Utah Historical Quarterly, Volume 87, Number 4, 2019 by Utah Historical Society

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CONTENTS 268 Railroad Rate Regulation in Utah, 1896–1923 By Rod Decker

316 Emerging from the Archive: Helen M. Post’s Photographs of Twentieth-Century Navajos By Carlyle Constantino

284 Classic Reprint: 334 Armistice, 1918: Life and Labor among the An Improbable Peace Immigrants of Bingham Canyon

October 1965

By Helen Zeese Papanikolas

304 The Shared History of Jabaloyas, Spain, and Utah By Raúl Ibáñez Hervás, translated by Angélica Real Serrano

By Branden Little

338 Avard T. Fairbanks’s World War I Memorials By Kent Ahrens

DEPARTMENTS 267 In This Issue 350 Reviews and Notices 358 Contributors 359 Utah In Focus

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Reviews

350 Monumental Mobility: The Memory Work of Massasoit By Lisa Blee and Jean M. Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Brien Reviewed by Robert S. McPherson

351 Memorials Matter: Emotion, Environment, and Public Memory at American Historical Sites By Jennifer K. Ladino Reviewed by Jim Bertolini

352 The Chinese and the Iron Road: 4

Building the Transcontinental Railroad N O .

Edited by Gordon H. Chang and Shelley Fisher Fishkin, with Hilton Obenzinger and Roland Hsu Reviewed by Priscilla Wegars

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The Mormon Pioneer Journals of Horace K. Whitney with Insights by Helen Mar Kimball Whitney

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353 The Journey West: Edited by Richard E. Bennett Reviewed by Alexander L. Baugh

355 Lot Smith:

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Mormon Pioneer and American Frontiersman

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By Carmen R. Smith and Talana S. Hooper Reviewed by Kenneth L. Alford

notices

358 American Polygamy: A History of Fundamentalist Mormon Faith By Craig L. Foster and Marianne T. Watson

358 Liminal Sovereignty: Mennonites and Mormons in Mexican Culture By Rebecca Janzen

358 The 1875 William Henry Jackson Diary: An Illustrated Journey of Discovery Edited and annotated by Alan C. Terrell

“No place needed rails more than Utah.” So writes Rod Decker in our first article, which analyzes the response of Utahns to the double-edged sword of railroad development. The arrival of the road greatly reduced the cost of coal and other items in Utah; on the other hand, the rail companies discriminated against Utah (and other inland markets), charging more to ship goods from the East to Salt Lake City than on to San Francisco. Utahns met the unfair rates with a range of responses that evolved with the passage of time: in the 1890s, a Republican-led state government sided with the railroads, hoping to stay in their good graces; in the early twentieth century, Democrats favored state regulation and eventually created a public utilities commission to keep freight rates low. All told, Decker argues, “railroads presented the first instance of an enduring Utah question: how to attract needed investment while preventing exploitation by big out-of-state corporations.” The flipside of the environment described by Decker—a place of governors, railroad executives, and Commercial Club dinners—comes in our next two articles, which detail the lives of other key players in Utah’s industrialization: immigrant laborers. First, we reprint here a UHQ classic from Helen Zeese Papanikolas, “Life and

Finally, we wrap up a year of commemorating World War I (WWI) and its aftermath with two short pieces that bring the story into the troubled interwar period. The first is a speech delivered by Branden Little at the Utah State Capitol on November 8, 2018, marking the centennial of the WWI Armistice. The second is a work of art history by Kent Ahrens that considers the WWI memorials created by Avard Fairbanks against the backdrop of a world not yet recovered from the devastation of war. Notes 1

Leonard J. Arrington and Thomas G. Alexander, A Dependent Commonwealth: Utah’s Economy from Statehood to the Great Depression (Provo, UT: Brigham Young University Press, 1974), 7; see also, Charles S. Peterson and Brian Q. Cannon, The Awkward State of Utah: Coming of Age in the Nation, 1895–1945 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press and Utah State Historical Society, 2015), 80–81.

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Our fourth article shifts gears to the subject of Depression-era photography. In it, Carlyle Constantino analyzes the output of Helen M. Post, a relatively overlooked photographer. Post cut her teeth in 1920s Vienna but, by the late 1930s, had the opportunity to document life on several Native American reservations. That opportunity came through the Bureau of Indian Affairs and its director, John Collier. Constantino focuses on Post’s portraiture of Navajo people, created from approximately 1938 to 1942. The significance of Post’s work came with her readiness to portray Navajos as individuals, rather than lapsing into the tropes so often used by other photographers.

Labor among the Immigrants of Bingham Canyon,” originally published in 1965. Second comes the path-breaking work of Raúl Ibáñez Hervás, a Spanish scholar who has recreated the exodus of workers from the mountain villages of Spain to Bingham Canyon. Together, these pieces provide a glimpse of some of both the mechanisms that enabled Utah’s industrialization and brought thousands of people from across the globe to power extractive industry in the West, as well as the world created by those immigrants.

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From statehood in 1896 to around 1910, Utah’s economy moved from one of villages and scattered mines to one based on mining, commercial farming, and smelting. As Leonard J. Arrington put it, once Utahns and others understood the possibilities of, say, copper mining, they focused capital and labor on the demands of eastern—rather than local—markets. This attracted money, immigrant labor, and machinery from outside the state, and, “increasingly, the health of the economy came to depend on the continuance of favorable prices for the new staple exports.” Utah grew to have a specialized, largely extractive economy that was susceptible to the vagaries of external investors and markets.1 The first three articles in this issue of Utah Historical Quarterly explore this time of industrialization in Utah and the American West.

In This Issue

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Railroad Rate Regulation in Utah, 1896–1923

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In 1908 Salt Lake City jobbers, or wholesalers, met in hard times. The national economy was prospering, but railroads were charging more to ship goods from the East to Salt Lake City than they charged to ship the same goods through Salt Lake City and on to San Francisco. Because of those freight rates, Salt Lake jobbers could not meet San Francisco competition even in parts of Utah. While most other states had taken sides with their citizens against high railroad charges, Utah state government, under Republican control, had become an ally of the railroads in hopes of luring investment and rail expansion. “Our state has needed the railroads too badly to do anything they would object to,” said Samuel Weitz, a leading member of the Salt Lake Commercial Club.1 This article recounts early conflicts over railroad regulation and tells two separate but intertwined stories: first, how Utahns complained of “despotic” railroad charges, and Salt Lake jobbers used federal regulation to win lower rates; and second, how state government, led by Republicans, relied on free markets, while Democrats came to advocate state regulation and eventually to enact a public utilities commission, thus bringing Utah into line with other states and the federal government. Railroads presented the first instance of an enduring Utah question: how to attract needed investment while preventing exploitation by big out-of-state corporations. Unjust rail rates “crippled and killed struggling industry in Utah,” Governor Heber Wells told Utah’s First State Legislature in 1896. He asked for a public utilities commission to regulate the roads.2 Three commission bills were quickly introduced. Debate focused on how railroads both owned coal mines and controlled the price of coal. Since the 1870s, Utahns had complained of the “rapacity of the railroad monopolists” and the “outrageous prices” they charged.3 The Salt Lake Commercial Club, which later became the Chamber of Commerce, supported a

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Members of the Commercial Club on the Salt Lake route of an “All Utah Trip.” May 14, 1910. Utah State Historical Society, Shipler no. 10713.

utilities commission. But stronger than Utahns’ anger at railroads was their desire for more of them. Utah required “unrestricted assistance of capital,” resolved the Logan Chamber of Commerce, and Ogden businessmen opposed any bill that might “prevent railroad building in the state.”4 Railroad Age, a national industry magazine, said if Utah left its market free, rails would expand as much as fivefold in the state. But “outside investors will not put their money into railroad building . . . to be subject to such a commission.”5 Both Deseret News and Salt Lake Tribune editorials agreed with Railroad Age. In a final vote, thirty-four representatives voted against a commission in 1896, with only six in favor.6 The complaints of Utahns joined a long national outcry. Railroads were America’s first big business, and their jarring new power oppressed and offended people. Journalists and reformers depicted railroad-owning robber barons, who wielded monopoly to slake their greed. State and federal governments responded with regulation. By the time Governor Wells asked for state regulation, twenty-five of forty-five states

had enacted railroad commissions.7 Congress had also responded to national complaint, and in 1887 created the Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC) to tame the railroads. gh No place needed rails more than Utah. Before railroads came in 1869, goods had to be hauled 1,500 miles by wagon. A teamster could make just one trip to Independence, Missouri, and back to Salt Lake City each summer. When railroads arrived, they cut prices by half. For pioneers eking out a subsistence, life changed. “No more prohibitive tariffs on the necessaries of life with luxuries restricted to the very few,” S. A. Kenner, an early reporter for the Deseret News, later remembered. He said one could not understand the difference rails made without having been there. “The change was so sudden and so complete, that it seemed like waking from a dream.” He added that the new railroad benefits soon became normal and unremarked upon.8 In addition to making life affordable, the rails boosted prosperity. Before them, no Utah mine had succeeded. After trains could haul

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equipment to the mines and ore to the smelters, mining boomed.

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But big benefits also brought dependence and vulnerability. For example, city dwellers needed coal. Before the rails, pioneers had worked mines at Coalville, hauled coal fifty miles to Salt Lake City by wagon, and charged up to forty dollars a ton.9 The Union Pacific Railroad acquired mines near Rock Springs, Wyoming, and brought coal by the carload for about a ton. Brigham Young and his advisers noted coal cost two dollars at the Coalville mine. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints led efforts to lay track from Coalville five miles to the Union Pacific station at Echo, intending to bring coal to Salt Lake City more cheaply. But the Union Pacific doubled charges for hauling Utah coal, restricted trains serving Utah mines, and finally bought up and destroyed church rails. The Union Pacific protected its coal monopoly and charged monopoly prices. “The poor suffered severely last winter on account of the high price of fuel, which they could only obtain in small quantities, if at all,” said Edward Hunter, presiding bishop of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in June 1880.10 Utahns cheered when the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad (D&RG) arrived in 1883. The D&RG acquired coal mines and rails in Carbon County and broke the Union Pacific monopoly.11 In the following years, coal sometimes sold below five dollars a ton, but Utahns complained the price was still too high.12 Like the Union Pacific, the D&RG used its transportation power to stifle coal competition. At a hearing in 1896, Frank R. Kimball, part owner of Kimball Brothers Coal Mine in Carbon County, testified that when he asked D&RG to transport his coal, the railroad quoted him a price 50 percent higher than the published rate. Coalmen asserted the D&RG intended the rate to be “prohibitive.” That is, D&RG did not charge high rates to make money hauling coal; the rate was high to keep Kimball Brothers from getting coal to cities and competing with D&RG mines. The Kimball mine was all but closed.13 Over the next few years, the D&RG gradually agreed to transport coal from “independents.” Often, however, the railroad did not have enough cars to serve all mines, and then the D&RG served its own mines first and delayed rival shipments.

Simon Bamberger, a future governor of Utah who owned both coal and a railroad, said the roads collaborated, divided traffic, and fixed coal prices. Others claimed that if any coal retailer charged less than the price fixed by the railroads, they would refuse to deliver to him and drive him out of business.14 Worse than high prices were “coal famines.” In the winters of 1873, 1907, and 1917, for example, coal was scarce at any price. Famines came because coal dealers refused to keep large stockpiles, for fear of fire. Both dealers and officials urged householders to stock their own supplies, but many did not, so in cold winters, demand temporarily outran supply. Railroads were the bottleneck, unable to get coal from the mine to the dealer fast enough. Coal famines—with the specter of shivering children and oldsters—seized the public’s attention, and most people blamed the railroads, who responded that they did not have enough cars to haul the needed coal. Although Governor Wells had led the 1896 push for regulation, he had changed his mind by the time the legislature met in 1897. Instead of rate control, Wells urged help for railroads recovering from bankruptcy. His immediate focus was the Oregon Short Line (OSL), once a part of the Union Pacific system that Union Pacific had lost when it went bankrupt in the depression of 1893.15 The OSL had also defaulted and was now reorganizing.16 That gave the OSL bargaining leverage with respect, for example, to the location of its new headquarters. “It is extremely desirable from every standpoint that the company have its main office and headquarters in Utah,” wrote Wells, who advocated for a bill to help recovering railroads.17 Not only the governor but also the Democrats, who controlled the 1897 and 1899 legislatures, saw the need to accommodate the railroads. “Formation of Railroad Corporations” was the first new law they passed, granting to new management “all the powers, rights, privileges, and franchises that were vested in the corporation last owning the property.”18 After the bill passed, the OSL duly opened headquarters in Salt Lake City, and later that year the Union Pacific also reorganized as a Utah corporation under the same new law, although its headquarters remained in Omaha. Under the normal formula based on financial size, Union Pacific would have paid $34,000 to incorporate in Utah, but the legislators had

Although the state government allied with the railroads, Utah’s consumers continued to grumble about coal prices, and they took their complaints before the ICC. In 1906 Charles Prouty, an ICC commissioner, held hearings in Salt Lake City on railroads that owned coal mines, a combination rousing suspicion and complaint across the nation.24 At the hearing, railroads denied they conspired to set the price for coal. But Utah mining engineer Mark Hopkins testified that both the Union Pacific and D&RG charged $5.25 a ton retail for coal from their own mines, hauled on their own trains. Furthermore, he estimated the actual mining costs at $1 a ton and freight costs at $0.34. Salt Lakers had suspected as much. “We have known for some time we were being robbed,” said city councilman T. R. Black of Hopkins’s testimony, and Salt Lake City mayor Ezra Thompson added, “One of

All interstate rates could be challenged before the ICC as unjust or unreasonable. While the meaning of those terms was never entirely clear, the commission published many volumes explaining past decisions, where a studious expert could find plausible grounds to challenge rates. As their expert, the commercial club hired

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Though lawmakers would not act, members of the Salt Lake Commercial Club sought help from the ICC. Some of them were jobbers hurt by changes in national law. Jobbers brought goods from the East to Salt Lake warehouses and then distributed them in Utah and neighboring states. Each jobber had a territory, assigned by the company whose goods he sold, and territories were determined by which rail center could deliver goods most cheaply. San Francisco’s low rates enabled jobbers there to bring goods from the East, then ship them back eastward and extend their territory through Nevada, even into parts of Utah. Railroads had granted rebates to enable inland jobbers to compete, but in 1906 Congress passed the Hepburn Act, which ended rebates, so Utah jobbers lost territory to San Francisco.27 But the Hepburn Act also enlarged ICC powers to bring rate relief.28 In many American cities, commercial clubs or city governments formed traffic bureaus to plead for lower rates before the ICC. The Salt Lake Commercial Club followed those cities and formed its own traffic bureau to challenge rates. Stephen H. Love, the traffic manager for ZCMI, Utah’s largest department store, led the bureau. At ZCMI, Love supervised a traffic department of four or five rate clerks, who spent their days finding the cheapest way to ship.29 Railroads published thick books of rate tables in fine print, and all big shippers had traffic departments. Rate clerks may have been the largest class of white-collar workers outside retail. They mastered the lore and knew one another, forming “something between a lodge and a religion.”30 Love estimated that freight costs averaged 30 percent of the price of every item sold by ZCMI.31

The state continued to accommodate the roads. Ever greater powers were granted to railroads in the first laws passed in each of the next two sessions. Utah railroads “shall have power to purchase or otherwise lawfully acquire the capital stock . . . of any other railroad corporation” legislators provided in 1899.19 And companies could sell bonds or stock “on such terms as the directors may deem expedient,” they added in 1901.20 The last provision was backdated in its effect to 1897. Nor did the new powers lie dormant. Soon after the 1901 bill passed, the Union Pacific sold $100 million in bonds and converted the bonds to stock. Horace G. Burt, the president of Union Pacific, and other railroad moguls traveled to Salt Lake City by private car to formalize the deal. The glamour of high finance dazzled Utahns. The “stupendous transaction” raised the total value of Union Pacific stock to nearly $300 million, more than any other corporation in the world, the Salt Lake Tribune reported.21 The Herald marveled at how the magnates acted “as though the business involved nothing more than the purchase of half a dozen cigars.”22 With its new cash, the Union Pacific bought a dominant share of Southern Pacific Railroad stock, so it controlled the whole of the original transcontinental line and could carry freight to San Francisco on its own rails.23

the greatest drawbacks to the development of Salt Lake City has been the high price of fuel.”25 Spurred by the publicity generated from the ICC hearings, Utah legislators considered a public utilities commission again and voted it down again.26

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capped the fee, so the big railroad paid only $2,500.

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S. A. Babcock, the former traffic manager for the D&RG. He had an office in the Kearns Building, two assistants and a secretary—an expense of about $10,000 a year to the commercial club, with additional costs to fight big cases.32 The Traffic Bureau continued into the 1950s, led by career rate experts including Love, Babcock, Hal W. Prickett, and William S. McCarthy.

