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July 2010 – Coal Camps – 3

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While some may believe that history is an exact fi eld of study, time and time again we as readers of history and the progression of human kind fi nd that what we once thought was the truth about history is altered by some massive discovery, with compelling evidence behind it. Long after their time, we learn things about historical fi gures that no one ever really knew. But these discoveries not only take place about individuals, but also about communities and social networks. It would seem history is factual, as factual as any discipline can be, particularly in modern times. But as much as we can say that Carbon and Emery counties’ existence are a fact, a place populated presently by about 30,000 people of diverse backgrounds, how those individuals as they lead their lives see this place we call home varies greatly. In this special newspaper publication, we are publishing the second annual edition about the history of the area’s energy legacy, told largely by those who have lived through it. For those reading it, that lived through those same times, they may have a different viewpoint on how things either transpired or concluded. It is common for those that observe a situation to fi nd it has different meaning, even different facts for each of them. What we have attempted to do here is to tell only part of the history of the energy history of our counties, one person at a time, one story at a time. General facts may be included with the stories as an introduction or in the way of explanation, but many of these stories are people’s individual tales, a little part of the history of our area. History is the accumulation of many stories, not one more important than another, all adding to the richness and culture of the area.Richard ShawPublisher July 2010

Reflecting on mining camps and people

Two boys peer into an old well at the site of Coal City. Photo Richard Shaw

4 – Coal Camps – July 2010

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George Farish remembered it being just like any other day in Spring Canyon. Little did he or anyone in the area know that it was going to be a day not soon forgotten. Farish, presently a resident of Helper, was born in Spring Canyon on May 16, 1932 and remembers with great clarity the day of the Spring Canyon flood of 1943. He and his friends were playing around with some six foot tall stilts down in a wash when clouds began to cover the sky above them. A drop of rain here and a drop there, Farish noticed the drops started to see a “little trickle” of water come near him and his friends. Then the rain started to come down and pretty soon it was pouring rain, Farish said. Farish and his friends did the best they could to reach ground above the wash and find some cover from the downpour. Looking for a way to escape the rain, the boys found a cardboard refrigerator box to build a makeshift tent for everyone to hide under. While the box was thick, the rain was coming down so hard it started to beat through the cardboard and Farish started thinking of other places to escape from the rain. “The rain was coming down so hard that I couldn’t see my hand when I stuck it outside of the box,” Farish said. With the box displaying the beat-ing from the rain, Farish and his friends

Spring CanyonSpring Canyon 1940s flood hard to take

escaped to a nearby home where they found some cover. The rain finally stopped but he and his friends were not prepared for what was to happen next. “We got to the house and then bam, the rain just stopped,” Farish said. “And then we heard the flood coming.” Water had started to come down from Magazine Canyon and Greektown, including near the water by the swim-ming pool created for the children that the community used. Soon the water started going over the wash and was so

high that it was going just below the swinging bridge that was located there, Farish said. In Spring Canyon, water was so deep that it was hitting and splashing over the top of the trestle and was also hitting the door of a boarding house, flooding the first floor of the building. The flood was washing everything out in its path in-cluding cars, pieces of concrete, chicken coops, yards and rock walls, Farish said. “When the flood subsided, people went looking for their cars. They would

The damage to Spring Glen and many people’s property from the late summer flood of 1943 was quite extensive.

find a motor here and other parts of the car laying around,” he stated. Farish and his friends had a bird’s eye view of the flood from 30 yards up a hill at a house owned by the Jewkes fam-ily. The flood raised “havoc” as it even reached a part of Helper, he said. “It was quite a spectacular flood and I have never seen anything like that since then,” he said. At a young age, Farish and his friends didn’t think too much of the

(Continued on page 10)

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The Vuksinick family poses for a photo in front of the boarding house they ran in Royal. Pictured are Rudy Sr., Ann, Elsie and Rudy Jr. along with the family dog.

A RRoyal timeBy RUDY VUKSINICK Royal was the last town going North on Highway 6 in Carbon County. The Price water treatment plant is located there now and covers what would be the lower part of the town. The upper part of town was over the present highway and up the canyon. Between the highway and tracks was the middle part of town. Royal had about 200 people and had over 100 miners at its peak during World War II. At this time, many miners came from surrounding towns, but before the preparation for war, miners had to live in town or stay at the boarding house. During these earlier times the mine in the summer time only worked from one to three days a week. Actually in the early times things were really tough. My father’s brother got a job at Royal and tried to stay with us and he was forced to stay at the boarding house. During the sum-mer he had to quit because he could not afford to stay at the boarding house. My sister Elsie and I were born in Royal and I was 14 when we moved to Spring Glen. When I was born the town was Rollapp and then the name was changed to Royal. The town had a post office, school, company store, a small beer parlor, a small hospital, two boarding houses (one in lower town and one that was a Japanese boarding house in upper town and was the last building in the canyon). There was a gas pump at the company store. The town had everything the people needed. Our medical care was by Dr. Merrill, who came to Royal two or three days a week, but was on call for three mines: Spring Canyon, Standard, and Royal. In the mines cuts and broken bones were quite common because so much work was by manual labor. The mine had many things for the production of coal. On the upper part of town was a black-smith shop to repair mine cars, sharpen tools, shoe the horses, and do anything that needed repair. They had a bathhouse for the miners only; everyone else used a tub in their kitchen with water heated on the stove. The lamp house was there to change all the miners’ lights and keep track by copper tags with a number stamped for each miner who was in the mine. These tags were used for anything for the miners, even on their lunch box if he worked overtime and needed a lunch inside the mine. The hoist house had a huge cable reel that pulled cars of coal out and sent empty ones back down. The cable was marked for anywhere the opertator was sending the empties so he knew where to stop and by signals from a buzzer those


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A RRoyal time:below let him know from inside the mine to move a little, when to pull out or stop completely. Being a “zippers,” as they called the man who put the pin in the cars to hook them together as they came from different places pulled by horses, was always a dangerous job. Many men lost fingers or were hurt because of being between the coal cars. When the hoist pulled the cars out of the mine it then sent them down the tram to the tipple. In this narrow canyon the cars rumbled from upper town down the back of houses over a trestle on the highway to reach the tipple in the middle of town. When the mine was slow the noise was not too bad, but when it was busy the mine worked most ev-ery day of the week and had double shifts, so you can bet in the row of houses the trip went by it was hard to sleep and so different houses in town were always filled first. Whenever a miner or a miner’s family moved to a house in town the company always gave them calci-mine to paint the inside after it was fumigated. There was also often a reminder note on the door of houses telling how dangerous it was to live there before it was cleared by com-pany officials. When the coal got to the tipple

The coal tipple in the middle of Royal.

(Continued from page 5) in the middle of town the cars were separated by removing the pin and the car rotated to dump the coal and the coal was crushed. But in ear-lier times it was not used too much because lump coal was in demand. The coal went though shakers that had different size holes moving back and forth to get whatever size lump was needed. The tipple made a lot of dust and the women in town always waited till the mine was idle to do wash. Consequently on any day the mine was idle all the clothes lines were full. At the tipple railroad cars were filled with coal. The cars were brought up by a steam switch engine and put on a siding. Then as needed, the men would release them one or two at a time and they coasted under the tipple to be loaded. Sometimes if the car dropped a little too far they had a cable pull it back. When they hooked the cable to the car it would snap up off the ground and most of the time they had someone out on the road to tell people to stay away. Also at the tipple trucks came to haul coal to surrounding counties. As they pulled out of town it was a steep grade to start with and we used to catch onto the back of the trucks and ride up quite a ways before they could pick up speed. Later, as the de-mand got heavier they loaded trucks

until late in the day. If you ever stop where Royal was and see this small canyon, in your imagination you can see the mine cars coming down the canyon close to the mountain. Cars and trucks traveling down the highway both directions, switch engines bringing in empties and pulling out full railroad cars. Trucks in line to get coal, big 3800 steam engines chugging up the main line and helper engines return-ing back to Helper coming down the main line. This little town, because of the small canyon, was a very busy place. So I must tell you how the children lived around all this action. There was not much level ground for us to play ball right in town but on the north side of Castle Rock there was an area big enough for us to play and for us to get there we crossed the river on a pipe line that supplied water to Castle Gate.

