Utah Historical Quarterly, Volume 63, Number 2, 1995

UTAH HISTORICAL QUARTERLY (ISSN 0042-143X)

EDITORIAL STAFF

MAXJ EVANS, Editor

STANFORD J LAYTON, Managing Editor

MIRIAM B MURPHY, Associate Editor

ADVISORY BOARD O F EDITORS

MAUREEN URSENBACH BEECHER, Salt Lake City, 1997

KENNETH L CANNON II, Salt Lake City, 1995

JANICE P DAWSON, Layton, 1996

AUDREY M. GODFREY, Logan, 1997

JOEL C. JANETSKI, Provo, 1997

ROBERT S. MCPHERSON, Blanding, 1995

ANTONETTE CHAMBERS NOBLE, Cora, WY, 1996

GENE A. SESSIONS, Ogden, 1995

GARY TOPPING, Salt Lake City, 1996

Utah Historical Quarterly was established in 1928 to publish articles, documents, and reviews contributing to knowledge of Utah's history The Quarterly is published four times a year by the Utah State Historical Society, 300 Rio Grande, Salt Lake City, Utah 84101 Phone (801) 533-3500 for membership and publications information. Members of the Society receive the Quarterly, Beehive History, and the bimonthly Newsletter upon payment of the annual dues: individual, $20.00; institution, $20.00; student and senior citizen (age sixty-five or over), $15.00; contributing, $25.00; sustaining, $35.00; patron, $50.00; business, $100.00

Materials for publication should be submitted in duplicate, typed double-space, with footnotes at the end Authors are encouraged to submit material in a computer-readable form, on 5 1/4 or 3 x/i inch MS-DOS or PC-DOS diskettes, standard ASCII text file. For additional information on requirements contact the managing editor Articles represent the views of the author and are not necessarily those of the Utah State Historical Society

Second class postage is paid at Salt Lake City, Utah

Postmaster: Send form 3579 (change of address) to Utah Historical Quanerly, 300 Rio Grande, Salt Lake City, Utah 84101.

MARSHALL E. BOWEN Utah People in the Nevada Desert: Homestead and Community on a Twentieth-Century Farmer's Frontier. DON R. MURPHY

180

RALPH Y MCGINNIS and CALVIN N SMITH, eds. Abraham Lincoln and the Western Territories...D. GENE PACE 181

DONALD A BARCLAY, JAMES H MAGUIRE, and PETER WILD, eds Into the Wilderness Dream: Exploration Narratives of the American West, 1500-1805

DONALD R. CUTTER 182

LEONARD ANGEL, ed. The Big Empty: Essays on the Land as Narrative

JOHN L. ALLEN 183

KENNETH N OWENS, ed John Sutter and a Wider West....RICHARD NEITZEL HOLZAPFEL 184

ELIZABETH B. CUSTER. Following the Guidon MICHELE BUTTS 185

THOMAS T. SMITH, ed. A Dose ofFrontier Soldiering: The Memoirs of Corporal E. A. Bode, Frontier Regular Infantry, 1877-1882

BRUCE J DINGES 186

ELIZABETH STEVENSON. Figures in a Western Landscape: Men and Women of the Northern Rockies

CHARLES E RANKIN 188

In this issue

The concept of heritage tourism and statewide hearings on wilderness designation are much in the Utah news this spring. Debates on balancing environmental consideration against the need for economic development constantly ring through city and county chambers, legislative halls, and congressional committee rooms. Anyone who has listened to or participated in this great dialogue will read the first three articles with special interest. Leading off is a look at the discovery of Gregory Natural Bridge and the high hopes an early river guide held for exploiting it to promote business. Then comes a photo essay that depicts a portion of the majestic and beautiful natural formations, including Gregory Natural Bridge, now lying submerged beneath the water of Lake Powell. The third article is a biographical reminiscence of a colorful Arches National Monument superintendent in simpler times when visitation rates were only a fraction of today's volume and when Explorer Scouts provided search and rescue operations.

Determination is the unifying theme as we shift to the nineteenth century for the next two selections It, along with pioneer industry and technology, was the key to success in forging the St George Temple baptismal font and transporting it by ox train from Salt Lake City. Determination again, this time in concert with adaptation and resourcefulness, defined the cultural transition made by the Shoshones as they faced white intruders into Cache Valley during the 1850s and 60s.

Now fifty years from the end of World War II, we conclude this issue with thoughts of men who participated in that great conflict. One Utah veteran reflects on his days as a unit commander stationed in Australia; the other enjoys a memorial tribute for having returned from the Pacific to forge an outstanding career as a historian that included more than a decade as director of the Utah State Historical Society.

Lake Powell. USHS collections.

Undiscovered to Undiscoverable: Gregory Natural Bridge

BY JARED FARMER

AMON G ABUNDANT NATURAL SPLENDOR, THE CANYONS OF THE LOWER Escalante River enclose immense arches and bridges Secluded in a jungle of slickrock, these natural spans attracted minimal attention until midcentury Not until 1940 was Gregory Natural Bridge effectively—if not genuinely—discovered. The "discoverer" was Norman Nevills, one of the most prominent and most colorful early commercial

Gregory Natural Bridge onFiftymile Creek, a tributary of the Escalante River. U.S. Geological Survey photograph.

Mr Farmer, a student at Utah State University, wishes to thank the helpful staffs of the Huntington Library and the University of Utah's Marriott Library.

river runners in the West. Like Glen Canyon of the Colorado River, Nevills's staple run, much of the wilderness of the lower Escalante now lies beneath Lake Powell. Gregory Natural Bridge was submerged by the filling reservoir, easily the largest span lost that way. Its present invisibility belies its past record of human association—with not only Nevills but also surveyors, ranchers, and sundry travelers. Natural bridges, unlike arches, form by stream erosion. Gregory Natural Bridge was not a misnomer. Fiftymile Creek, a tributary of the Escalante, had gnawed through the neck of an incised meander, thereby deserting (for an interval) a rambling path for a direct one. The resulting hole grew to measure approximately 175 feet wide and 75 feet high, dimensions that had room to increase; Gregory Natural Bridge's total height, from cobble streambed to ruddy Navajo sandstone roadway, extended about 200 feet.1 A striped patina of desert varnish graced the massive structure Cottonwoods formed a trembling border of green Natural bridges are themselves uncommon, even in the Colorado Plateau, but beautiful Gregory, considering the arid setting, was a rarity: the rock canopy spanned a perennial streamflow.

Gregory Natural Bridge was known before 1940, albeit without a name. Native Americans, both ancient and modern, undoubtedly visited the place; Mormon stockmen from Escalante and Boulder camped there, sometimes leaving tin cans behind. A U.S. Geological Survey mapping crew noted the span in 1921, but the working men lacked any inclination to "discover" the formation. It took Norman Nevills to playact the explorer, a role he happily filled.

Hailing from northern California, Norman Davies Nevills immigrated to minuscule Mexican Hat, Utah, on the San Juan River, in 1928. He was twenty. His father, an itinerant prospector, had arrived several years earlier. Nevills labored with his father in the San Juan oil field and did odd jobs for the USGS. Although the boom that had brought them there busted, Norman and his parents remained in Utah The red rock landscape had grown on them "Having faith in the eventual development of the roads that would open up this region," they built the Mexican Hat Lodge, out of which the younger Nevills operated his subsequent guide business.2 With ambition and

1 Gregory Natural Bridge was never measured exactly, so printed dimensions, particularly of the horizontal length, have varied

2 Nevills, "Brief Biography of Capt. W. A. Nevills W. E. Nevills, N. D. Nevills," box 1, Nevills Collection, Marriott Library, University of Utah, Salt Lake City (hereafter NC)

incredible energy (and the invaluable assistance of his wife, Doris) he transformed river running from a pastime into a vocation. Success came slowly, but before his untimely death in a 1949 plane crash, Norman Nevills had been dubbed the "world's No. 1 fast-water man."3

To attract paying guests and make a living at the nascent business of recreational rafting, Nevills needed publicity Theatrical by nature, he also craved recognition. In 1938 he led his first major excursion, an event-filled passage down the Green and Colorado rivers from Green River, Utah, to Lake Mead. Because of the deadly reputation of the Colorado River and the presence of two women in the party, the trip made news around the country "They'll never make it," one "veteran" river explorer grimly forecasted. While "Nevills Expedition 1938" did experience its share of clashes—both with rocks and personalities—everyone emerged from the canyons intact, and Nevills relished the moment of fame.

3 This paper illuminates facets of Norman Nevills's character, but the discovery of Gregory Natural Bridge gives an incomplete picture of the man and his career. No substantial biography has appeared For a good overview of his life, see P T Reilly, "Norman Nevills: Whitewater Man of the West," Utah Historical Quarterly 55 (1987): 181-200 Also see Roy Webb, "Never Was Anything So Heavenly: Nevills Expeditions on the San Juan River," Blue Mountain Shadows 12 (Summer 1993): 35-50; David Lavender, River Runners of the Grand Canyon (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1985), pp. 96-105; Nancy Nelson, Any Time, Any Place, Any River: The Nevills of Mexican Hat (Flagstaff: Red Lake Books, 1991); and William Cook, The Wen, the Botany, and the Mexican Hat: The Adventures of the First Women through Grand Canyon on the Nevills Expedition (Orangevale, Calif: Calisto Books, 1987)

The 1938 Nevills expedition included two women identified as LoisJotter (no hat) and Dr. Elzada Clover of the University ofMichigan. Photograph by Robert C Tyler, USHS collections.

Publicity did not immediately translate into prosperity, however; 1939 was disappointing. "Our financial status here this summer has been nil," Nevills wrote "The lack of trips has made this the worst year we have ever experienced."4 He received a boost when syndicated columnist Ernie Pyle, touring across America, took a short boat ride on the San Juan River; but Nevills needed a successful trip in 1940 to keep his career on track. He wanted to "hit the front pages again," Pyle noted.5 To Nevills the great media interest in 1938 indicated the "'law of escape,' whereby the general public gives vent to its suppressed desire to share in great adventures [and] is highly arroused."6 For 1940 he hoped to take full advantage of this perceived popular appetite by arranging publicity in advance.

Cameraman, presumablyfrom Movietone, sets up tofilm a river run. Ever the promoter, Nevills had painted NEVILLS-MOVLETONE EXPEDITION on the side of his boats. USHS collections.

4 Nevills to Clyde Eddy, August 9, 1939, box 8, NC

5 Pyle, column of August 2, 1939, copy in NC

b Nevills, Salient Points of the 1940 Nevills Expedition, enclosed with a letter to Al Runkle, November 29, 1939, box 18, NC

Nevills envisioned a trip that would "dwarf his earlier activities "in all details of interest, hazard, and accomplishment." In 1938 his expedition had included the first women to float the full length of the Colorado River in Grand Canyon Nevills would outdo that by transporting women (including his wife) all the way from Green River, Wyoming, to Lake Mead—a retracing of John Wesley Powell's famous exploration. Members of the 1938 expedition had collected plant specimens; that would be followed up by a "complete botanical survey" of the river corridor The 1940 party, to be composed of "various scientists and experts," would also plot cliff dwellings and gather geological and mineralogical data. At the close of each busy day they would relate their observations and adventures to a national audience via a radio carried in the boats. The listeners would "[run] rapids as they sit in their apartment or drive down Fifth Ave " "Even the technical problems of the broadcast," Nevills alleged, "will arouse universal interest."7

That was not all. In a moment of romance Nevills planned to take an accordionist down Glen Canyon; the group would "drift by moonlight with the music."8 Cameramen, some of "international fame," would capture the entire canyon system in natural color.9 The photographs would illustrate presentations on a subsequent nationwide lecture tour. Fox, Paramount, and Movietone had, ostensibly, each made tentative offers to produce the expedition's movie film results. Nevills wrote of receiving additional funds from a major sponsor such as National Carbon or Camels Much more than a recreational trip, the planned expedition would "pursue scientific and photographical research."10 Instead of yielding immediate profit, it would "pave the way" for future ventures. In short, he had dreamed up a giant promotional stunt.11

Nevills eagerly outlined bits of this scheme in letters to prospective passengers. In his salesman's pitch, written in characteristic unpolished English, a tantalizing report of a colossal natural bridge hardly seemed out of place:

7 Nevills, The Value of the 1940 Nevills Colorado River Expedition as a National Network Program, box 31, NC.

8 Nevills to (unidentified) Mr and Mrs Brown, October 25, 1939, box 5, NC

9 Nevills to Wesley Heath, March 12, 1940, box 11, NC.

10 Nevills to Chester Doherty, March 19, 1940, box 10, NC

11 Nevills to Jack Breed, October 22, 1939, box 5, NC Nevills was more adept at making plans than implementing them; most of these were scaled back or left unrealized Despite Nevills's best efforts, the 1940 expedition received less attention than the one in 1938.

And now, here's where the rabbit comes out of the hat! I have definite, exact data on the location of a new , undiscovered natural bridge

A bridge that makes the "Rainbow [Bridge] look like a culvert"

Alright, alright, I know this sounds fantastic, but here's the dope: A good many years ago a certain man, now dead, saw this "undiscovered bridge". Directly afterwards he saw the Rainbow and then made the comparison quoted above. For reasons of animosity towards his party and other reasons he didnot divulge the bridges existence untill a year or so ago before his death. The man he told, a great friend of mine, and realizing his likely lack of opportunity in ever seeing this bridge gave me the dope this Fall to use as I see fit. From the location he gave me I immediately sp[o]tted the bridge on an airshot -and scaling showed it to be 1260 feet across the top! Its a gigantic affair. Easier to reach from the river than Rainbow is the capping climax.. If I had'nt seen the airshot I might have been sceptical The park service are all hipped up and I've already arranged to inform them in Washington by wire — So thats that! I have confirmed the location, know it is 1260' across the top — all we need is to see the hole That we have to take this mans word for as to its size.12

There was good reason why the story sounded fantastic: Nevills made most of it up How he actually learned about the natural bridge is not uninteresting but certainly more prosaic.

The initial news came from Thorn Mayes, an engineer from California who liked to vacation in Monument Valley with his pocket Brunton compass. In 1933 he headed the mapping unit of the privately financed Rainbow Bridge-Monument Valley Expedition with Nevills as one of his helpers. In subsequent years Mayes would stop by the Mexican Hat Lodge to visit. On one such call in 1939 he informed Nevills that Herbert Gregory, a government geologist, had told him about a natural bridge in a tributary of the Escalante River Mayes and Nevills consulted a Fairchild Survey aerial photograph of the region that corroborated the intelligence Nevills, already planning the 1940 trip, saw the span as "another major objective."13

Mayes learned of the bridge from Gregory who, in turn, had received the knowledge from another USGS employee, William Chenoweth. A topographic engineer, Chenoweth had supervised a 1921 damsite survey from Green River, Utah, to Lee's Ferry. He and four others tarried in Glen Canyon to chart major tributaries to

12 Nevills to Wesley Heath, October 22, 1939, box 11, NC Nevills sent a nearly verbatim story to at least three others and abbreviated versions to several more

1S Nevills to Gregory, January 8, 1940, box 10, NC Herbert Ernest Gregory (1869-1952), for whom the bridge was eventually named, had a doctorate from Yale and was a prominent and prolific USGS field geologist, educator, amateur historian, and long-time head of the Bishop Museum, Honolulu, Hawaii. His many superior reports on the landforms of southern Utah and northern Arizona served both scientists and hardy tourists

3,900 feet, the full pool level of a proposed reservoir (which in another form became Lake Powell). Chenoweth's assigned section of Glen Canyon encompassed the Escalante River. In the course of work his small group hiked up Fiftymile Creek, saw the unnamed Gregory Natural Bridge, and camped beneath it one night Rodman Leigh Lint made a record in the visitor register at Rainbow Bridge where they visited a few days afterwards: "Near, the Escalante River8!/2 miles from the Colorado River, and 3A miles up '40 Mile Creek' on the south side of the Escalante is a natural bridge 75 feet high, with a span of 100 feet. This bridge is across the creek and forms a perfect bridge and not an arch."14

Months later Herbert Gregory got wind of the natural bridge and requested information from Chenoweth. Gregory was preparing a report on the region around the Kaiparowits Plateau and Escalante River. Chenoweth sent a description of the bridge which the geologist utilized. Somewhere along the way, though, the span length had doubled in size: "On Fortymile Creek a beautiful natural bridge has resulted from the undercutting of a meander spur and has the history of the well-known Rainbow Bridge in the Navajo Country. As estimated by W. R. Chenoweth of the United States Geological Survey, the Fortymile Bridge has a span of 200 feet and a height from stream bed to roadway of 75 feet."15

Hugh Miser, another government geologist, published a report in 1924 on the San Juan River canyon that indirectly noted the bridge. The geologic map accompanying the report showed the span's approximate location (mislocated in unmarked Clear Creek), labeled "Natural Bridge."16 Miser had heard about the formation from his colleague Chenoweth.

Nevills had several opportunities to leaf through the Rainbow Bridge register and therefore could have seen Leigh Lint's entry

14 From photographs of the register, box 319, Otis Marston Collection, Henry E. Huntington Library, San Marino, California (hereafter MC).

15 Herbert E Gregory and Raymond C Moore, The Kaiparowits Region: A Geographic and Geologic Reconnaissance of Parts of Utah and Arizona, U.S Geological Survey Professional Paper 164 (Washington, D.C: Government Printing Office, 1931), pp 144-45 Gregory perpetuated the misnomer Fortymile Creek As noted, the bridge spanned Fiftymile Creek (also called Soda Gulch); Fortymile Creek is found upstream on the Escalante Strangely, Gregory's map and the excellent 1922 USGS river profile sheets Chenoweth helped prepare (see sheet G) did not mark the bridge, though "Forty Mile Creek" appeared on both Gregory Natural Bridge finally appeared on the USGS 15 minute The Rincon topographic map, published in 1953

16 Hugh D. Miser, The San Juan Canyon, South-eastern Utah: A Geographic and Hydrographic Reconnaissance, U. S. Geological Survey Water-Supply Paper 538 (Washington, D. C: Government Printing Office, 1924), plate 15.

Before 1939 Nevills apparently had not looked at Herbert Gregory's work, but the river runner had "poured over and over" Miser's San Juan River paper. 17 In other words, he may have possessed an inkling of the bridge's existence before Thorn Mayes's visit, but he did not become intrigued until after.

In Nevills's garbled account a fictional member of Chenoweth's survey party was the dead man who had seen the bridge The "great friend" (also a "man prominent in national affairs") who heard the surveyman's secret—imparted on a deathbed in one version—was probably based on Gregory. The story, in the words of a Nevills boatman, contained 'just enough substance to make it interesting and slightly probable."18 With it, Nevills hoped to entice paying guests. "Need sever [a]1 more [passengers] and must turn everything over to get 'em," he once disclosed. As one inducement he invited people to help officially discover and name the colossal natural bridge.19

The self-interest that prompted Nevills to plug the bridge subsumed a more praiseworthy motive Judging from his career and the spirited writings he left behind, Nevills clearly held Utah's canyonlands dear. As he put it, "I love this country, and want to do all in my power [to] help it progress."20 That meant, in part, supporting Escalante National Monument.

In the late 1930s the Interior Department, under the expansionminded leadership of Harold Ickes, suggested that a huge reserve (nearly 7,000 square miles in the original proposal) be created along the Colorado River in southern Utah—the heart of the largest undeveloped district in the United States at that time. The Southwest Regional Office of the National Park Service asked Nevills to compose a descriptive article about territory very few knew, which he called home. At times he sounded something like a conservationist:

17 Nevills to Hugh Miser, February 26, 1947, box 15, NC. In early 1940 Nevills invited Gregory to come on the trip: "It would be most appropriate for you to name [the bridge]." The geologist was tempted; despite years of field work around Glen Canyon he had never floated its length He declined because of insufficient time and money

18 Hugh Cutler to Otis Marston,July 8, 1948, box 37, MC As late as 1952 river runner Harry Aleson took some stock in a "rumor of a member of a survey party -Escalante channel - who was sore at the boss, and failed to report a big bridge." Humorously, in the same letter Aleson criticized the "Nevills' school of dramatics." Aleson to Otis Marston, March 17, 1952, box 7, Aleson Collection, Utah State Historical Society Library, Salt Lake City

19 Nevills to Hugh Cutler, November 9, 1939, box 6, NC Days before, Nevills updated Thorn Mayes: "[The bridge has] been a great thing for me to go on in selling the trip." That was probably an overly optimistic appraisal Of those who signed up for the trip, none, it would seem, did so primarily to see the bridge

20 Nevills to Gregory, April 17, 1940, box 10, NC

This is the canyon wonderland—a huge roadless area that is superbly beautiful. It is almost entirely publicly-owned. The public, though, is deriving scarcely any benefit, for only a very few people have been there. Roads are needed to make it accessible, just as roads had to be provided before the Grand Canyon could be "opened." People from throughout the world—several millions of them—have gained inspiration and education from viewing the Grand Canyon The same will be true of the Escalante region, after accessibility is provided Roads will come when the area is linked into the National Park System, as it should be, to prevent commercialization and to assure its preservation in a natural state. It should be kept unspoiled and it should be made available to all the people.21

It was in this publicly owned Shangri-la that Nevills uncovered the natural bridge Writing a travelogue for the Park Service following the 1940 expedition, he predicted that thousands would visit the breathtaking Escalante River canyon, part of "an area that someday will be the 'Playground of America.'"22 Charles Kelly (another nonnative southern Utahn) wrote in Desert Magazine that the discovery of Gregory Natural Bridge "focuses attention on a comparatively unexplored section of the West which may soon be made accessible to desert travelers."23 Unfortunately, Nevills (and the limited audience of Desert Magazine) lacked both the influence and the opportunity to boost Escalante National Monument appreciably. By 1940 the proposal was irreversibly moribund, a casualty of political wrangling between state and federal governments.24

Nevills had hoped to give Escalante National Monument "a big impetus" by "'selling' this country thru the lectures" that were to follow the 1940 trip.25 Of course, whenever the river runner sold the canyon scenery, he simultaneously advertised himself. He could have expected increased business and renown with the realization of the

21 Nevills, "Canyon Wonderland," Region Three Quarterly 2 (July 1940): 42

22 Nevills, "Descent of the Canyons," Region Three Quarterly 3 (July 1941): 42

23 Kelly, "Proposed Escalante National Monument," Desert Magazine4 (February 1941): 21-22.

24 Too much has been made of the proposed Escalante National Monument and what might have been—or, in the case of Lake Powell, what might not have been It is important to remember that the monument, as conceived, would not necessarily have precluded a dam in Glen Canyon See Elmo R Richardson, "Federal Park Policy in Utah: The Escalante National Monument Controversy of 1935-1940," Utah Historical Quarterly 33 (Spring 1965): 109-133 In 1950 the National Park Service presented the comparatively modest "Canyon Lands of Utah Suggested Plan for Recreational Use," in A Survey ofthe Recreational Resources of the Colorado River Basin (Washington, D.C: Government Printing Office) , plate 9 It identified Glen Canyon below the Rincon as one of two zones of "national importance for parks and recreation." (The other encompassed eventual Canyonlands National Park.) The area of the lower Escalante River, Hole-in-the-Rock, and Hidden Passage was recommended for withdrawal. The park service mentioned Gregory Natural Bridge as one of "at least six fine bridges in the twisting half-domed tributary canyons of the Escalante River" (p 172)

25 Nevills to Gregory, April 17, 1940

monument. Potential profit overlapped love for the land; together, they help explain why his statements about a "new" bridge within the proposed monument boundaries were so enthusiastic. Recounting his 1938 Grand Canyon run before the Women's Literary Club of Moab, Nevills could not refrain from saying he expected to bring to light "another arch or natural bridge similar to but larger" than world-famous Rainbow Bridge. He told the Salt Lake Tribune the same thing.26

Nevills professed to be the lone possessor of directions to the bridge (sometimes in the form of a map) and gave that knowledge

26 "Nevills

Jacob Hamblin _Arch

Coyote Arch

Natural Bridge

Describes Thrilling Trip," Moab Times-Independent, February 8, 1940, copy in MC; "Utahn Plans to Repeat Voyage Down Hazardous Colorado," Salt Lake Tribune, February 13, 1940, p 17

an air of secrecy He gladly notified others of his imminent find, but refused to reveal its location, as Charles Madsen, state director of the WPA Utah Writers' Project, found out. Madsen wrote Nevills:

I understand that you plan to "discover" a new natural bridge on your next trip. I have heard that it's going to be three times as large as the Rainbow Apparently you have already discovered the bridge and are merely awaiting a more auspicious time to make your announcement. However, we would like to have some information about this bridge in our state guide which is to be published about August If you are willing to give us this information, we will treat it in the strictest confidence and promise you that nothing will leak out about it until the book appears, by which time you will doubtless already have announced your discovery.