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Babcock asked his former employer—the D&RG—to reduce rates on coal. After it refused, he published the correspondence, including his comparison of coal rates per ton over similar distances in five states (see table 1). In four states, said Babcock, rates were set by a state commission, but in Utah, they were set by the railroad. The D&RG replied that it had already cut rates from two dollars, and the rate was as low as it could go and still show profit. Moreover, the railroads said the Utah haul was over mountains, while the hauls Babcock picked for comparison were flat. Babcock retorted that the loaded part of the Utah haul was mostly downhill and denounced the rate as “extortionate.”33 Babcock also asked national roads to reduce rates, but none did. Utah suffered “unjust, grossly discriminatory and despotic rates,” he said.34 Babcock and the commercial club gathered 3,500 signatures in protest, and in 1909 Utah congressmen and senators delivered the petition to President William Howard Taft. Taft sympathized and forwarded the petition to his attorney general, who in turn advised action before the ICC. (Love and Babcock surely knew the ICC was the proper forum, and it’s not clear why they went to the president.) At the ICC, Babcock accused the railroads of “discrimination.” He said they charged more to ship goods to or from Utah than other places. Table 1. Coal Rates per Ton, 1909 State Missouri

Cost in Dollars $ .44

The complaint included all interstate freight and passenger rates but focused on freight coming into the city from the East. As part of his complaint, Babcock compared rates from Chicago to Ogden and Salt Lake City with rates on the same items shipped through Ogden and Salt Lake City and then eight hundred miles farther to San Francisco (see table 2).35 On most items, the railroads charged more—sometimes five or six times as much—to haul goods to Utah than they charged to haul the same goods through Utah to San Francisco. Two ICC commissioners traveled to Salt Lake City in September 1909 for a seven-day hearing. The case was called “Commercial Club, Traffic Bureau, of Salt Lake City v. Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad Company and Others.” “Others” were fourteen named national railroads that sometimes hauled freight in Utah. The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe was named because it came first alphabetically, but the case most affected Union Pacific and D&RG, and they conducted the defense. Nineteen lawyers came to the federal court house, sixteen of them representing railroads, one for Salt Lake City, and a lawyer each for the Kansas City and Omaha commercial clubs.36 Julius Kruttschnitt, the Union Pacific director of operations, arrived with two staffers and a secretary in Guadalupe, his private railroad car. His staffers provided local papers with a

Table 2. Westbound Shipping Rates Westbound

Cents per 100 pounds Chi.–Ogden– SLC

Chi.–San Fran.

Reapers, mowers, harvesters, hayracks

133

125

Shovels, spades, scoops packaged

149

135

Type of Freight

Sacks, gunny sacks in bails

198

Crated cast-iron bath tubs

570

150

Boxes, pasteboard, fiberboard

160 to 885

125

Canned goods, fish, fruits, meats

107 to 122

North Dakota

.54

Texas

.80

Clothing underwear, jackets, socks

285

150

Illinois

.85

Glass windows

120

1.50

Nails and spikes

110

Utah

Julius Kruttschnitt, chairman of the Southern Pacific Railroad from 1913 to 1925. Photographed circa 1915 to 1920. Bain News Service, publisher. Courtesy Library of Congress, LC-DIG-ggbain-30226.

photograph of Kruttschnitt in heroic profile— coiffed, mustachioed, and double-chinned.37 Banner headlines reported the proceedings. Union Pacific officials conceded that they charged more to ship many items from Chicago to Salt Lake City than on to San Francisco. In San Francisco, they explained, they faced “water competition”: shippers could move freight by boat, and railroads had to meet those shipping prices or lose business. Implicitly, railroad men acknowledged that they met competition where they had to and then charged more to captive shippers, such as those in Salt Lake City. But as things stood, they said, goods moved freely, and railroads made only reasonable profits. Union Pacific paid dividends of 10 percent; D&RG paid 5 percent. If the commission forced reductions for Salt Lake City, then other inland cities could demand similar rates, and the ability of the railroads to raise capital and provide service might be compromised, the railroad lawyers argued.38

Decades earlier, midwestern farmers had fought the railroads, organizing the Grange and other groups to “raise less corn and more hell”—agitation that resulted in the passage of the Interstate Commerce Act.44 About no abuse had more hell been raised than charging more for the shorter than the longer haul. “All the evangelical enthusiasm and bitterness of the Granger legislation found focus in this [fourth] section,” wrote former ICC Commissioner Table 3. Lower Maximum Rates Rate per 100 lbs., Chicago to Salt Lake City Commodity

Old Rate

New Rate

Knitted goods

$2.85

$1.50

Unroasted coffee beans

1.35

.75

Canned goods

1.33

.90

Cotton print goods

2.50

1.56

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In a later case settling details, Prouty explained the Salt Lake decision and recounted its history in full.41 The Utah case had been one of three decided at the same time: one from Spokane against the Northern Pacific Railroad, one from Reno against the Southern Pacific, and a third from Salt Lake City against the Union Pacific, a latecomer case in the geographical middle.42 The decisions were handed down ten days before President Taft signed the Mann Elkins Act into law, so the ICC acted in anticipation, but waited until things were completed to explain. The fourth section of the Interstate Commerce Act of 1887 said no carrier could “charge more for the shorter than for the longer haul, the lesser being included within the longer,” exactly the practice of which Spokane, Salt Lake City, and Reno complained.43 All three were charged more by three different railroads for a shorter haul than was charged for a longer haul—on the same line, in the same direction—through them and onto the coast.

In June 1910 the ICC released its decision. “There is nothing to justify the maintenance of abnormal rates,” wrote Commissioner Charles Prouty as he decided for Salt Lake City.39 Attached to the short decision was a new schedule, many pages long, of lower maximum rates for inbound and outbound freight both east and west (see table 3).40

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Clyde Aitchison.45 But the act also stated that the shorter-haul rule applied “under substantially similar circumstances and conditions.” Railroads claimed that water competition at one stop made circumstances different from a stop with no competition, so the shorter-haul rule did not apply. The ICC rejected that argument and mandated lower rates for landlocked stops, but the railroads appealed to the courts, and, in 1897, the Supreme Court ruled for the railroads, which meant “the fourth section was for practical purposes a nullity.”46 Rate discrimination against Salt Lake City and other inland stops became legal and commonplace. But then, with the Mann Elkins Act of 1910, an alliance of Progressive Republicans and Democrats prevailed in Congress and took the words about similar circumstances out of the law, thus resuscitating the short-haul-long-haul rule.47 The ICC had cases waiting and applied the new rule even before it was signed into law. Railroads appealed, hoping that once again the courts would overrule the ICC and preserve their rate-making power. This time, however, the Supreme Court read the new law and decided for the ICC.48 Salt Lake City had caught a favorable wave of national regulatory change. Utah rejoiced. “A yoke has been lifted from the neck of the people,” proclaimed the Herald Republican.49 A front-page editorial cartoon in the Tribune showed Salt Lake City as a woman receiving a bouquet from a man labelled ICC.50 In golden letters on their wall, the Commercial Club inscribed under “Accomplishments”: “organized the traffic bureau, which secured a sweeping reduction in freight rates in Utah.” A triumphal banquet filled the Commercial Club dining room. Railroad men were invited but none came. Still, the band played “Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here,” and Governor William Spry said the victory assured Utah’s splendid future. Even so, the club must fight on: “Salt Lake pays more for the ordinary commodities than any other city,” the governor said. Stephen Love of ZCMI estimated the decision overall would save Utah 18 percent on freight rates, about $1,250,000 annually.51 The Deseret News wondered whether savings would pass through to customers. Denver, Grand Junction, and other cities pointed to Salt Lake City and demanded similar rates.

A caricature of Stephen H. Love, traffic manager for Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution. Circa 1906. Alan Lister Lovey, artist. Utah State Historical Society, MSS C 322.

The commission cited its Salt Lake City opinion and ordered reductions.52 The commission also pointed to the case when it ordered lower rates for wool shipped from the West to eastern processing plants.53 The secretary of the Utah Woolgrowers Association said it was perhaps “the most important decision the commission has ever decided” and guessed that Utah Sheepmen would save $75,000 to $100,000 a year.54 The railroad lawyers proved right, however, when they said big Utah reductions would not fit into a national system. After cutting Salt Lake City rates, the commission in 1915 raised some of them again. In the adjustment, Denver jobbers secured two-thirds of the territory between them and Salt Lake City.55 Utahns’ jubilation at their rate-war victories turned to discord. In 1914 William McCarthy, vice president of the Traffic Bureau, sent a letter to Spry asking the state to stop a special $80 million dividend declared by Union Pacific. Almost a decade after Union Pacific had purchased Southern Pacific stock, federal lawyers brought an antitrust lawsuit, and the Supreme Court had ruled the acquisition illegal.56 Union

A caricature of Daniel C. Jackling, general manager of Utah Copper Company. Circa 1906. Alan Lister Lovey, artist. Utah State Historical Society, MSS C 322.

Commercial Club members filled their dining room in an anxious meeting. “The consensus was the very life of the club hung on the issue,” reported the Salt Lake Telegram.63 The Chamber of Commerce had died once before and had to be founded again. Finances were precarious. Members struggled to meet payments on their mortgaged six-story clubhouse, modeled after New York City’s Athletic Club.64 They hosted elegant banquets, advertised to recruit new firms to the city, sued railroads, and spent $12,000 a year more than their income. Now the wealthiest members, top business leaders, a former senator, and former governor John C. Cutler threatened to denounce club policy and leave in protest. The board of governors withdrew into secret meeting, then issued a statement saying that although the Traffic Bureau had been organized by and named after the Commercial Club, it was in fact an independent organization over which the club had no control. That was legally true, but the club supplied the Traffic Bureau’s $10,000 annual budget, and thirty members had raised the $25,000 needed to prosecute Utah’s big 1910 rate victory.65

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But McCarthy had alarmed the state’s richest men. Before Barnes and Spry had decided they would not act, seventeen magnates, led by Daniel Cowan Jackling, president of Kennecott Copper, met together and sent a letter to Governor Spry. They wrote that the “unwarranted attempt” to attack Union Pacific could damage the “confident belief by organized capital in the conservative disposition of the people of Utah,” and damaged confidence might retard investment.60 Former senator Thomas Kearns, who owned a silver mine in Park City, said the railroad could easily move its incorporation to another state. “Do we want them to leave?” he asked.61 Unless the Commercial Club repudiated McCarthy’s letter, each of the seventeen tycoons said he would resign his membership.62

“sheer nonsense” to suggest that the dividend would cause a rate hike.58 Barnes noted that McCarthy had not specified any law the dividend would break and concluded, “the state could not be successful in an action brought to enjoin or restrain such a dividend.”59 Governor Spry took that advice and said Utah would do nothing.

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Pacific sold the stock for $80 million and declared the proceeds a bonus for stockholders. McCarthy noted that the money to buy the Southern Pacific stock came originally from selling bonds, and interest on debt had to be covered by ratepayers. He predicted the “distribution of this extra dividend will furnish an excuse for the imposition of an unjust burden upon the people of this state in the form of freight charges.” McCarthy had first written to Washington explaining the problem and soliciting federal action. Politicians there denounced the dividend; Charles S. Thomas, a Democratic senator from Colorado, called it “the most infamous scheme of exploitation ever devised.”57 But Thomas and other national officials said Union Pacific was a Utah corporation, so it was up to Utah to stop the “melon cutting.” McCarthy then wrote to Spry, who sought advice from Albert Barnes, the state attorney general. Barnes also received a long telegram from R. S. Lovett, chairman of Union Pacific, who called it

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If the Commercial Club withdrew its support, the Traffic Bureau would perish. But if the club members repudiated the letter, McCarthy and others might leave and aggressive litigation to cut rail rates might end. The club’s statement did not meet the rich men’s demand, but its members said they would meet again for further consideration. The Salt Lake Tribune, Deseret News, and Salt Lake Herald all editorialized against McCarthy.66 When the members met again, news reports speculated that they might see the magnates’ point and rebuke the Traffic Bureau after all. But the bureau was not mentioned. Instead, Charles W. Nibley, presiding bishop of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, proposed that three hundred members should each agree to pay dues of ten dollars a month for three years, instead of the required $3.50, and a number of men volunteered to pay higher dues.67 In effect, members backed the Traffic Bureau and signaled to the rich men that the club might get by without them.

In the 1916 election, Utah Democrats won both the legislature and the governorship for the first time, and their platform promised a state public utilities commission. Commission bills had been introduced and voted down by Republican legislatures in every session for the past ten years. But the new Democratic governor, Simon Bamberger, owned a local rail line and had advocated for regulation for twenty years.68 He called for a commission in his address to legislators.69 When the bill came before the Senate Judiciary Committee, Chairman Culbert L. Olson began by saying, “The Democratic Party was given a mandate by the people of the state to pass a public utility bill, and we are here to do that.”70 Railroad executives had traveled to Salt Lake City to testify, but Olson said he would take no testimony on whether a commission was needed. Railroad men should limit their comments to the specifics of the bill. And when George H. Smith, vice president of the Oregon Short Line, strayed onto whether a

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Interior of the banquet room in the Commercial Club building at Exchange Place, Salt Lake City, Utah. March 18, 1911. Utah State Historical Society, Shipler no. 23521.

In 1920, after the war was over, Congress passed a transportation act that gave owners back their railroads—adding that they should make a return of 5.5 percent on capital, the first time the government had guaranteed a return. The railroads petitioned the ICC for higher rates to reach the legal profit, and the ICC raised rates 40 percent in the East but only 25 percent in Utah and the new Mountain Pacific zone.80 Not to be left out, intrastate roads asked for rate hikes, receiving big increases in most states but a much smaller one from the Utah Public Utilities Commission.81 Prickett said the smaller Utah raise saved shippers $4 million when compared to the larger hikes elsewhere.82 Ratemaking became routine, with several cases always pending before both the ICC and the Utah Public Utilities Commission. The big 1910 Salt Lake victory had mostly affected rates on goods coming into the state, but in later instances, Utahns often sought lower rates on products they exported in order to be more

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Although a public utilities commission would also regulate electricity, telephones, irrigation companies, busses, and other utilities, the legislative debate was all about railroads and coal. Legislators formed a special committee to investigate the coal shortage under the chairmanship of Senator—and future governor—George H. Dern. In the weeks of debate on a commission bill, the investigative committee generated headlines noting that railroads had failed to deliver. In an editorial against the commission bill, the Salt Lake Tribune said the Democrats falsely implied that a commission might solve the coal shortage. The Tribune noted coal shortages afflicted states with commissions, as well as those without, and said a commission could change rates but could not conjure railroad cars. “Only by giving our railroads a chance to prosper can our fertile areas obtain the necessary transportation facilities,” the Tribune said, repeating the argument that had prevailed for twenty years.73 The Deseret News joined in repeating that contention.74 Despite the editorial opposition, Democratic legislators agreed there should be a public utilities commission, but they disagreed over details: Should a commission limit the size of coal trains? Should commissioners be paid $4,000 or $5,000? Should the commission set rates? But after drafting, debating, and amending until nearly the end of their session, legislators passed a public utilities bill, and Governor Bamberger signed it into law. Bamberger appointed three new commissioners, including future governor Henry Blood. Even before the commissioners officially met, the railroads petitioned for higher rates and soon combined to ask for a rate hike of 15 percent statewide. At hearings, the commissioners made clear their disinclination

In April 1917, just as the Utah commission was getting organized, America entered World War I, and in December, President Woodrow Wilson seized the nation’s railroads. The government raised all shipping rates by 25 percent and raised railroad workers’ salaries too.77 Utah’s Traffic Bureau saw opportunity as well as costs in the national takeover and petitioned for rates based on distance, as was already the rule in the East. Back in 1911, Stephen Love had estimated 70 percent of rates from Chicago to Salt Lake City were the same as Chicago to San Francisco; 26 percent were lower, and 4 percent higher.78 But the San Francisco haul was 800 miles longer, and Utahns said the rate difference in their favor should be greater. The new United States Railroad Administration held hearings on the Utah petition, agreed in part, and created a new Mountain Pacific rate zone. But instead of cutting Utah rates, the administration raised coastal rates by 15 percent: a victory, nonetheless, claimed H. W. Prickett of the Traffic Bureau. The change would still help Utah jobbers.79

Even as lawmakers met, the winter of 1917 was cold and coal was scarce. The Ogden Standard bemoaned the fuel famine, reported the progress from Wyoming toward Ogden of each coal train, and wailed when a train left the mines and turned toward Nebraska instead of Utah. Things were worse elsewhere. A city official from Butte, Montana, traveled to Ogden to beg a trainload of coal for his freezing town, and one was duly dispatched. Baker, Oregon, also sent a special plea.72

toward higher rates, and the request was withdrawn.75 “The greatest triumph ever scored on behalf of the people of Utah,” exulted the Salt Lake Telegram. “The railroad octopus has been defeated.”76

