many mining towns in Utah, it was given birth, but eventually passed away, giving up the ghost.

We found a couple of days when we both could get away, combining our trip with another appointment. That morning as we left my brother's house in Springville a fresh blanket of snow covered the ground and treetops. We drove west on Highway 6 and over the Tintic Mounains through the still-living town of Eureka. 

Ruins of the old Tintic Smelter in Silver City, Utah.

The rise of the Tintic Mining District began near the future site of Silver City. In 1869 a cowboy found a chunk of silver while herding cattle. This caused a frenzy of interest and subsequently other ores were found, giving rise to several mines in the area. 

Coincidentally, it was also around this same time when the mining towns of Park City and Alta began to spring up. The two mining areas would become competitors. 

In Silver City a small town began to blossom. Although hard to imagine now, it consisted of restaurants, hotels, saloons, a gambling hall, blacksmith shops, livery stables and two railroad depots.

Jenna and I continued past Eureka, driving four miles south to a graveled road that joined to the east. Snow still covered the hills, but now the sun crept high enough in the sky that the tops of trees began to lose their white coat. 

This smelter was built in 1908 by "Uncle" Jesse Knight.

Not too far off the road stood the remains of Silver City. The most prominent structure was the old Tintic Smelter built by Jesse Knight in 1908. Just a few years earlier he came in to give a boost to the fledgling town. He bought up several mines and then decided to build the smelter to offset the high cost of freighting. 

On July 24, 1908 the town celebrated “Smelter Day,” along with their usual Pioneer Day activities. Thousands of people showed up and celebrated by eating lots of free food, watching a baseball game and enjoying excursion rides on the train. 

As it turned out, the cost of freight dropped and the smelter could not compete with the Salt Lake smelters. Knight would eventually dismantle and move it to Murray where it operated for several years.

Jenna and I braved the cold and walked around the many ruins. In addition to the smelter there were several foundations from other buildings, but we had no idea what they were. All that remained now were crumbled cement walls and a splashing of colorful graffiti. 

Old Tintic Smelter.

After exploring around the ruins of the smelter we returned to our warm vehicle and drove up the road into Dragon Canyon where we found more ruined foundations. These buildings could have been anything from stores to housing. At its peak in 1908, Silver City boasted a population of 1,500 residents. 

On the north side of the road was a wide hole in the ground with concrete siding that appeared to be a holding tank at one time. On the far side against the hillside were piles of yellow tailings. Further up the road stood an old wooden shack. Beyond here it is private property, I believe owned by a modern mining company. 

Remains of what appear to be a holding tank.  Talings in the background.

Old wooden building up Dragon Canyon.

Who knew what else there was to explore. I was sure that we were just scratching the surface. We turned around and headed back toward the highway. There was one last place I wanted to visit. 

Roughly a mile south of the main ruins sits the Silver City Cemetery. To get there you can either stay on a dirt road or return to the highway and then turn off onto a shorter dirt road. We chose the latter, but still almost got bogged down in a quagmire of mud. By now the snow was melting fast. 

The cemetery is about what you'd expect from a ghost town. A chain-link fence surrounds it, but there is no landscaping and certainly no grass. Some of the individual graves have small fences while a more expansive fence surrounds some of the family plots. I could tell that the cemetery had been maintained from time to time. 

Silver City Cemetery.

According to my research there are roughly 68 graves in the cemetery, most of them with headstones. Death dates range from 1881 to 1937, with a few outliers of modern-day burials. 

There is very little information on several of the burials. Henry J. Smith, for example, died in 1890 at the age of fifteen. There are no other Smith's in the cemetery and I cannot find any record of family. His headstone is broken in half, the top part now leaning against the bottom half. I wonder if there's any distant family member that knows he is buried here?

Headstone for Henry J. Smith. Detail of handclasp and veil suggest he was of the Mormon faith.

I saw many headstones for the Haws family. Most of them died in infancy⸺ six to be exact. All of them were children of Annie and George Haws. The 1900 census shows the family living in Silver City and George working in a quartz mine. By 1910 they were living in the nearby town of Mammoth and George Jr. had now joined his father working in gold and silver mines. A daughter, Luella, worked as an assistant cook at a boarding house. 

In addition to losing nine of their fifteen children during infancy, Annie and George were well acquainted with other tragedy. Their son, Gilbert, had his foot amputated after having it badly injured in a mining accident. Then in 1918 he died from influenza pneumonia. Another son, Leon, was killed that same year in France while deployed to fight in World War I. 