Nevills answered curtly: "Am very sorry, but am maintaining a strict policy of not disclosing any information whatsoever as to the whereabouts of the new bridge, suffice to say it is in Utah."27

Confidentiality showed elsewhere. A mimeographed brochure for his 1940 trip contained a crude, hand-drawn map of the Green and Colorado rivers and surrounding country, including the Escalante River X marked the spot—"New Bridge"—but X was placed on the wrong side of Glen Canyon.28

How might Nevills have justified discovering a known feature? No picture had been printed; only one description had been published—a small paragraph buried within a geologic paper; nobody had given the span a name; no person seemed to have visited the place in nearly twenty years Since no one claimed discovery, the reasoning goes, how could the bridge have really been discovered?

Resisting the "awfull tem[p]tation" to "sneak off and have a preview," Nevills prepared for the June launching of his 1940 expedition.29 Five weeks after a royal sendoff by the town of Green River, Wyoming, his trio of plywood boats landed at the mouth of the Escalante River. After lunch, six from the party began the hike to the bridge The thermometer read 100 degrees Doris Nevills, boatman Del Reed, and a disappointed Barry Goldwater (before his years as a politician) stayed behind with a sore leg, arm, and knee, respectively.

27 Madsen to Nevills, April 5, 1940; and Nevills in reply, April 25, 1940, box 23, NC. At the last minute, using information from a news story, the WPA writers inserted a note about the bridge into the Utah Guide (New York: Hastings House, 1941), p 441 As well, Nevills occupied a noteworthy place in the chronology of Utah history (pp 531-37), which spanned four centuries, 1540 to 1940 The first entry concerned a Spanish explorer; the very last concerned what passed as a modern explorer: "Gregory Natural Bridge discovered by Norman Nevills."

28 Nevills, First Bulletin Norman Nevills Colorado River Expedition 1940, box 31, NC

29 Nevills toJack Breed, October 22, 1939

Walking and wading past "tapestry walls and refreshingly cool springs," the group arrived at Fiftymile Creek after six hours. They ate a frugal supper before rolling out on the sand. Hiking resumed early in the morning. Only twenty minutes after entering the side canyon, they were "walking along, looking down to watch our footing, when we glanced up and found we were directly under the Bridge."30

Comparisons to Rainbow Bridge were inevitable. "We found it a most impressively beautiful bridge," Mildred Baker, a secretary from Buffalo, confided in her journal, but it "could not compare with [Rainbow Bridge's] spiritual grace " Commenting in retrospect, John Southworth, a mining engineer from southern California, reserved even slightest praise:

I was wholly unimpressed by the bridge. Maybe the arch was 40 or 50' in the clear and the top was 70 more than that. Wasn't much anyhowand surely wasn't a delicate or impressive formation like Rainbow Saw lots of tin cans from cow camps. And lots of signs of cows. Frankly, the whole thing bored me after I nearly walked under it without seeing it The walk must have tired me unduly Also, the "mighty discoverer" in Norm might have built me up to where the letdown was just too, too much.31

If Nevills experienced any letdown, he suppressed it. "It would be hard to describe the wonder and thrill that we felt," he wrote later. "As we gazed at [the bridge], its enormity began to be appreciated and we soon realized that here was no ordinary natural bridge. This bridge was huge."32

The objectives of the expedition had included measuring the bridge. It is puzzling, then, that Nevills came so poorly equipped for the job. His tools consisted of a small metal ruler and two new spools of heavy cotton thread—each supposed to be 300 feet long—that he

30 Mildred Baker, "Rough Water," American Forests 50 (November 1944): 520-25, 572-73, p 525; Baker, 1940journal, copy of typescript, pp 28-29, box 284, MC

31 John Southworth to Otis Marston, October 16, 1948, box 212, MC He was not the only one ever to disparage the bridge Later visitor Claire Noall could only say this: "A clumsy irregular beam in rusty sandstone spans half the gulch." See 'The Story of Utah's Canyons," part 2, in Treasures ofPioneer History, vol 6, ed Kate Carter (Salt Lake City: DUP, 1957), p 460 Gregory Natural Bridge was often compared unfavorably to incomparable Rainbow Bridge In the January 1941 Arizona Highways, Barry Goldwater stated that the bridge "in no way compares with the Rainbow Natural Bridge in beauty " In the May 18, 1946, Saturday Evening Post, Neil M. Clark described Gregory Natural Bridge as "almost as big as Rainbow, but less picturesque." In the September 1949 National Geographic Jack Breed curtly noted that Fiftymile Creek contained "one bridge—a missive affair called Gregory Bridge But it is no Rainbow." Some were less concerned about comparative size and aesthetics "Altho the bridge dimensions have been lowered in estimations," Harry Aleson wrote in 1959, "the Gregory has not, [and] will always remain a natural beauty."

32 Nevills, "Descent of the Canyons," p 42

had borrowed from Mildred Baker. Jesse Nusbaum of the Park Service had ineffectually advised Nevills to "take tapes for accurate measurements" to avoid any controversy about the true size of the bridge.33

Nevills and Hugh Cutler, a pair of practiced climbers, scrambled to the bridge's roadway, where Nevills made a plum line. He unwound one spool completely and used 51//2 feet of the other to reach the canyon floor To determine the total height, he simply measured the used portion of the second thread and added that to 300 feet Nevills gauged an inside opening of 192 feet and a span of 293l/t feet.

These dimensions, though modest next to the pretrip publicity, strayed significantly from reality.34 But Nevills entered the numbers like facts in the back pages of his wife's diary, and on his river map, accompanied by a sketch of the bridge. Above it he inscribed:

1 milefrom mouth

discovered: 7:30 A.M. 7-26-40

Named: Gregory Bridge^

Nevills had desired to christen it the Doris Mae—after his wife (Doris) and mother (Mae)—but the others at the bridge "hooted him down."36 When one from the group advanced the name Gregory, Nevills emphatically rejected it, according to Mildred Baker Commenting how peaceful it felt in the shade of the natural canopy, Baker proposed Hozhoni—a Navajo word she understood to mean "peace." Nevills spoke a little of the language, but did not recognize the word; he convinced Baker that nizhoni ("beautiful") was what she had in mind.

33 Nusbaum to Nevills, March 27, 1940, box 23, NC

34 Error would be expected, but Nevills's figures were inflated enough to suggest the possibility of deliberate exaggeration. The purported total height of the bridge fell just four feet short of Rainbow Bridge's then-accepted height of 309 feet. Otis Marston, not always a reliable source, said that Nevills bragged in private that Gregory Natural Bridge actually measured three feet higher than Rainbow Bridge; not wanting to take away from Rainbow's glory, Nevills lowered the figure Marston, interviewed byJay M Haymond and John F Hoffman, May 28, 1976, pp 19-22, typescript, Utah State Historical Society Library Mildred Baker, responding in 1948 to Marston's contention that Nevills faked the measurements, made two good points: "Why anyone should want to deceive in this manner is simply beyond comprehension, for surely later on the bridge would be more accurately surveyed and the 'error' be brought to light However, some people have a queer psychology."

35 Nevills took notes on USGS river profile sheets cut to fit a handmade map holder mounted to his boat See Box 34, NC

36 Charles Larabee to Otis Marston,July 16, 1948, box 113, MC.

Nevills returned to the boats saying he had named the span Nijoni, wrote Barry Goldwater, "but we insist upon calling it Gregory in honor of Dr. Herbert Gregory and Norm says he will send in the name."37 Nevills later controverted Goldwater, insisting he had written Gregory Bridge on a piece of paper which he placed inside an old tin (Del Monte's plumjam) the group found nestled in a cairn Whatever the case, upon reaching Lee's Ferry, where a reporter waited, Nevills informed, "We named the bridge after Herbert E. Gregory, widely-known government geologist, .. . It was Gregory who furnished us with the information which made our discovery possible." Nevills made it known that the bridge had been measured with "steel tapes." (Later they would become "silk lines.") "There is no question as to the accuracy of our measurements," he boasted to the interviewer, "nor that the arch is the second highest yet known."38

Some of the passengers assumed the measurements' accuracy

Those who doubted might aggrandize the bridge anyway John Southworth, who privately recalled his boredom at an estimated 120foot-high span, earlier reported to his alumni magazine that the bridge "turned out to be of exceptional size . . . rising 307 feet above the canyon floor." He cited the mock discovery second only to the 1776 fording of the Colorado River by the Dominguez-Escalante expedition to illustrate that Glen Canyon was indeed "a canyon of history."39 Charles Larabee communicated in a 1948 letter that he very much doubted the bridge was anywhere near 305 feet high and 293 feet wide, and added, "It is not a beautiful bridge." Just the month before, he had been quoted as saying, "We discovered a natural bridge," the "second largest natural bridge in the world," one of "nature's masterpieces."40

Writers not connected with Nevills unknowingly rebroadcasted hyperbole about the bridge One later expressed, "If anyone is

" Goldwater, Delightful fourney Down the Green and Colorado Rivers (Tempe: Arizona Historical Foundation, 1970), p 62 The U.S Board on Geographic Names never rendered a decision on the name (for it was never found to be in conflict) but officially recognized Gregory Natural Bridge in

i8 "River Runners Find Huge Natural Arch," 5a// Lake Tribune, August 3, 1940, p 28 The Associated Press distributed the article After reading an account, William Chenoweth wrote Nevills, August 15, 1940, curious "if by chance we saw the same bridge." Nevills replied cautiously: "Please, don't feel that we have attempted to discredit your find, but actually the bridge was seen even before your visit in 1921 -- - The important thing was to bring to public attention this bridge, in order to stimulate and further interest in the proposed Escalante Mon area in which this bridge lies."Box 315, MC

39 Southworth, "Colorado River in a Row Boat," part 1, Mines Magazine 32 (March 1942): 120-22

40 Larabee to Otis Marston, July 16, 1948, box 113, MC; Larabee, as told to Horace S Mazet, "Riding the Rapids of the Grand Canyon," Travel 91 (Jure 1948): 4-9

embarrassed .. . it should be Norm, not me. He claimed to have discovered it and it's down in black and white in several books and magazines."41 But Nevills did not embarrass easily; he never explicitly revoked his claim of discovery. Only reluctantly did he concede the bridge's real size

In June 1945 Nevills conducted a river trip from Moab to Lee's Ferry that included a return visit to Gregory Natural Bridge. One of his boatmen was Otis Marston, future king of Colorado River history trivia. Nearly 200 river miles from embarkation, the group pulled in at the mouth of the Escalante Nevills, Marston, and two others waded upstream and camped at Fiftymile Creek. When a thunderstorm rolled by in the night, the group hurriedly moved by flashlight to the shelter of the bridge. Morning conversation turned contentious as the men conjectured about the true dimensions of the

Norman Nevills on top of Gregory Natural Bridge. Otis Marston Collection, Huntington Library, San Marino, California. Reproduced by permission.

41 Weldon Heald to Otis Marston, August 27, 1949, box 315, MC.

canopy above them. Disgusted, Marston measured the bridge himself using tape measure and trigonometry. His results were on target: a span of 181 feet, an inside height of 75 feet, and a total height of 200 feet.42 According to Marston, Nevills had discouraged coming to the bridge in the first place and acted nervous while there

P. T. Reilly, a former Nevills boatman, has shed light on the episode:

As soon as [Nevills] found out I had been a surveyor for the U.S. General Land Office, he described how [Marston] had tried to tell him he could measure the height of Gregory Bridge by using a 6-foot yoyo tape and a 30-foot piece of string He asked, "Don't you think he was trying to pull my leg?" He was clearly crestfallen when I assured him that anyone could make a fairly accurate measurement with those tools [Nevills's] knowledge in math consisted only of the four basic functions.43

No more could Nevills describe Gregory Natural Bridge as "long as a city block and high enough to arch over a cathedral!"44 When admitting his error he would sometimes try to save face by painting himself as a bumbler: "We had measured from wrong end of silk line at time of checking!"45 Again, Nevills freely embellished the truth.

As Ernie Pyle noticed from only brief company, Nevills had "a little touch of exaggeration about his conversation that adds awe and flavor for the tourist."46 Naturally, storytelling is expected of river guides past and present, but Nevills overstepped the prerogative when he spread his stories publicly. Even so, the exuberant exaggerations about Gregory Natural Bridge seem fairly innocuous in retrospect. Certainly they did not add up to the nefarious "fraud" Otis Marston depicted in numerous letters to fellow Colorado River runners. A one-time employee and friend of Nevills, Marston became a

42 Margaret Marston, 1945 diary, box 285, MC. Otis Marston's wife (and their twin daughters) came on the river trip but did not hike to the bridge

43 Reilly, "Norman Nevills As I Knew Him" (1985), p 5, box 1, Reilly Collection, Utah State Historical Society Library

44 Nevills, as told to Neill C. Wilson, "Running the Colorado's Rapids," part 2, The Olympian 31 (January 1943): 10-11, 24 Nevills's exaggerated measurements persisted for some time The official 1950 visitor information pamphlet at Natural Bridges National Monument read, "Among known natural bridges [the three at the monument] are exceeded in size only by the great Rainbow Bridge and the more recent discovery, Gregory Bridge."

45 Nevills to Gregory, August 13, 1945, box 10, NC; also Nevills to Alfred Bailey, May 27, 1947, box 5, NC

46 Pyle, column of August 2, 1939 Frank Masland offered insight into the character of his friend Norman Nevills: "There wasn't anything small about :he guy except his stature His faults were big ones, so were his virtues His likes and dislikes were apparent His emotions weren't buried very deeply He was temperamental and an extrovert, in many ways a kid still learning - the hard way But in my book he was a man " Masland to Mildred Baker, February 8, 1950, box 124, MC

bitter enemy Nevills worked to build his legacy up; in the name of historical accuracy, influential Marston worked to cut it down, particularly after Nevills's death. Both men sometimes exploited the inspiring sandstone bridge for distinctly uninspiring designs.

Gregory Natural Bridge occasionally aroused irrational competitiveness in people—cases of what Marston and others called Jirstitis. Herbert Gregory, writing Nevills to acknowledge the "generous decision to name the big bridge after me," made it known that although William Chenoweth "deserves full credit for the location and description," he himself had seen the span earlier during fieldwork in 1918. However, Gregory's field books of that year make no mention of it.47 He did not, in fact, view the bridge with his name until 1944. Trying to elicit a restatement of the 1918 claim, Marston queried Gregory at least twice. The geologist left the letters unanswered

Charles Kelly, author, historian, and first Capitol Reef National Monument custodian, tramped around Glen Canyon in the 1930s When later interviewed by Marston, Kelly stated that he visited Gregory Natural Bridge around 1938.48 That is highly doubtful, considering a letter penned in 1940: "I only wish we had discovered it; but there are undoubtedly others yet to be found. It had definitely been named 'Gregory Bridge' and quite rightly so. Nevills is a cocky brat, but I give him credit for that."49

Firstitis did not infect everyone associated with the bridge, of course. The last thing on William Chenoweth's mind was discovery; he and his men had a schedule to keep "The Escalante required 30 miles of stream traverse and a back packing job. We usually were a tired bunch and when we hit something like the bridge, our enthusiasm was not at high pitch. . . ,"50 Harry Tasker, employed in 1921 as a rodman, portrayed the difficult working conditions pithily: "The coyotes had nothing on us."51 Hefting packs full of surveying equipment and little else, the men were disinclined to savor the scenery. A tongue-in-cheek couplet described both Tasker's job and the mindset it demanded:

47 Gregory to Nevills, September 6, 1940, box 10, NC; Gregory's field books (see 293 and 294) are located in the USGS Field Records Library, Denver

48 Marston, interview notes, Fruita, Utah, April 30, 1949, box 315, MC.

49 Kelly toJulius Stone, February 11, 1941,excerpted copy, box 315, MC

60 Chenoweth to Marston, October 25, 1953, box 316, MC.

51 Marston, interview notes, Green River, Utah, May 6, 1949, box 316, MC

Some come here to See the work of God

But I come here to hold up a rod!5^

In later years most bridge visitors arrived unburdened by obligations of work. Remote Gregory Natural Bridge never became a celebrated tourist attraction; however, with time, growing numbers of people made their way to Fiftymile Creek—a trend both hastened and cut short by Glen Canyon Dam.

In 1963 Glen Canyon of the Colorado River began its abrupt transformation into listless Lake Powell. Two decades before, in 1941, Weldon Heald had declared, 'Glen Canyon cuts through the last remaining region in the United States where geographical discoveries are still being made."53 To back that assertion he used the erroneous example of Gregory Natural Bridge But if the canyon country instead was the last region where geographical rediscoveries were possible, the point remained essentially the same. Glen Canyon was wild—not an untouched wilderness by any means but a lonely, rough-hewn place, a "most formidable and appalling barrier" to those "accustomed to motoring at will over improved highways."54 Though Gregory Natural Bridge was the best-known Escalante River span in the 1950s, three separate years passed in that decade when no one signed the visitor register there.55

River runner Harry Aleson planted an encased notebook beneath the bridge in May 1949. He and a friend had arrived at Fiftymile Creek by floating—often dragging—inflatable rafts down the shallow Escalante River. The register remained in place until October 1963, when wilderness guide Ken Sleight removed it in timely fashion. The second of two diversion tunnels, the Colorado River's hollow lease on life, was plugged that March; by April dead water had backed up the Escalante. Of some 450 visits recorded in the register,

52 Tasker wrote this rhyme in the Rainbow Bridge visitor register, but it easily applies to Gregory Natural Bridge Box 319, MC

53 Heald, "The Canyon Wilderness" in The Inverted Mountains: Canyons of the West, ed Roderick Peattie (New York: Vanguard Press, 1948), p 245 It would be more accurate to say that the little-known Glen Canyon region offered some of the last opportunities to officially discover geographic features (Heald felt the "explorer's fever" this could engender.) Ranchers and miners—not to mention Native Americans—had explored the canyons previously

54 Jesse Nusbaum, "Certain Aspects of the Proposed Escalante National Monument in Southeastern Utah," Region Three Quarterly 2 (July 1940): 27

55 1952, 1955, and 1959 Box 315, MC That Gregory Natural Bridge became relatively familiar is indicated by its presence on several Utah road maps See, for example, those distributed by Texaco in 1960, Chevron in 1961, and Phillips 66 in 1963 All the same, in a 1962 Glen Canyon historical salvage study report, C Gregory Crampton described the lower Escalante region as "scarcely known to tourists and vacationers."

410 occurred after 1956, the year of the dam's authorization, when visiting Glen Canyon began to take on urgency; and most of that total dates after 1960. On seventeen trips in 1963 Sleight guided 123 persons to Gregory Natural Bridge This last-minute procession probably comprised close to one-quarter of those who ever saw the span before flooding.

Geography professor and author Stephen Jett made a "requiem pilgrimage" with a Sleight party in April 1963. Despite bad weather and frigid river water he was enthralled by the Escalante canyon system and by Gregory Natural Bridge:

This massive bridge is, incredibly, eclipsed by the magnificence of its setting. Great cliffs enclosing unbelievably constricted and contorted canyons, strange, twisted rock formations, and great caves and alcoves strain one's credulity But all this grandeur and beauty was slightly tarnished by the depressing thought that Gregory and most of its surroundings will soon be sacrificed on the altar of the great god "Reclamation."56

Jett's backpacking companions included husband-wife owners of a ranch shop in Flagstaff, a retired chemist from Los Angeles, a researcher from Los Alamos, and a housewife from Brigham City. Diversity was not the exception among bridge visitors. Twenty-one states and one foreign country (Italy) were represented in the register. Different people came for different reasons: vacation, adventure, Scouting (a group from Salt Lake City contained no less than 84 Explorers), research, photography. Or for no particular reason. As Verden Lee Bettilyon recorded, "They told me it was hear [sic] so I came up and signed it." Several people, including a family from Chicago, made multiple trips to the bridge. Register entries such as "Beautiful country—too bad this arch must be covered with water" showed that Jett had sympathizers, but epitaphs for Gregory Natural Bridge were rare.