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commission should be formed, the chair interrupted to remind him of the rules.71

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competitive in outside markets. They protested shipping rates for exports (sugar beets, wheat, barley, and hay) and imports (gasoline, farm equipment, pipe, and junk) alike. Regulation became more bureaucratic. ICC decisions from 1893 to 1898 fill only three volumes. The commission decisions from 1922 alone filled seven volumes; sixteen volumes were filled in 1926. In 1910 commissioners themselves had traveled to Utah for a hearing, but by 1920 a corps of hearing examiners traveled, heard cases, and submitted records and recommendations to commissioners who stayed in Washington, busy making final decisions. The work of regulation and the number of officials needed to perform the work had clearly grown. Democrats had enacted the state Public Utilities Commission and its future became uncertain when Republicans won the election of 1920, controlled the legislature, and introduced a bill to make public utility commissioners serve at the pleasure of the governor; this would allow Republican Governor Charles Mabey to fire the Democrats and replace them with Republicans, the Salt Lake Telegram said. But Mabey said he did not want that power, and the bill died.83 In 1923 majority Republicans tried to repeal the commission but failed in both the House and the Senate.84 With Republican acceptance, Utah had committed for the long term to state regulation of railroads and utilities. gh Utahns saw that railroads brought prosperity, but they also complained that railroad practices retarded their progress, and they tried to lure rails and at the same time gain some voice in their policies. For a time, railroads charged inland cities more than they charged coastal stops, and Utah suffered rate discrimination. Congress passed laws against that practice, and the Interstate Commerce Commission granted imperfect relief. But before and after relief, Utahns claimed unique mistreatment. Their petition to President Taft asserted that Utah labored under “the most striking example of transportation rate-making despotism existing anywhere in the country.”85 Evidence for unfair treatment in comparison to coastal markets is clear (see table 2), but evidence for discrimination in comparison to other inland cities is

hard to find. Railroads had cause to treat Salt Lake City differently from San Francisco but not from Spokane, Reno, or Denver. Moreover, Utahns exaggerated the effects of unfair rates, saying that railroad discrimination stunted their growth. Utah Steel’s H. G. Parcell argued, for instance, that “if just rates are imposed, Utah stands a chance of becoming the greatest iron and steel center in the world.”86 “Relief granted will mean more factories, greater payrolls, and larger cities,” said the Salt Lake Telegram.87 Utah did suffer from unequal rates, but it was neither especially picked on nor especially damaged—the claims and complaints of boosters notwithstanding. In litigation before the ICC, Utahns were skillful, tenacious, and successful. H. W. Prickett claimed in 1922 that Salt Lake City shippers saved $9 million a year because of state and federal regulatory decisions, more than any other city.88 Further, the first big Traffic Bureau victory helped bring lower rates to other cities. Salt Lake ratemen led multistate rate-fighting campaigns.89 In 1922 Reno, Nevada, organized a traffic bureau and asked J. David Larson of the Salt Lake Traffic Bureau to visit Reno as an expert and help them begin.90 In contrast to its forwardness in rate litigation, Utah was among the last states to enact state regulation. In 1917 Utah and Delaware were the only two states without a public utilities commission.91 Instead of regulating railroads, Utah policy accommodated them. At first that policy was bipartisan, adopted by Republican governor Heber Wells (an erstwhile advocate of regulation who changed his mind), together with the Democratic legislatures of 1897 and 1899 and the Republican legislature of 1901. But Democrats soon switched and advocated for regulation, while Republicans—who held power from 1901 to 1917—continued to believe a free market and state cooperation would promote rail investment. Arguably, their strategy worked. Pro-railroad laws helped draw both the Oregon Short Line headquarters and the Union Pacific incorporation to the state. The economic historian Leonard Arrington notes Utah’s success: “With the Southern Pacific line to San Francisco, the Short Line to Portland, the Salt Lake route to Los Angeles, a Western Pacific Route to San Francisco, and

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the transcontinental routes to Chicago, Minneapolis, and St. Paul, Salt Lake was well on its way to becoming a leading center of trade and transportation in the West.” By 1910 railroads were the state’s leading non-agricultural employer, with 8,199 workers.92 But it is unclear to what extent that success came from Republican policy. For instance, an economic study of the Midwest—where similar arguments were waged over regulation and development—found that states that adopted commissions received just as much railroad investment as states that did not.93 Had Utah enacted regulation sooner, railroad investment might have come anyway. Utah did not create a commission until it had a Democratic governor and Democratic control of both legislative houses. Utah’s first three Democratic governors, Bamberger, Dern, and Blood, all made early political reputations on railroad-regulation issues. Republicans courted rails; Democrats regulated them. Regulation was the dominant national trend and

policy, and belatedly, Democrats led Utah into conformity. Once in operation, the Public Utilities Commission held down rates and saved Utahns money. But note, the coming of the railroad reduced coal prices from $40.00 to $10.00; the advent of competition cut prices from $10.00 to $5.00. From the beginning of the Public Utilities Commission in 1917 to 1922, coal prices rose from $5.75 to $10.00, although they would have gone higher without the commission. Railroads and competition brought big, enduring price reductions. Regulation slowed price increases. Railroads were a technological advance that arrived as a monopoly and seemed to require regulation. As technology changed in the twentieth century, the monopoly power attenuated, and regulation became less useful. Most Utah homes now heat and cook with gas or electricity, and householders no longer complain of railroads and high coal prices. Freight costs declined as rails improved, for example, using diesel engines to haul bigger loads on faster tracks

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Members of the Interstate Commerce Commission, including Balthasar Henry Meyer, James S. Harlan, Judson Claudius Clements, Edgar Erastus Clark, Charles A. Prouty, Charles C. McChord, and John Hobart Marble. Photographed circa March 3, 1913. Bain News Service, publisher. Courtesy Library of Congress, LC-DIG-ggbain-12766.

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with smaller crews. Trucks now compete with rails almost everywhere and keep rates down, as water competition used to restrain rates in port cities.94 Neither Utah nor Washington now regulates railroad rates.

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Although transportation problems have changed, Utah still faces the general dilemma that confronted the First Legislature: the state needs outside capital and fears that regulations, or other policies designed for state interests, might repulse needed investment. The state currently offers special tax breaks to companies that bring jobs, exempting them from their normal share of government costs, and Utah does not require as much air pollution abatement as it might, enabling polluting companies to build the economy.95 Like the First Legislature, Utah’s leaders must still balance the need to attract investment with state interests served by regulation, taxes, and other burdens. Railroads posed the question of that balance first, and there is still no formula to answer it.

Web Extra At history.utah.gov, we continue the conversation.

Notes 1

“To Head Off an Advance in Freight Rates,” Salt Lake Herald, May 15, 1908. 2 House Journal of the Special and First Session of the Legislature of the State of Utah (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Company, 1896), 52–53. 3 Salt Lake Tribune, November 26, 1872, cited in Michael Guy Bishop, “The Coal Conflict: Utah’s Fight with the Union Pacific Railroad” (master’s thesis, Utah State University, 1976), digitalcommons.usu.edu. 4 “That Railroad Bill,” Salt Lake Herald, February 14, 1896, 3. 5 Quoted in “Anti-Railroad Legislation,” Salt Lake Herald, March 5, 1896. 6 Edward Leo Lyman, “Heber M. Wells and the Beginnings of Utah’s Statehood” (master’s thesis, University of Utah, 1967), 53–57. 7 Gabriel Kolko, Railroads and Regulation, 1877–1916 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965), 16. 8 S. A. Kenner, Utah As It Is (Salt Lake City: Deseret News, 1904), 217. 9 Thomas G. Alexander, “From Dearth to Deluge: Utah’s Coal Industry,” Utah Historical Quarterly 31, no. 3 (Summer 1963): 235. 10 Leonard J. Arrington, “Utah’s Coal Road in the Age of Unregulated Competition,” Utah Historical Quarterly 23, no. 1 (1955): 49. The story is worse and more complicated than related here.

11 Robert G. Athearn, “Utah and the Coming of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad,” Utah Historical Quarterly 27, no. 2 (April 1959): 129–44. Nancy J. Taniguchi, Necessary Fraud: Progressive Reform and Utah Coal (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1996) is a good account of early coal development in Carbon County. 12 “Utah Coal Product,” Salt Lake Tribune, January 1, 1896, 23, lists the price for lump at $4.75. 13 F. W. Sears to Heber Wells, February 1, 1896, reel 1, Governor Wells Correspondence, Series 235, Utah State Archives and Records Service, Salt Lake City, Utah (hereafter USARS). 14 “The Railroad Bill,” Salt Lake Herald, February 7, 1896, 3. 15 Robert G. Athearn, Union Pacific Country (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1971), 355–75. 16 Thomas Warner Mitchell, “The Growth of the Union Pacific and its Financial Operations,” Quarterly Journal of Economics 21, no. 4 (August 1907): 569–612, discusses how the Union Pacific system was dismembered in bankruptcy and reassembled after reorganization. 17 Typescript draft of governor’s message to the legislature, reel 5, Wells Correspondence. In the speech as delivered, the governor cut out the draft paragraph and said only: “The Oregon Short Line, now reorganizing in the city, promises increased advantage to the state.” Senate Journal. Second Session of the Legislature of the State of Utah, 1897 (Salt Lake City: Tribune Job Printing, 1897), 35. I take it the governor planned to appeal for legislation to entice the OSL, but by the time the speech was delivered, a deal had been struck: the bill would pass, and the OSL would locate its headquarters in Utah. Probably, Union Pacific was also part of the deal; note the fee-cap discussed below. 18 “Formation of Railroad Corporations,” Laws of the State of Utah, 1897 (Salt Lake City: Star Printing, 1897), 13–15. 19 “Railroad Corporations,” Laws of the State of Utah, 1899, 17. 20 “Railroad Corporations” and “Railroads,” Laws of the State of Utah, 1901, 1–3, 20–25. 21 “Biggest in the World,” Salt Lake Tribune, March 24, 1901. 22 “Four Officials Vote Two Hundred Millions,” Salt Lake Herald, March 24, 1901. 23 Stuart Daggett, “The Decision on the Union Pacific Merger,” Quarterly Journal of Economics 27, no. 2 (February 1913): 295–328. 24 “Coal Investigation Begun by Commissioner Prouty,” Salt Lake Herald, September 25, 1906; “Commissioner Clark in Ogden,” Salt Lake Herald, November 26, 1906. 25 “Coal Trust Extortion Arouses Salt Lake People,” Salt Lake Evening Telegram, September 26, 1906. 26 “Resume of the Seventh Legislature’s Work,” InterMountain Republican (Salt Lake City, UT), March 24, 1907. 27 “Traffic Man Says Region States to Win Biggest Boon,” Deseret News, April 19, 1922. 28 William Z. Ripley, Railroads, Rates and Regulation (New York: Longmans, Green, 1923), 496–521. 29 “Rate Case Becomes Battle of Figures,” Salt Lake Herald-Republican, September 24, 1909. 30 Morris H. Taylor and Forrest Baker Jr., Implementing Change in Freight Rate Structure with Emphasis on

37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46

47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

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56 United States v. Union Pacific Railroad Company, 226 U.S. 61 (1912). 57 W. S. McCarthy to William Spry, June 2, 1914, “Commercial Club Traffic Bureau, Sept. 3–Jun 5, 1914,” reel 17, box 8, fd. 27, Governor Spry Correspondence, Series 226, USARS. McCarthy quotes Senator Thomas, Spry Correspondence. 58 R. S. Lovett, telegram, June 5, 1914, Spry Correspondence. 59 Alfred R. Barnes to William Spry, June 24, 1914, Spry Correspondence. 60 Daniel C. Jackling et al. to William Spry, June 6, 1914, Spry Correspondence. 61 “Kearns Believes Traffic Bureau Was Unwise,” Salt Lake Telegram, June 8, 1914. 62 “Fight on UP Dividend Raises Storm of Protest,” Salt Lake Telegram, June 8, 1914. The rich men included William McCornick, John Cutler, David Keith, Ernst Bamberger, and W. W. Armstrong, among others. 63 “Commercial Club Discusses Stand It Is to Assume,” Salt Lake Telegram, June 8, 1914. 64 Don C. Woodward and Joel F. Campbell, Common Ground: 100 Years of the Salt Lake Chamber (Montgomery, AL: Community Communications, 2002), 57–58. 65 Goodwin’s Weekly, July 29, 1911. 66 “The Traffic Bureau Side of the Controversy,” Salt Lake Telegram, June 8, 1914. 67 “No Attack Yet Made upon Traffic Bureau,” Salt Lake Telegram, June 25, 1914. 68 “That Railroad Bill,” Salt Lake Herald, February 14, 1896, 3. 69 Senate Journal, Twelfth Session of the Legislature of the State of Utah, 1917 (Salt Lake City: Century Printing, 1917), 25–26. 70 Salt Lake Herald-Republican, February 7, 1917. 71 “Olson’s Invitation,” Salt Lake Tribune, February 8, 1917. 72 “Coal Shortage,” Ogden Standard, January 26, 1917. 73 “False Pretenses,” Salt Lake Tribune, February 14, 1917. 74 Editorial, Deseret Evening News, February 17, 1917. 75 “In the Matter of the Application of the Various Railroads Operating in the State of Utah for Permission to Increase Freight Rates Horizontally, Fifteen Percent,” Report of the Public Utilities Commission of Utah, for the Period April 3, 1917, to December 31, 1917, Inclusive (Salt Lake City: F. W. Gardiner, [1917]), 24, accessed May 17, 2019, pscdocs.utah.gov/AnnualReports/. 76 E. J. David, “Rate Grab Fight Abandoned by Railroad,” Salt Lake Telegram, July 10, 1917. 77 “Sweeping Rail Rate Increase Ordered,” Salt Lake Telegram, May 27, 1918. 78 Goodwin’s Weekly, July 29, 1911. 79 “Intermountain Shippers Win in Rate Case,” Salt Lake Tribune, January 31, 1918. 80 “Ex Parte 74. In the Matter of the Application of Carriers in Official, Southern, and Western Classification Territories for Authority to Increase Rates,” Decisions of the ICC, 58:220. 81 “In the Matter of the Application for Increases in Revenues of the Railroads of Utah,” Report of the Public Utilities Commission of Utah, for the Year Ended November 30, 1920 (Kaysville, UT: Inland Printing, [1920]), 367, accessed May 17, 2019, pscdocs.utah.gov/Annual Reports/. 82 “Opinions Clash on Value of Utilities Law,” Salt Lake Tribune, January 26, 1923.

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Utah’s Agribusiness (Logan: Utah State University and U.S. Department of Transportation, 1974), 53. “Rate Case Becomes Battle of Figures.” “Manager of Traffic Bureau Commands Respect of Railroads,” Salt Lake Herald, January 31, 1909. “D&RG Denies In-State Mines Relief,” Salt Lake Herald-Republican, May 8, 1910, 1. Petition from the Commercial Club Traffic Bureau of Salt Lake City to the Presidents . . . PAM 17156, Utah State Historical Society, Salt Lake City, Utah (hereafter USHS). “Interstate Commerce Commission filing 1909, Commercial Club Traffic Bureau v. 15 named railroads,” in possession of Salt Lake Chamber of Commerce, Salt Lake City, Utah. A copy of the document was put in a time capsule, which was opened in 2018. “No. 2662, Commercial Club, Traffic Bureau, of Salt Lake City, Utah, v. Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway Company et al.,” Decisions of the Interstate Commerce Commission of the United States (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1888), 19:218–19 (hereafter Decisions of the ICC). “Big Harriman Man Is Here,” Salt Lake Herald-Republican, September 23, 1909. “Utah Shippers Begin Their Case for Square Treatment from Railways,” Salt Lake Herald-Republican, September 23, 1909. Salt Lake City v. Atchison, Decisions of the ICC, 19:223. “Freight Rate Reductions Give Utah Her Chance,” Goodwin’s Weekly, July 29, 1911. “Applications for Relief under the Fourth Section, Nos. 205, 342, 343, 344, 349, 350, and 352,” Decisions of the ICC, 21:400. “No. 879, City of Spokane, Washington, et al. v. Northern Pacific Railway Company et al.” and “No. 1665, Railroad Commission of Nevada v. Southern Pacific Company et al.,” Decisions of the ICC, 19:162, 238. An Act to Regulate Commerce, Pub. L. No. 49–104, 24 Stat. 379 (1887). Ripley, Railroads, 441–55. Clyde B. Aitchison, “The Evolution of the Interstate Commerce Act: 1887–1937,” George Washington Law Review 5, no. 3 (March 1937): 308. “Applications for Relief,” Decisions of the ICC, 21:409 (qtn.); ICC v. Alabama Midland Railway Co., 168 U.S. 144 (1897); reinforced by ETV&G Railway Co. v. ICC, 181 U.S. 1. Ripley, Railroads, 557–79. U.S. Reports: Intermountain Rate Cases, 234 U.S. 476 (1914). Salt Lake Herald-Republican, June 30, 1910. Salt Lake Tribune, June 30, 1910. “Greet New Rates at Big Banquet,” Salt Lake HeraldRepublican, November 16, 1911. “No. 4079, Grand Junction Chamber of Commerce v. Denver and Rio Grande Railroad Company et al.,” Decisions of the ICC, 23:115. “No. 3939, National Wool Growers’ Association v. Oregon Short Line Railroad Company et al.,” Decisions of the ICC, 23:162. “Means Big Savings,” Salt Lake Tribune, May 18, 1912. “Class and Commodity Rates to Salt Lake City, Utah, and Other Points,” Decisions of the ICC, 32:551. The ICC’s reinstatement of the higher rates was done so that the national rail system would be consistent with each included shorter haul costing less than each longer haul.