This pipe line was covered with boards and was not very wide. It had cables anchored on each bank. Then it went over supports and picked up the pipe line in the center to support it. As you crossed the pipe you could only hold on to the cable a short time. When you reached the middle of the line directly over the it river looked a lot farther down than the 18 or 20 feet that it was. The younger children and most of the new kids would crawl across this part and of course the older kids would always show off how brave we were. After we crossed, then we went around the base of Castle Rock and then down to the place we played ball. There is still in this area the old rock building that was the school in earlier times. In this area or a little above it we also had swimming holes in the Price River. They were set up so you could



By VERGA BISHOP MOCKOver the years our family of 10

lived in several of the coal camps; Rains, Spring Canyon, Sunnyside, Wattis, and Mohrland. Some of the family also lived and worked in Dragerton, Standard, Spring Canyon, Hiawatha, and others, including Latuda. For myself, I was born in Mohrland and so was my younger brother (the last one born to our family, Bobby Dean Bishop), who later ended up a Utah state mine inspector for a few years. He was in that position during the Wilberg mine disaster. Bobby was four years old when we left Mohrland. I was almost eight. The mine and town had shut down and everyone was to leave. Several left before us and many after us. It was a very sad thing to see all our old and dear friends leave. The whole town was like one big family. We all have many fond memories of that town. They sold all the houses and tore down the large build-ings, such as school, store, boarding houses, and post office (where one of my sisters (Josephine) had worked part time). She eventually married Joe Feichko and they owned the Price Bowling Alley and Café on Main Street. Josephine did all the cooking at home for the Café and then hauled it downtown from their Car-bonville home. It was a good place to eat, of course, and the meats were cooked at the Café on the grill. Their partner was a Zacharias, and later they bought him out. His brother took me for my first airplane

Life between MohrlandMohrland and Clevelandride when I was about 18 years old; I am about 80 years old now. But back to Mohrland. We lived in a four room house, (my parents plus the 10 children). By the time I was born my eldest sister, Dorothy, had moved out, but came back to help mom when I was born. Later, Norton left home and went to herd sheep up in the hills in the area. He was about 15 years old. It was winter and he was alone, living in a “sheep camp trailer” with just his dog and horse. He had to contend with mountain lions, bears, snakes, and other wild animals. One time he became lost in a bliz-zard and had to depend on his horse to get him back to camp because he was “snow blinded.” I remember him coming home in the spring with his horse and dog. He let me ride his horse and I re-member him keeping a big piece of rock salt at the house for the horse to lick on, and us kids would break off small pieces and lick them. And no, we didn’t get sick from it. What we did get sick from was all the diseases that went around the town in those days. We were quarantined every year for something or other, plus a few other illnesses or injuries. Being next to last of the kids, I don’t remember much about what they had, but two had “red” measles. Oh how sick those two were! Two were “out of their heads” with the fevers. I was skinny, and I got skinnier. My hair started to fall out in hand fulls and it was all misery plus, Berdell, Reid, and I all had “Scarlet Fever”

at the same time. Our skins peeled off on our hands, face, legs, feet, and scalp. We took up one of our two bedrooms. Mom had to keep changing our beds, because of skin and sweating. We had no indoor plumbing and only a pot-bellied stove (coal, of course). Mom was wash-ing every day in her old Maytag wringer washer, and taking care of us three sick kids, plus the rest of the family. Then whooping cough went around. For some reason, two of us didn’t get it, and neither

did Bobby. Some of the others had it in our household and many neighbors and friends. Then, there was “chicken pox” and the so called “German Measles”, mumps, etc. Some of us had them all at one time or another. Then one time I got really sick and nearly died from an allergic reaction to some dyes in a new coat collar, which was dyed like a leopard. This was the sick-est I’d ever been. I had the Mohrland

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Life between MohrlandMohrland and Cleveland:doctor, one from Price, and finally one from Salt Lake treat me. The one from Salt Lake was the one to find out it was an allergic reaction. We lived just below a hill from the school house. It had grades one through eight. In the winter we could sit in our class rooms at the rear of the school and watch skiers, usually the Japanese residents skied down the mountain behind it. One time a friend of mine, the one school teacher’s daughter, and I took a sled up the ski trail. It took us a long time. We had to crawl up parts of it and along the sides where the trees were. We never did get clear to the top. It was impossible for kids our age. Then we got on our small sled. Stacked on top of each other, lying down and shot down that icy trail. At one point, we hit a bump or jump the skiers had made and the sled flew out one way and Colleen and the other two of us flew out the other way. We landed in a drift somewhere along the side of the trail. We gathered ourselves up, and got back out and flew down the rest of the trail, ending up in a pile of cinders from the school furnace stacked behind the bus garage. We were skinned all over. We never tried that again, but stuck to the road in front of our homes. We also rode our red wagon down that same road. We rode our wagon and in the winter our sleds down that road over and over again. We’d come in the house bawling because our feet ached from the cold and mom would put the oven door

(Continued from page 7) down and put some sticks on it and let us put our feet up there and get warm. Then, out we’d go again and back in later to get warm. Mother’s name was “Patience”; she had to have plenty to do this with all us kids. The elder kids in the family went to high school on the bus to Huntington. It was a treacherous ride in the narrow canyon going and coming, especially in the win-ter. Josephine, Ford, Berdell, Reid, and Ann used to have to make those trips to school. Josephine graduated from North Emery high while we lived in Mohrland then got married, as I mentioned before. Mom had to send for a special catalog for her size two high heels and mom made her dress. Ford graduated too, but there was some change for him as he had to go into one of the C.C.C. camps about that time. Berdell graduated about a year after we moved to Cleveland and so did the rest of us. The year we moved to Cleveland the winter was so bad and drifts so high “Spud,” Berdell’s nick-name, had to carry me on his shoulders from our house on South Flat to the end of the lane to catch the school bus. Then it was a ride into town where the elementary school kids got off and then on to Huntington, several miles away to the high school.There was a scout cabin up the hill a ways from our grade school in Mohr-land that the scouts in the town built themselves. It was a very nice one; one big room with a fireplace at the one end and benches around for the boys to sit

on. When the town closed down, it was torn down and given to the scouts in Huntington, but Reid said it was just left piled up in a lot you could see from the highway and never used or put back together. Reid said it was very sad to see all their hard work go to waste. They were so proud of building it, cutting the trees down for the logs and all the other work performed. In those days, a trailer that had been converted to do dental work used to go around to the schools. It eventually found its way to Huntington. It was parked at the high school. Keep in mind all this was during the depression (1930-39) and also during the C.C.C. camp time. When we went to that dental office it was quite an adventure. We didn’t have a car, so my oldest brother, Norton let us use his. By this point he was married and working in the coal mine. My brother Ford drove us down to Huntington when he went to school. Mom, myself, and my older sister Erma went on these trips and sometimes my younger brother also. My younger brother was only a baby at the time, so Josephine usually tended him at home. We would have our dental appointments ahead of time but we’d have no place to go and had to stay in the car all day before and after our appointments until Ford got out of school and could drive us home. I remember it was in the winter and very cold. We were allowed to go to the bathroom inside the high school building, but there was no place for us to wait inside, so we sat all wrapped up

in blankets in the Model A and watched the coming and going of the students and teachers, etc. Mom didn’t drive so there was no way we could go anywhere. We had no money to eat out, so Mom made sandwiches for us to eat in the car. Sometimes we had a lot of pain after they had worked on our teeth. Sometimes we had teeth pulled. Mom gave us aspirin and encouraged us to take a nap. Years later, Erma and I grew up and went to high school in the same school and graduated from there. By then World War II had come and we had many other experiences from that. We loved the mountains of Mohrland. We used to climb them and pick pine nuts, pick wild flowers, eat sego lily bulbs, gather the different colors and make mud pies. We’d cover the mud pies with the colored sand for icing and find “mint” and sage and make tea. We sometimes had wild rabbit for dinner and an occasional deer was taken during seasons to hunt. Mom would bottle some of it sometimes. She also bottled many vegetables and fruits; the vegetables were from our large garden. My dad, Robert Bishop, was a great gardener. He and our next door neighbor’s yard had two of the best gardens in town. They used to see who could raise the most vegetables as well as the best variety. Some they would even exchange. Dad dug a cellar under the house where he made bins filled with dirt and many vegetables that were not for bottling. They were buried in the dirt



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Not all dangers were Not all dangers were inside the minesinside the mines

While most stories that come out of the coal camps these days are related by people who grew up there, there are many stories told at the time of their actual existence that sometimes paint a different picture of life in the camps. The camps were often hard places to live, far from major cities and in the winter particularly it was often hard to travel even to Helper or Price. Many people rented from the company, and while the companies often took pretty good care of families, they also insisted that people spend their money (often by using a control-

ling company money called scrip) in company stores and at other company venues. People came from all over to work in the mines; some directly from the old country and others from places far and wide in the United States. And as with all industry along with it came crime. The story below just relates one violent incident that occurred in July of 1935 in the town of National. The report of the crime to the public was published in the July 18, 1935 issue of the Sun Advocate.

Man Murdered In Robbery: Slayers Identity Unknown

Victim Struck Over Head With Blunt Instrument:Crime Discovered Tuesday

Apparently, murdered in his sleep by an unknown assailant, James Orfanakis, 48, who had not been seen since early Friday, was discovered dead Tuesday morning, in his living quarters near National, by Robert Penovich, a Coal City youth who was rounding up cattle in that vicinity. An investigation by Sheriff S. M. Bliss, Deputy Sheriff Warren Peacock and County Attorney Marl D. Gibson disclosed that Orfanakis had been struck over the head with a blunt instrument, which has not been located. Evidence indicated that the murder occurred several days before, presumably on Friday. The body was badly decomposed. Part of the skull is being held by Sheriff Bliss as evidence. Robbery undoubtedly was the motive for the slaying, as Orfanakis ef-fects had been thoroughly ransacked and his pockets searched. However, the murderer overlooked a secret pocket containing $17.23. Trunks and suit cases in the dead man’s bachelor quarters had been opened and his pockets turned inside out. The slayer probably made an extensive search at his leisure as Orfanakis lived in a secluded spot, and the killer realized there was very little likeli-hood of his being interrupted. Orfanakis residence was adjacent to a closed pool room approximately one mile below National. The dead man had been employed as a watchman of vacant property and he lived alone in the small shack. The theory has been advanced that the crime was committed by the same person who a few weeks ago slugged and bound Mrs. Clarence Reid of Latuda and robbed her of $53 in church donations which she was preparing to bring to Price to turn over to church authorities. Both crimes were com-mitted under similar circumstances. Orfanakis was buried Tuesday afternoon in the Price cemetery under the direction of the Wallace mortuary.