Local denizens have left very few written impressions about the natural bridge or the landscape in general. In the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers' history of Escalante, Edson Alvey noted, "In the lower Soda Gulch, near itsjunction with the Escalante River, a beautiful stream of water flows underneath the majestic Gregory Natural

56 Jett, "Last Trip Down the Escalante and Glen Canyon," pp 6-7, copy of typescript, box 315, MC. Fred Eiseman, who visited the bridge in 1958, felt similar amazement—though he had, while hiking up the Escalante River ("knee deep mud and quicksand, 50 lb pack and all"), questioned whether the effort was merited He received a definite answer: "There it was, a huge picture book bridge, carved out the bright hued Navajo, with a picturesque stream flowing beneath it, a blue sky and white cumulus clouds It was worth it." "Gregory Bridge," draft of unpublished article, box 315, MC

Bridge."57 In more typical, matter-of-fact language, rancher Clark Veater once commented on the surrounding slickrock landscape: "In reply to your inquiries About Natural Bridges and scenery for montion [sic] Pictures, We have several different kinds of bridges, Gultches, Caves, and Canyons, And as I stated before, I am sure they could be used to any ones advantage that is any way interested in that type of scenery."58

Norman Nevills believed millions would be interested in Utah's "canyon wonderland." He wanted to make Gregory Natural Bridge "accessible to the lovers of worthwhile scenery."59 Lake Powell, its promoters would have said, did just that. U.S. Bureau of Reclamation commissioner Floyd Dominy, who viewed the reservoir with paternal affection, issued an open invitation: miraculous Lake Powell was 'Yours to Discover." Those words, the title of a magazine article extolling the recreation planning that preceded the reservoir, ironically appeared atop a picture of Gregory Natural Bridge.60 Lake Powell made the span easily discoverable for the many; unfortunately, its accessibility was short-lived A newspaper travel article about Lake Powell, headlined "Rising Waters Open Vistas," reminded readers that rising waters reciprocally close vistas. The caption to an accompanying photograph of a boat beneath the bridge read, "Gregory Arch Will Be Completely Covered When the Lake Is Filled."61

Many more people saw Gregory Natural Bridge by boat in the few years following the creation of Lake Powell than had ever seen it on foot or horse. Canyon Tours, the first and largest Lake Powell

,7 Alvey, "The Escalante Country," in The Escalante Story, by Nethella King Woolsey (Springville: Art City Publishing Company, 1964), p 16

58 Veater to Otis Marston,January 16, 1949, box 316, MC

59 Nevills, untitled draft of "Descent of the Canyons," p 8, box 28, NC Others in Utah's southland eventually came around to Nevills's thinking. The amateur but forward-looking See Southern Utah Committee saw financial potential in expanded tourism Each page of its pamphlet Your Guide to Scenic Southern Utah (1952) showcased an attraction sponsored by a local business; Willford B Griffin, Escalante mechanic ("For Dependability Be Utocoized"), invited travelers to see "fantastic" Gregory Natural Bridge, "one of the great erosion sculptures of trie world!"

60 Dominy, "Yours to Discover," Western Gateways5 (Spring 1965): 12-15, 22, 42-43

61 Jean Duffy, "Rising Waters Open Vistas," Arizona Republic, November 15, 1964, C-13, copy in MC The same story, under a slightly different title, appeared in the Salt Lake Tribune a few days later "Formerly accessible only to the most hardy," the article went in a standard vein, the Escalante River "can now be seen by the general public." For Lake Powell boosters the death of Glen Canyon and environs, including wonders like Gregory Natural Bridge, weisnecessary for new and better life: "a river disappears / a lake rises / some beauty is lost / a much wider world of beauty is found / a new world of recreation is ours." Al Ball, "Lake Powell, New Found Beauty," Lake Poivell Vacationland [Western Gateways] 2 (1964 edition), p 8 Ken Sleight, by contrast, viewed the reservoir indignantly: "As I see it, all that will be 'opened up' was already there before It was certainly open to all of you who made the effort to do a little exploring." Wonderland Expeditions newsletter,July 1963, box 29, Aleson Collection, Utah State Historical Society Library

concessionaire, advertised a three-day cruise of the new reservoir that included a ride beneath the bridge Test-piloting a 160-horsepower luxury craft, an editor with Popular Mechanics went "blasting through" the hole with only six inches to spare. 62 When boats could no longer be squeezed through, it became, according to one, a "popular stunt to swim under the bridge and see what was on the other side." Finally, in the spring of 1969, Gregory Natural Bridge vanished underwater. As an arm of Lake Powell, Fiftymile Creek resumed, for a time, its ancient meander around the bridge; the advancing water then spilled over the saddle of the bridge's roadway, leaving only a sandstone islet to mark the submerged formation.63 A "striking masterpiece of God's whole creation" was gone, one author casually noted, "but there are others in the same area. . . ."64

In John McPhee's 1971 Encounters with the Archdruid, Floyd Dominy questions former Sierra Club director David Brower about the drowned span: "Why didn't you make a fuss about Gregory Arch?" "We didn't know about it," the archdruid answers. Replies the commissioner, "No one else did, either. No one could have helped you."65 Dominy was mistaken; quite a few people knew about the bridge. Paradoxically, however, both images—of the known and the unknown—represent Gregory Natural Bridge Both represent Glen Canyon, which the bridge exemplifies: a "place no one knew" with a rich history of human association.

Though not the first to go there, Norman Nevills discovered Gregory Natural Bridge in the sense that he put a name to it and made the place widely known Less than thirty years following that disclosure, the bridge returned to anonymity.66 Robbed of a physical

62 Dan Fales, "Lake Powell: A Spectacular Test Ground for Glastron's Vagabond," Popular Mechanics 131 (February 1969): 224 The author mistakenly refers to the span as Davis Arch

63 John Butchart to Marston,June 14, 1968, box 315, MC. F. A. Barnes' Canyon Country Arches and Bridges (Moab, Ut.: Canyon Country Publications, 1987), pp 404-5, contains a description of a farewell boat ride under the bridge Also see Hack Miller, "Arch Is Going Under," Deseret News, May 25, 1966, and John V Young, "Rising Waters Imperil Natural Wonders at Man-made Lake," New York Times, September 1, 1968, Section X, pp. 21, 29. Barring extreme prolonged drought or decommission of the dam, the bridge will not be seen again Conceivably, the span opening might silt up How well the sandstone structure is wearing under water is open to speculation For photographs of other spans terminated by Lake Powell, see Robert Vreeland, Nature's Bridges and Arches, vol 7 (self-published, 1976), pp 46-55

54 Dick Wilson, "Rainbow Bridge Is the Gem of Lake Powell," Moab Times-Independent, January 4, 1968, B-l

65 John McPhee, Encounters with the Archdruid (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1971), p 202

66 The USGS topographic map The Rincon was given "minor corrections" in 1968; they included taking Gregory Natural Bridge off the sheet The detailed 7.5 minute Davis Gulch quadrangle, published in 1987, does not mark the submerged bridge Since the mid-1960s, the name Gregory has been applied to a prominent butte overlooking Last Chance Bay on Lake Powell That makes two buttes named for the geologist; the other is located in the Kolob section of Zion National Park. (Before nearby Kolob Arch was officially named, Gregory Arch had been considered.)

setting, its history has been confined to libraries and the ephemeral memories of a few Rarely does the flooded span draw any mention today. It was, of course, but one of numerous scenic and historic places—"one named glory among uncounted unnamed glories"— exchanged for an unbelievably popular, undeniably attractive reservoir.67 If Gregory Natural Bridge has been forgotten since Lake Powell replaced it, the disregard could be attributed both to the abundant beauty remaining at Glen Canyon and the considerable rivalry for regret.

Philip Hyde, "A Lament for Glen Canyon," Living Wilderness 44 (September 1980): 23

i^g i A large sandstone arch called Galloway Cave existed on the right bank about 2.25 miles upstream from Glen Canyon Dam. River travelers camped here before the turn of the century and seemed always to build their campfires in the same place, at the downstream corner of the arch. Many also left a record of their presence by uniting their names on the wall with a piece of charcoal. This view shows a Nevills river party preparingfor dinner onJune 11, 1949. Lake Powell covers this site. Photographs, except Fig. 4, are courtesy of author.

The Lost World of Glen Canyon

BY P T REILLY

THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE CRUISE THE SURFACE OF Lake Powell never dreaming of the wonders beneath the waters, features that are not likely to be exposed again in our lifetime, nor in those of our children or grandchildren. In fact, they may never be seen again. This photographic collection of landforms will serve as a reminder that our world changes as dramatically in the vertical as it does in the horizontal.

Mr Reilly lives in Sun City, Arizona Readers may wish to refer to the following: Plan and Profile, Colorado River, Lees Ferry, Arizona, to Mouth of Green River, Utah, Sheet B; Navajo Mountain, UtahArizona quadrangle; Lake Canyon, Utah quadrangle; and Mancos Mesa, Utah quadrangle.

Lee's Ferry occupies a unique and important position on the Colorado River because the 1921 measurement by the U.S Geological Survey began at the junction of the Green and Colorado rivers, plus the San Juan, and ended at the ferry crossing This point is commemorated by a benchmark on the right bank there The 1923 USGS measurement began at the gagewell and went downstream. There is 0.62 mile between these two points.

Glen Canyon Dam on the Colorado River was constructed at Glen mile 15.2. Everything between this mile point and the head of Lake Powell in Cataract Canyon is now under varying depths of water depending on the volume of the reservoir. Both natural and manmade features in Glen Canyon are under so much water that they would be lost except for the work of those who thought to preserve the landscape through photographs.

In 1963 the Sierra Club published Eliot Porter's magnificent book The Place No One Knew: Glen Canyon on the Colorado. This eyecatcher awakened many people to the scenic grandeur that soon would be lost, drowned by the rising waters of the Powell reservoir. Porter showed his expertise in detailed, close-up views, rarely the long view or the hand of man. There is no doubt that man is interested in detailed beauty, but he is also interested in how he fit himself into the environment and adapted to it. The present work includes glimpses of man's markings from aboriginal eras to modern times, all lost to the reservoir

Just 2.3 miles upstream from Glen Canyon Dam there was a large arch in the canyon's sandstone wall on the right bank (Fig. 1). It was similar to, but exceeded in size, the Great Arch of Zion. Norman Nevills frequently camped there with his river passengers. After dinner the inexperienced traveler usually rushed to place his sleeping bag under the arch and close to the wall, not realizing that scorpions scurried back and forth along the wall all night long. Stings often resulted. Experienced people sacked out close to the river, knowing it was cooler there.

Nevills, tending to add as much color to his trips as possible, elected to call this feature Outlaw Cave, supposedly after a man named Neal Johnson who Nevills said used the place to evade the law. In reality Johnson was a shifty fellow who sought to take advantage of the polygamous enclave at the ranch near the mouth of the Paria during the early 1930s. The brethren finally caught on to him, torched his boat and trailer, and drove him away Johnson might

Fig. 2. In pre-dam days afinger of sandstone extendedfrom upstream to the mouth of Warm Creek. It had a window through which boats could be run at certain stages of the Colorado.

Hg\ 3. On Warm Creek about a dozen milesfrom the Colorado stood the base camp of the men who dug and hauled coalfor the American Placer Corp. in 1912-13. The rock ruins of the camp were photographed on May 5, 1960.

have illegally trapped a few beavers, but his ambitions generally were much lower

C. Gregory Crampton made a complete list of the names inscribed under the arch with chunks of charcoal from travelers' campfires, among them that of Nathaniel Galloway.1 Since this feature was known as Galloway Cave long before Nevills came on the scene, there is no reason to rename it for a character of imagination.

A golden eagle had a nest on a narrow ledge high on the left bank, visible from the cave. The bird was seen on repeated trips until the increased activity of the dam builders drove it away.

1 C Gregory Crampton, Historic Sites in Glen Canyon, Mouth ofSanfuan River to Lees Ferry, Anthropological Papers No. 46, Glen Canyon Series No. 12, ed Charles E Dibble (Salt Lake City: University of Utah, 1960), pp 90-92

The Lost World of Glen Canyon 125

Slightly more than ten miles upriver, also on the right, was the mouth of Warm Creek (Fig. 2). Exfoliation of a sandstone finger on the upstream side had resulted in an opening through which boats could be run at certain river levels. Of course this window was covered in high water, left high and dry in low water. Now it is near the bottom of the reservoir.

Upstream in Warm Creek Canyon, about a dozen miles from the river, cabins built by the American Placer Corporation in 1912-13 housed miners (Fig. 3). The coal found in Tibbet Canyon, a tributary to Warm Creek, was accumulated at the cabins and then hauled by ox teams to the river The failure of the steamboat Charles H. Spencer to return upstream due to inadequate power doomed the entire venture Rumors circulated that a sheepman had found the cache of dynamite and blown off the roofs of the buildings This stone-wall portion of Glen Canyon history was engulfed by the rising waters of the Powell reservoir.

The Ute Ford was used by indigenous man for centuries, but in 1776 an event took place there that in time resulted in a new name,

Fig. 4. Gov. GeorgeH. Dern visited the Crossing of theFathers in April 1926. He was photographed by Oliver Grimes at the steps cut bytheDominguez-Escalante party to enable their animals to descend to the river a moredifficult task than the actual river crossing. Courtesy of Utah State Archives.

Figs. 5 and 6. The plaque, financed byfulius F. Stone, was placed on the sandstone wall in 1938 by Russell G. Frazier, Charles Kelly, and Byron Davies. It was removed by the National Park Service after Congress authorized construction of the dam. By 1963 the rising reservoir had created a totally different landscape, and all evidence of the old Indian ford had disappeared.

Crossing of the Fathers (Figs. 4, 5, 6). Fathers Dominguez and Escalante set out from New Mexico in July 1776 to open a route to Monterey, California. Eventually they realized that it would not be possible for them to reach the Pacific Coast before winter set in, and prudence called for a return to New Mexico Semi-friendly Indians, through an interpreter, described the place on the Colorado where they crossed when the water was low. The Spaniards stumbled over a rough country before finally finding the elusive ford that came to be named for them. Fathers Dominguez and Escalante opened the modern era when they chopped some steps for their animals and achieved a crossing November 7, 1776.2 Subsequent eastbound travelers entered the

2 See Herbert E Bolton, ed., Pageant in the Wilderness: The Story of the Escalante Expedition 1776, Including the Diary and Itinerary of Father Escalante, published as vol 18 of Utah Historical Quarterly (Salt Lake City: Utah State Historical Society, 1950), pp. 90-92.

The Lost World of Glen Canyon 127

Fig. 7. These petroglyphs, photographed onfune 19, 1952, and other aboriginal records were located on the right bank at Glen Canyon mile 70.8. Some glyphs were moderately patinated and some appeared relativelyfresh.

river at mile 39.3, went diagonally southeast to follow the shingle of the sandstone, and emerged on the left bank at mile 38.7. Jacob Hamblin and his companions also crossed here, and politicians even visited the site in later years.

There were many petroglyphs in Glen Canyon. Some revealed abnormalities among Indians—perhaps a result of intermarriage— that caused some children to be born with six fingers (Fig. 7). By comparing the size of the glyph with a modern hand, we might conclude that the hand of the model was traced before the full glyph was chipped into the rock. These glyphs, now underwater, were found at the upstream edge of what Nevills called Twilight Canyon at mile 70.8. The name Twilight Canyon was much more fitting than the later official name of Navajo Valley.

Coursing down from the northeast slopes of Navajo Mountain, Oak Canyon (Fig. 8) meanders to the Colorado roughly parallel to Bridge Canyon, the setting for Rainbow Bridge. It almost cut through to the river at mile 70.8 before curving around some stone dunes to enter at mile 71.3. Oak Canyon veered away from the river at a point almost opposite the petroglyphs at the mouth of Twilight Canyon

Fig. 10. Sudden spot storms caused violent floods that removed detritus at an accelerated rate yet preserved some characteristics ofthe primitive landscape. Before the Powell reservoir destroyed this beauty it was best seenfrom the air. Streamflow was quite meager after a dry summer.

The stream in Oak Canyon, left, occasionally contributed considerable detritus to the river not enough to create a constriction or a rapid, but here the water ranfaster and the sound was different.

One would not believe that such a place as Hidden Passage, above right, existed until heflew over it.

Under the right conditions a stream meandering among the dunes of Navajo sandstone could create some unbelievable twists and turns. The entries to such places rarely hinted at what might be

Fig. 8.

Fig. 9.

V liilflHHHHHHi ;'''' iW^KKKT^ J

Fig. 11. In spring, gulches produce heavyflows; asidefrom cloudbursts that is when most erosion occurs. There is no trace of man in some of these scenic wonders.

Fig. 12. How did pre-Columbian natives get to such inaccessible sites (Ruin, Lake Canyon, mile 113.2) to build their dwellings?

seen, but often the scale was so immense that a more objective view could only be obtained from an airplane. Hidden Passage, a right-hand tributary 71 miles upriver from Lee's Ferry, was such a place (Fig. 9). Now the Powell reservoir covers the super-Euclidian forms and only a short bay remains on the surface

A similar right-hand tributary six miles upstream was even more spectacular. It was unnamed until 1951 when the USGS called it Cottonwood Gulch, one of many so named in the West A common characteristic of most of these side canyons was that their entries rarely suggested the presence of such sandstone fantasies (Figs. 10,11) Of course, this is all hidden from the present-day boater

Fig. 13. Mouth of Moqui Creek. The length of a tributary appears to have had little effect in defining its character. Rather, low elevation of drainage and speed offlow seem to have created the more extreme meandering.

Figs. 14, 15, 16. Top photographs show erosion of large dunes as reservoir water rose, dislodging masses of sand that created clouds of dust. Lowerphotograph, taken in April 1968, illustrates slippage of talus slopes as rising water leached into cliff foundations.

Fig. 17. Gregory Natural Bridge existed in lonely splendor, a gem in Glen Canyon's collection. A nearly perennial streamflowed under the span. This view was taken in May 1957.

Fig. 18. The encroaching waters of the Poiuell reservoir extended under Gregory Bridge in August 1964 and would eventually cover the structure completely.

steps at Glen Canyon mile 128.85 on the right hand remained well defined when photographed in April 1968. An important prehistoric route, they, too, are now covered by Lake Powell.

Another angle in Cottonwood Gulch suggests we are looking at an entirely different tributary. The views in spring and fall emphasize the seasonal differences.

The ruins of the pre-Columbian natives frequently were located in spectacular settings (Fig. 12). Not only did the aborigines build their dwellings in beautiful places, they added little flourishes with corncobs and rock inlay that showed an attempt to adorn the construction itself A few days after this picture was taken, the rising waters of the reservoir claimed the site and it is lost forever. Lake Canyon was a left-hand tributary 113.2 miles upstream from Lee's Ferry.

Erosion is influenced by many things and few Glen Canyon tributaries responded exactly alike. Undercuts were gouged deeper, often appearing to be the beginnings of caverns Moqui Canyon, just short of 125 miles above Lee's Ferry, was no longer than many canyon country tributaries (Fig.13).

A short distance up the Escalante River a double-peaked sand dune reached nearly to the top of the high cliff. The encroaching reservoir had claimed about half of the downstream dune and was gobbling up the other as we watched. Great masses of sand would

Fig. 19. Moqui

The

Lost World of Glen Canyon 133

slide below the surface, raising clouds of dust as they entered the water (Figs. 14, 15, 16). Today boaters skim across Escalante Canyon and never dream that the lake bottom is as new as the reservoir.

Fig. 20. Chimney of Cass Hite's cabin at Ticaboo, Glen Canyon, August 7, 1964.

Fig 21. Graves of Cass Hite and Frank Dehlin at Ticaboo, August 7, 1964.

Fiftymile Creek, called Soda Gulch by the natives, joins the Escalante River about eight miles from the old pre-Lake Powell channel of the Colorado. A half-mile from the Escalante, in Fiftymile, is a sturdy natural bridge named after the famed geologist Herbert E. Gregory (Figs 17,18) This feature was seen occasionally by river parties, but by and large it probably was the least visited of any Glen Canyon natural wonder In August 1964 the reservoir water extended under the span. Today it is completely covered.

Harry Aleson, who knew Glen Canyon better than the vast majority of its visitors, brought a minister to the river on October 8, 1962, and married his bride in The Chapel, a tributary that joined the Colorado at mile 118. This quite likely was the only Caucasian wedding to have been performed in Glen Canyon

Almost fifteen and a half miles above Lake Canyon on the right was a well-defined line of Moqui steps (Fig 19) When one thinks about the primitive tools used and sees the nature of the cutting, he becomes convinced that here was an important clue in defining native thoroughfares and migratory patterns.

Several very colorful characters lived in Glen Canyon, among them Cass Hite whose cabin was at Ticaboo, about a mile from the Colorado and 148.45 miles upriver from Lee's Ferry (Figs. 20, 21).

Cass called his home "the Bank of Ticaboo" because he could pan gold whenever he needed funds. It was built beside an old Indian trail that ran along the flats of the right river bank A magnificent panel of petroglyphs was about 50 feet behind the cabin. Cold fresh water ran out of Ticaboo Canyon, so Cass had all he needed. He was buried here, and today the gravesite, the remains of his cabin, and the petroglyphs are under water. Few boaters know the history of the place over which they skim

Even nuclear power does not remove the need to build dams because they also provide for crop irrigation. A major question now before us is whether we can afford to build dams purely for power generation. This essay shows a small part of what we have lost in historic Glen Canyon.

I Remember Bates

BY LLOYD M. PIERSON

HISTORY CAN BE WRITTEN IN MANY WAYS and for many reasons. One method is to report on the life and times of an individual and by doing so give insight and information on the events and significance of the period that the individual was associated with. Such is the intent here.

Bates E. Wilson was a man of his time and place who, by fully participating in that time and place, made things happen that have affected and will continue to affect the lives of many people in many ways. One need not reiterate the obvious and well-documented chief

A rare day in Arches history Bates Wilson in full National Park Service uniform doing paperwork in the old CCC barracks office, 1960. Courtesy of author.

Mr Pierson lives in Moab, Utah

accomplishments of Bates—the establishing of Canyonlands National Park and the upgrading of Arches from a national monument to a park. Others have covered that ground.1 But perhaps we can better understand the man and the times that brought about those events and others by recounting some vignettes that show both the foibles and important attributes of the man.