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83 “Commendable Action,” Salt Lake Telegram, March 6, 1921. 84 “Utilities Board Abolition Bill Defeated,” Salt Lake Telegram, February 8, 1923. 85 Petition from the Commercial Club Traffic Bureau. 86 “Early Action on Export Rates Is Assured,” Salt Lake Telegram, May 8, 1919. 87 “Demand Is Renewed for Fair Rates for Utah,” Salt Lake Telegram, May 14, 1920. 88 H. W. Prickett, What Has the Traffic Department of the Chamber of Commerce and Commercial Club of Salt Lake City Accomplished, Salt Lake City, December 30, 1922, PAM 5457, USHS. The pamphlet was promotional, and Prickett documented neither the $9 million estimate nor the claim that Salt Lake City benefitted most. 89 “To Carry Freight Rate Fight to Congress,” Deseret News, June 14, 1921. 90 “Reno in Arms to Get Rate Justice for Shippers,” Salt Lake Telegram, June 28, 1919. 91 Senate Journal, 1917, 26.

92 Leonard J. Arrington, “The Commercialization of Utah’s Economy: Trends and Developments from Statehood to 1910,” in A Dependent Commonwealth: Utah’s Economy from Statehood to the Great Depression, ed. Leonard J. Arrington, Dean L. May, and Thomas G. Alexander (Provo: Brigham Young University, 1974), 14, 33. 93 Mark T. Kanazawa and Roger G. Noll, “The Origins of State Railroad Regulation: The Illinois Constitution of 1870,” in The Regulated Economy: A Historical Approach to Political Economy, ed. Claudia Goldin and Gary D. Libecap (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 94 Robert E. Gallamore and John Robert Meyer, American Railroads: Decline and Renaissance in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014). 95 See, for instance, “Corporate Recruitment,” Governor’s Office of Economic Development, accessed May 22, 2019, business.utah.gov/programs/corporate-recruitment/.

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Keynote speakers include: • Dr. Carol Anderson, author of One Person, No Vote • Dr. Lisa Tetrault, author of The Myth of Seneca Falls • Dr. Selina Gallo-Cruz, author of “American Mothers of Nonviolence: Action and the Politics of Erasure in Women’s Nonviolent Activism” This program has received funding from Utah Humanities (UH). UH empowers Utahns to improve their communities through active engagement in the humanities. Additional funding was provided by the Tanner Humanities Grant in the College of Humanities and Social Sciences and the Office of the Provost at Utah State University. Other sponsors: Better Days 2020 and Utah Public Radio. For more information, please visit history.usu.edu/voting-rights-symposium.

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To reflect on the meaning of these significant anniversaries, Utah State University will host an interdisciplinary symposium in 2020 that commemorates the historic events that gave political rights to women, but that also reflects on ongoing struggles for access to the vote.

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In 1920, the Nineteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution granted many women in the nation the right to vote for the first time. Fifty years earlier, Utah had been among the first territories to enfranchise women, and Utah allowed women’s suffrage again in 1895 after statehood. Despite these advances and the Voting Rights Act of 1965, key groups still remained excluded.

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CLASSIC REPRINT

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Copperfield Mercantile in Bingham Canyon, Utah. Utah State Historical Society, Peoples of Utah Photograph Collection, MSS C 239, no. 99, box 3.

H E L E N

Z E E SE

PA PA N I KO LAS

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Life and Labor among the Immigrants of Bingham Canyon In 1917, in the little Carbon County coal town of Cameron, Emily Papachristos and George Zeese, Greek immigrants, brought their daughter Helen into the world. Helen Zeese Papanikolas, as she would become, grew up amidst the richness and realities of immigrant cultures in neighboring Helper, Utah. The Zeese family moved to Salt Lake City in the 1930s, and Helen went on to the University of Utah, where she graduated in bacteriology, intent on becoming a doctor. But Papanikolas had other talents as well: she edited the university’s literary magazine and, in 1947, wrote a fictional piece for Utah Humanities Review about a young woman of Greek ancestry. That laid the groundwork for the publication of a path-breaking 1954 essay in Utah Historical Quarterly (UHQ), “The Greeks of Carbon County.”1 At that point, UHQ had published hardly a thing on immigrant groups—but it was not necessarily behind the times. The study of immigration to America took off in the 1960s, and although Papanikolas’s early scholarship did not employ the theoretical underpinnings of other works, it was unquestionably valuable. 2 Much of that value came not only from her formidable writing skills but also from her entrée into the Greek community and her lifelong understanding of it.

Papanikolas had, after all, attended Greek school throughout her childhood and witnessed Carbon County laborers join a nationwide coal strike in 1922, when she was only five years old. In 1965, Papanikolas brought all of this—combined with much research—to the writing of the article reprinted below. “Life and Labor among the Immigrants of Bingham Canyon” centers on the Bingham strike of 1912 and the experiences of Greek laborers. Pushed from their own country by poverty, Greeks joined the ranks of wageworkers employed by railroads, mines, and smelters throughout the American West. Among the industrial operations they powered were the copper mines of Utah’s Bingham Canyon. By 1911, some 1,210 Greeks worked in the Bingham mines, which employed a total force of about 4,600 people. In the following year’s strike, the Greeks— with their grievances toward Leonidis G. Skliris, their countryman—played a critical role. 3 Papanikolas told the story of immigrant life in Bingham Canyon with sensitivity and color, and she established the place of the Greeks and other ethnic groups in the history of the growing, global systems of migration, industry, and finance of the early 1900s. Still, some aspects of the following article feel outdated or glib and call for analysis or

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Immigrants and Bingham’s terrain produced a unique life among mining towns. The long, winding Main Street reached for the cramped houses on the mountainsides and made them part of it. Talk, shouts, and oaths were heard in many languages outside the saloons, boardinghouses, candy stores, theaters, and dance halls. The first of Bingham’s immigrants were the young Irishmen fleeing the potato famine. They worked 10 hours a day on small claims, usually belonging to others, and lived in boardinghouses where they rivaled each other in boxing matches, wood cutting, and other feats of strength.4 By 1870 the 276 inhabitants of Bingham were mostly Irish who resented the incoming English, the “Cousin Jacks” as they called them.5 Saloons were many and prosperous, and traveling vaudeville acts were the high point in the miners’ lives.

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at least a little more context: the list of newspaper headlines, for instance, or, much more importantly, the unremarked-upon descriptions of “Chinese and Negro ‘water boys,’” “Nigger Jim,” and “Japtown.” Yet, however flawed, this article opened the door for later scholarship, from Papanikolas and others. After “Life and Labor,” Papanikolas published the book-length Toil and Rage in a New Land: The Greek Immigrants in Utah (1970) as an entire issue of UHQ. She continued writing, researching, and—importantly—interviewing the immigrant generation throughout the remainder of the twentieth century, leaving a foundation for further study of labor, Utah, and the American West.

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By 1880 the Irish were leaving Bingham, but immigrants from the British Isles were still dominant. The census for that year lists the following.6 The majority of the English-speaking miners were Cornish for whom mining was a hereditary occupation.7 An easy relationship, based on their common tongue and ancestry, existed between the English- and the American-born miners. They held nightly track meets, broad jumped on the dumps, pole vaulted using iron pipes, and threw powder boxes. Boxing matches were weekly events, and men fought until they could no longer stand to the music of mouth organ, zither, and jewsharp.8

Table 1. Residents of Bingham Canyon, 1880 Census Americans (includes American-born children of immigrants, mostly British and Scandinavian)

452

British Isles

170

Scandinavia

Ireland

Italy

China

Canada

Finland

Germany

Prussia, France, Nova Scotia

2 each

Greece, Austria, Africa, Holland, and Portugal

1 each

Chinese and Negro “water boys” carried water from springs using pails suspended from shoulder poles. The most familiar was Nigger Jim who carried water for 30 years.9 The water was bad and the sanitation primitive; the only protection for the miners was the old-country prescription of whiskey. During the next two decades, Finns and Swedes came in greater numbers. Instead of skill they possessed the brute power that mining needed. The Italians followed, mostly Piedmontese, who were proficient at hammer work. They were also adept at leverage, and their stocky build and short legs gave them the nickname “Short Towns.” In the early 1900’s the Eastern Mediterranean and Balkan peoples came.10 Slovenes, Croatians, Serbs, Greeks, Italians, Armenians, and Montenegrins gave Bingham a color unmatched anywhere in Utah except in the Carbon County coal fields.11 The Chinese who had been in Bingham since 1875 running restaurants and doing menial labor had, except for a few, left town. Not until 1910 when Japanese and Korean labor gangs were brought in to work on the Bingham-Garfield Railroad construction did Bingham have a large colony of Orientals.12 Gambling, drinking, bulldog fighting, and cock fighting now took precedence over the simple pastimes of the trackmeets and feats of strength. By 1900 there were 30 saloons on Main Street. “Old Crow” and “16 to 1” were the favorites.13 The young, unattached men at the peak of their strength could not and, from the

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A Cretan celebration—possibly a union gathering—in Bingham Canyon, Utah. The banner reads “Pan Cretans Brotherhood.” Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 27216.

period’s court notes it is obvious, did not try to control their restlessness. Disturbing the peace, assault, mayhem, and killing vied with death and maiming of mine accidents to keep the town in continuous excitement. Each minority was a labor gang in itself, with a foreman who could speak English, and formed its colony around boardinghouses.14 Names, nostalgic now, immediately told much: Frogtown, where the natives lived; Yampa, a miniature town formed around the Apex Mine; Japtown; Dinkeyville, where powder-box cabins were built on company land; Highland Boy and Phoenix, where the Austrians and Slavs lived; Copperfield, where the Greeks had their boardinghouses; and Carr Fork, where Finns and Swedes had congregated. Churches came 30 years after mining began. The Latter-day Saints established a church in 1890 as did the Methodist and Catholic churches, but without resident clergy. In 1897 a Methodist Mission Church was opened at Carr Fork, and in the same year Bingham was provided with a

resident minister. The Catholic Church did not have a resident priest until 1907.15 Greek miners traveled to Salt Lake City for religious services. In 1912 the government immigrant inspector’s report to the U.S. Department of Commerce and Labor showed a complete change in the minority populations.16 English-speaking Table 2. Bingham Canyon Ethnic Groups, 1912 Greeks

1,210

North Italians

402

South Italians

237

Austrians

564

Japanese

254

Finns

217

English

161

Bulgarians

Swedes

Irish

Germans

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workmen were leaving mining for other opportunities, and South Europeans quickly took their places in the mines.

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The good and the sordid existed together. Zack (Jack) Tallas, at the time a young Greek fireman in Copperfield, describes it:

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It was green then, not as it was later with the dumps. There were springs and wildflowers everywhere. In the draws of the mountains were three goat ranches run by Greeks. Now they’re filled up with capping. The companies had their boardinghouses, but other people ran boardinghouses too. There were so many men—don’t believe the census; there were three thousand Greeks alone between the ages of twelve and twenty-one—that they built powder-box houses on company property and went to the barbershops to take a bath. Each nationality had its own stores and bakeries. The Greeks had four or five bakeries, five candy stores and ten coffeehouses where until the middle of the Nineteen-Twenties dancers clinking castinets came from time to time and the famous Kharaghiozis puppets of Greece and Asia Minor delighted the men with the sly humor of the country peasant who pretends to be dumber than he is and has the last laugh. The Greeks, Serbians, Austrians and Italians feuded with each other and among themselves. Killings were not unusual. There was a regular red-light district, but on paydays two-hundred fifty prostitutes came into town and men gave up their rooms to accommodate them during their stay. In the mines a person had to be on his guard; there were company spies who spoke their language and who carried all rumor and talk of labor troubles to the mine officials. The companies were enemies. Miners were killed regularly. My brother was killed and the Company sent my parents three-hundred dollars. Many of the

dead had wives and young children in the old country. We got along good with the “Americans” for two reasons. We dressed well and neatly and we never got drunk. We had great times in those days.17 The year 1912 was an important period in Bingham’s labor history, union men of great potential but also distrust and apathy. The immigrants “sheviks,” the “Wobblies,” the “labor agitators.” They lived precariously, both needing to make themselves and their principles known to the miners and at the same time hiding their identity from the law. The authorities were alert to the vaguest of rumors on which to base indictments for sedition, and if unsuccessful, they brought vagrancy charges to put labor organizers in jail. The vast mission field of immigrant labor presented a face to the union men of great potential but also distrust and apathy. The immigrants had to depend on interpreters who knew little more English than they did. They had come, too, from cultures where the rich were the powerful and that was the fate of life. An exception in Bingham was Louis Theos (Theodoropoulos) who was known among his fellow Greeks as an officer of the IWW, and who had done undercover work for unions in the Carbon County coal mines. But in the main it was economics and not ideology that guided the immigrants. In contrast, for example, with the strike activities of the powerful Amalgamation of Garment Workers in the East where the immigrants had settled more than a generation earlier and produced their own leaders, the drawing of immigrant peoples of the West into strikes was emotional and not for principles. The great Bingham strike of 1912 shows these factors graphically.18 On May 1 of that year, the Western Federation of Labor called a strike at the lead plant of the American Smelting and Refining Company at Murray demanding recognition of the union and an increase in wages from $1.75 per day to $2.00 per day. The strike lasted six weeks, involved between 800 to 900 men, and closed the smelter for a short time. The strike was broken by strikebreakers, who were Greeks from the Island of Crete, brought from Bingham and Helper.19 The strikebreakers were sent under orders of Leonidas G. Skliris,

The Italian padrone system, loosely organized in the Carbon County coal camps, does not appear to have been in effect in Bingham. Fortunato Anselmo, the present Italian vice consul, denies it existed there. Italians found employment through relatives and countrymen. The various Balkan peoples (often listed as Austrians in official reports), Croatians, Serbs, Slovenes, and Montenegrins were divided by many diverse reasons: by old-country politics, by two different alphabets, and by three religions—Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Greek Catholic. A padrone common to them all would have been impossible.24 The Greeks, however, were by far the majority of workers in Bingham, and Skliris was the dark force in their lives. The Greeks bitterly resented the suave, well-dressed countryman who lived in the amazing luxury of the newly built Hotel Utah on the money he exacted from them. One of the young miners waited for Skliris outside of the Hotel Utah with a pistol, but Skliris quickly disarmed him. Skliris did not lack courage and this kept him alive in his 15 years as a labor agent. For almost two years Greek miners had tried to expose Skliris as an extortionist who exacted

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Leonidas G. Skliris, the “Czar of the Greeks,” was a powerful labor agent, or padrone, who came to be reviled by many of his countrymen in America for his practices. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 13539.

tribute before handing out jobs and threatened the miners with discharge if they did not trade at the Pan Hellenic Grocery Store. A further grievance was the paying of higher wages to the Japanese who usually worked as bank men. With ropes tied around their waists, they lowered themselves over the banks and swung their picks into the ore—a dangerous occupation. It was an auspicious time for a strike. When the officials of the Western Federation of Labor began their talks, they found the Greeks incensed and ready. The anger of the Greeks explains the phenomenal success of the Federation in the summer of 1912. Voler V. Viles’ report to the U.S. Department of Commerce showed 250 union members in July, 900 on August 27, and 2,500 in October.25 At the meeting on the 17th of September, which was attended by at least a thousand miners, President Charles W. Moyer of the Federation asked that further attempts be made to negotiate with the mine officials before calling a strike.26 At the time the payscale was $2.00 per day for surface men, $2.50 per day for muckers (diggers), and $3.00 per day for miners.27 The

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The labor agents of those years worked under the padrone system.22 The Italians, Greeks, and Japanese were dependent on this system to get work from their respective labor agents. They were the last laborers to be given work. The Japanese padrone system was of a different nature; housing and food were included in their contracts.23 The Sako brothers, who represented Japanese labor in Salt Lake County, had camps in Magna and Garfield that housed between 400 and 500 men.

leading Greek labor agent in the West.20 Skliris was called the “Czar of the Greeks,” and as labor agent for Utah Copper Company, Western Pacific Railroad, Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad, and the Carbon County coal mines in Castle Gate, Hiawatha, Sunnyside, and Scofield, he had great power.21 His contacts with labor agents in Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, Nevada, and California could, within minutes of a telephone call, have men on a train traveling to a destination where they would be hired as workers or used as strikebreakers.