(Editors note: Based on research no one was ever arrested or convicted of this murder. )


Spring CanyonSpring Canyon flood:(Continued from page 4)flood in terms of the effect it would have on their lives. But for others the flood was a terrifying memory. “One lady thought that Noah’s time was back and she was really quite upset,” Farish said. “We were just young kids having a great time watching it. Older people in the area really thought it was the end.” To his recollection no one died dur-ing the flood and most of the problems

in town were from water damage. Farish remembers the flood only lasting an hour, but it is a memory that has lasted a lifetime for him. The Helper Journal reported the next week that the damage between Spring Canyon and Helper was around $75,000, a large sum of money during the early 1940s. “It was kind of spooky around town,” he said. “The flood was quite an experience.”

National:National: Then and nowThen and now

National, which was located up Consumers, once had neat rows of block houses, the remnants of which were removed a few years ago. All that is left now is a mining building left high up the canyon.

Photo courtesy Marilyn Manwaring

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(Editors note: Many people came from eastern and southern Europe to work in the mines of the Rocky Mountain states. Some survived, some went back to the old country, and others and their families pressed on with different kinds of lives once something happened that kept them out of the mines. This is the story of one woman and her family and their struggle to survive in their new country of America. This story is a reprint of a story that ran in the Sun Advocate En-ergy Edition in 1983. It was written by Margaret Turcasso).

Gabriella was unforgetable. Al-ways cheerful and full of high-volt-age energy, she was a tiny dynamo with an endless list of orders for everybody. With a staccato clap-clap-clap of her tiny hands and her eternal exclamation, “Presto! Presto!” (Hurry! Hurry!”), her nickname should have been “Presto” instead of “Gabby.” She was even more relent-less with herself than others, ac-complishing in one day what might be expected in three. Her motto was, “Sempre Avante” or “Always Forward.” It was to carry her from poverty to prosperity and from Italy to America. She left her childhood farm at the age of thirteen to apprentice to the mistress of the house of a promi-nent industrial family in Turin, Italy. It was a fantasyland of awesome grandeur compared to sleeping in a hayloft in the straw with the cen-tral heating provided by the body warmth of the cows and horses. Now she walked. on terrazzo floors, talked

One immigrantimmigrant woman’s storyat tiled tables, and slept on a feath-ered tick. Such luxuries Gabby had never even heard of. Her mistress, or “Patrona” was haughty and proud of who she was and what she had and thrilled to the wide-eyed admiration of her petite protege. It was like an internship at actors’ guild for Gabby. In no time she picked up the cha-risma and finesse of her beautiful, wealthy and well-educated Patrona whose vanity was flattered by the imitation of her loyal servant. Gabby was an apt student, indeed. In no time she was proficient in marketing, marvelous in cooking and cleaning. Her lifetime forte, however, was to be economizing — always the maxi-mum for the minimum. How she mimicked her Patrona’s demeanor, her flair for fashion, and her overt flattering and tactical maneuvering. Alas, at eighteen she was practi-cally an old maid, but at the Patrona’s finishing school, she had progressed from apprentice to advanced. Her only love, the handsome Battista, was sailing to America to find his fortune. They were married by their village priest in Piedmont. What a radiant and resplendant bride in her new, brown wool serge suit. It was com-plete with tunic coat, embellished with trapunto embroidery. The Patronas was the bridal consultant, of course. Such a dowry, an incredible 36”

Gabriella and Battista in the early years of their marriage.

18-carat gold chain, (self-earned and representative of a thousand econo-mies and self-sacrifices). It was her prized “cadena” — the dowry of her culture. She was the envy of her twin and village girl firends. She was giddy with delight. For her wedding day, Patrona styled her hair, which was luxuriant and fell to the back of her knees, in a magnificent triple-topknow. Gabby was to wear it that way throughout her long life. Her only frivilous expenditure was to be

some elegant and ornate combs for her hair. In all their married life there was to have been only one major controversy. Some 25 years or so lat-er, Battista over-indulged in his own superior and homemade fermented grape juice and he lay on the floor, snoring in dreamy delirium. His ma-cho status was his maustachio. One of his daughters playfully snipped off one inch on one side. A day or so later when he sobered up and found


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Ethnic diversityEthnic diversity spawned many a storyThe ethnic diversity of coal camps

in eastern Utah is a well traveled topic among those who know about the history of the area. Some said that the population of Carbon County was the most diverse of any county in the state of Utah, and that was probably true in the days before population influx origins began to change along the Wasatch Front. The mines and the railroad attracted many different nationalities, and many different skin colors too. While a large group of miners came from southern and eastern Europe, Asian immigrants contributed as well. Most people who tell stories of growing up in coal camps tell of deal-ing with neighbors who came from far flung corners of the globe. Most said they never had any problems with the differ-

ences in race, creed, religion or ethnic background. As most put it, “We were all in the same boat.” But stories about the different groups abound. The following is a story written by Max Finley, who was born and grew up in Mohrland. His story, while mixing fact and fiction, is typical of some of the stories told about different groups that immigrated to eastern Utah.

THE NORWEGIANS

The diversity of the peoples of our area are probably as great as any other small western community. Among those many different nationalities were the several families who immigrated from Norway and made their homes in our little town. You live in a small town, you

learn about people, you learn that cer-tain people, if they say they’ll be there to paint your living room on Tuesday at 8:47 AM. they’ll be there, and some people won’t, and if you call them up

Tuesday evening they’ll say, “Oh, you meant this Tuesday.” It’s always the same ones who are prompt and faithful and dependable, and if they are 10


GirlsHiroko Okura JapaneseSilvia Bordeau FrenchBessie Pantelakis GreekMary Bladic` PolishMary Kourianos GreekEvelun Christanson DanishHelen Aogai JapaneseMrs. Holt Teacher

Diversity in Mohrland 4th grade class 1931

BoysJoe Sicilia ItalianWillie Koncher AustrianBenny Doulgerakis GreekCalvin Story EnglishMax Finley Scotch-GermanRudy Ortiz SpanishDavid Nemalki FinnishAlex Madrid Spanish


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Ethnic diversityEthnic diversity spawned many a story:(Continued from page 12)

Many ethnic groups and nationalities came to the area because of coal mining. An example of the way some of them grouped together was in Kenilworth where Greektown was formed. These men, photo-graphed in 1920, stood on the porch of a house in Greektown. Many other camps had “towns” with groups of people from like backgrounds settling in those parts of each community.

minutes late for any reason you should call the police, and always the same others who say, “Are you sure today is Tuesday? But yesterday was---Oh, yeah, it was Monday, wasn’t it?” There are no more disciplined and dependable persons than the Norwe-gians; that’s the way they were raised, the kids and dogs and cats too, along with everything else in Norway. Even their livestock is dependable and disciplined. For example, chickens lay their eggs from 8:35 a.m. till noon when they stop and feed heavily in preparation for the next day’s production. They want to do their best. Cows are the same, producing a couple gallons over night and then after a half bushel of grass clippings are ready to be tapped for another bucket or two. Norway is a seafaring country and if you have Norwegian blood you’re hap-pier and operate best when you’re cold, wet, and sick your stomach. They are never more content and comfortable than when they’re miserable. They hate warm weather, especially in the winter when it is supposed to be 40 degrees below zero. It makes them sick from December to March. Misery is what keeps a Norwe-gian going, and in warm sunny weather such as last year, they get sick and go to pieces and get a case of the Swedish flu. Swedish flu is like the Asian flu, but in addition you feel like it’s your own fault. This day was one of those days that the immigrant Norwegians dearly loved.

It was cold and windy and the rain came down on their vegetable gardens. Garden weeding came to a stop and they were able to just lay around and nap or talk of the strange ways in their new surround-ings. Imagine laying around at 10 in the morning. Such luxury only rich people get to do, rich people that you only find as senators or congressmen and others in government office. Those people never work in gardens. They don’t know weed-ing from raising sheep. They are just like the Three Musketeers who never had to kneel along a row of turnips and pull weeds. That’s why they got into all those sword fights, resisting the call to weed. There is no known record of a princess in modern times of ever pulling a weed either. They’ve never been able to tell a weed from an eggplant. Many experts attribute that fault to the lack of early childhood training, while others feel that she might have learned to pull up broc-coli stocks, which is a most interesting topic of their leisure time discussion. Another was their opinion of how a well known mystery series story would turn out. The Case of the Deadly Smorgas-bord had created many thoughts about a mom and dad and their exceptionally bright son who had left their tastefully cluttered apartment and zoomed off to Oslo to track down a band of left wing terrorists who keep putting mood altering drugs in the red herring. Most thought it was somehow the doings of the young son who always thought of his parents as being too lumpy and dreary and slow and

determined to be dumb. Their lives were not consumed by little petty things. The need to pick raspberries had not been a part of their lives nor had gas mileage or back problems or aphids or any other important stuff like that. The listeners could hardly wait until the next episode of the series. Meanwhile those who tired of this unusual weedless rainy day gathered at the small diner and piled into the back

booth and had Norwegian lunch staples--mushroom soup and a liverwurst sand-wich. Everyone was in a festive mood. “Looks like this may keep up all day,” one said. “Yeah, that’s what they are saying, sure does look like it, don’t it?”, answered one of the worried Norwegian bachelors who thought of a possible drought after so many months of dry, hot weather. If a drought was to occur in Norway and kill


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By ELDON MILLER I have lived from the extremes of Alpine on the north to Cedar City on the south in Utah. I have spent over 30 years in a two-season area of Cali-fornia and a little over a year in green Pennsylvania, the state where the southern forest meets the northern for est. North Carolina, Japan, Korea, and China were my places of resi-dence while in the Army. But my fondest memories are of Utah, southeastern Utah to be exact. My youth was spent living in nine of Carbon County’s communities and in one of Emery County’s, Clawson.But my reflections are to dwell on one of the six coal camps that I lived in during the years of 1934 to 1948.To begin with let me say that my fa-ther, was a frustrated farmer. He had worked in coal mines since he was 14 years old. His ambition was to make a living at farming and so when the mines slowed down in the summer we would find ourselves in Claw-son, except for two years in Alpine.I never spent a full school year in any one school and one year I was in three differ ent schools. I’d start the school year, usu ally in Ferron Elementary and then Pa would get a job in one of the nearby coal mines and we would move there. until the following spring or early summer and away to the farm we’d go.