The practical background that finally brought Bates to Moab and southeastern Utah in 1949 consisted of an upbringing on a dude ranch run by his father who had come west to Silver City, New Mexico, from the East for his health. Bates was born in Silver City on May 28, 1912. His education included the Lawrenceville, NewJersey, prep school that gave the western cowboy ethic in him a culture shock of sorts. The period before World War II saw him in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he was involved in an ill-fated ski resort and a Civilian Conservation Corps program for the National Park Service that built Hyde State Park, the regional office building, and the acequia madre—the principal canal running through the city His crews were mostly the Spanish-Americans from the area

He married his first wife, Edie, in Santa Fe in 1933, and from this union were born three children, son Allan and daughters Julie and Caroline Later, after a divorce in Moab about 1970, he married Robin who had two adopted daughters, Lynn and Anne, the latter of whom he adopted

His permanent Park Service career began at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Arizona, where, after taking the park ranger examination, he became the acting superintendent just before the start of World War II. During the war he served in the Navy Seabees, combat construction battalions in the Pacific area After the war he continued his Park Service tenure as superintendent of the historic area, El Morro National Monument, New Mexico, until he was transferred in 1949 as superintendent of Arches National Monument just north of Moab, Utah. There he dedicated his talents and efforts to the preservation and establishment of Canyonlands National Park. He received the Department of the Interior Meritorious Service Award and a posthumous induction into the Utah Tourism Hall of Fame.

National

1 Most of the accolades to Bates mention his dutch oven cooking skills with his park accomplishments One did beget the other See the following: Clayton G Rudd, "Editorial," Naturalist 21 (summer 1970): 1; M S Pendelton, "He Walked with Giants," From the Canyons (August 1984): 6, 7; Dave May, "The Trouble with Bates," Canyon Legacy 1 (fall 1989): 18-21; Rowe Findley, "Canyonlands,"

Geographic 140 (July 1971): 79-80; "Park Chief Turns to Ranching," Denver Post, May 3, 1972; and 'What Utah Owes Bates," Salt Lake Tribune, c May 1972

I had the good fortune to spend the years 1956 to 1961 working with Bates at Arches National Monument (now Park) and continued a relationship with him until his death in 1983. He was my boss and had a great deal of control over my career, but his relationship with me was more like that of an older brother or an uncle. I enjoyed his companionship, and we enjoyed life and did many things together— from exploration and park planning to deer hunting, fighting fires on the mountain, and partying, along with mundane park work.

Bates was slender in build but with a cowboy's wiriness coupled with a great deal of stamina. His energy seemed boundless no matter what he was doing, and he never lacked for something to do. If he could not handle it by himself, he managed to enlist aid one way or the other.

A year or two before I came to Arches a visitor had fallen while climbing Landscape Arch and had been killed. Visitors had also occasionally gotten lost in the monument or out on the nearby lands administered by the Bureau of Land Management, particularly the Dead Horse Point and White Rim area between the Green and Colorado rivers No one except the county sheriff and us park people took much responsibility, at the time, for finding people in trouble

Bates took it upon himself to train his few park personnel and his

Landscape Arch, Arches National Park. USHS collections.

Explorer Scout Troop in the rudiments of search and rescue work and especially in the art of rappeling. Rappeling was a necessity for search and rescue work in this land of many vertical pitches, deep canyons, and rugged mountains.

Arches had inherited a large case of surplus nylon climbing ropes and, although I was never quite certain if they were safe (why else would they be on surplus?), we made good use of them in our training and search and rescue. The Explorer Scouts became quite adept with the ropes and performed several rescues under Bates's leadership. He had them so well trained and self-confident that they went out on their own one evening in the late 1950s when Bates was not available and performed a difficult canyon rescue in a very creditable fashion.

One of the nervier Scout rapellers was Tug Wilson, Bates's son. I watched in apprehensive awe as Tug let himself down a sheer cliff face for what seemed an eternity in the search for the old man who died the summer of 1957 out near Upheaval Dome. Ed Abbey's report of this event in Desert Solitaire did not mention Tug's efforts and little explained the search group's procedures and problems.2

On the new park study trip in May 1959 I had the dubious honor to belay, with the aid of a huge sandstone boulder, Bates's rope climb up a slanting rocky trail high on a canyon wall to a ledge some five hundred feet above the floor of Horse Canyon in the Needles area. He wanted to get a closer look at a set of prehistoric Anasazi granaries with a series of red and white painted figures on the cliff face above them. He had discovered them with field glasses from the canyon bottom and just had to get a good look at them. He had the rope tied around his waist and I let it out slowly as he climbed. I guess the theory was if he slipped off the trail he would have swung there like a pendulum on the face of the cliff until we pulled him up or the rope broke or I let go of him. Fortunately, he scrambled up the trail like a mountain goat and came back with some good pictures of the rock art and the ruins

Rope had always been an important part of Bates's life. His teenage experience at the eastern prep school involved one Being a rough westerner by eastern standards, a little smaller than most boys his age, and a cowboy at heart, he found a little rough going socially

2 Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, 1968), pp 206-16 What Abbey called "The Deadman at Grandview Point" was an incident that actually occurred at Upheaval Dome

at first. Fortunately, he had brought his lariat and quietly won the respect and friendship of the eastern dudes with his repertoire of western cowboy rope tricks in the fashion of Will Rogers, who was a Broadway star of the time.

Bates was not only athletic but also agile of mind. He cooked beef at Anderson Bottom on the Green River for the first night big feed the tourist promotion people were having for boaters on the 1959 Annual Friendship Cruise Boaters started out from Green River, Utah, in their motorboats, came down the Green River to its confluence with the Colorado River, and then up it to Moab. It was a two-day trip. Anderson Bottom was considered the midway point where it was traditional to make camp and gas up the first night out. High point of the stop was a cowboy-style dutch oven steak fry with all the trimmings—Bates's contributions.

Access to the bottom from Moab was easy via the Mineral Canyon Trail (also called the Horsethief Trail) down into the Green River canyon and then by boat across the Green River to Anderson Bottom. We had towed a motor boat down to the launch site on the Green. In the rear of the boat was a large, semi-frozen quarter of beef. Somehow in launching the boat we got into trouble. Either the boat did not get untied from the trailer or the beef was too heavy for the small boat. At any rate, when the trailer with the boat was backed into the water the rear end of the craft, instead of floating free as it should have, continued to go lower in the water until it sank The quarter of beef was not cooperating either It floated out of the boat and started to head downstream for California

I must have stood with my mouth open envisioning a steak fry with no steak. Before I could close my mouth Bates had popped into the swift muddy river and was wrestling, as best he could, that cold hunk of cow toward the shore After some struggling, the use of the boat's anchor chain for a tow rope, and a little cursing and shouting we did get Bates and the beef to shore and the boat pulled out of the water and bailed out It was with a great sigh of relief that I waved farewell to a wet Bates, the boat owner, and a quarter of beef and headed home to a warm bed and a less hectic situation. As the river beef incident illustrates, Bates did have occasional times when his mental processes were not always perfectly focused.

Although we had arrest authority as Park Service employees and even had one .38-caliber World War II surplus Smith and Wesson revolver between us (which we kept locked in the safe), we had no real

law enforcement training, let alone much use for it at the time. I don't believe we even had a citation book on hand. When accidents occurred on the roads in Arches we simply called the sheriff or his deputy, an ex-Episcopalian minister we called "Dragnet," to investigate.

On the other hand, we were steeped in the tradition of "Boss" Pinkley, the legendary character that had run all of the national monuments in the Southwest until World War II His philosophy was one of service and help to the traveling public, our visitors and taxpayers. So it is understandable that Bates had a mental block the day a drunk drove into headquarters looking for the way to Moab One of us should have arrested him, for the guy was so drunk he was barely coherent. Ever helpful, Bates talked with him at some length and finally got him headed for town

Suddenly Bates realized that his wife was in town, probably picking up one or both of his daughters from school and was most likely on the same stretch of highway as the drunk. After a moment of panic he called the local edition of the state highway patrol Fortunately the trooper was in town and quickly got out on the highway to corral the drunk. We sat down with the Park Service manual and tried to figure out how to make an arrest It did not seem to be in any of the manuals we had.

As anyone who has read about Bates knows, he was no great shakes when it came to official NPS uniform wearing I do not recall when the government began to give us a uniform allowance, but even then I am certain that money had much to do with the completeness of the uniforms we wore We simply were not rich enough to be able to wear the uniform all of the time and in all situations. There was no such thing as a work uniform, and we did much more physical labor than public contact or office work We had no fancy visitor center, and the office in the front corner of the old converted Civilian Conservation Corps army-type barracks was dusty and sandy much of the time from the periodic wind storms in the canyon So, the uniform of the day usually consisted of work shoes, blue jeans, grey NPS shirt with pinned-on badge, no tie, and either a straw cowboy-style hat (Bates) or the NPS broad-brimmed hat (me).

There were times when we did dress up in full uniform. One occasion in 1960 was when the regional director (Bates's boss) and his assistant came to see us. We both had on our uniforms with the Eisenhower or short jacket. The visitors were not overly impressed. We thought we looked pretty snappy We checked out the new visitor

center, the new house, and roads that had just been completed. I had salvaged the toilet bowl from the old shack my wife and I and two children had lived in for four years as a reminder of the "good old days" and placed it on the patio of the new house with a crop of sweet peas growing in it No comment came from the visitors from Santa Fe nor any other sign of a sense of humor.

They did take us to task for not placing a "Park Ranger" decal on our new station wagon. To have the decal sign displayed was a new regulation as was the light green color of the vehicle, but we could find no appropriate place for the decal on the streamlined surface of the wagon We thought the red light and siren pretty much told the story anyway And we still did not have a citation book and still kept the .38-caliber pistol in the safe The regional director had no suggestion as to where to put the decal when asked. We figured it out later by putting it on a piece of masonite and mounting it upright on the front of the hood. It looked like the devil but it was official and that's what counted.

About this same time Bates and I made a trip to Santa Fe to try to iron out, unsuccessfully, some monument personnel problems. By then we had an administrative assistant who ran Arches in our absence While we were in Santa Fe our friend, regional naturalist Natt Dodge, took us to lunch with his Kiwanis Club Natt had been secretary of the club for many years and, knowing that Bates belonged to the Moab Lions Club and I to the Moab Rotary Club, he jokingly made out cards that indicated we had attended a Kiwanis meeting and were entitled to credit at our own clubs for a makeup meeting and sent them to our respective clubs.

I never knew how Bates made out at the next Lions meeting but I was placed on the grill at Rotary. Hard-pressed to avoid a large fine for this gross infraction, I finally made up a wild story New Mexico, I told them, was the only state where the laws were bilingual, using both Spanish and English (true at the time), and I honestly thought, when asked to attend Kiwanis, that Kiwanis was the Spanish word for Rotary. A blatant lie of course but all in fun and, after much laughter, I was off the hook.

Bates's ability to get along with anyone, rich or poor, educated or not, no matter their position in life was probably his greatest asset. Having grown up with Spanish-American and Mexican kids in Silver City, New Mexico, he spoke a passable brand of New Mexican Spanish. Periodically, some of the local Moab Spanish speakers who had

worked for or knew Bates would show up at headquarters with problems. He would try to help them. I remember long conversations in a mixture of Spanish and English as he tried to work out a solution. My college Spanish was not up to understanding it all, but Bates seemed to get everything straightened out just fine.

We also had yearly contacts with the Basque sheepherders who would come down Salt Valley through the Arches to their BLM grazing allotment just outside the monument in Cache Valley. Again, a long conversation in Spanish, a plate of beans and mutton in the sheepherders' spic and span wagon, and we all understood what was going on and where each other's properties were.

The young people of Moab looked up to Bates too. After the new paved road up the hill behind headquarters at Arches and on to the Balanced Rock was finished in 1958 we began to pick up a lot of garbage on weekends as some of the local teenagers started to use the parking lots for beer parties. One bunch Bates caught one Saturday night had really trashed the place He knew them all, but instead of arresting them he gave them an ultimatum. After school some time in the next week they were to pick up all the trash along the state highway between town and the Arches entrance. He would furnish the truck to haul it away. The group thought that a fair deal (they didn't know we had no citation book so it was partially a bluff) Not only did the trashers turn out but half the high school was there picking up litter, including Bates's oldest daughter. They had a ball, the highway looked great, and the message got across.

When the new visitor center and new house were being built in 1960, a part of the package included paving the road from the visitor center past the houses and future house sites to the utility area. The project supervisor that the Western Office of Design and Construction sent out to us from San Francisco was an architect. He flatly told us that he would have nothing to do with the road when the contractor came to him to get some engineering surveying done. Bates was a little nonplused, to say the least Someone had to run levels on two or three culverts to be placed in the road fill so that the water would run the right way—downhill.

Bates borrowed a transit and a range pole from someone in Moab, since we had no equipment like that, and we went to work. We both had some elementary surveying in our past, but memory is sometimes too short. Things went well until we got to the mathematics stage, and we could not remember whether to add or subtract on the

range pole to get the proper inclination to the culvert for proper drainage. Our only excuse was that this was really not in our job description; but we finally did get the job done correctly. We proudly dubbed ourselves the "Eyeball Engineering Company," but never took another job. Bates also quietly got the project supervisor replaced; one of the few times I ever saw him upset over people problems.

Those were the days when the superintendent of an area did most of the planning himself via the master plan within the generous NPS guidelines and with or without help from higher authority and design office as the area needs dictated It worked well in the smaller areas, particularly with a practical man of vision, experience, and foresight like Bates. Some of his planning was based on prior planning and local political realities, but Bates had an intimate on-theground knowledge of his two, later three, areas—Natural Bridges, Arches, and Canyonlands. He had a knowledge that most superintendents in the NPS rarely possessed because of the short time they were assigned to an area or the size of it. Bates had the benefit of an unhurried length of time on the job and knew exactly what he wanted and what the visitor needed in the developments for his areas.

His development plans were geared as much to avoiding management problems as they were to providing visitor services. For example, he studiously avoided permanent concession installations because they are a perpetual headache with their constant expansionist outlook and their usual political clout that interfered with good management. He could see that the time had come for free enterprise to take over outside the parks and in the nearby small towns where the tourists and local entrepreneurs would both benefit rather than the monopolies some concessionaires enjoyed in some parks. Bates's honesty and pragmatic approach to things usually convinced the final decision makers of the validity of his planning.

Bates had walked the possible road alignments for both Natural Bridges and Arches and, together with the Bureau of Public Roads engineer assigned to the construction job, they reached a final route. He located water sources at Bridges and together we relocated the old boundary established by W. B. Douglas in 1908. With good U.S. Geological Survey maps of the Bridges area produced in the early 1950s we pursued the enlargement of the monument from the natural metes and boundaries of Douglas to the rectangular survey system of the BLM's cadastral engineers The old boundaries looked more natural and conformed to the landscape, but we bowed to

modern survey techniques and stayed with breakdowns of the one square mile section system. Bates was the conservative here, and I was somewhat greedy about taking land away from the BLM for the expansion of Natural Bridges The final boundaries, after several reviews by the Department of the Interior, NPS, BLM, and state agencies in the early 1960s, came out to a fairly respectable size and protected the monument much better. The new boundaries avoided the possibility of a large hotel dominating the scene overlooking any of the natural bridges by being far enough back from the bridges to provide a good buffer zone.

The men who ran the old Southwestern Monuments for the National Park Service prior to the 1960s had to be jacks-of-all-trades. There was little money, and many monuments were so far from a town that one could never get a plumber, carpenter, mechanic, or electrician to come out to the area for any reasonable amount of money Bates was no exception; he handled many jobs himself in spite of being only five miles from town

On one occasion, Bates and his son Tug were installing a water line in a trench they had hand dug to get water into an old trailer that was to become the residence for our newly appointed administrative assistant and his family. While Bates and Tug were sweating it out in the trench like World War I soldiers, up wheeled a big pink Cadillac and out hopped a chubby red-faced individual who proceeded pugnaciously to ask Bates if he had a "ticket" to do that kind of work. Bates asked just what he meant, and the red-face announced that one had to have a plumbers union card or a permit to do that kind of work. Bates smiled and told the pink Cadillac owner that he was wrong The union representative pushed his case and insisted that Bates and Tug both needed union cards. That tore it for Bates, and in his dirty blue jeans, straw hat, and old Park Service shirt he pulled himself up to his full height and said, "I am the superintendent of this area and this is my son who is working for nothing and I don't need a permit to do this job and if you are thinking about going up on our new road job to talk to anyone, forget it You can wait down here until 5 P.M. when the men get off from work and talk to them then." Red-face, the union organizer, left.

Bates had a soft heart even when someone was violating his park. On our way home from Moab one day we were astounded to see a crew alongside the highway inside the Arches boundary blissfully erecting a king-sized billboard They already had the holes

drilled and two or three poles put up. I suggested we let them complete the job and then make them take it down. Bates vetoed that idea. He stopped and told them the facts of NPS regulations and that it was not the place for the billboard They were actually grateful, for once, as Bates had saved them a great deal of time, money, and embarrassment plus a possible fine.

When we finally got the new visitor center at Arches in 1960 we all thought we were in some kind of special heaven for park rangers Bates had a time adjusting to the new building, especially his large, clean, undusty, light, and airy office, the first in his NPS career. He wanted to drag in the old World War II surplus furniture we had been using in the old CCC barracks office building, but administrative assistant LyleJamison and I decided we had the money and were going first class for a change with new furniture.

For the superintendent's office we bought Bates a large counciltype desk unbeknownst to him—a desk with the proper dignity and status a superintendent deserved When it came and we set it up, he really did not want to have anything to do with it. He had been Park Service poor for so long that he felt out of place with a decent piece of furniture. He recovered, however, and so did his sense of humor.

The building architect had designed a contact desk with a narrow horizontal slit window behind it that gave a view into the administrative assistant's office. The theory was that in slack times, with few visitors, the administrative assistant could work at his desk until he saw a visitor through the window and then come out and make the contact. One day I caught Bates tossing peanuts through the open window at LyleJamison, who detested the setup

Poverty was a fact of life at Arches prior to about 1960 We began to live a little when the Atomic Energy Commission closed out its southeastern Utah field camps and the uranium mill at Monticello in the late 1950s. Nuts, bolts, and pipe fittings were some of the special items Bates latched on to. The- disposal agent for the AEC was in Grand Junction, Colorado We received lists of available surplus items and personal visits from the disposal agent, a gentleman we referred to as "Santa Claus" Thompson

The one catch to all the largess was that Thompson had set things up in large lots and it was "all or nothing." Consequently, we wound up with many things we had no earthly use for, like a fourfoot-long monkey wrench But the good stuff made up for it, and Bates was in hog heaven ordering things and all for free.

We convinced Santa Fe, the regional office, that we needed a jeep that was advertised on surplus. We did have miles of dirt road, and since access to our boundaries from outside was viajeep trails we had rarely checked the boundary To supply parts for the new secondhand jeep we picked up another on surplus for "spare parts."

One day I noticed the administrative assistant making out a purchase order for about $1,000 worth of nuts and bolts. As I glanced out the window I saw the maintenance man driving in with at least a similar amount of nuts and bolts in the back of the dump truck I thought this a little much as we really had all we could possibly use in the back room. The purchase order was torn up.

Bates finally got called on the carpet by the region for his surplus acquisitions. I do not know whether it was the extra jeep, the stainless steel four-by-eight-foot, quarter-inch-thick plates, or the portable building at Natural Bridges, but he was in hot water for a while. There was little surplus left by then anyway, so it really did not matter. Life went on at Arches but a life made somewhat easier by all the loot we had accumulated I would be willing to bet there is still some of it in storage in the Arches maintenance area today, thirtyfive years later.

When it came to dedicating new NPS facilities it was almost de rigueur to stroke many politicians from the various levels of government—local, state, and federal—by allowing them prominent exposure at the dedication ceremonies whether they actually had anything to do with getting the facility or not. Bates added a new twist with his innate sense of propriety, history, and fairness When arranging dedications of the new visitor center at Arches and the new roads through the monument it was not politicians or even the NPS hierarchy that were given the spotlight of cutting the obligatory ribbon In the case of the visitor center it was the widow of Dr. J. W. Williams, the local medic who had done so much to promote the area. A new road to the Windows section of the monument was dedicated by the widow of our long-time super-efficient maintenance foreman, Merle Winbourn.

Although Bates was not particularly a political animal in the sense that he was involved in local politics (it was forbidden for federal employees), he did have political savvy and made many political friends through his personality Strangely enough he was a registered Republican and many of the political friends that helped him promote the establishment of Canyonlands National Park were good Democrats. Chief among these was Secretary of the Interior Stewart Udall.

About the time of the establishment of Canyonlands National Park attempts were made to transfer Bates to Salt Lake City into a state coordinator job for the NPS, a political sop to the state government which was feeling left out of park planning Bates resisted the transfer He wanted to continue his work in the Moab area, away from a big city with his family and friends Apparently some jealousy existed in the NPS. The hierarchy did not want Bates to become superintendent of Canyonlands, for they would have to give him a big promotion compatible with the job. They probably also had some "fair-haired boy" already picked out for the post. Secretary Udall solved the problem by announcing Bates's appointment as superintendent of Canyonlands in Salt Lake City one happy day. Bates also served as state coordinator a few days each month and maintained an office in Salt Lake City, but mostly he was superintendent of Canyonlands, the love of his Park Service life.

Afew years later I thought Bates's luck had run out and he probably

Needles area of Canyonlands National Park, photographed byJ. M. Heslop in August 1964. USHS collections, gift ofRobert C. Mitchell.

would be transferred to some desk job in Washington or a backwater park. The administration had changed, and his Democratic friends, Udall and Sen Ted Moss of Utah, were on the way out But the new Republican Department of the Interior solicitor turned out to be Mitch Melich, a lawyer from Moab who had run for governor on the Republican ticket and lost. Mitch and Bates were long-time close friends, so Bates stayed on in Moab until his retirement in 1972.

As the Park Service became bigger and life in general became more complex a different type of park ranger started to show up. They were well educated, intelligent people of both sexes, who had fallen in love with "nature," ironically, for some of them, as the result of a book by one of Bates's seasonal rangers some time earlier, one Ed Abbey. Most of them were city types, however, with little experience in the desert or a wilderness and, much to Bates's complete frustration, many of them could not drive a car, let alone a jeep. At the same time, his Canyonlands staff included many employees from big parks and elsewhere who had been foisted off on him with no chance of his rejection so that his life became somewhat difficult—his payment from the Park Service for the political clout he commanded

Coincidentally, some of the plans for the new park were slow in realization and were being altered to fit revised conservation thinking Development was not coming fast enough for those locals who stood to benefit financially or politically. Bates was harangued in the press and in person. Today, with almost a million visitors to Moab each year, some of these same people are still complaining—this time about the problems of higher taxes, loss of political clout to newcomers, helicopters, hikers and bikers, and tourists, all brought about by the park development they wanted. Bates must be chuckling. These things may have been a contributing factor to his retirement some eight years after the establishment of Canyonlands National Park.