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union intended to ask for recognition of the Federation and a 50 cent a day raise for all workers.

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The men refused Moyer’s suggestion and unanimously voted a walkout immediately affecting 4,800 men. The American-born miners had stayed away from the meeting, not wanting to align themselves with the “foreigners.” Another 150 steam-shovel men of American nationality were opposed to the strike, but “did not want to go against the wishes of the majority.”28

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The foreigners were jubilant . . . chiefly Greeks and Austrians . . . shooting off firearms and intimidating American laborers. When deputies attempted to quell the disturbance, the foreigners showed their wildest disorder. One Greek after firing several times after being ordered to cease, was shot in the wrist by Deputy Sheriff Schweitzer. The shot caused more excitement and a mob of foreign laborers chased the deputy who was rescued by other officers.29 Fifty National Guard sharpshooters from Fort Douglas and 25 deputy sheriffs from Salt Lake City, supplied with several thousand rounds of ammunition, were brought in. Rifles from the munition stores of the Utah National Guard were made ready for delivery to Bingham. Saloons and gambling halls were closed, and railroad crossings and mines were floodlighted.30 The day after the walkout, President Moyer told 800 strikers at the Bingham Theater that the union officials had waited all day for an answer from the mine managers and had not received one. R. C. Gemmel, of Utah Copper, told the press that “we do not treat with officers of the union regarding matters connected with the mines. We do not recognize the Federation.”31 Gemmel said, “I don’t think they [the miners] have any grievance. It is the officials of the miners’ union who have stirred up trouble.”32 He stated the following day that “We advanced the men twenty-five cents [to become effective in November]. This was voluntary.”33 If the miners would work through committees, Gemmel claimed, the trouble could be adjusted. President Moyer countered, “as for the men meeting with the companies as individuals, I will only say that a great many of them cannot

speak the English language, and their only opportunity is through their authorized representatives.”34 Moyer denied the raise to the miners was voluntary, insisting it was the result of a similar raise in the mines of Montana the past June. Even a 50-cent increase, he said, would be less than what the Montana miners received for the same work.35 Moyer stated that “their [the miners] hours are too long and the current high price of copper justifies the raise.”36 The strikers took blankets and guns and settled in advantageous positions on the mountainsides. On the morning of September 19th, the strikers were given until noon to leave the mines; and if this ultimatum was defied, Salt Lake County Sheriff Joseph Sharp threatened to send 250 deputies armed with Winchesters.37 Governor William H. Spry said, “We are going up on the hill and drive them down.” The governor was believed to be, according to the Deseret Evening News, “one of the party [who wanted] to attack the foreigners stronghold.”38 With 800 foreign strikers armed with rifles and revolvers strongly entrenched.in the precipitous mountain ledges across the canyon from the Utah Copper Mine, raking the mine workings with a hail of lead at every attempt of railroad employees or deputy sheriffs to enter the grounds, the strike situation has reached its initial crisis. A last attempt was made by President Moyer to convince the strikers to leave the mountainside. He sent Yanco Terzich, a director of the Federation, with his message, but his climb was in vain.39 While the union spoke of wages, the Greeks, mostly Cretans “famed as men who, when the spirit moves them to fight, are difficult to control,”40 were concerned first with getting Skliris fired.41 Utah Copper Company posted notices in the Greek language informing the men that they were not required to pay for their jobs, and Vice-President Daniel C. Jackling in San Francisco for business meetings sent a telegram to the same effect.42 Mr. Gemmel defended Skliris; and Governor William Spry, in response to a letter from one of the Greeks explaining Skliris’ extortion practices, sent out a “Greek detective” who predictably found no such practices.43

“Foreigners” had bought arms in quantity from Salt Lake City hardware and sporting-goods “stores.” The men are known to be from Bingham because they took the 3:15 train back to that camp.” Bingham store owners had stocked up on revolvers. They were requiring cash for all merchandise and were not sending out their delivery wagons. Druggists were told not to sell liquor. Deputies were arriving on every train.47 The Salt Lake Herald Republican reported on the “vile conditions” of the powder-box houses where miners slept in shifts and yet sent

The strikers remained on the mountainside, and the deputies did not go up and drive them down. The attack was delayed by rumors that strikers had broken into the Utah Construction tunnel and stolen 60 cases of dynamite. While the deputies hesitated, 200 Austrians descended on the Denver and Rio Grande trestle between lower and upper Bingham and fired on anyone attempting to cross it.50 Governor Spry had expected the strikers to heed the ultimatum to leave the mines and was waiting in the Bingham Theater to talk with the men. His visit seemed fruitless until a bearded priest in black robes with the tall black kalimafkion on his head walked up Main Street and up the mountain. Their warlike spirit subdued temporarily by a lone priest of the Greek Church, Father Vasilios Lambrides,

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Governor Spry quickly called a meeting with Sheriff Sharp, Adjutant General E. A. Wedgwood (commander of the National Guard at Fort Douglas), and the mine operators to discuss the calling out of the militia and the proclaiming of martial law. Moyer and Terzich were invited to give testimony as to whether “the striking foreigners [were] amenable to the counsel of the strike leaders.” The Salt Lake Tribune continued: “In Bingham the belief is prevalent that the foreign element among the strikers will be a law unto themselves despite the protestations of President Moyer.”45 The union, Moyer admitted, could not handle the Greeks.46

$580,000 in money orders to Europe during the past year.48 In Bingham businessmen and native Americans were hostile to the strikers knowing the long economic misery that would come to the town. Rumors and attempts to prove the immigrants ungrateful to America kept the town in an upheaval. All mines now except the Apex, which was working under Moyer’s orders, were out on strike. Only Ohio Copper officials would consider a conference with the union. In San Francisco Jackling told the press, “When I fight, I’ll fight hard.”49

Jackling, Moyer said, refused to believe the padrone system existed, perhaps because he was too busy. “I believe he does not look to the methods of Skliris and his ilk, but simply asks cheap labor no matter how it comes.”44

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A general view of the Utah Copper Company mining area, looking down Bingham Canyon, March 17, 1911. Utah State Historical Society, Shipler no. 11626.

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who exhorted them in the name of their religion to refrain from further violence and defiance of the law, the army of strikers encamped on the mountain side commanding the works of the Utah Copper Company, voluntarily descending from their stronghold yesterday afternoon.

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The little father dressed in flowing clerical robes with a glittering cross of gold upon his breast, went among the militant strikers like the spirit of peace and brought “the truce of God.” Everywhere guns were laid aside for him and hats were doffed in respectful salute. With few exceptions the men left their trenches and trooped down to the meeting place where Governor Spry was waiting to address them.51 There, Sheriff Sharp wisely decided not to disarm the strikers although 250 deputies were at his service. The Greek miners “declared with vociferous acclaim” that they would go back to work at the present scale if Utah Copper would refuse to have anything to do with Leonidas G. Skliris, “Czar of the Greeks.” A carpenter, John (Scotty) Curie, speaking with a brogue, told the mine officials that the Greeks should not be given the entire responsibility for the strike because Italians and Austrians were also involved. Skliris, he told them, was the strike issue. Chris Kiousios repeated Scotty’s speech in Greek to the strikers’ “thunderous applause.” N. P. Stathakos, a Greek banker, spoke to the Greeks urging them to be peaceful. A telegram was read from D. C. Jackling, representing Utah Copper, reiterating his previous statement that men did not have to pay to get jobs at Utah Copper. Governor Spry spoke in platitudes, and Robert C. Gemmel defended Skliris. Angrily the strikers left to continue the strike.52 Moyer was asked to take Governor Spry and his party up the mountainside. The barricades were empty but “Cretans with rifles were far up. When Moyer’s attention was called to them he said they were probably hunting jackrabbits.”53

The next day about 300 strikers patrolled the Bingham-Garfield Line ready to shoot at strikebreakers who were being brought into town. The Greek strikers, hearing that Skliris along with two Magna Greeks (Gus Paulos and Nick Floor), was now recruiting strikebreakers, became infuriated and taking a good supply of ammunition returned to their positions on the mountains. Despite the strikers’ vigilance strikebreakers were finding ways of entering Bingham unnoticed. The townspeople were asking why the patrols had not been disarmed, and the sheriff’s office assured them that this would be done in the afternoon. People were leaving the canyon by the hundreds on the daily trains. The newspapers reported “White residents leaving camp, . . . The two daily trains carry about 200 of the better element of the camp, . . . the foreign element of Greeks, Italians, Austrians and Cretans are dominant in a situation into which the ‘white’ element has been forced against its will.”54 The steady increase of deputies gave no confidence to the people of Bingham. Moyer said that among them were “irresponsible riff-raff of Salt Lake.”55 Promiscuous shooting, theft, drunkenness, and the accidental killing of one deputy by another bore this out.56 Moyer asked if Sheriff Sharp and Governor Spry would “deputize a couple-hundred armed men to protect the strikers from the gunmen of Utah Copper . . . the strikers, many of them citizens, who have committed the awful crime of banding together and demanding a better pay of their employers.”57 Skliris returned from Colorado and Idaho where he found young unemployed Greeks through the labor agents, Karavellas and Babalis. He defended his 15 years as a labor agent in the West, insisting that he would pay $5,000 to anyone who could prove the padrone charge, the money to be used as a monument for Governor Stuenenberg or for any other appropriate purpose.58 The Greek employees of Utah Copper were loyal, he said, but were coerced by an armed mob.59 Ernest K. Pappas, spokesman for the Greeks, answered Skliris saying, “Where there is so much smoke, there must be some fire.” His letter to the Deseret Evening News continued:

Two days later Skliris resigned. Nothing more came of his $5,000 offer. The Greeks celebrated in the Copperfield coffeehouses before gathering again on the hills.61 At this point they were ready to go back to work, but President Moyer convinced them that Skliris’ resignation was secondary to the union’s demands, and the strikers themselves were wary of Skliris fearing he had “made a deal” with the Utah Copper and would again supply the company with labor as soon as the strike was over.62 The strikers became better organized and formed themselves into six-hour shifts with over a thousand men on picket duty. Skliris’ resignation had brought the first sign of optimism to the town.

The union leaders now threatened a general strike if the union was not recognized. Strikebreakers were steadily infiltrating into Bingham, even though strikers were covering all entrances to the town. It was reported that the strikers, largely Greeks, had scattered out along the highways to and from Bingham and are now holding up automobiles and vehicles to learn whether the occupants are strikebreakers.65 The mine operators continued to ignore the union, and the Federation ordered 3,000 miners out at the Ely Nevada Consolidated Mine.66 In Bingham the operators were hopeful at activity which they misconstrued as the Greeks leaving Bingham. However, the Greeks had heard rumors that the companies were going to evict them from the powder-box houses they had built on company land and were taking the precaution of moving out of them before they were forced to leave.67 Strikebreakers were coming into town in growing numbers. Nearly 500 were already settled

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The Greeks, it is said, did not consult them before striking but when the walkout occurred the Orientals took it for granted that work was suspended. Among them is Coney Shibota, said to be the champion wrestler of the camp. He is a powerfully constructed man for his race and has downed many stalwart Greeks. The other Japanese have tacitly appointed him leader.64

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The Japanese, the better-paid gambling companions of the Greeks, had also gone out with the rest of the men.

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As to the grocery store charge, it is well known that Steve G. Skliris, Leon G. Skliris’ representative, approves every Greek hired by Utah Copper and threatens with dismissal those who do not trade at Pan Hellenic. Goes farther by saying, “Your account this month is too small. You’ve been buying elsewhere. We look out for your job, you look out for us.” . . . If Greeks are loyal, why did they join union head first, 700 in one night took oath to gain freedom from padrone system. I accept Mr. Skliris’ offer of $5,000 . . . deposit in a Salt Lake bank with three judges appointed to decide question, one to be appointed by Governor Spry, one by Western Federation of Labor and one by Utah Copper.60

. . . last night coyotes appeared on the moon-licked canyon slope and broke the silence with their calls. This recalled an old superstition that the appearance of these animals in a mining camp prefaces either a long tie-up or a catastrophe.63

The Greeks would not have left the mines had the padrone system not been in effect.

Miners spent their free time repairing their cabins, but,

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This padrone has grown rich on his exploitation of Greek laborers whom he had induced to come to California, Utah, Nevada and Colorado by advertising in all Greek newspapers in the United States. These newspapers are widely circulated in Greece and Crete. On arrival these immigrants pay Skliris or his underlings $5 to $20 or more. This applies not only to Bingham Canyon, but coal mines at Castle Gate, Kenilworth, Helper, Sunnyside, Scofield, etc.

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in passenger trains made into sleeping cars in Bingham, and in six boxcars with kitchens at the Magna rail yards. When a sufficient labor force was brought together, work would be resumed, the mine officials said. Rumors that Utah Copper had three machine guns were denied by its officials; Jackling reiterated that the mines would “have nothing to do with the Western Federation”; and on October 10 strikebreakers, mostly Greek, were brought in by boxcar.68

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Heavily guarded by mine guards and deputies, Highland Boy, owned by Utah Consolidated, began work with 50 strikebreakers on October 9; and the next day a skeleton crew of 100 men, using one steam shovel, resumed work at Utah Copper. Fighting between guards and strikers broke out. In one incident an unarmed Greek, Mike Katrakis, was ordered back by Sam Lewman, a guard, and shot in the leg as he turned.69 The Greeks became enraged and met at the Acropolis Coffeehouse owned by the Leventis brothers, one of whom, John Leventis, was the acknowledged leader of the Cretan strikers. The streets were crowded and the miners were in an uproar over the shooting which required amputation of the striker’s leg. Deputies said the shooting was accidental, but two Italian women who witnessed the shooting said it was intentional. The Greeks reported their houses had been entered by “several hundred gunmen” and ammunition and money stolen. A thousand Greeks met in the Greek Orthodox Church in Salt Lake City and sent a telegram to their consul in Washington, D.C., protesting their treatment and asking for an investigation.70 Hundreds of strikebreakers were still arriving each day, and by the middle of October 5,000 were expected to be at work. The majority of these were miners from Mexico who had been driven out of their country by the revolution and gone to California. Another 500 had been sent to Utah Copper by a New York labor agency. A later force arrived from Arizona and Mexico, and another 150 arrived the second week in November from Mexico and Wyoming. Utah Copper built housing for them behind the Bingham and Garfield Railway Depot.71

Tooele smeltermen, as the workers at Garfield had done earlier, passed a resolution refusing to handle ore mined by strikebreakers.72 To bring attention to their claims that deputies were committing “unlawful acts” under legal sanction, strikers and sympathizers held a rally that filled the Salt Lake Theatre.73 On October 25 a battle in Galena Gulch, between strikebreakers and deputy sheriffs and strikers, ended with five men wounded of whom one, Harris Spinbon a Greek, died two weeks later.74 The next day John and Steve Leventis were taken into custody at their coffeehouse on suspicion of having been involved in the shooting. On November 4, 40 Greeks were arrested at the Acropolis Coffeehouse. Yanco Terzich, the Federation director, and E. G. Locke, the local secretary, tried to prevent the arrest of the men and were in turn arrested. A week later at the same coffeehouse, deputies went in to arrest Zaharias Rasiaskis (Rasiskis) in connection with the shooting at Galena Gulch, and in the fight that followed three Greeks were shot. One of them, George Padaladonis (Papandonis), died two days later. J. H. White and another officer, Phil Culleton, of the Bingham Police Department, went to the aid of an unarmed Greek who was being beaten by two guards. White arrested the guards and was discharged for his efforts. Culleton was given a future hearing.75 On October 31 Mr. Jackling of Utah Copper announced the company was ready to increase wages, as had been planned at the beginning of the strike, by 25 cents per day. This was to go into effect the following month and would include the Ely and McGill mines. This, Mr. Jackling said, was in accordance with a 1909 agreement that specified an automatic increase in wages when copper reached 17 cents a pound.76 The announcement had no effect on the miners. Six weeks had passed with no sign of capitulation on either side. The miners were in desperate need. The Butte, Montana, members of the Western Federation sent help by voting $7,000 for the relief of the strikers.77 Single men asking for relief received $3.00 per week and family men $6.00.78 The strikers hoped that the companies would be willing to make concessions as the

The importance of the strike cannot be underestimated. It broke the power of Leonidas Skliris who went to Mexico and became part owner of a mine there. The padrone system was brought into the open, and officials could not longer pretend it did not exist. The immigrant inspector’s report for the year included the following: The exploitation of foreign labor in this State by professional agents is an evil that should be eradicated. It was one of the causes that figured in the Bingham mining camp strike. With some metalliferous and coal mining companies, a miner or laborer seeking employment can not secure such until he comes with a recommend of a padrone to whom he is obliged to pay from $25.00 to $50.00 for his job and a small sum monthly to hold the job after it is obtained. Many padrones secure from foreign laborers several thousand dollars each month and presumably “divy” with “higher-up officials” under whom they are working.81 An after effect of the strike was a new immigrant minority in Bingham. Many of the

The newspaper serving the town, the Bingham Press Bulletin, was an instant mirror of the attitudes toward the immigrants and the disparate news they produced. A half century later it gives an interesting picture of the town. Samplings for the year 1918 follow: Mike Concas assault on Dan Cardich with deadly weapon. It seems Mike invited Dan outside at a party and then hit him over the head with shovel or club. (January 18) Jap Greek White Slave Case A queenly maiden from Missouri known to her friends in this section as Billie . . . crushingly beautiful, . . . worked in house in Copperfield for two years Japanese Yoko accused Billie of taking $100. Billie denied “cabbaging” money but beat it out of the neighborhood to Salt Lake with the Greek. Appears Jap loved Billie and Billie loved the Greek . . . found at the Newhouse Hotel. In Billie’s muff officers found $1,400 and a thousand dollars in diamonds. (February 1, March 8) Foreigners Registering This Week (February 8) Mucker terribly mangled by old shot. Greek employed in Montana-Bingham loses both eyes and is badly lacerated about the body when he strikes old blast with pick. (February 8) Bingham Oriental Enlists in Uncle Sam’s Army (February 15)

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World War I was now being fought in Europe, and American industry responded with increased production. In 1916, 14 million tons of metal ore were mined in Utah; 13 million of it in Bingham. This represented increased production of 77 per cent over the previous year. At Bingham and the Utah Copper Company mills in Magna, workers’ salaries had been increased better than 35 cents a day.83 An attempt was made by the IWW under Big Bill Haywood to promote a strike, but it was unsuccessful.84 The town reached the peak of its population and was in a continual state of flux from many forces.