Tales of a CarbonCarbon coal camp nomad I loved living in Clawson, and I loved Spring Canyon, and I loved Hiawatha, but that town came later. Spring Canyon is the subject of my current reflections. Spring Canyon was a typical coal camp. It nestled on the sides of two canyons and a part of it was on a prominent hillside sup ported by a massive ledge. It, like most camps, was divided up into areas of the canyon that was flat enough to build houses upon. Most coal camps had sections that sported such names as, Greek Town, Jap Town, or Tent Town, Around the Bend, String Town, Tram Town, etc. The names are rather obvious. Each section had its own clique. The boys tended to run in gangs and there was usually much friendly competition between them. Some-times one boy would have a grudge against a boy from another section of town and then the com petition would turn a little less friendly for a time. I remember being bullied by a few of the “Tent Town Tigers” when I first moved to Spring Canyon. I was a newcomer and I lived in the section called “Around the Bend.” Later on we moved to Tent Town and I became a leader of that “gang.” Helper was only four miles away and we often thumbed a ride there to go

Eldon and Beverly Miller in Spring Canyon.

to the movie, go swimming, or watch a ball game. The kids from the camps were considered not as tough as the Help-er boys. When ever we would thumb a ride to Helper it was the wise thing to let the Helper kids think we were really Price kids. In our minds, the size of the town was the measurements of toughness. If the ruse didn’t work we would find ourselves being bullied something fierce. I recall an incident that happened on one such occasion. An older boy and I had some luck in gathering up some beer bottles that we could collect the de-

posit on. We decided to take them to Helper and use the money for candy and a matinee at one of the two the-aters. We thumbed a ride and were let out at the upper end of Helper and as we were walking down to the Rain-bow Inn to cash in our bottles we were met by four or five Helperites.They guessed what we had in our sacks and proceeded to try and convince us that they could get more money than we could. They told us they would get the money for us if we would let them take the bottles. We told them that it was kind of


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Tales of a CarbonCarbon coal camp nomadthem but we would proceed with our plans. To our surprise they let us go with-out fur ther comment. After we got our money we thought we had better get back home just in case. Sure enough our “friends” appeared again and of-fered to help us spend the money. As the discussions progressed they be came a little more insistent and so we de cided that it might be time to hurry on our way and so we took off running. This decision erased all doubt from their minds that they could get our money by guile. They chased us for about two-hun dred yards and we dashed into Fabrizio’s grocery store, the last refuge in town. Mrs. Fabrizio, a small-featured lady, no ticed our anxiety and when we told her our story, she stormed through the front door and with.a few choice words had the Helper boys away from there in a hurry. We thanked her and hurried on up the Can yon Road to the safety of our coal camp. Fruit in the coal camps was always at a premium. Those few fruit trees in or around the camps were hardly ever allowed to fully ripen. It seemed that we all felt, if we didn’t get there first we wouldn’t get any and so as soon as the last color change would occur, off and down it would go. There were times when the best fruit in the world would ap pear on the scene.

It was not often that a stranger in town was taken much notice of. There were times though when an out-of-town person would show up that all the kids would try to be the first to win his favor. That person was the fruit peddler. Now some peddlers wouldn’t let us kids within twenty yards of his vehicle. They had expe riences with some of us before. No peddler would, by choice, come into the camps without some one to help him. It would take one person to go from house to house and the other to watch the fruit in the truck. If a peddler was alone he would then have to hire some of the kids to do his so liciting. If the boys did especially well and the peddler had a good day there was always the possibility of a nickel or two in addition to the prom-ised fruit for payment. In those days a penny was rather diffi cult to come by and so most boys would vie for the job and then run their already ragged tennis shoes off to please the ven dor. Actually, as I recall, it was rather fun to peddle fruit. It kinda made you feel sorta grown up, especially as you noticed the younger kids looking on with envy. I don’t recall who it was that sponsored a big watermelon “Bust” one evening. I do remember it was in the evening and the event was to take place around a big bonfire on a rather flat area on one of the mountainsides. A

truck full of Green River watermelons was ogled by us boys for several hours in anticipation of the event. Finally it was time to carry the melons up the side of the canyon to the activity site. A couple of the boys were a little more greedy than the rest of us and had worked up enough nerve to help themselves to sev eral of the melons. As they helped to carry the melons up in the gathering darkness they rolled them down the slope into some trees. The word was passed around to a few of the “in” boys and so we decided we had bet-ter not eat a whole lot at the bust since there was much more awaiting us just out of sight of the bonfire. Imagine our disappointment when we couldn’t find them later in the dark. We took some comfort in the fact that we would enjoy them the next morning. It was a long night of anticipation. The next morning, before break-fast, we hur ried to the site for our feast. There to our dismay we found what was left of them at the bottom of a ledge. Apparently they had picked up enough momentum as they rolled into the trees to carry them over the ledge. This was one of my first experiences in a vital lesson of life, that “Crime Does Not Pay”. The coal camps were fine educa-tional fa cilities. I felt I was a member of one big fam ily. I may not have realized it fully at the time, but those ethnic and cultural asso ciations have been a

tremendous asset to me. We were just people with common weak nesses and strengths. There were those that were super ball players. I envied them. There were those with magnetic person alities. I wanted to be like them. There were those that had weak-nesses. I was like them. My memories are a monument to those many wonderful people who lived, loved, worked,, and played as a community made up of the ethnic strains that have made America such a unique and great country, that has made southeastern Utah such a unique and great area. It is only right that we who are benefi ciaries of such assets share our grateful ness for those who have con-tributed so much to our society.

(Continued from page 14)

Eldon Miller and Jim Riley stand with coal buckets near Eldon’s house in Sunnydale.

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The trials of coal camp transportationAs with all pioneer endeavors,

the pioneers of coal mining in eastern Utah had to contend with many obstacles. One of the big-gest was transportation. While the railroad ran through Carbon County, most of the area was served by dirt roads, often rocky and rough in the summer, snowbound in the win-ter and mud bogs in the spring.

While many miners did not have private cars, transportation emerged to transport workers to mines and industrial sites, and school children to the bigger towns where they usually attend-ed the upper grades. These were the first buses, sometimes called stages. The stories of transportation difficulties in the era are legend and in 1980, the Sun Advocate in-terviewed a man who had driven one of the stages for a number of years and had also driven other kinds of vehicles at the time. His name was Josephus Prettyman.

Prettyman moved to Gordon Creek from the Uintah Basin in 1921. Joe went to work for Frank McIntire who had a contract to haul mail, freight and passengers in Carbon County. “I bought a ranch from Frank

A school bus in 1929. This bus and others like it served many communities in outlying areas. Photo courtesy Eldon Miller

and worked it out for him in cash and produce,” said Prettyman during the interview. Prettyman drove for the Price Transportation Company for some time making the run from Price to National Coal Company, Blue Blaze Coal Company (Con-sumers and Sweets). “Those mines were all within a mile of each other,” he said. “I left Price at 3 p.m. driving the Consumers stage and got back

about 7 p.m. My brother Leon-ard, drove the stage from Price to Rolapp.” There weren’t many roads in those days and what roads there were very rough, little more than trails through the dirt and rock. The roads leading up to the mines were particularly rough, said Prettyman. “I remember the first car we got,” he said. “It was a one ton Model T truck with a jumbo

differential. The most speed we could get out of it was 20 miles per hour. We bought it from Roy Wilcox, who was a peddler to the mines in Carbon County. He traded it to us for $350 worth of potatoes.” But things didn’t go so well the first trip out. “All 11 of us loaded into it through the one door on the right side and head for Consumers,”


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Life between MohrlandMohrland and Cleveland:to use as needed during the winter. There were turnips, beets, spuds, onions, etc. We were poor, but never hungry. Mom baked six loaves of bread and a large pan of biscuits every other day. When neigh-bors needed to borrow a loaf their kids always said, “Go to Mrs. Bishop’s, hers is the best!” We all thought so too. Trucks would come up to town in late summer selling bushels of different types of fruit and other things. We always got some to bottle. Greenriver water-melon trucks came up too, with all types of melons. Watermelons sold for ½ cent a pound. You got a 20 pound watermelon for only 10 cents. They were a treat! We looked forward to that time. Once in a great while we borrowed a neighbor’s ice cream freezer and made homemade ice cream. We all took turns cranking the handle. It was the best ever! We used to make homemade fudge, taffy, and honey candy. It was fun stretching the batter too. We didn’t get to do this very often, because sugar, honey, and cream were needed for other things. Pre-paring meals for 10 kids and two adults was very time consuming and hard work. It was almost like having company and we had a lot of that too. Both Dad and Mom came from large families and those relatives came to visit often. Many friends also came by too. In our house it seemed there was always a baby to take care of. I really don’t know how they managed to raise so many under the circumstances and