In retirement he went back to his roots and bought a hay ranch nestled in a valley among the red rocks he so loved It was there in a happy retirement that he died of a heart attack in 1983.

Bates had a great sense of history and its importance in the scheme of things This was fostered by the fact that one of his ancestors, for whom he was named, had been in Lincoln's cabinet.3 He had a letter, from Lincoln to ancestor Bates, proudly framed and displayed

3 Bates was named after Edward Bates (1793-1869) Lincoln's attorney general A lawyer and politician born in Goochland County, Virginia, Edward practiced in Missouri, fathered seventeen children, and died in St Louis

on the wall of the old stone house at Arches where he and his family lived. It hung right next to an ancient Navajo blanket. The blanket represented his interest in Native Americans, both ancient and contemporary.

In his explorations of the Needles area he came to realize that the archaeological values in the canyons on the north side of the Abajo Mountains were practically pristine and of importance in the overall study of southwestern archaeology. They were also in extreme danger from vandals who had been given easy access to the area. He organized his Scout troop to survey the prehistoric ruins in Horse Canyon, a drainage of Salt Creek, in March 1952. This apparently came at the suggestion of Alice Hunt, a student who was doing an archaeological survey of the LaSal Mountains for her master's degree at Denver University while her husband, Charles Hunt, was studying the geology of the mountains for the U.S. Geological Survey. The Scouts recorded the sites, mapped them, and photographed them, but no collections were made in spite of the fact that they found several whole pottery vessels In May of that year Bates took Alice into the Needles and they collected the pots, thus bringing to the attention of the archaeological profession the importance of the Needles resources

The survey conducted by Bates's Boy Scout troop and the report by Bates and Alice Hunt forced things into focus for University of Utah archaeologists. The Anthropology Department under Jesse D. Jennings quickly got involved surveying and excavating sites in the area Jack Rudy, a graduate student, excavated, with the help of some of Bates's Scouts, nine sites in Beef Basin just south of Horse Canyon in the summer of 1953 after survey efforts in September 1952.4

Bates's feelings for history and archaeology also allowed me to get involved with historical and archaeological preservation via the establishment of a local museum and a statewide archaeological society. Working for a person less sensitive to these values would have been much less productive for me. Conservation efforts would have suffered, for much government time and material went into these activities.

Bates's philosophy was first one of conservation and preservation of the areas he loved, Canyonlands, Arches, and Natural Bridges. He went about this task in the way he knew best, guided by

4 Jack R Rudy, Archeological Excavations in BeefBasin, Utah, University of Utah Anthropological Papers, Number 20 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1955) Alice P Hunt and Bates E Wilson, "Archaeological Sites in the Horse Canyon Area, San Juan County, Utah," MS, 1955, on file in University of Utah Anthropology Department, Salt Lake City; personal communication from Allan D Wilson, Bates's son, July 6, 1982

the cultural and NPS parameters of the time. This called for making the major attributes of the Park Service area available to the public but maintaining the rest as natural or wilderness. Usually it was figured that 5 percent of the park would be developed and 95 percent left to mother nature. In other words, Bates was developmentoriented to the visitor needs of the time. Campgrounds, visitor centers, flush toilets (he had cleaned out enough outhouses to last two lifetimes), paved roads and trails, employee housing, and interpretive signing were all in his development textbook. Times changed. Unpredictably, visitor use and desires changed over the years, and the loudest voices began to call for more wilderness and less development. This has resulted in such things as a paved road in the Needles dead ending at the edge of a canyon where a fancy bridge was to cross it One must put Bates's philosophy into the proper time frame. In the 1950s and 60s the National Park Service was the major agency providing outdoor recreation in the U.S. and all facets of it. State parks were few; Utah had none. The Bureau of Land Management paid little attention to anything but cows and miners, and the U.S. Forest Service wished recreation would go away—trees were more important.

Bates was caught in the middle—cussed by ultra-conservative outdoor types for developments and by the ultra-conservative entrepreneurs for not following through on promised developments that they thought would bring dollars into the local economy The important aspect of what Bates had accomplished was lost to many because of this conflict. His efforts to get Canyonlands set aside and Arches and Natural Bridges expanded meant that these areas were dedicated to all Americans not just a few who wished to exploit and/or destroy them in the name of progress and business

If Americans had not become so rich that too many of them could afford four-wheel-drive vehicles and if they had not been so prolific in producing more Americans, Bates could probably have had his first wish for the Needles. That was a nice little area set aside for the few aficionados of jeeps in the early 1950s to visit. His vision expanded as he talked with others about Canyonlands, and, in spite of political pressures, he got pretty much what he dreamed for Canyonlands much to the enjoyment of everyone involved, even the pessimists. As the plaque at the Arches visitor center says, "Canyonlands will remain forever a monument to his memory, a tribute to his leadership, and his legacy to future generations."

The St. George Temple Baptismal Font

BY MARGARET M CANNON

OO IMPORTANT WERE TEMPLES TO THE MEMBERS OF THE Churc h of JeSUS Christ of Latter-day Saints that the Salt Lake Temple Block was laid out in 1847, shortly after the pioneers entered Salt Lake Valley Although this temple was not dedicated until 1893, three other Utah temples were completed earlier. The first of the three was the St. George Temple, dedicated in April 1877, thirty-one years after the Saints left Nauvoo. The struggle to cross the plains, survive in a

Baptismal font of the St. George Temple. Photograph © the Church ofJesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Used by permission.

Mrs Cannon, a great granddaughter of Amos Howe, lives in Provo, Utah

wilderness, and settle new territories made the building of temples a great labor for the early pioneers. Finding people with the necessary skills also presented a challenge. To build the baptismal font for the St George Temple, two men, Nathan Davis, trained in business and mechanics, and Amos Howe, proficient in foundry work, came together at the right time and place

Nathan Davis, born in 1814, was a Quaker who had been baptized into the Mormon church in Ohio in 1850 by his brother-in law Edwin D Woolley The Davis family operated saw and grist mills in Ohio. Nathan, an eldest son, had extensive experience in operating and maintaining machinery as well as running a business.

In 1851 Nathan and his wife Sarah Woolley immigrated to Salt Lake City where they built a home at 157 West North Temple. Shortly after his arrival, Nathan was appointed by Brigham Young to take charge of the machine shops of the city's public works, a position he held for at least ten years. He soon gained a good reputation as a mechanic and businessman.1 He began the Davis Foundry in 1872, and one of his first orders was to make the baptismal font and the twelve oxen to support it for the St George Temple

Although Davis was a knowledgeable mechanic, he was not a skilled foundry man His company had problems with the complex job of making the mold for the oxen. At this point Davis learned that a neighbor in the Seventeenth Ward, Amos Howe, had been a welltrained foundry manager in St. Louis. Davis and Brigham Young approached Howe for help, which he agreed to give if he could be taken into the company as a partner. The proposal was accepted.

A better man for the job could not have been found. Amos Howe was born in New York but moved to St. Louis with his family in 1842 when he was twelve. There he apprenticed in the pattern shop of a large foundry and machine shop He also took night classes from an engineer who worked in the same shop. As a result, Howe was trained in foundry and pattern-making as well as in the profession of engineering. He could calculate stress and tension on what was produced, helping to ensure a suitable product. He was such a successful student that by age nineteen he was made superintendent of the large shops where he had trained.2

1 Preston W. Parkinson, The Utah Woolley Family (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1967), pp. 143-46

2 Howe Family Scrapbook, compiled by Charles R Howe and June Howe Johnson, p 5, in author's possession

About this same time Howe was introduced to the Mormon church by one of his subordinates at the foundry. He was baptized in 1850 and married Julia Cruse, an English convert living in St. Louis, the following year. Later, Amos went into the foundry business with William H. Stone, who subsequently became a congressman from Missouri The Gaty McCune company they ran together was "the largest Foundry and Machine works west of the Mississippi River," according to Stone The Howe family remained in St Louis until 1864 when Howe decided to come West Stone told Amos that if he would remain in St. Louis he felt sure their firm would be selected to do the iron work for the Eads bridge, one of the first bridges to be built across the Mississippi River. Howe's future and fortune would have been assured, but instead he chose tojoin other Mormons in Utah.3

Later, when asked for a letter of recommendation to Davis and his associates about Howe's abilities as a foundry manager, Stone wrote, "Few men had opportunities that Mr. Howe had to make themselves masters of their professions, and I can with confidence say to you that when we dissolved partnership but few were his equal and none superior, in the practical management of a Foundry and Machine Shop." Stone included the name ofJames B Eads, designer of the Eads Bridge, as another reference.4

When the Howe family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, they settled in the northern part of town, eventually building a home just around the corner from where Bishop Nathan Davis of the Seventeenth Ward lived and next to where the Davis-Howe Foundry would be established Davis and Howe were neighbors and members of the same ward before they formed a business relationship. According to a stock certificate issued in the early 1900s, Nathan Davis and Amos Howe established their foundry partnership on February 1, 1873.

Amos's granddaughter relates that when Brigham Young saw the first patterns for the oxen he chideci, "That won't do, Amos."5 Both Idaho and Utah were searched for a perfect ox, which, when found, was brought to the foundry "where it was corralled and used as a live model" for several weeks. Howe designed the font and oxen and was responsible for the drawings and patterns finally used. The new patterns were so successful that Brigham Young exclaimed, "Brother Howe, you have even registered the disposition of the live ox."

3 Ibid., p 6

4 Ibid., pp. 66, 67.

5 Interview withJulia Howe Hegstead, Springville, Utah, February 22, 1990

An article published in the Deseret News on July 17, 1875, extolled the Davis-Howe Foundry: "Their facilities for heavy casting and machine work are quite extensive." The account also reported on the progress of the baptismal font. By this time six of the twelve life-sized oxen that were to support the font had been finished, being first made in wood, then cast in iron. The writer said, "The modeller has done his work well, the imitation being excellent, and the castings are trim and neat." The font itself was described as "oval in shape, 18 feet by 9 feet at the top, rounding slightly inwards toward the bottom, and is about four feet deep. The bottom weighs about twenty-nine hundred pounds, and the sides about one ton." The font would "have the appearance of being in one solid piece when finished." Ornamental iron steps would lead up to it with a rail and banisters to match.

Brigham Young donated the font to the church for the St. George Temple at a cost of five thousand dollars.6 Howe family accounts say Young was so pleased with what had been built that he paid one thousand dollars more than called for by the contract.

Amos Howe, left, and Nathan Davis, right. Courtesy of author.

6 John T. Woodbury, Jr., St. George Temple, St. George, Utah, pamphlet prepared for St. George Temple Information Bureau

About two and a half years after Davis approached Howe for help in making the oxen mold, the font and oxen were ready to be transported from Salt Lake City to St. George.

In the Deseret News of August 29, 1931, C. L. Christensen recalled his experiences as one of the crew delivering the font in the summer of 1875. The font and oxen, which according to Christensen weighed 18,000 pounds, were shipped in parts on the Utah Southern Railroad, probably as far as Spanish Fork.7 The rest of the way it was transported in three specially built oxen-drawn wagons, under the direction of Nathan Davis, Elijah Sheets, an experienced blacksmith, and three other men. Christensen's wagon contained the bottom of the font which was in two pieces, with two metal oxen bolted carefully in between Standing on end, the parts reached the top of the wagon bows

Christensen wrote: "Everywhere along the way we were royally received and entertained." With people relatively isolated in those days, the arrival of the wagon train created a special event in each small town it passed through and provided a welcome respite for the transporters No one but the local LDS bishop—and those who received his permission—was allowed to see what the wagons contained Soldiers traveling to Beaver on foot passed and repassed the wagon train several times. Because the John D. Lee trial for the Mountain Meadow Massacre was underway in Beaver, the soldiers suspected cannons or other arms were being shipped south and wanted to see what was in the wagons. But the caretakers of the font kept to their instructions and did not let any unauthorized viewers see what they were carrying.

The weather created a major problem for those transporting the font With temperatures frequently exceeding 100 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, some of the oxen pulling the heavy loads nearly died of thirst. Whenever they sensed a stream of water nearby, they tried to stampede to get a drink.

When the caravan finally reached St. George, a distance of some 300 miles from Salt Lake City, the men unloaded the font and each piece was carefully placed and bolted under the direction of Nathan Davis. When Apostle Orson Hyde saw the font he wept for joy "that he had lived to see another font in place in a temple of the Lord."8

7 Diane Slater, "You Asked for It," Provo Daily Herald Magazine, October 31, 1992, p 3

8 C L Christensen, "How the Temple Font Was Taken to St George," Deseret News, August 29, 1931, Church News section, p 8

The only other baptismal font to that time had been in the Nauvoo Temple The Deseret News noted on August 20, 1875, that Davis had returned "last evening from a trip to St. George . . . for which place he started on the 12th of July."

After several years Davis left the direct management of the company to Howe, but the Davis family held stock in the company until it closed in the Great Depression Nathan Davis died in 1884, Amos Howe in 1908. The foundry that the two men began made many other contributions to building the Utah economy, including numerous products for the mining industry of the state. They also built the font, but not the oxen, for the Logan Temple, dedicated in 1884.9 They made and donated both the baptismal font and the oxen for the Manti Temple, dedicated in 1888, Amos Howe giving the work and the materials in honor of "his two devoted wives."10

Ox team that hauled thefont from Salt Lake City to St. George. Courtesy of LDS Church Archives.

9 Nolan Porter Olsen, The Logan Temple: The First 100 Years (Providence, Ut.: Keith W Watkins & Sons, 1978), p 124

10 Howe Family Scrapbook, p 10

St. George Baptismal Font 157

Amos's son George, who began working for the foundry at the age of fourteen, indicated that Amos designed, fabricated, and installed the steel roof on the Salt Lake Temple and did much of the metal work. He also recollected that the foundry made the first fire hydrants for Salt Lake City in 1876 and 1877 and that Amos Howe designed and built the Main Street facade of the ZCMI building Later company records show that thirty-four columns, weighing one ton each, were made for ZCMI in 1922; and in 1925 the company produced gateposts for the Temple Block in Salt Lake City.11 Nevertheless, perhaps the most significant articles produced by the Davis-Howe Foundry were the oxen and baptismal font for the St George Temple This work brought Nathan Davis and Amos Howe together at a crucial time and place and established their foundry's reputation.

11 Davis Howe Foundry Board of Directors' Meeting Minutes Book, 1921 to 1937, and Order Book, 1901 to 1904, Utah State Historical Society Libraiy, Salt Lake City.

Chief Washakie, standing centerfront, and his band werephotographed in 1870 by William H. fackson in the Wind River Mountains, Wyoming. By then the Shoshones had largely abandoned their ancestral lands in Cache Valley to Mormon settlers. Photograph in Smithsonian Institution National Anthropological Archives, Bureau of American Ethnology Collection.

BY JOH N W HEATO N

Mr Heaton is a Ph.D student at Arizona State University He would like to thank Anne M Butler, Clyde A. Milner II, AJ. Simmonds, and Thomas J. Lyon who served on his M.A. committee at Utah State University and read and commented on earlier drafts of this article

"No place to pitch their teepees": Shoshone Adaptation to Mormon Settlers in Cache Valley, 1855-70

DURING THE LATE 1850s TRAFFIC INCREASED ALONG ROADS that crossed Northwestern Shoshone territory in the Great Basin. This activity provided opportunities for Shoshones to replace traditional food sources, destroyed as a result of the: presence of European Americans, with new food sources that the intruders carried West. As Shoshones resorted increasingly to hostile methods to obtain food, concern for the lives and property of Americans prompted the government to bring troops to Utah from California When violence along the road from Cache Valley, Utah-Idaho, to the mines of Montana erupted inJanuary 1863 Col Patrick E Connor intervened.1

On the morning ofJanuary 29, 1863, Connor and his California Volunteers violently served an arrest warrant for Cache Valley Shoshone leaders Bear Hunter, Sagwitch, and Sanpitch, camped on the Bear River near present Franklin, Idaho Without warning Connor's men attacked the Shoshone encampment of about 450 men, women, and children. Initially, the Shoshones held their ground, but a flanking movement scattered them. They lost an estimated 250 lives. According to Shoshone historian Mae Parry, the soldiers slaughtered Cache Valley Shoshones like "wild rabbits."2

This bloody episode signaled the beginning of the end of a three-decade struggle by the Shoshones to protect their lands, culture, and autonomy from the encroachment of overlanders, Mormon settlers, miners, the U.S. Army, and government bureaucrats. By the year of the Bear River action Cache Valley Shoshones—a sub-group of Northwestern Shoshones that wintered annually in Cache Valley— found themselves unwelcome in their ancestral territory. However, according to Indian superintendent James Doty, their Bear River camp on the day of the battle with Connor "was filled with provisions, bacon, sugar, coffee, and various other articles."3 This observation suggests that Shoshones successfully modified their subsistence patterns to counter the effects of the European-American presence

1 Brigham D Madsen, The Shoshoni Frontier and Bear River Massacre (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1985), pp 177-200

2 Chief Justice John F Kinney of Utah Territory issued the arrest warrant See Brigham D Madsen, Chief Pocatello: The White Plume (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1986), p 54; Madsen, Shoshoni Frontier, pp 178-91; Edward W Tullidge, Tullidge's Histories, Containing the History ofAll the Northern, Eastern, and Western Counties of Utah; Also the Counties of Southern Idaho, vol 2 (Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Press, 1889), pp 367-68; U.S., Congress, House, The War of the Rebellion, vol 50, part 1, pp 185-87; Madsen, Shoshoni Frontier, p 200; Mae T Parry, "Massacre at Boa Ogoi," in ibid., pp 233-34

3 James Duane Doty, Indian Superintendent, to William P Dole, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, February 16, 1863, Letters Received by the Office of Indian Affairs, 1824-81 (Roll 901), Utah Superintendency, 1849-1880, Utah Reel, 83 pt 5, 1863-613, National Archives, Washington, D.C, copy in Special Collections and Archives, Milton R. Merrill Library, Utah State University, Logan, Utah.

By the early 1860s Cache Valley Shoshones, frustrated with the European-American invasion, feared "that shortly there would be no place to pitch their teepees."4 In response to this dilemma, they resisted removal, attempted to maintain cultural and political autonomy, and clung to their migratory subsistence patterns. They demonstrated a remarkable cultural fluidity that initially thwarted Mormon efforts to assimilate them, helped them embrace elements of capitalism while maintaining seasonal mobility, and ultimately allowed them to change from hunter-gatherers to farmers

In 1856 Peter Maughan led the first Mormon settlers into fertile Cache Valley. However, subsequent attempts at settlement became necessary to gain a toehold in this Shoshone territory. By 1860 Mormon settlers, while forcing the Shoshones from the southern end of the valley north to Franklin, had assumed a defensive posture to maintain a tenuous control of Cache Valley. The presence of Mormon settlers significantly reduced the Shoshones' resource base and forced them to institute new survival strategies They apparently viewed European Americans as a new source of subsistence, for they incorporated what the Mormons called "thieving," "stealing," "begging," "depredation," and "tribute" from settlers, tithing houses, grain fields, and Indian superintendents into their customary hunter-gatherer patterns.5

This "tax" on Mormons occupying Indian lands—the federal government did not extinguish Indian title to Utah territorial lands until July 30, 1863—became burdensome and helped provoke the Bear River massacre During the evening following that day of bloodletting, a Shoshone voice urged survivors to gather around a fire to warm themselves. The pathos of that scene as the injured and exhausted remnants of a nearly exterminated people gathered to comfort one another must have been overwhelming. A few miles away Mormon settlers formed a stark contrast to this spectacle of desolation when they rejoiced in Connor's victory. In Sunday meetings Cache Valley bishops cleared their consciences of the massacre and attributed the army's success to the hand of God.6

4 Parry, "Massacre at Boa Ogoi," p 233

5 'Journal of Mary Ann Weston Maughan," in Kate B Carter, comp., Our Pioneer Heritage, 20 vols (Salt Lake City: Daughters of Utah Pioneers, 1958-77), 2:383; M. R. Hovey, "Before Settlement" in The History of a Valley: Cache Valley, Utah-Idaho, ed Joel E Ricks (Logan: Cache Valley Centennial Commission, 1956), pp 28-43; see alsoJohn Clark Dowdle Journal, 1844-1908, in Special Collections, Merrill Library

6 Parry, "Massacre at Boa Ogoi," p 236; Madsen, Shoshoni Frontier, pp 194-95; Brigham D Madsen, Glory Hunter: A Biography ofPatrick Edward Connor (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1990), p 85

Shoshone Adaptation 161

Although dealt a crushing blow, Shoshones did not concede defeat Sagwitch, wounded in the hand, and some of his warriors joined a Northwestern Shoshone band led by Pocatello in nearby Malad Valley. Others regrouped and sought to exact a measure of revenge from the settlers for assisting Connor. In Cache Valley the violence continued in spite of the Treaty of Box Elder, June 30, 1863, which granted government annuities of $5,000 to the Northwestern Shoshones. This treaty did little to alleviate the immediate problems of hunger since annuity payments rarely arrived on time, if at all.7

Traditionally, historians have focused on the experience of European-American settlers and neglected Native American concerns. They have explained the Mormon response to Shoshone resistance in simplistic terms. The most common interpretation suggested that Mormons thought it was "cheaper to feed the Indians than to fight them."8 This statement does not adequately explain the complex relationship between Cache Valley Shoshones and Mormons. Historian Brigham D. Madsen argued that Mormons, despite their benign philosophy, did not hesitate to embrace violent measures when the situation dictated. However, Madsen saw the interaction as generally benevolent and stated that although Mormons took Shoshone lands their treatment of the Indians—attempts to pacify and assimilate, proselytize and baptize, and teach selfsufficiency through farming—"demonstrated that, with patience and much help, an Indian group could learn to 'live like white men.'"9 This statement echoed the goals originally presented in Brigham Young's plans to build a Zion on Indian lands and convert the Indians in the process. Yet, from the perspective of Cache Valley Shoshones, assimilation into Zion would come at the cost of their traditional cultural heritage Mormon policy added to the death

7 Madsen, Chief Pocatello, p. 55; Madsen, Shoshoni Frontier, p. 201; CharlesJ. Kappler, ed., Indian Affairs: Laws and Treaties (Washington, D.C: GPO, 1904), 2:850-51 The Indian agents in Utah constantly complained about late or nonexistent annuity payments. See Doty to O. H. Irish, Superintendent of Indian Affairs, in Dale L Morgan, ed., "Washakie and the Shoshoni: A Selection of Documents from the Records of the Utah Superintendency of Indian Affairs," Annals of Wyoming 29 (October 1957): 196; Irish to D N Cooley, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, September 9, 1865, in ibid., p 211; and F. H. Head, Superintendent of Indian Affairs, to E. S. Parker, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, April 29, 1869, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals oj Wyoming30 (April 1958): 87-88

8 Brigham Young, Superintendent of Indian Affairs, to George W Manypenny, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, June 30, 1855, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals of Wyoming 26 (July 1954): 169; Brigham D Madsen, "The Northwestern Shoshoni in Cache Valley," in Cache Valley: Essays on Her Past and People, ed Douglas D Alder (Logan: Utah State University, 1976), p 29; Journal ofDiscourses, 26 vols (London, 1854-86), 10:107

9 Madsen, Shoshoni Frontier, p 155; Brigham D Madsen, The Northern Shoshoni (Caldwell, Idaho: Caxton Printers, 1980), p. 106.

knell of the Cache Valley Shoshone cultural existence because destruction of aboriginal customs and assimilation fueled it.