During the duration of the strike, the mining industry suffered badly as did the smelting and milling plants, such as Garfield. Normal operations took five months to achieve. Business and transportation were seriously affected in the entire county.80 The killers of the two strikers were never apprehended.

Mexican strikebreakers remained. They now became the majority of cases on the court calendars, and gave Bingham its celebrated Lopez mystery.82

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November 15 termination date of the strikebreakers’ contracts approached. They hoped, too, that the inefficiency of the strikebreakers—caused by their lack of skill, their not being disciplined for regular work, and their being physically unaccustomed to hard labor—would force the companies to reconsider their position. The companies showed no sign of retreating, and the strikers saw the futility of their cause. The strike gradually died. The Federation remained unrecognized, and the 50-cent raise asked by the miners was denied. A 25-cent raise was granted to the muckers and miners; the surface men were raised 20 cents.79

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Italian Boarding and Rooming House in mining town of Bingham. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 16911.

Meatless and Wheatless Days (February 22) Commercial Club Gives Farewell to Serbians Serbians have already sent 90 to front (March 22) Italians Hold Patriotic Meeting in Commercial Club Greater part of program in Italian tongue (April 5) Chin Ming Silk Movie Operator Died Suddenly He was about 30 years of age and was one of the best Chinese in the camp. (April 5) J. A. Young Assists Foreigners to Fill Assessment Blanks Mr. Young spent the first of the week with the foreigners, many of whom were unable to speak English. Still he was greatly impressed with their honesty. Mr. Young is well pleased with the people of Bingham and was agreeably surprised

to find them so much better than he had been led to believe from the distorted accounts he had read of Bingham in the Salt Lake papers. (April 12) Vasil Malinch Killed in Apex Mine Native of Serbia (April 26) Finns Resent Broadside in Salt Lake Paper A big mass meeting Sunday night in Swedish-Finnish Temperance Hall to protest article in Salt Lake Tribune alleging 125 Finns as I.W.W.’s [had] been discharged from Bingham mines was branded falsehood. . . . believed caused by animosity towards their temperance movement and trying to clean up the camp, improving moral conditions. Denied Finns pro-German. . . . He also stated that the Finns were not strike agitators and that among them all in the great strike of 1912 not more than three or four voted for the strike and since America entered the war they were unanimous in their opposition to strikes. (May 10)

The Jesse Knight Miners are on Strike Demand a pay day every two weeks instead of monthly. (May 17) Patriotic Meeting for Red Cross A rousing address by Greek consul, Mr. Pappalion and he spoke in English and Greek. (May 24) Nearly 500 Draft Slackers Quizzed in Bingham A large number of foreigners expressed willingness to serve, but some preferred being sent back to native country. (May 31) Gamblers Raided One Japanese others Greek (June 21) Restaurants Discard Sugar Bowls (July 12) Sheriff Corless Warned Not to Destroy Booze Warning not to destroy anymore booze or may come in contact with T.N.T. Defender of booze says some miners connected with I.W.W. (August 9) Isolation of Huns Favored by Speaker (September 6) Call for Strike Monday Morning Not Heeded Called by M.M.W.I.U. 80 branch of I.W.W. from Butte (September 6)

Japanese Hold Liberty Mass Meeting (October 4)

The war catalyzed changes that were evolving. The Southern Europeans were leaving the mines, and Orientals were becoming more numerous. In 1919 the Utah Copper Mine listed the following 1,800 employees.85

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Serbians at Highland Boy gratified at conclusion of war celebrate with old-fashioned barbecue of ox. (November 15)

Influenza Spreading (October 4)

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Smith in Court on I.W.W. Charge Eugene Smith alleged financial agent of I.W.W. in Utah charged with obstructing the recruiting and enlistment services of U.S. and hampering the work of the military forces and alleged to have made statements that “War is only murder “ and that American soldiers—that is, the militia—murdered and cremated women and children in Colorado. (May 10)

Proprietors of Independent Grocery brought in whiskey marked as olive oil. (September 20)

John Sakellaris, native of Greece, invested entire savings $2,000 in bonds! First Greek citizen to invest such a large sum. Believe encouragement to other Greek citizens. (May 10)

Bingham Has a Big Honor Roll The Great Copper Company has 284 men for Uncle Sam’s Army. All nationalities represented (September 20)

The intensified production needed for war had brought a great number of men into mining and kept the copper and lead market favorable. With the end of hostilities, the oversupply of labor became evident, and the copper and lead market declined. By 1920 the mines had reached a low in output, and by 1921 metal mining was in “its worst condition in more than a generation . . . in condition of complete collapse by end of year.” Utah Copper was idle as were Utah Consolidated, Utah Apex, Ophir Hill Consolidated, and Utah Metal and Tunnel.86 In 1922 a sudden revival in the market opened Utah Copper in April, and by autumn the output was half of normal capacity. The increased mechanization of the mines had brought Table 3. Utah Copper Mine Employees, 1919 Americans

600 Foreigners: 1,200

Japanese and Koreans

416

Greeks

406

Italians

151

Armenians

Albanians

15 other nationalities

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Joe Melich Goes to New York Joe Melich prominent business man and official of Phoenix [Mine] will leave for New York to attend important national meetings of Serbian organization. (May 10)

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Laundry draping the street in the mining town of Bingham, 1917. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 15031.

problems which were new to the industry. Machinemen were needed, but the “old timers” preferred mucking, even though it paid less. The shortage of men was in part due to the Johnson Law which restricted immigration from any country to three per cent of that nationality in this country. This caused a drop of immigrants in 1921 to 355,000 compared with 1,218,480 in 1914 and 1,197,892 in 1918.87 Industry blamed the unions for their situation. The shortage of drill men, particularly of the better type of English-speaking miners is a serious matter. One reason as already stated is the difficulties under union regulations of teaching young men the technique of drilling and blasting rock underground. Some means must be found to do so.88 Although the mine operators during this time were still very conscious of a miner’s nationality, they stopped taking count of this specifically.

The reports of the Utah State Industrial Commission included the nationality of the dead, maimed, and injured for identification purposes and also the small sum that the companies paid to the survivors—most often in the miners’ native lands. The immigrants and native Americans had an especially good relationship during the twenties. One important reason for this can be traced to the Copper League Baseball that was organized in April of 1923.89 Bingham had had a baseball team since April 5, 1918, but the Copper League included all the mine and smelting camps. The League inspired community interest and feeling and gave the sons of immigrants an identification with their town and a sense of equality with the sons of the native born. The newspaper still reported killings and “disturbances” by “foreigners,” particularly bootleg violations, but there was no sign of the Ku Klux Klan incidents that occurred in Magna and Carbon County.90 The Bingham Press Bulletin

The depression of the 1930’s brought out a valiant effort by the town to relieve “the distress of unemployment.” Benefits were held continually. Jobs of cleaning out flumes and improving roads and culverts gave temporary help. A work center was organized for women whose husbands were without work. The women sewed and quilted for general relief of needy families for $1.25 a day. The reduction of copper production cut the employees’ time. The policy of the companies was to hire more men at less time to help alleviate the destitute condition of the miners. The WPA brought an education program for the unemployed—teaching English, Spanish, typewriting, stenography, bookkeeping, domestic arts, and shop. Schools were barely saved from closing. Union activity continued, helped by the Wagner Act which made strikes legal. An abortive strike occurred in 1931. A strike in the underground mines of Bingham and Lark, where the miners were members of International Mine, Mill and Smelter Workers, was called on October 12, 1936, and settled on December 18 after extreme suffering by the strikers’ families. The miners asked a pay increase and an eight-hour portal-to-portal shift as at Tintic. The settlement called for a 25-cent pay increase per shift and no discrimination because of strike activity.93

Their young people were marrying and raising families. Their sons, more often of Yugoslavic origins in contrast to those of Greek roots whose fathers left the mines in the twenties, were making mining, as it had been for the first Cornish miners, a hereditary occupation. The immigrants had fared better in Bingham than those in other western mining towns. Along with the crowded, narrow terrain with its long ribbon of Main Street that made for close, colorful, and tolerant living, were exceptional people dedicated to the welfare of the immigrants. There were many native Americans who gave the immigrants the same respect that they gave each other. There were many immigrants who were hard-working and grateful to be in America, people such as the Catholic Creedons who ran a boardinghouse, Charles Demas from Greece who owned a grocery store. They represented industriousness and integrity that the American has always prized. All mining towns had worthy immigrants, but in Bingham the liberal attitude of the professional

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The war years of the forties again brought great activity to Bingham, but the immigrant generation had become the steady workers, living a quiet life. Their children were working in the mines and serving in the Army. The street was still the recreation of the immigrants. “One of Bingham’s most used recreation centers is the sidewalk. The men of the town congregate on steps and low walls to talk things over. The conversations exchange opinions in several languages.”94

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By the end of the 1920’s, the pattern of immigration became apparent again. The older immigrants who had caused the “disturbances” which were recorded in court notes a decade or two earlier had been marrying and raising children. Seldom now were the old-country names of the Continent carried in the court notes, except, of course, for bootlegging. The newer immigrants of this hemisphere, particularly the Mexicans, were the disturbers of the peace and the authors of violence.92 Even the collapse of the economy did not change this.

Bootlegging involved the natives as well as the immigrants. It appeared at times to be a community project. A federal grand jury in May 1928, indicted 40 “citizenry, including people prominent in local circles” for conspiracy in running a bootlegging ring.91

Throughout the depression years the immigrant generation and their children continued their old-country celebrations. The Serbians on Lossovo Day (commemorating the battle of Serbs and Turks on the Plain of Blackbirds, June 28, 1389) barbecued young pigs and recalled their native country’s songs and dances. The Greeks on Saints’ Days barbecued lambs and sang epic songs of their 400-year bondage to the Turks. The Italians on their national holidays prepared pasta dishes and could well have been, for the moment, in Italy. The songs and dances of various native countries are remembered by the native Americans to this day. Doctors, especially, and other professional people were invited to the celebrations as a sign of respect.

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of February 28, 1925, said: “The Klan parade at Salt Lake Monday evening surprised even those who are supposed to be well posted.”

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The interior of the Highland Boy Community House, with Ada Duhigg and a group of women and girls participating in a basket-weaving activity. Duhigg, a deaconess of the Methodist Church, established and ran the Highland Boy Community House as a place of recreation for the youth of Bingham. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 17026.

people reflected on the general population and made for the more enlightened atmosphere. In comparison with Carbon County, for example, where doctors, lawyers, and teachers usually stayed a short time and were often hostile to the immigrants, Bingham’s professional people were long-time residents, actively interested in the immigrants. Doctor F. E. Straup, the autocratic mayor of Bingham for many years, came to the “camp” with less than a dollar expecting to die of consumption. He stayed, survived, and thrived. Dr. Russell G. Frazier (physician with Admiral Byrd’s 1939 antarctic expedition) and Dr. Paul Richards’ lives are interwoven with that of Bingham. Their work among the miners and their families is of the kind that inspires biographers. John Creedon suggests that with passing time, mine managers felt closer to their workers and sponsored athletic programs and other civic

projects for their benefit. The Gemmel Club was of great value to the community. Later managers lived in Bingham, and the absentee-landlord stigma was replaced with a sense of common ties. Louis Buchman, of Utah Copper; V. S. “Cap” Rood, superintendent of Apex; and Frank Wardlaw, of Highland Boy—all lived in the town. The Catholic priests of the twenties and thirties did a great service to the youth of Bingham with their baseball and basketball programs as part of the Catholic Youth Organization. The relations between the immigrant children and the “American” children were better and closer than in most mining and smelting towns and can be traced to the efforts of priests, the Franciscan Sisters, ministers, and other religious representatives working together for the young people. In Highland Boy a deaconess of the Methodist Church, Miss Ada Duhigg, came as a young woman and remained to help and comfort immigrant families. She kept a community house

open to all nationalities. There she held kindergarten, provided a gymnasium, conducted funeral services, and helped those who were in need. Miss Vern Baer, well-loved teacher of an army of Bingham children for 32 years, says of Miss Duhigg, Miss Duhigg was a saint, if one can use that word for anyone it should be used for her. In the 1926 snowslide when thirty-nine people were killed and houses destroyed, Miss Duhigg worked without thought of herself to bring relief to the families. In the Highland Boy disaster of 1932 when the entire area was burned to the ground with stills blowing up, Miss Duhigg united the town to provide clothing and bedding. In tragedies and in the ordinary incidents of everyday life Miss Duhigg was indispensable. She was the intermediary between us at the school and the children’s parents. No one did more to unite the immigrants and the native Americans and make Bingham a closely knit community than Miss Ada Duhigg.95 With people such as these, with the vigorous life of which they were a part, and in the narrow, protected canyon that gave security,

the immigrants found their new-world home. Their exodus in the early 1960’s, made necessary by the needs of the copper industry to expand their operations into the canyon, was their second uprooting. They lingered until the final moment. To leave their town was as hard for them as the leaving of their native lands when they were young. The old-timers feel their dispersion strongly and recall with nostalgia their town that has now only vestiges of what it had been. They know with regret that some day there will be no trace of the life that had been lived in Bingham Canyon.

Web Extra Read more about Helen Papanikolas and Utah mining at history.utah.gov.

Notes 1

Miriam B. Murphy, “Helen Zeese Papanikolas (1917–): A Unique Voice in America,” in Worth Their Salt: Notable But Often Unnoted Women in Utah, ed. Colleen Whitley (Logan: Utah State University Press, 1996), 243–56; Philip F. Notarianni, “In Memoriam, Helen Zeese Papanikolas, 1917–2004,” Utah Historical Quarterly 73, no. 1 (Winter 2005): 87–88; Helen Z. Papanikolas, “Growing Up Greek in Helper, Utah,” Utah Historical Quarterly 48, no. 3 (Summer 1980), 244–60; and Katherine Kitterman, “Helen Zeese Papanikolas, Historian and Folklorist,” Better Days 2020, accessed

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Dismantling of the Thompson Building, Bingham Canyon, Utah, 1962. With the expansion of operations of Kennecott Copper Corporation, homes and businesses were purchased and dismantled. The Thompson Building had served as a rooming house, a bar, barbershop, and even a jail at one time. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 15037.