(Continued from page 7) during such depressed times. There were no conveniences and no car except in the earlier years my dad had an old car. It broke down once too often and there was no money to fix it. I remember Dad walking to the mines summer and winter. He’d get up at 4 a.m. and build fires. Mom would cook breakfast for the two and then he’d leave. Most people with cars would not pick him up because he had on his dirty mine clothes. They had a place at the mine to shower and change into every day clothes, but he didn’t have the dime or quarter, whichever it cost to pay for it. So he walked in the win-ter; it was cold and the snow was deep in those mountains. Also, it was dark! Sometimes I never saw much of my Dad. If he wasn’t in the mine he was in the garden working and was too busy trying to feed and take care of us. Sometimes we were asleep when he came home from work if he got overtime and we were asleep when he left in the mornings. Later, Dad earned some extra money doing odd jobs and could afford to take showers at the mine. My Dad cut hair for the boys, all five of them, and mom cut us girls. Dad also cut many people’s hair in town. I don’t think he charged anyone anything though. Not only residents of our town, but company when they came to visit as well. He wasn’t trained in cut-ting hair, just self taught. I guess people were pleased, because they kept coming back. He also had a “shoe last” with three different sizes of shoes to put on it for

Part of what is left of Mohrland today. Photo Richard Shaw

men, women, and children. He kept our shoes in good repair. There was no money to buy new ones so using that was important. If boots wore out, he used the leather in the leg part to make patches for other shoes, and he re-soled many pairs for us and others. He had special shoe tacks and some round needles. All of these materials came up missing after our mother passed away. We had a dog one time named Speck. We called him that because he was snow white all over except for his nose and one tiny black speck on his face. He was a good dog, but sometimes roamed the hills around town especially the ones behind the school. I guess some wild animal he chased bit him because he got

rabies and started to have “fits” and act crazy. He never bit anyone, but Dad told the boys they’d have to put him down before he hurt someone. My brothers Berdell and Reid took him up in the hills and shot him. It just about broke their hearts. Berdell use to sing “Old Shep” all the time after that, only he would sing “Old Speck” instead. I still remember that song by heart. My oldest sister, Dorothy, was 17 years old when I was born. She came home to help mom for a few days. She was working and on her own didn’t get to finish high school. She was always buy-ing us kids things we’d never be able to have without her. One time she bought


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In Memory of mining industry peopleThose in who passed from July 1, 2009 to July 1, 2010 from the pages of the Sun Advocate/Emery Progress obituaries

Zeb Gasser-Miner

Tony Beacco-Miner Tony Perri Sr.-Miner Walter Valasquez-Hiawatha Mine William Price-Western Coal

Lucio Cruz-Miner Lyman Jacke Curtis-Miner Max L. Wayman-Kaiser Steel

United Mine Workers of AmericaAFL-CIO/CLC

Fighti ng for Working Families for 120 Years


COAL CLI FFS

SWELL

VALLEY

PLATEAU

TAVAPUTS

WEST CLIFFSLAND

BLACKBUTTE

REEF

BOXBLACK

CASTLE

ROAN

CA

NYO

N

GRA

Y

DES

ERT

SAN RAFAEL VALLEY

VALLEY

PLATEAU

BECKWITH

SINBAD

CANYON

RED

PLATEAU

BUCKHORNFLAT

CLIFFS

CLIFFS

CAN

YON

BOOK

DES

OLA

TIO

N

REEF

EAGLE

MO

LEN

L

T

U I N

E

L

T

U I N

E

Gr e

e n

G

NATIONAL

T

Carbonville

Sunnyside

Spring Glen

Helper

EastCarbon

Scofield

Wellington

Carbonville

Sunnyside

Colton

Cleveland

Elmo

GreenRiver

Emery

Ferron

Huntington

OrangevilleLawrence

Spring Glen

Helper

EastCarbon

Scofield

Wellington

Clawson

PRICE

CASTLEDALE

PRICE

CASTLEDALE

Royal

Mutual

Consumers

Winter Quarters

Coal City

ClearCreek

Hiawatha

Woodside

Wattis

Victor

Molen

Moore

DesertLake

Castle Gate

KenilworthNationalSweet

Hale

Rains

Latuda

Standardville

Columbia

Peerless

Heiner

Spring Canyon

Kiz

Mohrland

Coal CampGhost TownTown / City

NOTES– Coal camps, within the scope of this map, are defi ned as communities originally founded for the purpose of industrial coal mining which have since seen signifi cant population losses, un-incorporation, or closure. Ghost towns diff er in that they were originally founded for a reason other than coal mining. Today’s towns and cities are included as points of reference.LE

GEN

D


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The trials of coal camp transportation:as what we used to call Horseshoe Bend. There was a little narrow bridge at the bottom of the wash and the road had been graded up about 15 feet high. Prettyman said the road had settled on the right side about three feet into a deep rut and the right wheel drifted in before he could stop. “Then the back wheel slipped in (too) so over we went,” he told the reporter. “It rolled over a time and a half and stopped on its left side. We tipped it back on to its wheels and drove under the bridge and got on the old road they had used before they built the bridge.” No one was hurt, said Prettyman, and to him it was almost a miracle. “Mother had baby sister in her arms when we started rolling and still had her in her arms when we stopped.” Many other people have tales of transportation in those days including stories of backing Model T’s up hills be-cause they were lower geared in reverse, to using horses to pull out cars that were continually getting stuck in mud or snow on the roads of the day. Eventually many of those paths evolved into well graded roads, some even paved and a few into modern high-ways that we enjoy today.


When Joe Prettyman drove his Price Transportation vehicles, the roads were not what they are today. Here one of the buses is axel deep in mud on a route to one of the coal camps. Snow removal was also another problem in the winter; there literally was none.

Photo courtesy Glenda Hansen

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One immigrantimmigrant woman’s story:part of his prized mustache missing, he was outraged, blaming Gabby. The only thing that saved her was that she could run faster than he. On a third-class passage, the same cargo space as cattle, she and her beloved Battista journeyed for some thirty days, over the ocean to America. In their exhil-aration they were totally unaware of the humility of their circumstances. How-ever, the anticipation of the opportuni-ties of America sustained them. Wasn’t she a woman of commerce? Wasn’t she capable of wheeling and dealing with her basic arithmetic and rudimentary reading? Hadn’t the Patrona given her a marvelous and magical model? After immigration processing at Ellis Island, N.Y., they rode the iron horse in a boxcar with all their worldly possessions in two satchels. The “cadena” had been cleverly sewn into the hem of that gorgeous wool suit.

The destination was Diamondville, Wyo. where Battista was contracted to work in the coal mines. In those days, the continuous miner was an assortment of picks and shovels and the physical strength and stamina of the miner. Bat-tista was big and strong and could and would produce double the coal of other diggers. Things did not go well for them in Wyoming, so they moved on to what they thought would be a more lucrative mine at Castle Gate. Gabby was utterly distraught in the downturn in their stan-

Castle Gate in the early 1900’s, about the time the couple arrived in the area.

(Continued from page 11) dard of living. Imagine a woman of her experience having to live in a dirt dugout in Gentile Wash up Willow Creek. By now their first born had arrived. Gabby went back to Turin to be reemployed by her Patronas. The game plan was that Battista would work here and she there and in five years they would reunite. About the time Battista had saved enough to buy some land, he was crushed in a cave-in. He was told that he would never be able to work in a mine again. Gabby and daughter returned as soon as possible. The savings dwindled with doctor’s bills. There wasn’t any workmen’s compensation or industrial commission benefits in those days. Gabby came with an astonishing sum; she had worked for three households, not just one. On her arrival at Castle Gate, Gabby took off afoot to find a farm. She collapsed from exhaustion, worry and hunger somewhere in Spring Glen. She was baffled by the barrier of barriers — communication, language. She couldn’t make herself un-derstood that she wanted to buy, a farm. With such limitations, ‘she did very well, however, buying a choice acreage for half the going price, with a water well. She had the ultimate eloquence; cash. Another thing about Gabby, she knew when she didn’t know, and she consulted on this transaction with her banker, lawyer, doc-tor, priest, and the marshall. Convinced by these experts that she made a good deal, she consumated the purchase, and again her spirits soared. She herself was

a Patrona. She told Battista they had bought a farm; they were landed-gentry. She told him where to put his “x” on the deed and to have no fear. She was in charge. She was always in charge. The farm was a bonanza. Besides the flowing water well, there was a beautiful orchard of peaches, apricots, several varieties of apples and pears, cherries, walnuts, plums, and nectarines. There was a garden plot of strawberries, rhubarb, asparagus. Gabby had gone to heaven. She pranced and preened. If her Patrona could only see her now. She and Bat-tista moved into a log cabin, two rooms which were infested with bedbugs. But

look, there was a crude plank floor, one door and one window. While Battista was mending, she dug up the flower garden to plant potatoes and cabbage. Who could eat hollyhocks and geraniums? Couldn’t sell ‘em either. Their livelihood was literally self-sufficient. They raised all their own beef, chicken and pork, made all their own butter and cheese, made all their own sausage, salami, ham and ba-con, never discarding a scrap. They raised all their own fruits and vegetables, hay and grain for the livestock. They made their own soap and lard as well. There was no need for sleeping pills, exhaustion


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One immigrantimmigrant woman’s story:and fatigue made sleep and rest delicious and precious. For any illness or discom-fort a couple teaspoons of Fernet cured all. With the farm came an old mare and a buggy. Gabby was in business. She would load up her buggy with fruits and vegetables, eggs and she and Nellie (the horse) were off to all, the coal mines fanning out from Helper’s hub like the spokes of a wheel. One day Spring Glen and Kenilworth; another to Spring Canyon, Standardville, Latuda, Mutual and Rains, then to Helper and Castle Gate. She practiced the shortest course in salesmanship; no supper until everything was sold for one price or another. With all her charm and charisma, she could and would sell everything. Always there as a little gift, a free apple, a couple of eggs, and the huge smile and sparkling, dancing eyes, and always little and big compliments. She was just a poor lady trying to make an honest living. Then another catastrophe. Their home burned to the ground. “Sempre Avante!” Gabby may have been happy about it. Now she could build a fine brick home. She contracted the best and biggest barn by the best builder, “Diego Mike.” Between Battista and Gabby’s joint venture, they prospered and enjoyed amenities neither had heretofore dreamed possible. Their five children worked as industriously as their parents.