Infant son of George and Annie Haws.

Another person who caught my attention was Marion Elliot Tinder. He died at age 41 and left behind a wife and three kids. It appears his entire life was spent in small mining towns in Utah. He was born in Ophir, thirty miles to the north, a town named after the biblical Ophir where King Soloman brought gold back to Israel. But what really captivated me was the picture I found of him. He looks smooth-faced in the picture and very innocent, especially for someone growing up in a mining town. I thought it sad he died so young. 

Grave of Marion Elliot Tinder.

Marion Elliot Tinder.

On the west side of the cemetery there is a family plot surrounded by a picket fence with peeling white paint. This belongs to the Poynter family and as I researched who they were it became apparent that they revolved around the matriarch of the family, Alice Caunt Poynter. 

Alice was born in England, but immigrated to Utah when her parents joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. While still a teenager Alice chose to marry a “Gentile,” a name given to those outside the church. What makes this Gentile fascinating to me is that he was a member of Johnston's Army, the group that marched to Salt Lake to squash the “Mormon Rebellion.” Alice and Charles Green had two daughters, Elizabeth Ann and Sarah Jane. While the girls were still young, Charles deserted them, leaving Alice a single mother. 

Alice Caunt Poynter.

Shortly after that Alice married William Baxter. Records show that they operated a boarding house in Eureka. They had a son together, but unfortunately this marriage didn't last either. William was shot in a card game in a mining town northeast of Eureka. The man who shot him was charged for murder and killed by firing squad at the Provo jail. It was the first execution in Utah County. 

At last Alice would find a loving and lasting spouse when she married Charles Poynter, a fellow Brit who was trying to make ends meet in a mining town. There are no records of them living in Silver City, but rather in the “foothills of Eureka.” Together they had a daughter, Myrtle. 

Charles Poynter (driver) in the Eureka Hills.

Charles was a good provider for the family and owned a butcher shop. They belonged to the Episcopalian Church in Eureka. 

Alice worked hard to make a comfortable home. She would sing as she performed her household duties. Alice was an excellent cook and skilled seamstress. Myrtle remembers that she made her dresses by hand.

One of the stories told of Charles Poynter took place in the Gibbln's Saloon in Eureka. As the story goes, Josiah Williams walked in with his boy and ordered a whiskey. Subsequently his boy also ordered a whiskey, but the bartender refused it because . . . well, he was just a boy. Poynter, who was also sitting at the bar, made a remark that the bartender made the right decision. 

Williams didn't like that. He shot back that his boy had “just as much right as any son of a bitch in the saloon” if he paid for it. Then the boy joined in and called Poynter a “gray-haired son of a bitch.” At this, Poynter slapped the father in the face, and the father and son left the saloon. 

Sometime later, when Poynter left the saloon, Williams came toward him and gave him a blow to the left side. At first he thought it was just a fist, but then felt a trickle of blood and learned that Josiah Williams had stabbed him with a knife. Poynter survived the ordeal and the incident went to trial, and I'm sure that Williams went to jail. 

Communal plot of the Poynter family.

Funeral of Charles Poynter in 1909.

Alice Poynter died in 1893 at the young age of 52. Charles lived another sixteen years, but spent the last nine as an invalid. Although they lived in Eureka, they are buried in Silver City. Along with other family members they are buried in a family plot surrounded by a picket fence with white peeling paint. 

Next to the Poynter plot is a smaller plot with a chain-link fence. It belongs to Alice's daughter, Elizabeth, from her first marriage. Elizabeth's headstone was broken in half, but someone had carefully fastened it back into place. The inscription tells a brief, but sad story: 

In Memory of
Elizabeth A.,
wife of Wm W.
Mathews.
Born April 10, 1864.
Died July 10, 1889.

Aged 25 yrs 3 mo. 

Also

her infant daughter 

Died July 20, 1889. 

Aged 18 days. 

Headstone of Elizabeth Green Matthews.

It was time for Jenna and I to head out. Silver City was now more than just a pattern of rectangles and lines on Google Maps. It was a place that had come to life with real people who had real stories. 

As we returned to the highway I noted that we didn't pass too many vehicles. This corner of the state didn't get a lot of visitors. This pleased me. As we passed a field with irrigation sprinklers we spotted a coyote plodding through the snow, and then above him a hawk whizzed past. ♠ 

 

Coyote in a field just south of Silver City.

 

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.