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5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18

19 20 21

August 15, 2019, utahwomenshistory.org. David A. Gerber, “Immigration Historiography at the Crossroads,” Reviews in American History 39, no. 1 (2011): 74–86. Charles S. Peterson and Brian Q. Cannon, The Awkward State of Utah: Coming of Age in the Nation, 1896–1945 (Salt Lake City: Utah State Historical Society; University of Utah Press, 2015), 121–27. For further reading on Bingham Canyon and the strike of 1912, see, among others, Gunther Peck, Reinventing Free Labor: Padrones and Immigrant Workers in the North American West, 1880–1930 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2000) and “Padrones and Protest: ‘Old’ Radicals and ‘New’ Immigrants in Bingham, Utah, 1905–1912,” Western Historical Quarterly 24, no. 2 (1993): 157–78; Bruce D. Whitehead and Robert E. Rampton, “Bingham Canyon,” in From the Ground Up: The History of Mining in Utah, ed. Colleen Whitley (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2006), 230–35; John S. McCormick and John R. Sillito, A History of Utah Radicalism: Startling, Socialistic, and Decidedly Revolutionary (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2011), 141–43; Philip J. Mellinger, Race and Labor in Western Copper: The Fight for Equality, 1896–1918 (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1995); Charles Caldwell Hawley, A Kennecott Story: Three Mines, Four Men, and One Hundred Years, 1897–1997 (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 2014), 116–21; and Jeffrey D. Nichols, “The Fall of Leonidas Skliris, ‘Czar of the Greeks,’” History To Go, accessed August 15, 2019, historytogo.utah.gov /greek-czar/. Beatrice Spendlove, “A History of Bingham Canyon, Utah” (Master’s thesis, University of Utah, 1937), 114. Salt Lake Tribune, July 6, 1947. U.S., Bureau of the Census, “10th Census, 1880, Utah,” Bingham Canyon (MS schedules, Microfilm File, Utah State Historical Society, Salt Lake City). Bingham Press Bulletin, December 30, 1922. Utah Works Projects Administration, Utah: A Guide to the State (New York, 1945), 318. Spendlove, “Bingham Canyon,” 101. Bingham Press Bulletin, December 30, 1922. Helen Zeese Papanikolas, “The Greeks of Carbon County,” Utah Historical Quarterly, XXII (April, 1954), 143–64. Spendlove, “Bingham Canyon,” 112. WPA, Utah Guide, 318. Thomas Arthur Rickard, The Utah Copper Enterprise (San Francisco, 1919), 41. Spendlove, “Bingham Canyon,” 129–34. State of Utah, Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, First Report of the State Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics For the Years 1911–1912 (Salt Lake City, 1913), 31. Personal interview, January 17, 1964. Unless otherwise noted information regarding the strike was obtained from the following men who were either strikers at Murray or Bingham in 1912 or closely associated with the strikers: Spiro Stratis (Stratopoulos), Gus Delis, Nick Latsinos, George Papanikolas, Ernest Benardis, and Zack Tallas. Mr. P. S. Marthakis, Salt Lake City mathematics teacher for 41 years and state legislator for 10 years, was instrumental in obtaining some of these interviews. Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, Report . . . 1911–1912, 31. Thomas Burgess, Greeks in America (Boston, 1913), 165. Tribune, September 20, 1912.

22 The word padrone meaning patron or master came from the Italians who initiated the system in America. 23 S. Frank Miyamoto, “The Japanese Minority in the Pacific Northwest,” Pacific Northwest Review, LIV (October, 1963), 143–49. 24 Information from Walter Bolic from the reminiscences of his father, Nick Bolic, Croatian immigrant and longtime resident of Bingham. 25 Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, Report . . . 1911–1912, 30. 26 Tribune, September 20, 1912. 27 Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, Report . . . 1911–1912, 31. 28 Tribune, September 18, 1912. 29 Deseret Evening News (Salt Lake City), September 18, 1912. 30 Tribune, September 18, 1912; WPA, Utah Guide, 320. 31 Tribune, September 18, 1912. 32 Deseret Evening News, September 17, 1912. 33 Ibid., September 18, 1912. 34 Tribune, September 18, 1912. 35 Deseret Evening News, September 17, 1912. 36 Ibid., September 18, 1912. 37 Tribune, September 19, 1912. 38 Deseret Evening News, September 19, 1912. 39 Tribune, September 19, 1912. 40 Salt Lake Herald Republican, September 19, 1912. 41 Tribune, Deseret Evening News, and Herald Republican, September 20, 1912. 42 Ibid. 43 State of Utah, Governors’ Papers (William H. Spry [1909–1916]), correspondence files. The Governors’ Papers are in the Utah State Archives, Salt Lake City. Signatures of Greek miners and the fees they paid Skliris were collected in a notebook by Louis Theos. 44 Herald Republican, September 20, 1912. 45 Tribune, September 19, 1912. 46 Deseret Evening News, September 19, 1912. 47 Ibid. 48 Herald Republican, September 20, 1912. The extremely frugal habits of the immigrants that enabled them to help their impoverished families and provide dowries for their sisters in their native lands was a vital aim of Mediterraneans that Americans were incapable of understanding. In his report to the Department of Commerce, the government immigrant inspector gave the following information on drafts and money orders sent to foreign countries. Bingham Canyon postoffice: $295,751.56 Citizens State Bank of Bingham: $121,499.87 Bingham State Bank: $142,839.59 Victor Anselmo, Italian storekeeper: $21,028.00

The report continued: “Besides the foregoing there was a good deal of money sent through the Salt Lake banks and postoffices and a number of miners have safety deposits containing gold and silver and many others carry gold and paper money in belts around their waists. According to the bankers of Bingham Canyon, only about thirty per cent of the money paid out by the mining companies remains in Bingham Canyon.” (Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, Report . . . 1911–1912, 31–32.) 49 Tribune, September 19, 1912. 50 Ibid.

70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82

On November 21, 1913, Lopez shot Juan Valdez, who was found dead with a knife in his hand. Quarrel over Mexican politics was believed to be the reason by some, but the motive was never positively established. After the shooting Lopez armed

On the 1st of December, lump sulphur, damp gunpowder, and cayenne pepper were lighted near the mine entrance, and the fires kept going for five days. On December 15th the mine was ransacked. All that was found was Stefano’s blanket.

83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95

John J. Creedon, “Down Memory Lane,” Bingham Press Bulletin, November 22, December 6, 13, 1963, January 3, 10, 17, 1964, believes the mystery has been overly romanticized. Lopez knew the labyrinth of the mine well, and there were several openings by which he could have escaped. Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, Report. . . 1915–1916, 17. Spendlove, “Bingham Canyon,” 73–74. Spendlove, “Bingham Canyon,” 112. State of Utah, Industrial Commission, Report of the Industrial Commission of Utah [1920–1922] (Salt Lake City, [1923]), 938. Bingham News, December 30, 1922. Ibid. Ibid., April 28, 1923. Papanikolas, “Greeks of Carbon County,” U.H.Q., XXII, 159–62. Bingham Bulletin, May 3, 1928. For examples, see ibid., December 18, 1930, March 12, August 27, September 17, 1931, November 3, 1932. Tribune, November 15, 1936. Ibid., January 8, 1950. Personal interview with Miss Vern Baer.

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Work at the mine was stopped, putting 200 men out of work. Guards were doubled and outlets sealed. Four men took a bale of hay inside and set it on fire in an attempt to smoke out Lopez. Three shots echoed in the tunnel killing one man and injuring another. A posse charged the mine, Lopez fired on it and disappeared deeper into the mine.

On November 26 Lopez returned to Bingham and went to the house of a friend, Mike Stefano. There he gathered food, clothing, a rifle, and 40 rounds of ammunition. Stefano informed the police who traced Lopez to the entrance of the Apex Mine. Although trapped, Lopez had the advantage of being familiar with the miles of tunnels and pillars that could hide him.

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59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69

himself with a rifle and cartridges and left Bingham. A posse followed his tracks in the fresh snow to a ranch near Utah Lake. Lopez started firing and killed three of the four officers. Other posses arrived but found no trace of Lopez.

57 58

Ibid., September 20, 1912. Ibid. Herald Republican, September 20, 1912. Deseret Evening News, September 20, 1912. Herald Republican, September 20, 1912. Deseret Evening News, October 11, 12, 22, 26, November 9, 1912; Tribune, October 18, 1912. Tribune, September 21, 1912. Frank Stuenenberg, governor of Idaho (1897–1901), was killed by a bomb in 1905 during mine labor troubles. The court case won renown because of the lawyers— William E. Borah represented the state and Clarence Darrow the accused. Deseret Evening News, September 22, 1912. Ibid. Ibid., September 24, 1912. Herald Republican, September 24, 1912. Deseret Evening News, September 27, 1912. Tribune, September 26, 1912. Ibid., September 28, 1912. Ibid., October 2, 1912. Ibid., October 5, 1912. Deseret Evening News, October 5, 9, 10, 1912. Tribune, October 12, 1912; Deseret Evening News, October 11, 1912. Deseret Evening News, October 12, 1912. Ibid., October 14, 15, November 2, 14, 1912. Ibid., October 7, 14, 1912. Tribune, October 18, 1912 Deseret Evening News, October 25, 1912. Ibid., October 26, November 4, 12, 13, 14, 1912. Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, Report . . . 1911–1912, 30–31. Tribune, October 31, 1912. Deseret Evening News, October 23, 1912. Bureau of Immigration, Labor and Statistics, Report . . . 1911–1912, 31. Ibid. Ibid., 33. Rickard, Utah Copper Enterprise. Raphael Lopez was a lessee in the Apex Mine. He was put in jail for a short time for “knocking down two Greeks molesting girls.” The sheriff, misinterpreting the situation, was said to have pistol whipped him. This, according to the Bingham Standard, resulted in legendary hate for the law.

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The Shared History of Jabaloyas, Spain, and Utah BY R AÚ L I B Á Ñ E Z H E RVÁS , T RA N S L AT E D BY A N G É LI C A R E A L SE R R A N O

304 Jabaloyas is a small village located in the province of Teruel, Spain. It lies at 1,405 meters (4,609 feet) above sea level in the mountainous region of the Sierra de Albarracín. For years the population of the small town has declined, primarily due to migration. At present, the number of inhabitants is sixty-five, compared to 719 in 1920. The people of Jabaloyas, or Jabaloyanos, have long known that many of their relatives left their homes and moved to America at the beginning of the twentieth century. At least 125 men and women born in this village packed their bags to cross the ocean between 1907 and 1931; a great many of them came to the state of Utah. A few of these people settled down abroad, but most of them returned to Spain. They came back not only with money but also with traditions that have been kept alive till now. Their descendents, even today, treasure objects brought home as a remembrance of their stay in the United States. The village of Jabaloyas would like to thank Utah for giving its people the opportunity to

improve their lives by working there, at a time when the hope of progress was very restricted in their home. It would be a great pleasure and honor for Jabaloyas and Utah to become sister communities, as thanks for and acknowledgment of our shared history. Even though contemporary Jabaloyanos knew of their ancestors’ sojourn in the United States, they possesed few details about that experience. Some time ago, I decided to learn more about the exodus.1 The first written documentation I found appeared in the 1920 census of Jabaloyas, which established that an outsized number of townspeople left for America.2 Persuaded by this information—and, mainly, because of my interest in the subject—I began to research in earnest in early 2017. I appealed first to the descendents of the migrants and then returned again to the 1920 town census. The oral sources opened two lines of research. On the one hand, on several occassions, the interviewees referred to the existence of a mine, which confirmed that these immigrants were

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A panoramic image of Jabaloyas, Spain. Jabaloyas is a small village in the province of Teruel, located in the mountainous region of the Sierra de Albarracín. Raúl Ibáñez Hervás, photographer. Courtesy of the author.

going to work as miners. However, they could provide neither information about the mine’s name nor about its location in North America. This proves a quick memory loss among the generations; that is, no more than one hundred years were needed to forget the name of the place where the majority of Jabaloyanos lived in the United States. On the other hand, a great number of interviewees emphasized that many of their relatives had traveled to the American West to work as shepherds. Meanwhile, the 1920 census mentioned the destination “Vinyant Canyon America,” “Vinyant Norteamérica,” or “Vinyan Canyon América del Norte” several times, particularly referring to eighteen residents of Jabaloyas. Research into this locale yielded no positive results. The first clue of where the emigrants may have ended up came from the World War I draft registration card of Manuel Pradas, a Jabaloyano then living in the United States and working as a miner in Utah’s Bingham Canyon: the Vinyant Canyon of the 1920 census.3

Due to this discovery, many more avenues of research opened to me, especially through electronic databases. I was able to increase the tally of Jabaloyanos who moved to the United States (from the fifty-two people recorded in the census of 1920 to 125 at present) and the information collected about each of these immigrants. Emigrants from Jabaloyas might have first learned of Utah through their relationships with the people of the Basque Country, who had a longer tradition of traveling to the far West.4 Once the migration began, word of what the American West seemed to offer—the need for a young workforce, the advantages of a developed country, and the promise of a dignified life—spread like wildfire in the province of Teruel. This word of mouth had a substantial impact, encouraging many in Teruel to make the long journey. Several towns in the province (including La Puebla de Valverde, Jabaloyas, Camarena, and Teruel) became hubs of migration to the United States from Teruel, prompting the people of neighboring places to leave for

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306

Selected locations in the province of Teruel, Spain. Map created by Deb Miller, Utah Division of State History.

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307 An aerial view of the Utah Copper Company mine, as seen on May 7, 1926. Shipler Commercial Photography. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 25185.

the same North American locations. We have, to date, recorded the full names of one hundred people from the province of Teruel destined for the state of Utah. Of those one hundred Turolenses, eighty-eight went to Bingham Canyon, fifty-one of them from Jabaloyas; that is, 58 percent of the provincial total (see table one). Despite the difficulties of mining work, the opportunities available in Utah were markedly better than those available in an impoverished Sierra de Albarracín in the early twentieth century. Spanish lands were in the hands of a very few people, the so-called señoritos, who set the course of the economy in their villages. When the wealthy men wanted charcoal made, day laborers could eat with the money they earned; however, when the landowners decided otherwise, workingmen and their families simply went hungry. Even when the people of the Sierra could work, they still earned only a comparatively small amount. The average wage for a

daylaborer in Spain at this time was about 1.40 pesetas. In contrast, one could earn between $2.20 and $3.90 a day in Bingham Canyon—an amount equivalent to between 11.70 pesetas and 20.70 pesetas per day. This gave immigrants a shot at saving as much money as possible.5 The significance of this opportunity is evident in the fact that entire families—father, mother, and sons—left to improve their lives. The names of relatives, even friends from neighboring places, who went together to Ellis Island have been found in the municipal archives. Sometimes, only parents, the elderly, and the youngest sons stayed in the village. Most of the working-age residents embarked for America, whether they were married or unmarried. In 1920 alone, fifty-two Jabaloyanos were away in North America. Yet, all told, this was predominantly a movement of young men. Once they had settled down in North America, other family members (primarily

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308

The locations within Teruel province from which emigrants left for North America in the first third of the twentieth century. Map created by Raúl Ibáñez Hervás. Courtesy of the author.

A map indicating the main destination states for the known 125 Jabaloyanos who traveled to the United States from 1907 to 1931. Map created by Raúl Ibáñez Hervás. Courtesy of the author.

Ogden

Park City

sons and wives) joined them. Throughout the years of migration, however, 40 percent of the migrants from Jabaloyas to Utah were between sixteen and twenty years old. This was a youth migration. In older age groups the percentages decline, and those over thirty-five years old made up only 13 percent of migrants. Men constituted over 95 percent of the total, and unmarried immigrants (62 percent) prevailed over married ones (35 percent). Although Jabaloyas became the center of this phenomenon, it also spread to nearby places, if more modestly. These included Bezas and Valdecuenca (13 people from each), Toril y Masegoso (10), Saldón (7), and Terriente (6). A total of 180

They apparently preferred to leave for the United States from the French harbor of Le Havre, although it was farther from their home than ports such as Valencia. The ocean crossing from Le Havre lasted from eight to eleven days, while stops and layovers lengthened the voyage from Barcelona, Bilbao, Burdeos, Liverpool, Marseille, or Vigo to more than twenty days. It’s also possible that Spanish emigrants preferred French harbors because the Rif War in Morocco (1911–1927) had led to tighter controls in Spanish harbors and an increased risk of being detained as fugitives. Further, Spanish laws forbade young men from migrating if they had not completed compulsory military service. Leaving from foreign harbors allowed the Turolenses to elude Spanish authorities who could end their adventure. Once aboard, practically all of these emigrants traveled third class. The ticket cost around 300 pesetas at that time, which, in comparison with the daily wages, would require working and saving for nearly a year to purchase a ticket to the United States. There were times when the emigrants resorted to the sale of land, help from relatives, loans, or other methods to pay for their passage. Although more than six thousand kilometers divide the Sierra de Albarracín and North America, this distance did not deter at least 125 Jabaloyanos, men and women, from leaving for the new continent. This migration gave them the opportunity to work, on the one hand, in the great copper mines of Bingham Canyon in Utah and, on the other hand, as shepherds in the neighboring state of Idaho, among other jobs and destinations (see appendix).

Mariano Jarque in the United States. Courtesy of Teodoro and Eduardo Pradas.

The testimony of the immigrants’ descendants, combined with the documentary record, allows us to piece together an understanding of

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Bingham Canyon

Destination

emigrants left from the villages of the Sierra in the first third of the twentieth century. They made their journeys as groups of friends or relatives, rarely as individuals, embarking from various European harbors they had reached by train or ship. Sometimes they traveled to Valencia by land and from there by ship or train to Barcelona, en route to French harbors. Others made the trip from Spain to European ports by switching between animal-drawn vehicles and trains or even by walking.