(Continued from page 22) (The sixth child died when eight months old of pneumonia.) With their new hay baler, they contracted baling hay all over the county. The two daughters worked as strenu-ously as their three sons. It was family enterprise; no one shirked, Gabby con-stantly in command, spitting out the or-ders with a rapid-fire clap-clap-clap and “Presto! Presto! “ With such cooperation, the family’s fortunes expanded from the farm to two commercial buildings and five homes for rent. Gabby knew how to make a dollar make a dollar. This was called investing, even in those hazardous days. Additionally, she financed several farms for her friends, and finally estab-lished their sons in businesses of their own. There was singing, dancing, joking and always working, working, working, working. For all the hundred-hour weeks, the family put in, Sunday was “Festa,” a day to honor the Sabbath, to rest, to dress up, to have a splendid dinner, to have friends visit and sing the old folk songs in blissful harmony. To sip and savor fine wine, to toast America for all the blessings it made possible, like their gramophone on which they played operatic arias and sang along in mirthful relaxation, each trying to sound like Caruso. Sunday was special. Foremost among the holidays was the Fourth of July, a day of jubilation. Gabby was a true patriot. Hadn’t she deliberated and fussed and fumed at the require-ments for American citizenship? Wasn’t

that an ordeal of endurance and effort? America was regarded with reverence. Can you imagine each child receiving a silver dollar. Equated in today’s debilitat-ed currency, that was enough to buy ice cream cones, candy bars, popcorn, Coca Cola, and go the movies. Whoopee! Even a circus, if there was one in town. No wonder the glorious Fourth was antici-pated with the same fervor as Christmas or Columbus Day. New clothes, new shoes, no work. A beautiful silk polka dot dress sold for $3. The savoir-faire, the taste, was the thing. J.C. Penney was a paradise for purchases. How such a little lady could over-achieve so much is just unbelievable. With less than a third-grade education, she was successful in property man-agement. She was successful in all her endeavors — enjoyed life to the fullest, reared an ambitious, industrious family. Her greatest pleasure, can you believe, was to go to the dancehall with her el-derly neighbor lady on Saturday nights to watch the young people and thrill to the band’s music. Her eyes always sparkling with glee and enjoyment waving and throwing kisses to everyone she knew. They were always coming to kiss her and wanting to buy her a 7-Up and teasingly asking her to dance. She was in ecstasy. She was the “Patronas.” Her behavior was accepted. She owned the place.With the simplest of lifestyles, she felt she was rich. Her home was solid brick, even though at that time there was no

such thing as indoor plumbing, or central heating. Gabby’s home was avante garde. It had a modern marvel: electric lights and a radio. It had a partial cement base-ment for cool food storage and a huge pantry off the kitchen for other food-stuffs. In winter, the ice on the bedroom windows was a veritable art gallery of the most exquisite compositions Jack Frost could etch. It was an early day video game to breathe on the window pane and change the scene. Prudence put the pot under the bed for later deliver to the outhouse. Hers was deluxe. It was decorated in early super-star, “meaning it was wallpapered with 8”x10” photos of all the current movie idols —Kath-ryn Hepburn, Claudette Colbert, Joan Crawford, Barbara Stanwych, Alice Faye, Rita Hayworth, Ginger Rogers, as well as James Cagney, Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Dale Evans and Roy Rogers, George Raft, Humphrey Bogart, Howard Hughes, Ronald Reagan, Spencer Tracy, Perry Como, and so many others. These photos came from a candy store that sold penny candy. The out-house was delicately referred to as “The Office.” It also served as the Library; it was conducive to concentration. The Sears Roebuck catalogs served many purposes. With all the backbreaking labor of the field, the orchard, the barn, there was always time for an amusing anecdote, a spirited song, or a prank. If business and


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Life between MohrlandMohrland and Cleveland:us umbrellas. We felt so fancy and elite! We showed them off all over town. She would take us down to the confectionery and buy us root beer floats for five cents. What a treat! We enjoyed Mohrland for more than one reason. The biggest reason was the people. As I stated before, it was like one big family. Everyone was so kind, friendly, and helpful. There was no, or very little prejudice. We all went to the same school, playground, events, and gathered in our neighborhoods to play “run my sheepy run” (which is the same as “hide and seek”), “kick the can”, etc. There was a street light by our house, so it was the “goal”. We did this all summer. On the 4th of July and the 24th our street was a place to set off fire crackers, spar-klers, and other fireworks, and of course for eating treats. With our big family, if we each had two friends, we had a crowd! We would put sparklers standing up stuck into the wooden fence posts along the sidewalks that ran between our house and the neighbor’s. We also put them up the cement stairs that led up the hill to the school. Then we’d roller-skate down the sidewalks and light all the sparklers as quick as we could so they would all be sparkling at once and light up the sidewalk. This same sidewalk continued to the doors of the school after the cement stairs hit the top of the hill. We played there a lot. The school yard had teeter totters, swings, tricky bars and lots of hopscotch

(Continued from page 17) (courts) which had deep indentions in the ground where the kids had used them. We had full use of these facilities by ourselves most of the time, because we were so close, just out of our yard and up the hill. Most of the “town” kids went to the playground by the large building call the Amusement Hall. We went there too, it wasn’t far from our house either. It had swings, “giant strides”, slides, teeter totters, and other fun things to do. It also had the large building where there was an auditorium for movies, school and public functions, a pool hall, movies, dances, special programs and a confectionery. There was something for everyone. I think there was also a bar but it may have been in the pool hall. We were not allowed near that area. One time while playing on the playground equipment, Ford pumped me up in a swing to the “jerks”, where the swing goes almost as high as the poles and it jerks. Coming back down I was sitting on the seat, him pumping standing, and I lost my grip. I flew out and smashed to the ground hard, knocking the breath from me! They car-ried me home but I had trouble breathing for awhile afterwards. Not too far from the Amusement Hall was a creek and some of the older boys “dammed up” a couple areas of it and made a swimming hole. You could dive off the overhang of the hill into the pool, but that was for the “Big Guys” and good swimmers. Then they could swim in that deeper area. A smaller area was dammed off at the end of that where

kids could play in a shallow pool. My sister used to take me once in awhile. It was a ways to walk, but not really too far. Before you got there, there was another place we went that had some large trees along the ditch banks and the sides of the creek and had really high banks, or at least they seemed really high to a six or seven year old. Someone had erected a large cable to a high tree branch on one side of the creek. It was the kind they used in the mine to hitch the coal cars to the train. It was wrapped around a large branch and was secured somehow. The bottom of it had a loop in it so you could put one foot in, hang on and swing back and forth across the water! However, when I got on it, it would swing from one side of the bank to the other and then to the middle of the creek and stop, I was stuck! I was hanging on for dear life and with only one foot in the loop. My brother Spud had to climb the tree, inch out on the branch to the cable, hang on with one hand while he used the other to grab the cable and work it so it would swing back and forth so I could get back to the other side and get off. He was my hero many times in my younger days. So was my next brother, carrying me home when I fell climbing in the hills near home and keeping bullies away from me. He and my sister Ann had the paper route. With part of the money earned, 10 cents Sunday paper and 2 cents daily, they bought our family bicycle. We all used that good old “boy style” bike clear down through my youngest brother Bobby. It

served us all very well. It was very sturdy, painted red, trimmed in white with fenders and handle bar grips. Compa-nies used to be proud of their quality of things they made and they lasted a long time. Of course, we took good care of things because we knew they had to last us to the end. There was no money for replacements. One time we were all at my broth-er’s home in Cleveland helping him on his farm. I think he took us out there, but one of the boys rode the bike out. When it was time to come home, Norton was busy and couldn’t leave what he was do-ing so all five of us rode the bike home. I was on the handle bars, Ford standing up with his feet on the peddles, Erma on bar from seat to handle bars, Ann on seat, and Reid on fender of back wheel. He stretched his legs to put on outside of pedals to help Ford pump. A good part of the way was downhill except for the lane out of Norton’s property and the lane to our house from the road. That good ole bike took it all and came out alive. This wasn’t in Mohrland, but right after we moved to Cleveland. We had quite a time there, too. It was much different than what we were use to. We had a cistern that had to be refilled several times a year for our water. We were on a farm, we were way out away from anyone because it was a farming district and we had no car or phone but we were fine. We didn’t let it bother us. Acceptance is the word. Even