Before contact with European Americans Shoshones hunted and gathered on foot in lineage-based groups. Food scarcity in the Great Basin forced them to develop an intimate understanding of the environment. Groups migrated seasonally to specific locations to exploit resources during their prime availability. In the eighteenth century Northern Shoshones acquired horses and evolved into equestrian hunting and gathering bands. A century later these equestrians obtained firearms through trade with fur trappers. These alterations led to improved hunting efficiency, increased mobility, and the emergence of a mounted warrior culture.10

Equestrian Cache Valley Shoshones traveled in the early fall to Salmon, Idaho, to fish and then to Wyoming to hunt big game. They dried meat for winters spent near hot springs in northern Cache Valley. In the spring and summer they migrated throughout northern Utah gathering seeds, berries, and roots, and hunting small game. Uate October found them in western Utah and Nevada gathering pine nuts before fall fishing began again in Salmon. Shoshone culture was entwined with the natural rhythm of the seasons, mobility, and the methods used to procure a variety of food items They viewed the earth as more than a place to live, calling her their mother and provider Parry wrote that for Shoshones "the mountains, streams, and plains stood forever, but the seasons walked around annually."11

During the Mormon invasion of the Great Basin, Cache Valley Shoshones concerned themselves with maintaining their huntinggathering lifestyle To achieve this end they remained flexible and opportunistic This included commandeering unguarded property of the settlers, attempts at diplomacy to engender peaceful trade relations, outright demands of tribute from immigrants and settlers, and the use of threats, intimidation, and violence. According to a September 1850 report, Cache Valley Shoshones began committing depredations along the northern settlements from Salt Lake City to Brigham City. These offensives represented some of the first instances of Cache Valley Shoshones integrating new resources, available as a result of the Mormon presence, into their hunting and gathering pattern.12

10 For an inclusive examination of Cache Valley Shoshone culture see chaps 1and 2 inJohn W Heaton, "The Cache Valley Shoshones: Cultural Change, Subsistence, and Resistance, to 1870" (M A thesis, Utah State University, 1993)

11 Parry, "Massacre at Boa Ogoi," p 231

12 SeeJournal History, LDS Church Archives, Salt Lake City

Although Mormon settlements offered nontraditional resources, they did so at the cost of conventional Shoshone food items. Cache Valley's abundant grasses drew the attention of both United States military and Mormon explorers in the 1840s. Nearly a decade prior to settlement in Cache Valley the military and the Mormons pastured their cattle in the valley's luxuriant meadows and in so doing threatened Shoshone existence Cattle ate grasses that provided, in the form of grass seed, an essential element of the Shoshone diet Shoshones used grass seed in making cakes from pulverized meat and berries that they stored for winter consumption. Overgrazing by cattle contributed significantly to Shoshone hunger.13

Cache Valley Shoshones responded logically to this bovine menace. On January 6, 1850, Lt. Stephen Russell of Fort Hall reported that Shoshones were killing cattle pastured for the winter in Cache Valley In 1856 they made another winter cattle hunt on the Mormon herds pastured at the Elkhorn Ranch in southern Cache Valley In March 1858 Shoshones took 1,500 bushels of wheat—in lieu of lost grass seed no doubt—left behind by Cache Valley settlers hastening back to Salt Lake City during the Utah War.14

These notorious actions of the Shoshones during the early years of Mormon settlement obscure the full spectrum of the relationship between the two groups. The complex interaction between the Shoshones and the Mormons went beyond hostile encounters. As with the relationship that had developed between Shoshones and fur trappers a few decades earlier, trade helped bridge the cultural gap. In 1852 five Shoshone chiefs traveled to Salt Lake City to inquire about trade relations Led by Washakie, an Eastern Shoshone with influence among Northwestern bands, this delegation likely included spokesmen of the Cache Valley group. This meeting demonstrates that Shoshones actively sought access to Mormon trade. They desired the same trade goods from Mormons as they had from fur trappers. However, the settlers produced and therefore could supply certain commodities that trappers could only occasionally offer. Foodstuffs, especially flour and corn, emerged as an

13 Madsen, Shoshoni Frontier, pp 13-15; A C Hull,Jr., and Mary Hull, "Presettlement Vegetation of Cache Valley, Utah-Idaho,"Journal ofRange Management 27 (January 1974): 28

14 Brigham D Madsen, Exploring the Great Salt Lake: The Stansbury Expedition of 1849-50 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1989), p 264; LeonardJ Arrington, Great Basin Kingdom: An Economic History of the Latter-day Saints, 1830-1890 (1958: reprint ed., Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1968), p 151 Mary Maughan states the number of bushels to be 15,000, but Ricks's 1,500 seems more likely See "Journal of Mary Ann Weston Maughan," p 386;Joel E Ricks, 'The First Settlements," in The History of a Valley, p 337

important supplement to traditional Shoshone diets The acquisition of agricultural products did not require Shoshones to forego their migratory patterns. Indeed, they incorporated the "gathering" of these supplies from settlers into their seasonal cycle.15

According to Cache Valley setder Emma Liljenquist, when Shoshones came to the setdements they proceeded door to door, trading their beads for flour, sugar, bread, or molasses. They also hunted and gathered traditional items such as fish, furs, or chokecherries to trade for nontraditional food items such as corn. In addition, they saddle-broke the settlers' wild horses in exchange for wheat or corn and supplied the setders with furs and skins. During 1869 Shoshone hunters produced and sold furs worth an estimated $9,000.16 Although trade relations provided Cache Valley Shoshones with an opportunity to participate in the European-American market economy, often to their benefit, trade also caused friction. The army, an arm of federal authority in Utah Territory, suspected Mormons of inciting Shoshones to depredation on the overland trails and then trading and trafficking in the stolen goods. According to Henry Ballard, an early settler of Logan, Utah, the army issued an ultimatum in 1860 "declaring vengeance against any person trading with or feeding any Indian in Cache Valley."17

15 Young to Luke Lea, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, September 29, 1852, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals of Wyoming 26 (January 1954): 77-78;John D Unruh, The Plains Across: The Overland Emigrants and the Trans-Mississippi West, 1840-60 (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1979), p 166

16 Earle W Allen, Bessie Brown, and Lila Eliason, Home in the Hills of Bridgerland: The History of Hyrum from 1860-1969 (Hyrum, Ut.: Deseret News Press, 1969), pp 36, 37, 41-42; Head to Parker, August 1, 1869, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals ofWyomingSO (April 1958): 89

17 Joel E Ricks, "Some recollections relating to the early pioneer life of Logan City and Cache County," p 26, typescript, Special Collections, Merrill Library

Washakie (18041-1900) was a Shoshone leaderfor some sixty years. He is buried at Fort Washakie near Lander, Wyoming. USHS collections.

Cache Valley Shoshones annoyed settlers as well Indian Agent Jacob Holeman stated without hesitation that the Shoshones claimed all the land in Utah Territory. For years Shoshones had demanded tribute for the fodder, meat, water, and timber immigrants used as they traveled. As resources grew scarce Cache Valley Shoshones began to demand tribute from settlers for occupation and use of their land and resources. This aggravated the settlers, who viewed these tribute payments as a one-sided agreement; however, they usually gave in to avoid violence.18

Shoshones expected and grew accustomed to receiving presents from the travelers and settlers in the region. Brigham Young wrote that this practice had "emboldened" the Shoshones.19 Mary Ann Weston Maughan and others recalled that in the first years of settlement anxiety over Indian trouble plagued them constantly. Shoshones used intimidation and fear to their benefit.20 According to territorial Indian officials, Shoshones thought their actions were not only 'justifiable but their only alternative."21 This judgment stemmed from the commissioner's observations that game remained scarce in the territory, causing hunger and destitution among Shoshone bands. F. Book, an Overland Mail agent in Salt Lake City, underscored the commissioner's opinion, adding a sense of urgency when he sent a telegram stating: "Indians by hundreds at several stations, clamoring for food and threatening, they will steal or starve, will they starve?"22

Cache Valley Shoshones mounted an offensive and practically besieged the Mormon intruders. This action, according to historian Leonard J. Arrington, became the "most immediate economic problem of the Cache Valley settlers."23 Shoshone success can be measured

18 Jacob Holeman to Manypenny, March 7, 1854, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals ofWyoming26 (July 1954): 152; Unruh, The Plains Across, pp 169-70; Madsen, Chief Pocatello, 34; Holeman to Lea, March 29, 1852, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals ofWyoming25 (July 1953): 183;Jacob Forney, Superintendent of Indian Affairs, to A. B. Greenwood, Commissioner of Indian Affairs,June 11, 1860, in ibid 27 (October 1955): 206

19 Young to James W. Denver, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals ofWyoming27 (April 1955): 63

20 "Journal of Mary Ann Weston Maughan," p 385; Ricks, "Some recollections," pp 13, 61

21 Gov. A. Cumming et al., to Greenwood, November 1, 1860, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals of Wyoming 27 (October 1955): 208

22 Henry Martin, Superintendent of Indian Affairs, to Dole, October 1, 1861, in ibid 27 (October 1955): 214; Doty to Dole, April 15, 1862, in ibid., p 219 Book's telegram was reproduced in a letter from A J [Benton], Office of the Overland Mail Company, to William Latham, U.S Senate, December 19, 1861, in Letters Received by the Office of Indian Affairs, 1824-81 (Roll 900), Utah Superintendency, 1849-80, Utah Reel 83, pt 4, 1860-62

23 LeonardJ Arrington, "Labor and Life among the Pioneers," in Ricks, The History of a Valley, p 144.

in the official response of territorial leaders and in the efforts of Cache Valley settlers to avoid conflict. Gov. Alfred Cumming called for the relief of the settlers from the hardship of subsidizing Shoshone subsistence. Young ordered Cache Valley settlers to form a militia and protect their rights. This coincided with the formation of local militia throughout Utah during 1866 as native groups either initiated or appeared on the verge of taking hostile actions. Chief Black Hawk, for example, led Ute war parties in central Utah, while Navajos caused concern in the south.24

Ezra T. Benson reorganized the Cache Militia in 1866. He ordered the officers of each settlement to enlist all white male inhabitants between the ages of eighteen and forty-five. These companies drilled once a week and participated in several general musters to practice maneuvers. Other preparations included the formation of "silver-grey" companies comprised of men over the age of forty-five, the establishment of a corral in Millville to protect settlers' herds, a valley warning system using color-coded flags, and a mounted guard to patrol day and night.25

The early years of settlement in Cache Valley provided opportunities for the Shoshones to benefit from the weakness of the fledgling Mormon villages. Although Shoshones could not force the intruders from the valley, they demonstrated that they would harass the settlers and demand tribute whenever they held the advantage. The Deseret News of February 6, 1861, recounted the provisioning of some Shoshones with flour and two steers. They returned later to demand more food. The writer bluntly stated that what the Shoshones "wanted had to be forthcoming, or they would help themselves."26

Margaret Ballard stated that in the summer of 1862 the Shoshones proved troublesome for the Cache Valley settlers. She lamented that natives rode horses into settlers' homes, trampled their gardens, damaged fields, and stole livestock Her most revealing recollection was that the settlers "would always keep a good supply of bread on hand so that we could feed the Indians and they would be more friendly to us."27

24 See Journal History, reel 200, no. 18; Mr. and Mrs. Leonard Olson, comps., The History of Smithfield (Smithfield, 1927), p 16; Carlton Culmsee, Utah's Black Hawk War: Lore and Reminiscences of Participants (Logan: Utah State University Press, 1973), pp 98-99

25 E T Benson, Brigadier General Cache Military District, Order no 2,June 11, 1866, Order no 4,June 23, 1866, and Order no 6,July 10 1866, all in Territorial Militia Records, 1849-77,Journal of Cache Military District, Series 2210, reel 28, box 1, fid 85, Utah State Archives, Salt Lake City

26 "Late From Cache County," Deseret News, February 6, 1861

27 Ricks, "Some recollections," p 17

Peaceful or hostile, the Shoshones seized any chance the settlers gave them to obtain food, horses, or goods This adaptation to the settlers' encroachment fit in conveniently with their traditional hunter-gatherer migratory patterns that exploited seasonal abundance over a wide-ranging territory Shoshones migrated to wherever they could obtain food, locating their campsites—with the exception of semipermanent winter camps—in areas of plenty.28

Settlers yielded to most Shoshone demands, but apparently their donations did not assuage Shoshone hunger. The Indian superintendent's reports during the 1860s repeatedly stated that the Indians generally suffered from starvation and poverty. This prompted Shoshones to make regular appearances in the Cache Valley towns. During April 1862 they entered the northern settlements to exact food and clothing After reprovisioning, most of them departed for the summer However, before leaving they informed their Mormon "friends" that they would see them again at harvest time Sagwitch, a Cache Valley Shoshone leader, actually stored sacks of gathered food, such as dried chokecherries, in the cellar of the Liljenquist home. He would bring the sacks in each autumn and return for them in the spring when his winter supplies began to dwindle.29

Cache Valley settlers sought to alleviate the burden forced on them by Shoshones. In addition to the protection offered by the militia, settlers turned to their church institution, the tithing house, to organize their efforts Cache Valley bishops became local Indian agents in charge of disbursement in their respective villages To ensure the safety of their towns the settlers felt obliged to placate any Shoshones that appeared while they worked their fields. The settlers located tithing offices in the center of town and stocked the yard with a few steers should Shoshones prove troublesome. Bishops accommodated Shoshone demands while the men of the settlements were absent.30

Shoshones began to make regular sojourns to draw on food supplies stored in the tithing office. Between 1863 and 1888 the Cache Valley tithing office annually expended an average of over $600 worth of food to them. Surviving tithing records, although incomplete,

28 Parry, "Massacre at Boa Ogoi," p 231; Madsen, Chief Pocatello, p 67; Madsen, "Northwestern Shoshoni," p 29

29 Doty to Dole, April 15, 1862; Frank Fuller, Acting Governor of Utah, to Edwin M Stanton, Secretary of War, April 11, 1862, U.S., Congress, House, 37m Cong., 3d sess (1862-63), House Document no 1, Report of the Commissioner ofIndian Affairs in Report of the Secretary of the Interior, p 356; "From Cache County," Deseret News, July 16, 1862, p 24; Madsen, Shoshoni Frontier, 153; Allen, Home in the Hills of Bridgerland, p 41

30 Allen, Home in the Hills of Bridgerland, pp 25, 38; Ricks, "Some recollections," p 29

offer more evidence that Shoshones adapted to the exigencies of Mormon settlement on their lands. The Logan tithing office records for 1864-65 provide the most complete account of Shoshone use of these disbursements In April 1864 Sagwitch received 104 pounds of flour from the Logan office. He returned in October and November 1864 and received 116 pounds of beef, five bushels of wheat, six bushels of corn, fifteen bushels of potatoes, and fifteen bushels of carrots. The following year he repeated his cyclical pattern. Once again he came in the spring, receiving flour, potatoes, bacon, and corn. The records for the fall of 1865 lack the names of some recipients of disbursements. Whether Sagwitch returned that fall remains uncertain.31

Cache Valley tithing records also reveal that other Northwestern Shoshone groups and Eastern Shoshones from the Wind River region began to incorporate regular stops at the Logan tithing office into their migratory pattern. Weber Jack from the Weber Valley region came to the Logan tithing office in April 1864 and returned in May 1865 Indian George, possibly from Malad or Weber Valley, appeared at the Logan office in May 1864 and 1865, and Washakie arrived in Logan in late 1864 to take advantage of tithing office food.32

The settlers' constant concern that they keep food on hand for the Shoshones must, as Arrington argued, have been burdensome financially. The Richmond Indian donation book offers an estimate of the partial cost of peace in Cache Valley. During 1861 citizens of Richmond donated 82.5 bushels of wheat to Shoshones Records for the 1861 harvest totals do not exist, but the 1860 agriculture census can be used to suggest possible numbers The total wheat production for Richmond during 1860 is listed at 2,217 bushels. Using the 1860 and 1861 totals, Richmond's Indian donation represented roughly 4 percent of their total wheat production. During the early 1860s Cache Valley settlers also lived in danger of famine, and the additional burden of providing for hungry Shoshones represented a significant drain on food supplies that threatened the viability of the settlements.33

31 LeonardJ Arrington, "The Mormon Tithing House: A Frontier Business Institution," Business History Review 28 (March 1954): 44-46; Logan General Tithing Office Account Book, 1860-70, CR 100, 300, reel 122, pp 12-13, LDS Church Archives

32 Logan General Tithing Office Account Book, pp. 12-13; Arrington, 'The Mormon Tithing House," pp 44-45

33 Richmond Indian Donation Book, pp 1-2, James Hendricks, Daughters of the Utah Pioneers Relic Hall, Richmond, Utah; 8th United States Census, Utah, 1860 Agriculture Schedule 4, Productions of Agriculture (microfilm), Charles M. Hatch transcription, 1860 Utah Agriculture Schedule, pp. 16-18, in possession of author

Cache Valley Shoshones appeared more than willing to play the role of an economic liability. They continued to supplement their customary subsistence base with several adaptations at the settlers' expense while balking at attempts to make them abandon their migratory patterns. Despite the defeat by Connor and the efforts of a revitalized militia, Shoshones continued to harass the settlements. In February 1867 they forced the residents of the northern settlements of Cache Valley—Clarkston, Weston, and Oxford—to abandon their homes and seek safety farther south.34

Although Shoshones remained defiant, Connor's victory did two things First, it took a great human toll on Cache Valley Shoshones Bear Hunter died in the battle, and only seven of his group survived. Sagwitch escaped but lost most of his band to the soldiers' bullets. In the years following the Bear River massacre more settlers entered the valley. As the Shoshones grew weaker, Mormon settlements grew stronger. Second, it signaled the beginning of a larger federal influence in Cache Valley Shoshone affairs. Young controlled the Utah Office of Indian Affairs prior to the Utah War. Until then, Utah Indian policy accommodated the building of Zion rather than addressing the needs of Indians. During the mid-1850s the federal government—forced to react to rapid western immigration—negotiated fifty-three treaties to extinguish Indian title to lands. Despite the clear need for intervention as a result of heavy immigration through the Great Basin, none of these treaties involved the native groups in Utah Territory.35

Through the 1863 Treaty of Box Elder the federal government finally attempted to alleviate the tension between Shoshones and settlers. Although the treaty did not reserve land, it provided annuities for Northwestern Shoshones. Cache Valley Shoshones, who continued to utilize the Logan tithing house and settlers for subsistence, added Brigham City, site of the annual government disbursement, to their migration pattern This angered J C Wright of Brigham City who complained that it would be cheaper "for the people of this county to pay the Indians $5000 out of our own pockets" than to put up with the annoyance of the Shoshones at disbursement time.36

35 Doty to Dole,

of Wyoming29 (April 1957): 96, 44

36 Irish to Cooley in ibid 29 (October 1957): 217; Arrington, "The

House," p 42;Journal History, reel 200, no 24

34 The settlers returned home in the fall of 1868 J H Martineau, 'The Military History of Cache Valley," Territorial Militia Records, 1849-77, Series 2210, reel 28, box 1, fid 93, pp 10-11

November 10, 1863, in Morgan, 'Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals

Mormon Tithing

During the 1860s Shoshones continued their hunting-gathering existence, spending seven to eight months a year in pursuit of food along the Bear River, in Cache and Bear Lake valleys, and in southern Idaho. However, by 1869 Cache Valley natives, along with other groups of Northwestern Shoshones, began to demonstrate a willingness to begin farming if the government provided assistance. Acceptance of a sedentary agricultural existence would force Shoshones to abandon their mobile lifestyle for permanent residence on reservations. This signaled that Shoshones were resigned to the loss of their lands and recognized that survival depended on their ability to make yet another cultural adaptation.37

The remnants of Sagwitch's band, after unsuccessful attempts to farm at Franklin and Bear River City, eventually withdrew to the Mormon church farm at Washakie Town,just west of Cache Valley Other Northwestern groups such as Pocatello's, who migrated between Fort Hall, the railroad town of Corinne, and Brigham City, ended up permanently on the Fort Hall Reservation. Occasionally, small Shoshone groups asked for assistance from Cache Valley bishops, but after the removal of Northwestern Shoshones to Fort Hall or

Fort Hall, Idaho, became home to many former Cache Valley Shoshones. W. H.Jackson photograph in USHS collections.

37 Head to N G Taylor, Commissioner of Indian Affairs, July 25, 1867, in Morgan, "Washakie and the Shoshoni," Annals ofWyoming 30 (April 1958): 56; Report of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs, December 23, 1869, p 463, in U.S., Cong., House, Report of the Secretary of the Interior, 41st Cong., 2d sess (1869-70)

Shoshone Adaptation 171

Washakie Town, the majority of Cache Valley Shoshones no longer lived in or migrated through their ancestral home.38

Cache Valley Shoshones persisted in their traditional migratory patterns for as long as they could, adopting strategies to take advantage of every opportunity given them. They took government and Mormon cattle pastured in the valley during the years before settlement. They used diplomacy to effect peace and trade relations. They traded goods taken from the overland immigrants as well as traditional goods they hunted and gathered. When Mormon settlers began to encroach on their land in Cache Valley, Shoshones demanded compensation in the form of tribute The use of intimidation emerged as a tool of negotiation, trade, and food procurement that they felt justified in using.