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One immigrantimmigrant woman’s story:(Continued from page 23)commerce were her challenge, joking was her joy. With a constant, “Barlicka” (“Lick”) everyone was a taster. The condiments had to be just right. Teasing the palate’s pleasure was an art with her. She collected an indescribable assortment of seasonings, spices and condiments. Certainly garlic was a mainstay. Bartering was another game she played, always the winner. She used a two-handled, curved blade to chop anything and everything to the desired size and shape. She thrilled to making something delicious for her family and friends to elicit their praise. She was never satisfied; it could always be better if she made it. Gabby had one of those outdoor brick ovens to bake a week’s supply of 24 loaves of bread at a time. She took the greatest of pride in the quality, flavor and texture of her bread, and she would enchance the dough to rise to airy lightness by singing to it. To bake in the indoor coal stove oven, she would make all manner of braids, twists, brioches, but to her they never had the flavor of the bread baked in the “Fourno” (Outdoor Oven). The freshly baked bread was stored in 20-gallon clay crocks — the original saran wrap. She had a number of specialties and delicacies in her culinary collection. Among them: ravioli, gnocchi, lasagne, rolletti, baccala and polenta, rissotto, galene pens, ba-gnacaulda, or for the sweet tooth — scallini, turdelli, torrone, or the inimitable Ital-ian we cream, Spumoni; or gourmet zambaglione. Even with the arrival of spring, it was heralded with a tubful of dandelion/egg salata. How delectable, and always pasta, pasta, pasta in every shape and form with numerous sauces, all irresistible and fattening. All hands were pressed into service in mass production-type of assembly line for the sausages, salamis, raviolis, gnocchis. Gabby was always at the control center. How she would sing with gusto when she was sewing Portland cement sacks into towels, or Semolina flour sacks into petticoats and bloomers for the girls, or U & I sugar sacks for sheets. She was so proud of her treadle Singer; it was a marvel of precision and efficiency. Did you know that she had a copper tubbed washing machine, too? And did you know about her washhouse? It had another coal stove in it, and it doubled as the bathhouse for the family. Saturday’s hot water was heated and everyone scrubbed down in a number three washtub. Such a refreshing ablu-tion. No sauna today could relieve so well the exhaustion, the sweat of those manual labor days. The washhouse doubled as an apartment for the men who worked on the farm. They had their meals with the family, and were always treated like members of the family. They worked for $1 a day and room and board. That’s what it was like in the depression. Gabby would knit sweaters and socks for everybody. She thrilled to the vibrant colors of the wool yarn, but she knew only two patterns. To Gabby everything was wonderful. No matter how crude or how simple, it was wonderful. What was wonderful was the legacy she left her progeny —honesty, industri-ousness, cheerfulness, frugality, and an abundance of appreciation for the bountiful blessings of life in America. She was a model of heroism in adversity. When her married children with children of their own needed help, her home was again their home. With her lifetime motto, “Sempre Avante,” she came through with bravado — to overcome all obstacles. She was a planner, always projecting what had to be done tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. Gabby’s real talent was record-keeping. With a 10 cent notebook and a carpenter’s pencil she knew all receipts and expenditures. She paid her bills ahead of time (for a discount). She was particularly prompt with property taxes. Conversely, she collected her accounts, “I trust you; you pay me.” She distributed her estate before she retired. She was always ahead of time for appointments — forever in a hurry. Some of Gabriella’s language blunders were hilarious. She would tell you her friend had sugar beets, which meant her friend had sugar diabetes. If she was proud of her, new matt-a-rats, it meant she had a new mattress. Battista died in 1941 of complication following the amputation of a leg. Gabby carried on in widowhood for eighteen more years, and at age 81 she succumbed to a series of strokes in 1959, the only time it was not, “Presto, Presto.”


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A RRoyal time:even dive from the banks and a lot of times we caught the slow mov-ing trains up to our swim hole.In the winter they had kind of a small dam that diverted water to the pipe line and it made a great skating place. However that wasn’t deep enough for swimming. The company used horses in the mine and the corral was located in the upper part of the canyon. I remember when a horse was hurt in the mine they would bring them outside and if bad enough they had to shoot them. This took place above the corral and the handlers would cover them over with coal and burn them. Sometime the fire wasn’t all

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(Continued from page 6) consuming and a head or leg not completely burned would be left and so they had to bring more coal to finish burning all of the horse. When I saw this I really felt sorry for the poor horses. The post office and store was kind of a get together place for people to visit. The store porch was often used for men who gathered to talk about mining. The post office was only a small building with a lot of little boxes with a dial for a combination. The post master was only in the post office for a short time each day because she (Ester Hunter) also worked at the store. When she was there you could get letters stamped and packages mailed.

In the winter my family didn’t go to the post office as much because there was always snow in the canyon. There were no sidewalks and the only snow removal that was done was for the tram or tipple. The company store was a very special place. It had everything; clothes, hard hats, lunch buckets, mine belts, canned food, fresh veg-etables and fruit, cheese, lunch meat, candy, pop and ice cream. It also had a real pleasant odor. They didn’t let kids hang around in the store. You would have to get your penny candy and eat it outside. That was the rule. In the earlier days all the people had to trade at the company store. They even had script to draw on their next paycheck. When my fam-ily left town my father would bring back fresh vegetables, fresh fruit and some ham and bacon from his fam-ily farm. The company had a night watchman who always came down to see who came into town and his job was to warn people against shopping in Helper or Price. My dad would always tell us to act up and even cry a little and the watchman would leave right away. If you remember Johnny Cash singing “…You owe your soul to the company store…,” that was a true story for a family that had quite a few children. In later times when the mine was really working this

changed because a lot of the min-ers worked out of town and the coal company was making money because of the demand for coal in World War II. Above the store was a place I never got to see much. It was the mine office and miners also got their scrip there, their paycheck, their laid off slip and also where they could rent a house if one was available. To get to the office there was a flight of stairs on the outside of store build-ing. This place also let everyone know if they worked the next day. They had lights in an upper lamp and lights in a lower lap on top of the building where most people in town could see them. If the upper lights were on the day shift worked. If the lower lights were on the night shift worked. In the evening people were outside waiting to see if the lights came on. In the early days the few out-of-town miners had to listen to the KOAL radio and it would inform them what mines were working. It was really important to everyone and you always saw smiles when the lights came on. The school house was a very im-portant place. It served as school first, then a place to vote, also a church and for all social functions on holi-days. All ages of people went there to


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A RRoyal time:holidays. All ages of people went there to dance. It was also the place people went to get bags of oranges and candy supplied by the company for Christmas. The school had two floors but only two top rooms were used, each room had between 20 to 26 kids and they made up three grades for each room. The bottom two rooms were empty and when weather was bad we all played games in the room below our classroom. In our room was a door to the boiler room for heat. We were told never to go in this room, but for some reason all the boys used to sneak in and I guess that was because we were told not to. I remember when we got our school flagpole. If you were up on all your lessons you got to put the flag up in the morning and take it down after the last class. We all felt so good to pledge allegiance to the flag and so pleased with our new flagpole. The school grounds were not very big and no room for ball except “off the wall ball” all this was throwing the ball on the wall of the school house and see who could catch the rebound, marbles had a lot of different games, we shot rubber guns at each other till you got hit, spun tops and yo-yos and in winter time was sleigh riding, snowball with a fort made from big

The boarding house in Royal that the Vuksinick family ran.

(Continued from page 29) rolls of snow pushed by all kids. Kite flying was year round because of can-yon winds that also kept smoke from engines, coal stoves in every house and dust from the tipple pretty much out of town. I remember two great teachers in Royal: Mr. Nelson and Miss Gor-shie. They taught three grades each. Miss Gorshie taught grades from one to three and Mr. Nelson taught from fourth to sixth. Besides school les-sons we all learned manners, respect for each other and patriotism. Be-cause there were so few kids in town we had all ages involved in games. At night in the coal camps they always had lights on throughout town so we all played many games after dark. After the sixth grade students went to the Castle Gate School. It was a nice camp and had a lot of people. There was also a free show once a week. Once we reached the sixth grade we could walk back to Royal even if it was dark. We did this as a group. In the sixth grade it was really important to catch the bus, take lunch and get off the bus in time so that the younger kids could walk home with their brothers and sisters. The mines started to get more work and my mother and father decided to take over the boarding house in lower town. It was located just across the main line tracks from

where PRWID first starts out today. The road to Castle Gate separated the tracks and the boarding house. When we took over I was so tickled because we had inside plumbing, a phone, a big front room and a huge kitchen. But my excitement was soon over when I found out the huge sink and drain board was to be my sister and I’s domain. The boarders had separate quarters in buildings a short distance away. If necessary we could put four beds in each room and each building had three rooms on each side. We had three buildings but we never used four beds to one room very often. All each room had for heat was a small stove. They also had a wash basin. As World War II got closer the mines needed more men. They recruited men from Illinois, Ohio, Arkansas, Kentucky, and some other states. We had the most rooms to let and so many men came at one time.