An important aspect of Shoshone adaptation concerned the incorporation of tithing house disbursements and treaty annuities into their seasonal migration Clearly, from the Cache Valley settlers' point of view, the individual and collective economic drain of the Shoshones meant that it was no longer cheaper to feed than fight them. The financial burden and hostile gestures of Cache Valley Shoshones helped provoke the grim action at Bear River. Yet even after this defeat, they continued to extract a significant portion of the settlers' production.

In the last years before settlement on the church farm at Washakie Town or Fort Hall Reservation, Cache Valley Shoshones continued to hunt, gather, trade, and receive annuities, gifts, and tribute. Finally, the growing strength of the settlers and accompanying environmental degradation reduced many Shoshones to rummaging in the refuse of towns for food Despair, hunger, and disease eroded their resolve to resist and forced them to accept the cultural transformation from a migratory to a sedentary life They submitted to federal or Mormon oversight and a reservation existence. However, even in this decision, Cache Valley Shoshones manifested a determination to survive and an ability to adapt.39

38 A few Northwestern Shoshones, with the assistance of George Hill, filed for homesteads near the Bear River City farm See Kenneth Dean Hunsaker, "Indian Town, Utah: A Pre-Washakie Settlement," PAM C, p 194, and "Feeding the Indians of Northern Utah," PAM C, p 245, unpublished papers in Special Collections, Merrill Library, USU.

39 A smallpox outbreak in the northern end of Cache Valley during 1870 further weakened the Shoshones See Madsen, "The Northwestern Shoshoni," pp 36-37

Shaping Up the Troops: A Reminiscence of World War II

BY CLYDE D GESSEL

CLYDE D GESSEL, A NATIVE OF PROVIDENCE, UTAH, received his commission as a second lieutenant in the Coast Artillery at Utah State Agricultural College in Logan in 1940. He was at Fort George Wright, Washington, when war began and shortly afterward was sent to Boston for transport to Australia. As a young lieutenant he was placed in command of an inexperienced, ill-equipped, and untrained Army

Clyde D. Gessel

This interview was part of ajoint oral history project conducted by the Utah State Historical Society, Weber State University, and California State University, Fullerton. It is part of collection B-195 in the USHS Library, Salt Lake City

Air Corps squadron. Upon arrival in Australia he found things in a state of chaos and was called upon to help bring order and discipline to the American troops there. Later he was assigned to recover and reconstruct Japanese aircraft for intelligence purposes. He returned to the United States in 1944 and ended the war as a major assigned to the Pentagon He continued his military career in the Air Force Reserve The following excerpts from Colonel Gessel's military history describe the confusion at the beginning of the war, his role in assembling Japanese aircraft, and the pleasure of welldeserved wartime leave back in Cache Valley in the fall of 1944

I was still at Fort George Wright on that Sunday when the war started. We were several hours in time ahead of Pearl Harbor so we got the news about 11:00 A.M Most could not believe? it at first, but we all had believed war would come sooner or later. Our first reaction was to double the guard night and day to improve security and prevent sabotage at the air bases. The overall pace of preparedness quickened

Orders directed me to report to Camp Edwards, near Boston, Massachusetts, by early morning of February 16, 1942. We crossed the country by train Upon arriving at Camp Edwards we ran into the worst fouled up mess that you can imagine. My foot locker had been lost so I had nothing but low shoes with me. Camp Edwards had board sidewalks, 6 inches of mud and water in the streets, and it rained constantly. My foot locker had been diverted to Providence, Rhode Island, because it had my home address of Providence, Utah, painted on the side, but it was also clearly marked Camp Edwards on the tags. I eventually recovered itjust before we boarded ship for the overseas assignment

The foul ups continued when myself and about nine other first and second lieutenants and one captain reported in. We were each assigned to be commanding officer of one of ten squadrons of about 220 men each I was quite pleased to be designated as commander of Squadron #9. I soon found out my faith and trust in the system was badly misplaced. I was directed to a barracks building where "my squadron" was supposed to be When I entered I found 218 privates, 1 stuttering sergeant, and 1 redheaded corporal. Over 200 of these men had been in the Air Corps from two to six weeks and had been shuttled back and forth across the United States on trains for want of a place to house and train them Most did not have sufficient military clothing, none had gas masks or rifles, and almost none had had medical examinations or immunizations for overseas duty.

We had no idea where our destination was before we boarded the ship as it was supposed to be super secret We were no less chagrined when we finally boarded the luxury liner Queen Mary and learned our destination was Australia. This knowledge was gained from other officers aboard who had known three months before that they were going to Australia and had left Fort George Wright in plenty of time to take a month's home leave and get prepared for overseas duty.

Nevertheless, before boarding, I took charge of my squadron and tried to get them equipped. Many of the men were carrying civilian clothing, radios, golf clubs, musical instruments, and other possessions that obviously could not be taken overseas. I ordered them to tag the items for shipment home, and we left them in a pile in the barracks. After procuring military clothing we were issued gas masks in metal containers with no way of opening them. I told the men to get the fire axes from the barracks and a chopping block. We ruined a few masks but got all of the cans opened. The worst mess was getting rifles cleaned, which were issued to the men with a quarter-inch covering of cosmoline—a really greasy preservative

The men were largely assigned to the hold area in hammocks and used the huge first-class dining room as their mess hall. Our food was good, but, unfortunately, the ship's crew was entirely English so the great bulk of the enlisted men's food was kidney stew or boiled something or other The majority of the enlisted men simply would not eat the stuff and tried to live on one candy bar a day. A standard joke was, "How do you cook kidneys?" Answer: "You boil the out of them."

Our time aboard was largely taken up by drilling the men, stripping down rifles and putting them back together, and other instruction that we could give We didn't have much to work with Most of the men had not been immunized properly for tetanus, typhoid, typhus, and other tropical diseases because they left the States in such a hurry. Typical of Army routine, the commander decided to give all of these shots while we crossed the Equator when it was sticky hot About one-third of the men fainted when a shot was given in each arm. We had a detail of men who dragged them away to bed until they recovered.

We arrived in Australia during a period of monumental confusion

The Japs were having great military successes. Our troops had largely been chased out of the Philippines or were trapped in Corregidor and on the Bataan Peninsula, and most of the East Indies and other islands had been captured. Morale was at a low ebb in Australia, and the Australian government had essentially decided not to try and defend the northern part of Australia Gen Douglas MacArthur had not arrived, and it seemed no one was really in command of even the U.S. troops, let alone the Allied Forces.

As an example of the general confusion that existed, a train rolled up to Camp Darly one day with a few officers and about 1,000 to 1,500 men. The few officers on the train marched the men over to some barracks and then got on the train and went back to Melbourne, leaving all those enlisted men with no commissioned officers.

I was then assigned two new squadrons aggregating about 300 men. When I investigated I found one squadron of about 135 young men, largely college graduates and recent graduates of technical training from Chanute Field, Illinois. Only two were sergeants and the remainder privates To my pleasant surprise these two sergeants had taken charge, organized a mess, had regular exercise and study routines, and had their camp area spic and span.

On the contrary, the other troops were composed of many senior

noncoms, including three sergeants major, many master sergeants, and on down. The senior noncoms had organized a senior noncom mess and were taking all of the choice food They were lying in bed late, doing no training, and had no discipline. Most of them were peacetime regulars and a sorry bunch at that. When I took over there were about 100 of them absent without leave, mostly running around the countryside staying in farm homes and in town I immediately organized a jail compound, passed the word that any one absent would be classed as a deserter, disbanded the senior noncom mess, and put them into exercise and training. It took about four days for the absent ones (except one) to show up As fast as they came back I would put them into the jail compound under armed guard and let them sweat it out for a couple of days. They shaped up pretty well. One young fellow never did show up I learned later that he had moved in with a farmer, taken off his uniform, and gone to work for the farmer. They tracked him down later.

On January 22, 1943, I proceeded to New Guinea to salvage some recently captured Japanese aircraft on the landing field at Buna on the north coast of New Guinea These airplanes were to be reconstructed and flown for flight test and technical intelligence purposes. I obtained some experienced aircraft mechanics and equipment and set up camp on Buna beach in company with some Australian soldiers who also helped We located and began to salvage the Japanese Zero airplanes from the Buna landing field that the enemy had used. All the aircraft were shot up rather badly, so we had to select enough engines, airframes, instruments, and other components to make sure we could rebuild at least one airplane and fly it Later, we attempted to salvage all repairable Japanese aircraft and components and other equipment throughout the southwest Pacific and continued the study of nameplate data to determine the rates of production and places of manufacture. Much of these data were later used to select targets in Japan for bombing by B-29s.

On June 23, 1944, I was ordered to Headquarters, Army Air Forces, Washington, D.C, by the first available water transport I was to take some Japanese equipment and officers and men with me. The equipment was loaded on a small U.S. Navy aircraft carrier.

We sailed from Brisbane aboard a. Liberty freighter bound for San Francisco on July 4, 1944. Passing under the Golden Gate Bridge was a great thrill after nearly two and a half years away from the United States

I finally obtained two weeks leave on October 23, 1944, and flew home to visit my parents and others for the first time in about three years I flew as far as Colorado Springs and then had to take the bus the remainder of the way. The bus ride was interesting, but it seemed so slow that I could hardly wait to get home My Mother and Dad were overjoyed at the visit, and it was a great feeling to be home again. Dad and Mother cried. I visited all of our family and many others around the valley. Brothers Homer and Ted arranged the best pheasant hunt I've ever been on. We had the valley to ourselves Most young people and hunters were either still in the services or away to work.

In Memoriam: A. Russell Mortensen, 1911-95

ARLINGTON RUSSELL MORTENSEN, HONORARY LIFE MEMBER and former director of the Utah State Historical Society, died February 19, 1995, in Escondido, California, at age eighty-four. His professional career spanned more than four decades and earned him distinction as a historian, teacher, editor, and administrator.

Born in Salt Lake City on January 30, 1911, Russ grew up in California, then returned to Utah for college. After graduating from Brigham Young University in 1937, he taught high school in Garfield

A. Russell Mortensen

County and Provo for a time but interrupted his professional career by volunteering for navy service in World War II He served nearly three years, mostly in the Western Pacific, as a communications officer Following discharge he began a postgraduate program at UCLA There he studied under John C Caughey, who had studied under Herbert E. Bolton, who had studied under Frederick Jackson Turner, and it was always with special pride in years to come that Professor Mortensen spelled out this academic lineage to his own graduate students. During his graduate school days he also taught history at San Bernardino Valley College.

Beset by personal tragedy—the death of his wife, Bessie Burch Mortensen—upon completion of his doctoral program in 1950, Russ moved with his six small children to Salt Lake City where he accepted the offer to direct the Utah State Historical Society. As the agency's first full-time professional director he launched several initiatives that ushered the Society into the modern era. He changed the look of Utah Historical Quarterly and began attracting submissions to it from established scholars, founded the Utah State Historical Society Newsletter, and instituted the annual meeting and awards program. He succeeded in gaining a viable appropriation from a tight-fisted legislature and hired a small but professionally trained staff. He drafted legislation, soon passed into law, creating the State Archives, and served as state archivist in collateral capacity. He also lobbied for and obtained the magnificent Kearns Mansion as the Society's new home, liberating the agency from cramped quarters in the Capitol, and promoted an inviting and stimulating environment that appealed to a broad range of researchers and other patrons Within the warmth and comfort of the mansion, the energetic Russ Mortensen organized and hosted public lectures, invited and gained donations to the library, and began a microfilm collection. It is axiomatic among Utah historians today that no one had a greater impact in shaping the image, standards, and traditions of the Society than this dynamic and talented man.

Russ Mortensen's years at the Historical Society were his most productive as a researcher and writer He authored a series of essays on historic buildings and places in Utah, published by the U of U Press under title of Early Utah Sketches: Historic Buildings and Scenes in Mormon Country. In partnership with William Mulder he edited and introduced the classic collection of historic documents, Among the Mormons, originally published by Alfred A. Knopf and still in

print today. He also authored and edited several articles for Utah Historical Quarterly and read numerous papers at conferences and gatherings

Ready for new challenges, Russ left the Historical Society in 1961 for the University of Utah—as director of the press and as professor of library science and history His life was again touched by sadness with the death of his second wife, Florence Page Mortensen, the following year. But the decade of the 1960s was a great time to be on campus, and Professor Mortensen obviously enjoyed this period of his life. He began a new partnership in love and respect with his marriage to Dorothy Z. Summerhays in 1963, and he made sure she was never very far away as he scurried from one administrative or professorial tasking to another. Russ helped found the Western History Association and, along with C. Gregory Crampton, served as founding editor of The American West magazine His office was always a lively center of business and conversation. The graduate students who paid this grand mentor a visit could be assured of a friendly greeting, scholarly guidance, encouragement, and an entertaining story or two. If undergraduate students were sometimes unsure what to make of this iconoclastic and sometimes shrill instructor who could shift in an instant from decorous lecturer to mischievous storyteller, they never had any doubt about his effectiveness as a teacher. The Mortensen classes and seminars were always full.

A new decade brought new yearnings In 1970 Russ and Dorothy left for Washington, D.C, and a return to public history with his appointment as chief historian, Branch of Park History, National Park Service. His last year with the NPS, 1973, was as assistant director. In these roles he had a large voice in shaping standards for historic preservation and in promoting public enthusiasm for them throughout the nation. After official retirement he stayed close to the profession, returning to the U of U for a stint as visiting professor, serving as executive director of the Alabama Historical Commission as late as 1979, attending various association annual meetings, and indulging his everlasting love affair with good history books and journals.

Those who knew Russ Mortensen will recall his gregarious nature and noisy personality, his spontaneous and contagious smile, his earthy language and endless similes, his sense of loyalty to profession and colleagues, and, always, his candor Russ was just as honest with and about himself as he was with and about anyone or anything else.

"I think I am good for the National Park Service," he reflected in

1972, "but I don't think they could stand too many like me, if you know what I mean." No need to worry. There simply was no one else like Russ Mortensen.

In 1978 the American Association for State and Local History honored Russ with its highly coveted Award of Distinction. It was a fitting tribute to a man who had served the association so long and faithfully-—in such capacities as editor, councilman, secretary, president, and advisor—and who had spent a lifetime promoting history and the historical profession. The citation read simply "for inspiration and energy in activating the cause of state and local history across the nation." Those few words will long ring in the appreciative hearts of the countless people whose lives were touched by this oneof-a-kind man.

STANFORD J LAYTON

If you have ever wondered why irrigation and dry farming activities have not become more prominent within the Great Basin, this book will tell you why Although the account related here is limited to two adjoining areas of northeastern Nevada, the hopes, problems, and disappointments of the settlers stand as a model of the agricultural potential for much of the Great Basin. At the present, irrigation and dry farming agriculture between Delta, Utah, and Fallon, Nevada, is limited. The experiences of the early twentieth-century homesteaders in two communities of northeastern Nevada will attest why.

It is easy to recognize that northern Nevada is marginal for agricultural purposes. These sagebrush covered flats of the high desert experience hot summers and cold winters with limited resources for irrigation agriculture and sparse seasonal precipitation for dry farming Despite these drawbacks a host of settlers arrived there between 1909 and 1915 to forge a living on these marginal lands The story of the Metropolis/Afton and Tobar Flat/Independence Valley communities gives us some insight into the many factors that drew these pioneers into this great adventure. Almost without exception they were hard working folks who desired to raise their economic status by developing and owning a place of their own, and the

opening of these lands held great promise for them There was reason to feel that they would succeed Government legislation, the backing of the railroad, the convincing of land speculators, rising world grain prices, and new farming technologies made life in the Nevada desert look promising Those seeking a better life were caught up in the "back-to-the-land" movement and became Great Basin agricultural pioneers.

A major thesis that predominates throughout this volume is the presentmen t connections Lhat existed between die homesteaders Two major source groups emerged—a North Ogden/Cache Valley contingent of Mormons who settled in the Metropolis/Afton area and a smaller group of mainly Salt Lake City non-Mormons who formed the nucleus of the Tobar Flat/Independence Valley area settlers. In both groups family and neighbor connections were paramount. However, the ensuing years did not bode well for the homesteaders as a multitude of difficulties beset them These problems ranged from the heat of the summer to the cold of the winter and from drought to falling grain prices They also included infestations by jackrabbits and ground squirrels After the collapse of the project in the mid-1920s, family and neighbor groups were again paramount in determining where these broken homesteaders would relocate.

Utah People in the Nevada Desert: Homestead and Community on a Twentieth-Century Farmers' Frontier. By MARSHALL E BOWEN (Logan: Utah State University Press, 1994. xiv+134 pp. $24.95.)

This volume is of value to anyone interested in the geography and history of the Great Basin. This is the story of the last of the true traditional pioneers of the American West and provides insight into the environment and potential of that area It is further

recommended that future Great Basin developers become intimately familiar with this work.

DON R. MURPHY Weber State University

Compared to the voluminous historical coverage given to the Civil War, other contemporary topics typically have received rather cursory treatment. Understandably, Lincoln gave relatively limited attention to the emerging western territories Even so, his influence on the trans-Mississippi West was profound Ralph McGinnis, the Lincoln enthusiast whose vision inspired this book, and Calvin N Smith, who assumed the editorial duties following Professor McGinnis's passing in 1989, have performed the valuable service of editing a brief overview of the development of the western territories prior to and during the Lincoln presidency

The first four chapters describe the general nature of territorial government, provide an overview of international rivalries in the West, supply a logical series of informative maps, give an overview of the creation and development of territories prior to Lincoln's death, and discuss three legislative enactments that exerted a major influence on the history of the frontier West. Chapters 5 through 14 summarize the pre-Reconstruction histories of ten territories: Nebraska, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, Nevada, Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Dakota. The book concludes with a thought-provoking chapter on the area known popularly as In-

dian Territory (basically present-day Oklahoma)

The eleven contributors to this volume have succeeded in accomplishing the book's stated purpose of correcting a major deficiency in American historical writing by producing a study that focuses directly on Lincoln's "dealings with the sprawling western territories." The book's strength does not lie in the advancing of new interpretations based on fresh research into primary sources; rather, ts principal contribution is the aulling together in a single volume of a competent overview of the development of the western territories during the Lincoln presidency

The eleven authors uniformly provide broad historical perspective in their writing. In dealing with diverse territorial histories, they commonly give a preterritorial overview, discuss Lincoln's appointees to political offices, assess the public's reaction to Lincoln's death, and summarize territorial responses to the Civil War

Western settlers typically, though not universally, viewed Lincoln in a positive light and genuinely mourned his death That view may well have been even more positive had Lincoln been able to focus more of his attention on national expansion and less on national preservation. For example, given the press of Civil War concerns,

Abraham Lincoln and the Western Territories. Edited by RALPH Y MCGINNIS and GUATN N. SMITH. (Chicago: Nelson-Hall Publishers, 1994. x + 222 pp. $28.95.)

the necessity of making territorial appointments—and especially of replacing unsatisfactory officials—was often simply an unpleasant chore for Lincoln It seems likely from the collective evidence in this volume that the western territories would have benefited from the oversight of a gifted,

but less-preoccupied, president who could devote more attention to the duties of the chief executive and less to those of the commander-in-chief.

D GENE PACE Alice Lloyd College Pippa Passes, Kentucky

Into the Wilderness Dream: Exploration Narratives of the American West, 1500-1805.

Edited by DONALD A. BARCLAY, JAMES H. MAGUIRE, and PETER WILD. (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994. xviii + 397 pp. Cloth, $45.00; paper, $17.95.)

Over thirty years have passed since John Bakeless produced The Eyes of Discovery: America as Seen by the First Explorers, a book somewhat similar to Into the Wilderness Dream but with emphasis on the physical environment rather than the more eclectic approach of this new book Three editors have pooled their interests to introduce their thirty-three widely divergent selections consisting of brief excerpts from firsthand accounts of efforts to seek knowledge of North America's terra incognita of yesteryear. Selections run the gamut from Las Sergas de Esplandidn, a medieval romance of chivalry, to the mysterious Peter Pond, to the total fantasy of Mathieu Sagean and the poetic embellishments of amateur epic poet Gasper Perez de Villagra, via the cleverly edited captivity narrative of John Jewitt, to the terse campaign journals of early Spanish explorers of the desert Southwest

The time span of over three centuries, combined with the geographical sweep from Atlantic to Pacific and from Mexico to the Arctic, requires much more from the editors than mere selection of materials Regarding initial choices, no reader will be fully satisfied with those included, but that is to be expected Not surpris-

ingly, since the Spaniards were first in much of North America, about half of the exploration narratives (and nearly all of the lengthy ones) emanate from Spanish sources, while the fur trade generates much of the remainder It is in the brief, two- to four-page introductions to each selection that the editors occasionally expose the weakness inherent in such a tour de force. Greater care should have been taken with Spanish materials, including more attention to spelling and accentuation, as well as efforts to make the introductions reflect the current status of research rather than to depend on "established fact." For example, Spanish conquistador Panfilo de Narvaez was not one-eyed; Estevan, the companion of Cabeza de Vaca and Fray Marcos, was a Moor rather than a Negro, and certainly not both; and Francis Drake's chronicler, Parson Francis Fletcher, was clearly not an unimpeachable source.

The Wilderness Dream s introduction quickly carries the reader, complete with justification for so doing, into the mind set of those early visitors who preserved written views of the wilderness at a time when it was known only to preliterate people, the resident Indians who, of course, were frequently the underlying sources for the literate

observations That only one selection was by a female writer does not reflect a modern bias but rather is indicative of the unavailability of such materials, a result of limited educational opportunity for women and the paucity of educated females on the early scene. The exception was Frances Hornby Barkley who accompanied her husband in the early maritime fur trade in the Pacific Northwest and whose diary, later lost, was used by earlier historians

There is much merit in the presentation of such materials in a single vol-

ume, and the editors are forthright in stating their purpose of carrying the reader imaginatively into the dream of the New World They selected authors on the basis of the great advance expectations that shaped what they saw, how they saw it, and how they reacted. Such a series of selections cannot but whet the appetite for reading at greater length from the sources that necessarily had to be brief.

The Big Empty: Essays on the Land as Narrative. Edited by LEONARD ANGEL (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1994. xii + 321 pp. $32.50.)

Collections of essays often tend to be motley and somewhat uneven, and The Big Empty: Essays on the Land as Narrative is no different. This is to be expected in a work that, although well conceived, attempts to merge the ideas of folks ranging from academic historians and professors of literature to film critics and journalists. The avowed purpose of the book is to "examine how creative artists have seen and imagined the land in their works," but only some of the essays deal specifically with this objective. Indeed, the two strongest essays in the book— James Ronda's "Dreaming the Past," a superb examination of the image and reality of South Pass, and Patricia Limerick's "Haunted by Rhyolite," an evocative look at a Nevada ghost town—have little, if anything, to do with the role of creative artists and the West. In the remaining essays, those that do deal with creative artists, the gamut of topics ranges from the West in film (or more about Sam Peckinpaugh than you ever wanted to know) to the western landscape in oral narra-

tive, regional art of the Great Plains, and literature These essays vary in strength. Some rehash old interpretations of western movies (do we really need another analysis of John Ford?) Awhile others represent fresh looks at the relationship between landscape and language. Curious topical absences exist: nothing on the romantic artists of the mid-nineteenth century whose West was so important in the shaping of American images; nothing 3n the popular western artists of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century who reinvented the West for a nation; nothing on the resurgence and popularity of western art in the latter twentieth century.

A major problem with the collection is that the various authors (with the exception of Ronda and Limerick) seem to have difficulty in deciding whether they are writing about western "land" (meaning the physical geographic characteristics of the region) or western "landscapes" (meaning the land as imprinted by human activity). Perhaps the distinction is too

DONALD A CUTTER Albuquerque, New Mexico

fine a one for persons not trained in regional analysis, but it is a critical distinction and should have been considered by those responsible for assembling the cast of authors More important, however, is the fact that the book attempts to be something it cannot be, given its format and the expertise of most of its contributors. Like most works on the American West today the book attempts to address the "vigorous and ongoing effort to redefine the meaning of the West"—in other words, a feeble effort is made to work in the traditionalist-revisionist theme that would be better left for the western historians themselves to work out while leaving others to go about their business

In spite of these criticisms the work is nevertheless an intriguing effort by

a group of powerful writers The Big Empty achieves one of its goals of increasing appreciation for the role of land/landscape in the arts, and most specialists in western history, as well as the casual reader of things western, will find something of value in the collection But the reader—whether specialist or casual—is cautioned not to take too seriously the editor's pretentious claim that this book offers "a fresh vision of the land" that will serve us "in our search for a sustaining national purpose and revitalized inner values as we approach the next century." It does rather less.

JOHN L ALLEN University of Connecticut Storrs

John Sutter and a Wider West. Edited by KENNETH N. OWENS (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994 x + 138 pp $22.50.)

Since the 1848 discovery of gold in California, the historical figure of John Sutter has been obscured by his very notoriety Most biographical studies in the past have also failed to place Sutter in the wider context of Euro-American development of the West.

Kenneth Owens has brought together, under one cover, a group of essays that highlight Sutter's California experience in a new and exciting way Although each contributor approaches Sutter's career from a different perspective, each advances a substantial reappraisal of this man and his place in western American history

This collective portrait exemplifies revisionist scholarship at its best.

The volume begins with Sutter's own 1856 narrative of his life in California. The present edition differs in

small ways from the original 1878 publication by correcting obvious typographical errors and adding important editorial comments that help clarify the narrative. The account reveals Sutter's own attempt to portray himself as the heroic founder of civilization in the Sacramento region

The chronicle is followed by five essays by leading historians who consider particular aspects of Sutter's activities Howard R Lamar's essay, for the first time, views Sutter not as a lone individual struggling against the accidents of fate but as one of many wilderness entrepreneurs—or empire builders—who helped shape the American West and bring its resources and promise to the attention of not only the United States but also the entire world

Albert L Hurtado's disturbing

essay about Sutter's interaction with Native Americans demonstrates the different ways in which Sutter exploited the Sacramento Valley resources (including Indian labor) for his own advantage. It is obvious that Sutter's career in this area was most unsavory and that he directly contributed to the weakening of Indian autonomy and the decline of Native American numbers in the Sacramento Valley

Iris H W Engstrand's essay is an example of social history at its best because she moves beyond obvious areas of historical inquiry—such as politics and economics She presents Sutter as a human being—a man who was eager to claim credit for any success and quick to blame others for his failures. Although Sutter was without a doubt an energetic builder, he was a failure as a father and as a family man.

Richard White's essay reminds us that Sutter's aim was to tame the

wilderness and establish civilization near the juncture of the Sacramento and the American rivers Ironically, many people living amidst prosperity and "progress" in this very area are now trying to save remnants of the older natural world Sutter sought to destroy

Patricia Nelson Limerick attempts to move beyond the dehumanized Sutter—the Sutter who has been washed, sanitized, bleached, and shrunk to size for school children, for tourists, and for residents of the city of Sacramento This effort has made Sutter all the more interesting for everyone.

The book is an example of those exceptional academic phenomena: essays that can be read with benefit by both the nonspecialist and scholar

By refuting critics and nobly playing the devoted widow, Elizabeth Bacon Custer carefully manipulated and authenticated the image of her husband George Armstrong Custer as a hero who gave his life for God and country Although Libbie hoped boys would emulate Armstrong's sterling qualities, this book's ultimate purpose was to refute his critics. In the process, the charming Libbie transports her readers to the Southern Plains frontier and vividly introduces them to the winter campaign of 1868, summer camp, and frontier army life.

Ignoring Custer's court-martial and suspension for leaving his post in 1867, Libbie opens with his preparation for the winter campaign of 1868

against the Southern Plains tribes. Gen Philip Sheridan, believing Custer was uniquely suited for the new tactic, had engineered his restoration to duty. Skillfully using Custer's letters, Libbie brings to life the ordeal faced by the troops and justifies his actions in the battle of the Washita which established Custer's reputation as an Indian fighter. Countering criticism of the attack on the peace chief Black Kettle, Libbie cites the Indians' abuse of their white female captives While mourning Major Elliott and his men, she assures military critics her husband's return to base after a brief search for them was necessary to preserve the lives of his remaining, exhausted men

RICHARD NEITZEL HOLZAPFEL Brigham Young University

Following the Guidon. By ELIZABETH B CUSTER (1890; Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994 xxxii + 341 pp $12.95.)

While visiting Fort Hays, Libbie shares her prejudice and fear of the Cheyenne captives and their great respect for Custer. Typically portrayed as inferior to their noble white captors, the uncivilized Cheyenne supposedly sought the patient, compassionate Custer's aid at every turn and trusted no other white man Libbie presents Cheyenne women as monstrous drudges who were incapable of attaining the prevailing domestic ideal Especially effective is her presentation of Monahsetah, a chiefs daughter who supposedly bore Custer's child. Seeing her as a dangerous "princess," Libbie praises the assistance Monahsetah provided to her husband as a tracker. Her failure to mention the philandering of military men protected their nobility.

Perhaps most valuable are Libbie's vivid descriptions of everyday life in camp, buffalo hunting, and her brief visits to Ellsworth and Hays City. Their "petting zoo" of exotic local creatures, a flash flood, the sharing of finery,

camp followers' roles, horse and mule races, and hunting trips could be observed at any frontier post, rendering her account invaluable to historians.

Libbie absolves the officers and their guests of helping exterminate the buffalo by explaining that the meat offset their poor army diet, and the buffalo's demise did not hasten the Indians' defeat Scenes in "wild" western towns further ennobled the military men

Despite the language of the cults of domesticity and heroes of the late 1800s, Following the Guidon successfully portrays frontier army life for both popular readers and scholars. Libbie fails to convince modern historians of her husband's infallibility, but she convinced most of her generation of his nobility Although romanticized and censored, her work is invaluable to historians seeking a glimpse of the old Southern Plains frontier

MICHELE BUTTS

Austin Peay State University

Clarksville, Tennessee

A Dose of Frontier Soldiering: The Memoirs of Corporal E. A. Bode, Frontier Regular Infantry, 1877-1882. Edited by THOMAS T SMITH (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994 x + 237 pp $29.95.)

Emil Bode was a typical frontier army enlisted man. A young, unemployed German immigrant, he joined Company D, 16th Infantry, at New Orleans in February of 1877 and embarked on a five-year tour of duty on the Southern Plains and in the Southwest Unlike many of his comrades-inarms, however, Bode was endlessly curious and uncommonly literate Back in civilian life, sometime between 1884 and 1889, he wrote down his recollections of soldiering, which eventually found their way into the Texas A&M University Library Thomas T. Smith, an army officer and

West Point history professor, recognized their value as the observations of a lowly foot soldier Thanks to his meticulous editing and generous annotations, they provide an unusual perspective on the everyday world of the Indian-fighting army

"Finding myself under somewhat peculiar circumstances and my vital powers gradually decreasing without hope of speedy relief in civilian life," Bode matter-of-factly records, "I concluded to go under the protecting shield of Mars and join the United States Army " No fife or drum celebrated the event, nor does he seem to

have harbored romantic notions of martial glory. And yet, Bode took to army life with rare good humor and a thirst to see what lay beyond the far hills His "dose of frontier soldiering," acquired at Fort Sill in present-day Oklahoma, consisted of the soldier's daily routine of kitchen police, guard and escort duty, and stringing telegraph wire No wonder he concluded that "There is more laboring than soldiering in the U.S Infantry." Bode paints a familiar portrait of the motley assortment of humanity who lived by the soldier's motto: "Live so long as you can, the next instant you may be dead." In the process, he describes the ingenious ways in which post traders, quartermasters, and others defrauded Uncle Sam, and he draws pointed thumbnail sketches of prominent officers, including Henry O Flipper, William R Shatter, "Black Jack" Davidson, Ranald Mackenzie, and Benjamin Grierson

One of Bode's engaging qualities is his ability to transcend the tedium of army life An avid hunter and fisherman, he was also a close observer of flora, fauna, and the natural landscape A stranger in a strange land, he sought out reservation Indians, with whom he formed respectful and comfortable relationships, observing their customs and lamenting their fate at the hands of the U.S. government. Present at the arrest of Kiowa chief Big Bow, he vividly recounts the tense scene as "hot and cold chills" ran up and down his back

Like most soldiers Bode never fired his weapon in anger During the Victorio campaign in New Mexico he rarely saw a hostile Indian and spent most of his time trudging across mountain and desert. Still, his recollections are valuable as the only published enlisted man's account of the campaign, providing firsthand obser-

vations of life in camp and field. Here, Bode's good humor wears thin as he criticizes Col Edward Hatch's military judgment and disparages the fighting qualities of black soldiers. Relieved of officers and left to guard a remote ranch, however, he picks up his rifle and fishing pole and sets off with a familiar refrain: "We lived like lillies of the valley, nothing else to do but cook and eat."

Promoted to corporal and then sergeant, Bode closed out his military career at Forts Davis and McKavett, Texas, where he again carefully recorded his experiences escorting telegraph repair crews, paymaster wagons, and emigrant parties He even strikes a revisionist note when he criticizes Texas Rangers for their "uncivilized" treatment of Indians The reminiscence ends abruptly on the eve of Bode's discharge, with the veteran soldier drilling recruits and enjoying the many small duties that occupied an infantryman's day. Unfortunately, we do not learn what happened to Bode after the late 1880s when he was a businessman traveling around the Midwest. Like the stereotypical old soldier, he just fades away

Military historians, and western historians in general, can be grateful that Smith discovered Emil Bode's important and engaging memoir. As one of only a handful of enlisted men's accounts of the Indian wars, it throws new light on military routine and society at western forts Equally important, it offers an intimate and sympathetic view of the early reservation years of Southern Plains tribes Before he disappeared from the pages of history Emil Bode left behind a rare glimpse from the barracks.

BRUCEJ. DINGES Arizona Historical Society Tucson

Figures in a Western Landscape: Men and Women of the Northern Rockies. By ELIZABETH STEVENSON (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994 xiv + 222 pp $25.95.)

Elizabeth Stevenson has either written an evocative biographical history of the northern West, or she has used her multiple biography format as a contrived vehicle for retelling a dozen and a half familiar if not hackneyed western stories. Happily, the book is more the former than the latter, although Stevenson succumbs on occasion to old repetitious grooves

She states her purpose early: to see how the landscape of what she calls "the last West"—the place of "final enactment" of the American westering experience—affected the lives and outlooks of a variety of individuals and how the landscape in turn affected them. What she really does is identify how various people, herself included, reflect facets of the human response to the historical and geographical West.

Stevenson's West, moreover, is decidedly Montanan. All her figures spent meaningful time in the state, and most are closely associated with Montana history. Perhaps that's fitting. She admits few places are more identified with the mythic West than the Treasure State. Devoting ten of the book's twelve chapters to individual biographical portraits or pairings of portraits, Stevenson commits one chapter, titled "Coppertown People," to a portrayal of Butte, Montana, and reserves the last chapter for her personal memoir response

Her portraits have been sketched before Arranged chronologically they include the introspective explorer Meriwether Lewis who delighted in "the strangeness and vastness" he traveled through; the sensitive fur trapper Russell Osborne, for whom life was most real in the West; the insensitive natural-

ist/scientist John Kirk Townsend, who collected the region's "facts" with ruthless determination; the early trader John Owen, who "fostered his isolated community"; and the venerable Jesuit priest Pierre Jean DeSmet, who loved the slow, balanced pace of Montana's early biracial society

In addition, there are brothers James and Granville Stuart James, the "more typical man of his times," is a miner of the main chance who willingly employs violence to gain an end, while Granville, the more enviable, is a man who is "as happy at finding a lake full of trout" as he is to discover "a gulch full of gold." Also here are Henry Plummer, Montana's famed outlaw sheriff, and the man who made Plummer a legend, Thomas Dimsdale, newspaper editor and vigilante defender. To Stevenson, Dimsdale and Plummer are simply two sides of the same coin—outlawry masquerading as law and order George Crook and John Gregory Bourke are both veterans of the High Plains Indian wars, but they came to defend Indian rights and respect native culture

Stevenson does not neglect women: Pretty-Shield, daughter of one of George Armstrong Custer's Crow scouts; and Nannie Alderson, West Virginia daughter of southern sympathizers and hardscrabble Montana homesteader The author views both as "survivors." Great Falls founder, entrepreneur, and visionary Paris Gibson is a man who looked forward, whereas Montana's cowboy artist, Charles M. Russell, looked backward. High Plains celebrity Calamity Jane sacrificed her real life for the sake of myth, and "Coppertown People" illustrates how locals could love an ugly place.

Finally, there is Stevenson, for whom the West is special because "each person counts for far more than the solitary individual elsewhere" and because memories, especially her own, linger on the land

The book is beguiling, for it is neither western history nor biography in the conventional sense It is commentary, but engaging commentary crafted

for readers who enjoy seeing the West through the eyes of a contemplative writer Handsomely produced, the book is at once a valuable introductory and an enjoyable contemporary take on the historical West

CHARLES E. RANKIN Montana Historical Society Helena

Railroad Postcards in the Age of Steam. By H ROGER GRANT (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1994 xiii + 208. $29.95.)

Historian Roger Grant provides a fascinating introductory essay to this album of more than 150 representative postcards from the well known John Vander Maas collection at the University of Iowa Grant examines the postcard craze that engulfed America in the early twentieth century when, for example, in the twelve-month period ending June 30, 1908, a postal official reported that 667,777,798 postcards had been mailed.

Many postcards touted the natural wonders of a particular area or featured a prominent building—part of the boosterism of the era A significant postcard category included railroads The trains themselves, trestles, and passenger stations were photographed and reproduced on cards. So

popular and profitable were the cards that certain views were pirated.

The book will delight railroad buffs, but it will also disappoint The off-white text on which it is printed is not the best kind of paper for reproducing the postcards

Always Bet on the Butcher: Warren Nelson and Casino Gaming, 1930s-1980s. By WARREN NELSON, KEN ADAMS, R. T. KING, and GAIL K NELSON (Reno: University of Nevada Oral History Program, 1994 xxii + 219 pp $21.95.)

Based on extensive interviews with its subject, this book provides a biography of a celebrated gambler, Warren Nelson, and an inside look at Nevada's casino gaming industry. Nelson began his gambling career as a young man in Montana After World

War II he managed the new Harrah's Club in Reno and in 1962 became a partner in Club Cal-Neva, a highly successful casino The narrative is much more readable than one expects from an oral history account and will surely intrigue anyone interested in the gaming industry

followed by flames in summer. In 1910 alone 1,700 fires blackened millions of acres and killed 80 fire fighters.

In using the words of those who lived and worked in the inland Northwest at the turn of the century and weaving them together with thoughtful analysis, Rothman has created a valuable social history of the early Forest Service.

"Fit NeverFight Fire with My Bare Hands

Again ": Recollections of the First Forest Rangers of the Inland Northwest. Edited by HAL K. ROTHMAN. (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1994. xi + 275 pp. Cloth, $35.00; paper, $14.95.)

Forest rangers in northern Idaho, western Montana, and eastern Washington in the early twentieth century often worked far from towns, alone on foot or horseback, with little equipment, and with no means of communication They surveyed land, enforced regulations, evaluated homestead claims, inventoried resources, organized timber sales, let grazing permits, fought fires and sought ways to prevent them, and dealt with numerous situations not covered by agency directives.

Hal Rothman, an associate professor of history at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, has selected and provided context for informative letters written by early foresters. Literate and perceptive, the writers reveal the challenges they faced in balancing the needs of rural communities with agency regulations and in living their lives in isolation. As one forester wrote: "It got so lonely my dog couldn't stand it He went down to the Kootenai River and howled 'til the ferryman from Gateway came over and took him across to town." Bitter cold and heavy snow in winter were often

Black Saints in a White Church: Contemporary African American Mormons. By JESSIE L. EMBRY (Salt Lake City: Signature Books, 1994. xv + 270 pp. Paper, $18.95.)

Based on interviews with 224 black Latter-day Saints conducted by the Redd Center at BYU, plus a mail survey that netted some 200 responses, this book tackles tough questions such as—What motivates an African American to join a predominately white church with a past record of excluding blacks from full participation?

Embry carefully sets a context for her work with chapters on "Black Churches in America," "The LDS Church and African Americans," and "The Impact of the LDS 'Negro Policy.'" The individual accounts of these black Latter-day Saints create a new perspective for viewing the complex topic of race relations in America

The "rubber hits the road" as the interviewees reveal their feelings about and experiences with interracial dating, socializing with white members outside of church settings, acceptance within church organizations, and other topics Whether negative or positive, their candid remarks are skillfully woven by Embry into a rich narrative that sheds light on the continuing struggle of blacks and whites to live together in harmony and with genuine respect for each other.

UTAH STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY

FELLOWS

THOMAS G ALEXANDER

JAMES B I\LLEN

LEONARDJ ARRINGTON

MAUREEN URSENE;ACH BEECHER

S. GEORGE ELLSWORTH

JESSE D.JENNINGS

BRIGHAM D. MADSEN

HELEN Z PAPANIKOLAS

CHARLES S PETERSON

HONORARY LIFE MEMBERS

MILTON C AJBRAMS

VEE CARLISLE

EVERETT L COOLEY

LORA CROUCH

J. ELDON DORMAN

JOSEPH H. FRANCIS

JACK GOODMAN

FLORENCE S. JACOBSEN

MARGARET D LESTER

L V MCNEELY

LAMAR PETERSEN

HAROLD SCHINDLER

MELVIN T SMITH

MARTHA R. STEWART

JEROME STOFFEL

Membership in

the Utah State Historical Society is open to everyone. We invite you to join.

If you are already a member you may use this form or a piece of plain paper to purchase gift memberships, or fill in the "Share the Wealth" coupon and we will send those you list a special invitation to join the Society

MEMBERSHIP APPLICATION

Membership Secretary

Utah State Historical Society

300 Rio Grande Salt Lake City, Utah 84101

Please enter my one-year membership in the category checked. I understand that I will receive Utah Historical Quarterly, the Newsletter, and Beehive History. I have enclosed a check or money order in the amount indicated:

• Individual, $20.00

• Senior Citizen (65 or over), $15.00

• Student, $15.00

Name

• Institution, $20.00

• Business, $100.00

• Contributing, $25.00

• Sustaining, $35.00

• Patron, $50.00

• Sponsor, $250.00

• Benefactor, $350.00

• Life, $500.00

Address City State Zip

SHARE THE WEALTH

Please invite the following persons to join the Historical Society:

Name Address

Name Address

Name Address

UTAH STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY

Department of Community and Economic Development Division of State History

BOARD O F STATE HISTORY

PETER L GOSS, Salt Lake City, 1999 Chair

CAROL CORNWALL MADSEN, Salt Lake City, 1997 Vice-Chair

MAXJ EVANS, Salt Lake City Secretary

MARILYN CONOVER BARKER, Salt Lake City, 1999

BOYD A. BLACKNER, Salt Lake City, 1997

DAVID D. HANSEN, Sandy, 1997

CHRISTIE SMITH NEEDHAM, Logan, 1997

RICHARD W SADLER, Ogden, 1999

PENNY SAMPINOS, Price, 1999

THOMAS E. SAWYER, Orem, 1997

AUGUSTINE TRUJILLO, Salt Lake City, 1999

JERRY WYLIE, Ogden, 1997

ADMINISTRATION

MAXJ EVANS, Director

WILSON G. MARTIN, Associate Director

PATRICIA SMITH-MANSFIELD, Assistant Director

STANFORD J LAYTON, Managing Editor

The Utah State Historical Society was organized in 1897 by public-spirited Utahns to collect, preserve, and publish Utah and related history Today, under state sponsorship, the Society fulfills its obligations by publishing the Utah Historical Quarterly and other historical materials; collecting historic Utah artifacts; locating, documenting, and preserving historic and prehistoric buildings and sites; and maintaining a specialized research library Donations and gifts to the Society's programs, museum, or its library are encouraged, for only through such means can it live up to its responsibility of preserving the record of Utah's past.

This publication hasbeen funded with the assistance of a matching grant-in-aid from the Department of the Interior, National Park Service, under provisions of the National Historic Preservation Actof 1966 as amended. This program receives financial assistance for identification and preservation of historic properties under Title VI of the Civil Rights Actof 1964 and Section 504of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 The U.S Department of the Interior prohibits discrimination on the basis of race, color, national origin, or handicap in its federally assisted programs If you believe you have been discriminated against in anyprogram, activity, or facility as described above, or if you desire further information, please write to:Office of Equal Opportunity, U.S. Department of the Interior, Washington, D.C. 20240