My dad used his car to make many trips back and forth. After a few days some men went to Spring Canyon and some to Standard. We had many friends from these first workers. So at that point the work not only started for them, but for us too. It is hard to imagine the heat from the huge stove that my mother was always using throughout the day. I don’t know how she stood the heat in the summer. I do know at the end of the day my mother and few of her helpers were worn out after three meals, baking cakes and pies, fixing lunches for day shift and night shift workers and later even for graveyard shift miners. My father worked in the mine, helped my mother and in the summer months cut wood for the bunk rooms to start fires in the winter. My job was also to take wood and coal to each bunk house every night. I was so thankful the


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A RRoyal time:buckets were oil cans from the mine and were not very big. If they didn’t burn too much coal at night it would last to heat for two nights. I still remember the porch always having buckets filled with sand-wiches and some dessert on one side and all the lunch buckets empty waiting to be washed on the other side. Each lunch bucket had a copper tag to identify the miner it belonged to. My mother only cooked two meals on Sunday or holidays. I’m sure my mother thought of this as a vacation. I could tell you a lot of stories of how hard my family worked. The boarders that stayed there helped anyway they could too. So many of the boarders were away from their home and it made them close to our family and each other. On holidays we sometimes had my sister play the accordion and I played the guitar. We all sang. Sometimes the miners would pass a hat around for us and we got a dollar or so. In 1941 the mine exploded on Jan. 4 with one man killed and another burned very badly. By the bathhouse near the entrance of the mine, families waited for news. Women were crying and holding on to their children who were also crying with the very little ones looking around wondering what was happening. When they brought the first body out it was pandemonium. All the people that gath-ered there wondered what chance did the other men have if that person was dead.

(Continued from page 30) Unknown to anyone in the crowd the men knew what to do. They knew that when there was an explosion they should put up barricades to stop air bringing gases into the area they occupied. Then they all got together and used mine lamps a few at a time so they would have light for a longer time. They tested the air for gas and as they found none they moved into the old part of the mine that my fa-ther knew because of all the years he had worked there. They traveled to where they could get to the air shaft further up the canyon. When they all came walking down the canyon to where the families were waiting I can in no way tell you the joy and love that came across everyone. I remember I was so glad to be with my dad. I bathed with him in the bathhouse. The ordeal lasted from afternoon of Jan. 4 until early the next morning and al-though many people were shivering, not one mentioned the cold. It was one of the worst times of my life. Then on Dec. 7, World War II start-ed for the United States and I remember everyone around the radio. When they started to draw numbers for the draft everyone listened to the radio for their number. We had several young men that were called up right away. This also was a sad time. The train office became very heavily used in this little canyon with troop trains, tanks and trucks. People knew we were at war. When you think of the four or five

sets of tracks, two roads and a river, and all the mining activity and railroad activ-ity in this little canyon I know people that lived there even for a short time will nev-er forget it. I remember one time when I was very young and the older kids had made some kites and were flying them

for us. I saw cars going up and down the highway and I heard a plane, which was not very often flying high overhead. I thought “Man, I don’t know where those people are going but if they came to Royal they would be as happy as I am.”

Rudy’s class at the Royal School.

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Life between MohrlandMohrland and Cleveland:though we moved out of Mohrland, my Dad later went back to the mines when jobs opened up and so did my broth-ers. Many of our other relatives worked there too. It was and still is indeed a way of life for many families. When someone got married there was always a chivaree to have fun and celebrate and also tease the new couple. The whole town turned out, especially the kids, friends and relatives. They would swarm the house where the couple were and bang on pans, cans, etc, and yell for the new couple to come outside. They handed out treats and candy. One brother-in-law handed out nickels to all so they could buy a candy bar or ice cream or root beer float. Sometimes those in the crowd would try to steal the bride or some other trick. They took one bride on a ride in a wheelbarrow around town. Sometimes they didn’t bring them back for an hour or so. One time the wheelbarrow ride was up and down the aisles in the movie house. It was all in fun. We had two of those celebrations at our house; one for Norton and his wife and also one for Josephine and her husband. Mr. Green was the high school bus driver and we use to run down to the lower part of town near the store and wait for him to let some of the school kids off at their stop. Then he’d let us on and we’d ride the bus back up to the grade school which was by our house. We liked to ride in the very back on the

last seat that stretched from one side of the bus to the other, because it bounced higher than the rest of the seats. We use to play jacks and marbles in the yard and on the lawn and porch. One time I made a swing by tying a rope around two posts in the fence that ran around our front porch (railing, if you will). Then I found a piece of board and cut two notches in it one on each end for the rope. I got on and backed up as far as the swing would go and swung forward, only to swing up under the porch and smashed into the 8x10’s that were part of the underside of the porch. I hit them hard and right on my fore-head. It nearly knocked me out. After that I didn’t swing so hard to go up un-der the porch so far. It wasn’t too good of a swing so I abandoned it and took it town and went back to the school house’s playground swings. There was no porch floor there to hinder me, just beautiful blue sky with bouncy white clouds. The other thing about our front porch is that in the summers the boys had their bedroom out there; three of them in a double bed. Dad had covered half of the porch in old linoleum and planted vines that grew up and covered it so that it still looked good from the streets. You couldn’t see the linoleum. They slept out there late into the fall. We had a cooler my Dad made from some of the wood boxes that dynamite came in for blasting in the mine. It had two shelves and was covered with layers

of gunny-sack which we wetted down several times a day to keep it cool. There we kept opened canned milk, margarine, leftovers, eggs, etc. It worked pretty well, because we were using the food every day so it wasn’t in there long. I liked Mom to ask me to get this or that from the cooler, especially canned milk because I snuck a few sips from it bringing it into the house and taking it back out. We played house on the front porch and

made mud cakes on the wide steps up to it. We’d go to the foothills and find different colors of dirt and bring home in a can and that was the icing on our mud cakes. Dad would hose off our display every day, but it was okay if we wanted to make more the next day. We had fun and it didn’t cost anything. We did things and became very creative in the process and had fun. Our fun was not based on expensive automotive toys that we watched do things like the toys today. We use to make up plays and put on shows on our neighbor’s porch. We used blankets or quilts for the curtains or divided the porch into rooms or stages. We charged a penny or whatever the kids brought to watch our shows. Imagination was a good thing. One thing I want to note is a plus for the mining companies that either ran or owned the mine. Every Christ-mas they were always mindful of their workers and their families. They saw to it that every child had a stocking full containing an orange, apple, nuts and candy. Sometimes even a small toy from the dimes store was tucked away in the stocking. We use to think they came from Santa himself, or that our parents gave them to us. It was nice that they were mindful of the children. Speaking of Christmas, Erma and I used to go down to the store and up to the mezzanine where they kept the toys and look and “ah” over them. We had our eyes on two large dolls one in pink and one in blue. They would let us go up there and sit and hold them awhile. However one day they were gone! We were frantic and so sad. We had told our mother about them earlier but didn’t have any hope of ever having them. Then, Christmas morning I snuck out of bed and looked in the living room and saw two dolls sitting by a small table in the room and I went over to Erma and said, “We have dolls, but they aren’t the ones we wanted, try not to cry.” But low and behold when we all were allowed up and the lights were on, we found much to our joy that the dolls were the beautiful big dolls we wanted. I still don’t know how our parents af-forded them, but God bless them for their sacrifices. They made two little

girls very happy. We took such good care of our dolls and both had them into our adulthood, but they came up missing after we left home. I think the next generation of grandkids got them. We got a doll house made of cardboard one year between us. It had wooden furniture. We played for hours with it on cold days. We cut out people from old catalogs to make families for our little cardboard house. We also drew and colored our own dolls or people and their clothing. This taught us to create and design cloths and people. It kept us busy and we were using our minds and ideas. When my brother Reid and sister Ann had the paper route for Mohrland we all pitched in on occasions. One time they didn’t have a chance to deliver to a place called Decks Canyon. It was very steep incline up a canyon road with a row of houses along it. Mom and I took the papers up there. A paper had to be delivered almost to the top of the hill. It was winter and the snow was really deep. The road was closed. We hiked up that hill. I was about five-years-old and the snow was as deep as I was tall. Mom helped me as much as she could. We had a hard time, but we made it. It happened to be the only paper to be delivered to any of those houses. The prices of the papers at that time was 10 cents on Sundays and two cents daily. The lady invited us into her home to get warm and rest. Then we had to get ourselves back down the canyon and to our house, but we got the job done. We use to sleigh ride on the street in front of our house all winter and ride our wagon down it in the summer. It had a nice slope do both those things.We loved Mohrland and the people who lived there. They were all great. As I said before it was like one big family. I miss them to this day still. Once in awhile I see names that sound familiar to me in the Sun Advocate. Sometimes they are families from our friends, rela-tives of ones we knew. A lot of them went to Hiawatha, Wattis, and Sun-nyside, Price, Helper and other towns around Carbon and Emery counties after Mohrland shut down.



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off their crops a bachelor farmer might be forced to contemplate marriage, the last refuge for men unable to fend for themselves. Marriage, is a most unbearable thought for most bachelors. The joyous town mayor joined them for his fourth cup of morning coffee. He was so glad to see the rain. It had wor-ried him that he would have to order a ban on watering lawns, it had been so dry and the water level in the water tower tank was getting so low, or so he thought.

(Continued from page 13) Its depth gauge broke years ago when the water level got so low the float arm snapped. Now the mayor tests the level by climbing the ladder himself. At twenty feet he always gets the nose bleed and has to come down and stuff his nose with cotton and then gives it another try and then climbs high above the trees and houses. Then with a hammer he bangs on the tank. When the water is low it rings like a deep bell tolling for the dead, wonnnggg, wonnnggg, wonnnggg. Now with rain water-ing the lawns, the tank is filling

up, and soon it’ll sound like wed-ding bells. That was yesterday. Today there was a pleasant chill in the air and the mayor, as most de-pendable and disciplined do, was giving has thanks in the proper place. Thank you, God, for the good life and forgive us if we do not love it enough. Thank you for the rain, and for the chance to wake up in three hours and go fishing. I thank you for that right now, because I won’t feel so thankful after only three hours sleep.

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