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Table 1. From Jabaloyas to Utah, 1910–1920

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their arrival in the United States and how they adapted to their new lives. The first documented Jabaloyano in Utah seems to have been Bruno Monleón Domingo, who left the French harbor of Le Havre on May 24, 1913, and arrived at Ellis Island on May 30 that same year. Monleón—unmarried and thirty-three years old—was destined for Ogden, Utah, with Joaquín Sánchez as his contact there. He was a “farm laborer” who reached New York with just ten dollars in his pocket. On his journey, Monleón was accompanied by Román Mendiguren, a Basque with the same destination and contact in Ogden.6 The daughter of Urbano Rodríguez, a Jabaloyano and a shepherd, recalls that her father suffered so much from dizziness after his voyage that he had to stay at a hospital for two days upon his arrival to get well. Meanwhile, Marcelino Martínez Valero, en route to Bingham Canyon in 1917, was detained for four days on Ellis Island until his brother was contacted and Martínez could be sent to Utah by train.7 Regina Rodríguez, a Jabaloyano who is currently eighty-eight years old, relates that her father had “muchos

problemas” understanding his employer because none of them could speak the same language.8 Although people such as Lucio Domingo Sánchez, who knew a hotel owner in Ogden and arrived in that city to work as a laborer, had a different experience, mining and shepherding were the two main occupations of the Jabaloyanos who came to the American West.9 Many people in Jabaloyas raised cattle at that time and, in the United States, their knowledge was appreciated. Because of the danger and difficulty of mining, some of the migrants, rather than staying for long, continuous stints at the mines, alternated between mining in Utah and shepherding in Idaho. This was the experience of twenty-three-year-old Joaquín Domingo Valero, who seems to have been the first Jabaloyano headed for Bingham Canyon. By July 2, 1914, Domingo was working as a “trackman” for the Utah Copper Company, earning $2.20 a day. He stayed at this job for only a short time, until September 15, 1914, but had returned to Utah Copper again by February 1915.10

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Bingham, Utah, 1926. Note the town’s cramped layout, necessitated by its canyon geography. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 15070.

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Altogether, most Turolenses lived in the United States temporarily; by the 1930s, their presence in Bingham Canyon practically disappeared. Only a few of them stayed abroad and married, beginning a new life and gaining American citizenship. Bernardino Lázaro, a man from Jabaloyas who married Teresa Gil in 1922 in Ogden’s Saint Joseph Church, was one such example.13 Francisco Jiménez Navarro, another Jabaloyano who worked in Bingham Canyon, also married in the United States, to an American; their daughter visited Jabaloyas years ago.14 Even though most of these Spaniards did not stay in America, their time there did have a cultural impact in their hometowns, with the adoption of American hobbies like poker or boxing.

Most of the Turolenses in Bingham Canyon worked as “trackmen,” charged with building railroad tracks for the mine’s train, for which they earned $3.40 a day. Some of them contracted pulmonary disease as a result, falling ill after returning to Jabaloyas. Like Manuel Domingo, who moved from trackman to “second helper,” some of them were promoted to positions such as “mucker” or “second helper” that resulted in

a wage increase and greater responsibilities.12 Many Jabaloyanos adapted themselves quite well to North American. For instance, a “Spanish House” existed in Bingham Canyon, where compatriots could meet and receive mail from their relatives in Europe.

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Life in Bingham Canyon was not easy: some three hundred deaths occurred each year from accidents and occupational diseases, mainly silicosis. This is what happened to Manuel Pradas Marco and Fermín Monleón Sánchez, who died from the complications of mining.11 Dangers like these impelled some immigrants, after years of working in a mine, to become shepherds, an occupation they could assume more readily because of the traditional connection between Jabaloyas and stock raising. In still other cases, though not so many, it was just the opposite: Idaho shepherds moved to Utah mines.

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A Utah Copper Company personnel card for Manuel Domingo Pradas, one of hundreds of such cards located in the rich archives of the Kennecott Copper Corporation held at the University of Utah. Note the incorrect spelling of Jabaloyas (notetakers on both sides of the Atlantic rendered placenames according to what they heard) and the evidence of movement in the seemingly mundane details recorded on this card. Kennecott Copper Corporation, Utah Copper Division Records, Accn1440, Special Collections, J. Willard Marriott Library, University of Utah.

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Francisco Gimenez at his home in North America. Courtesy of Teodoro and Eduardo Pradas.

The early twentieth century was a time characterized by necessity and poverty in the rural homes of the Sierra de Albarracín. The chain migration from the Sierra to the United States, particularly Utah, created a chance to work and save money overseas. The village of Jabaloyas would like to thank the state of Utah for the opportunity it offered at a moment when misery surrounded Spanish families. Make no mistake, many people improved their lives in Spain because of their hard work abroad, investing their savings in houses, farms, and agricultural machinery. Our research further proves that these young sojourners were involved in the economic and social development of the American West. Therefore, the townhall of Jabaloyas has started the required arrangements with Utah authorities so that a sister community arrangement can become a reality. This process is complicated, however, because the town of Bingham Canyon, the destination of these emigrants, was disincorporated and dismantled in 1971, in part to widen the mine. Relatives of those immigrants to Utah still live in the village. Today, the sixty-five residents of Jabaloyas are eager to see how this process will play out, as they work to recover the connection their parents and grandparents had with Utah a century ago. Notes 1

Initially, I based my research on the 1920 municipal census and the records kept on Ellis Island. I then widened

2 3 4

5 6

8 9

10 11 12 13 14

my research to collections such as United States Census (1900, 1910, 1920, 1930); United States World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917–1918; United States, Panama Canal Zone, Employment Records and Sailing Lists, 1905– 1937; United States Public Records 1970–2009; New York, New York Passenger and Crew Lists, 1909, 1925–1957; New York Book Indexes to Passenger Lists, 1906–1942; New York, New York City Marriage Records, 1829–1940; New York, New York City Municipal Deaths, 1795–1949; Florida, Key West Passenger Lists 1898–1945; Florida Deaths, 1877–1939; and the Kennecott Copper Corporation, Utah Copper Division Records, Accn1440, Special Collections, J. Willard Marriott Library, University of Utah, Salt Lake City, Utah (hereafter Kennecot Copper Corporation Records). Another key element has been the collection of oral testimonies from the children, grandchildren, and other relatives of the immigrants. To that end, we established a model file questionnaire so that basic information from the descendants of those immigrants to the USA can be collected. Teodoro Pradas, Fermín Yagües, and Eduardo Pradas have been a real asset to this work. Holly George and Betsey Wellend consulted the personnel files within the Kennecott Copper Corporation Records . Digitized files managed by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City were also so helpful. Located in the municipal archives of Jabaloyas, Teruel, Spain. I would like to thank Eduardo Pencique for helping in this document digitization. United States World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917–1918, s.v. “Manuel Pradas,” birthdate June 11, 1896, accessed August 16, 2019, ancestry.com. See Iker Saitua, Basque Immigrants and Nevada’s Sheep Industry: Geopolitics and the Making of an Agricultural Workforce, 1880–1954 (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2019). Converting dollars to pesetas, we could say that one dollar was worth 5.30 pesetas. New York Passenger Arrival Lists (Ellis Island), 1892– 1924, s.v. “Bruno Monleon,” event date May 30, 1913, accessed August 16, 2019, familysearch.org; see also U.S., WWI Civilian Draft Registrations, 1917–1918, s.v. “Domingo, Bruno M.,” birthdate May 8, 1879, accessed August 16, 2019, ancestry.com. New York, Passenger and Crew Lists (including Castle Garden and Ellis Island), 1820–1957, s.v. “Marcelino Martínez Valero,” arrival date January 15, 1918, accessed August 16, 2019, ancestry.com. Regina Rodríguez, interview with the author, Jabaloyas, Spain. New York, Passenger and Crew Lists, s.v. “Lucio Domingo Sánchez,” arrival date August 12, 1914, accessed August 16, 2019, ancestry.com. Domingo’s contact was José Laucirica, a hotel owner in Ogden. “Domingo, Joaquin,” I. Personnel records, Kennecott Copper Corporation Records. I would like to thank Holly George and Betsey Wellend for finding these cards. “Deaths,” Salt Lake Telegram, December 3, 1931, 15; see also “Monleon, Fermin” and “Pradas, Manuel,” I. Personnel records, Kennecott Copper Corporation Records. “Domingo, Manuel,” I. Personnel records, Kennecott Copper Corporation Records. Utah, Select Marriages, 1887–1966, s.v., “Teresa Gil,” marriage date July 29, 1922, accessed August 16, 2019, ancestry.com. Original document collected by Teodoro Pradas.

Appendix. Emigrants from Jabaloyas to Utah Do you have a relative or friend to join?

Surname

Name

Job

Company

Almazán Jiménez

Aurelio

Miner (mucker)

Utah Consolidated Mining

Almazán Lázaro

Miguel

Laborer; sheepherder

Almazán Rodríguez

Aureliano

Laborer; sheepherder

R. Co. Rich

Domingo

Florencio

Miner (trackman); farm laborer

Utah Copper

Domingo

Andrés

Miner (workman)

Cousin: Placido Rodriguez, P2 P2, 1, Bk 182 Contnº 2, Bingham Canyon

Domingo

Antonio

Miner

Andres Domingo: Bingham Canyon

Domingo Aliaga

Pascual

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Friend: Miguel Jarque, RR 1, Box 182, Bingham Canyon

Domingo Almazán

Emilio

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Brother-in-law: Serafin Rodriguez, RRJ 153, Bingham Canyon

Domingo Domingo

Lucio

Miner

Domingo Domingo

Manuel

Miner; sheepherder

Domingo Domingo

Federico

Laborer

Domingo Pérez

Casildo

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Domingo Pradas

Manuel

Miner (trackman, 2d helper)

Utah Copper

Domingo Sánchez

Lucio

Laborer

Brother-in-law: “Luni” Domingo, Bingham Canyon

Cousin: Manuel Pradas, Thomas Ave., New York

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Donato Sánchez

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Brother: Manuel Domingo, Box 88, Bingham, Utah

Manuel Domingo, P.O. 283, Park City, Utah

Jose Laucirica, Ogden

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Utah Copper; Highland Boy

Domingo Valero

Joaquín

Miner (trackman)

Fortea Domingo

Lucio

Miner

García

Daniel

Miner

Gómez

Francisco

Farmer

Friend: Pedro Martínez, Bingham Canyon

Hernández Aspas

Fidel

Miner

Uncle: Manuel Pradas, P.O. Box 247, Bingham Canyon

Jarque

Francisco

Miner (mucker)

Jarque Aspas

Tomás

Miner

Jarque Barrera

Antonio

Miner

Jarque Domingo

Mariano

Miner

Brother: Manuel Jarque, RR 1, 130 y 182, Bingham Canyon

Jarque Marzo

Antonio

Miner

Uncle: Miguel Jarque, RRJ 153, Bingham Canyon

Jarque Monleón

Miguel

Miner (mucker)

Utah Consolidated Mining

Friend: Manuel Domingo, Bingham, Utah

Jarque Soriano

Conrada

Jarque Soriano

Gregoria

Jarque Soriano

Miguel

Sheepherder

R. Co. Rich

Father: Manuel Jarque, 125 West 1st Street, Salt Lake City

Jarque Soriano

Urbano

Jarque Torres

Francisco

Miner; sheepherder

Donato Sánchez

Jiménez Navarro

Francisco

Miner

Lázaro Casino

Cándido

Laborer; miner (trackman)

Lázaro Lázaro

Bernardino

Utah Consolidated Mining

Utah Metal Mining

Utah Copper

Name

Job

Company

Do you have a relative or friend to join?

Martín

Alberto

Miner

Utah Consolidated Mining

Florencio Domingo, Rameray, RR Box 1 -153

Martínez Lázaro

Joaquín

Miner

Martínez Valero

Lucio

Miner (mucker)

Highland Boy

Andrés Domingo, Bingham Canyon

Martínez Valero

Marcelino

Miner

Brother: Lucio Martínez, 89 Box en Bingham Canyon

Monleón Domingo

Bruno

Farm laborer

Joaquín Sánchez, Ogden

Monleón Sánchez

Fermín

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Uncle: Miguel Jarque, RR 1, Box 182, Bingham Canyon

Murciano Martínez

Cristóbal

Laborer; sheepherder

John Etcheverri

Cousin: Donato Sanchez, Hotel, Burley, Idaho

Murciano Sánchez

Cesáreo

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Friend: Telesforo Rodriguez, RR 1, Box 182 Cont., Bingham C.

Navarro Jarque

Pascual

Miner

Palomares Sánchez

Joaquín

Miner

Friend: Lucio Domingo, Jante Hotel, Bingham Canyon

Pradas

Manuel

Miner

Friend: Lucio Domingo, Jante Hotel, Bingham Canyon

Pradas Brinquis

Manuel

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper; Utah Consolidated Mining

Pradas Casino

Celestino

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Cousin: Candido Lazaro, Box 1265, Bingham Canyon

Pradas Gimeno

Manuel

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper; Utah Consolidated Mining

Friend: Miguel Jarque, RR 1, Box 182, Bingham Canyon

Pradas Jiménez

Jorge

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper; Utah Consolidated Mining

Pradas Marco

Manuel

Miner (trackman, mucker)

Utah Copper; Utah Consolidated Mining

Rodríguez

Julián

Miner

Cousin: Manuel Rodríguez, RRJ 153, Bingham Canyon

Rodríguez

Rafael

Miner

Uncle: Joaquin Rodriguez, “P2 Print,” 266, Bingham Canyon

Rodríguez Jarque

Miguel

Miner

Uncle: Telesforo Rodriguez, RRJ 153, Bingham Canyon

Rodríguez Pradas

Manuel

Miner

Utah Con. Munigles

Brother: Serafin Rodriguez, RR B. 1265, Bingham Canyon

Rodríguez Pradas

Serafín

Miner

Utah Consolidated Mining Co.

Brother: Manuel Rodriguez, N5 Amio, Bingham Canyon

Rodríguez Rodríguez

Cristóbal

Miner

Rodríguez Rodríguez

Telesforo

Miner

Joseph B. White

Friend: José Pradas, American Hotel, Bingham Canyon

Rodríguez Sánchez

Gabriel

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Cousin: Fermin Monleón Sánchez, RRJ 153, Bingham Canyon

Sánchez Alpuente

Pedro

Miner (trackman)

Utah Copper

Nephew: Joaquín Palomares, Bingham Canyon

Sánchez Zarzoso

Benjamín

Miner; laborer

Justo Domingo, Bingham Canyon

Soriano

Francisca

Valero Sánchez

Emilio

Miner

Brother: Pascual Valero, 89 Box en Bingham Canyon

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Surname

314

Cousin: Miguel Jarque, 97 Thomson, NY

Cousin: Aureliano Almazan, Fonda Española, 12 S. 1st West 51, Salt Lake City

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This Winter, Share and Support Utah History

315 Skiing at Alta, March 19, 1939. Shipler Commercial Photographers. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 26054.

When you support the Utah State Historical Society, you support the Utah Historical Quarterly and more: • The annual Utah State History conference • I Love History, History to Go, Monuments and Markers websites • Oral histories • UHQ blog, web extras, and podcasts • Historical Society events and trainings • The best Utah books and articles awards Become a member of the Utah State Historical Society today. You or your gift recipient will receive four issues of Utah Historical Quarterly, as well as invitations to events. Learn more at history.utah.gov/utah-state-historical-society/ or call (801) 245–7231.

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Helen M. Post’s Photographs of Twentieth-Century Navajos

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Emerging from the Archive

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C A R LY L E

In a May 1940 article from the Saturday Evening Post, the renowned documentary photographer Margaret Bourke-White offered a candid review of As Long as the Grass Shall Grow. The volume is a compelling array of words and images that presents a specific view of Native American history. Besides its author, the anthropologist and writer Oliver La Farge, another name is featured on the cover: that of the photographer Helen M. Post (fig. 1). Of Post, Bourke-White declared, “Miss Post attains professional position with ease. . . . These [scenes] clearly demonstrate her ability to grasp the handling of light and shadow. As her work progresses she will undoubtedly widen her range to include a more precise selection of detail and character.”1 Such acclaim of Post might warrant her place in academic discussions; however, the photographer has remained largely absent from any discourse on photography. Post created nearly 2,700 images during her lifetime, many of them of Native Americans, and provided photographs for another significant and sympathetic book about Native peoples, Ann Clark’s Brave against the Enemy: Tʻoka wan itkopʻip ohitike kin he—an impressive record.2

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Borrowing from Bourke-White, it is the “detail” and “character” of Post’s images—particularly her large collection of Navajo photographs— that deserve attention. Helen Post’s photographs of Navajos did not play out in isolation. By the time Post took these images—traveling to and from the West from 1938 to 1942—other artists and documentarians had created a host of representations of Native Americans, many of them employing readily accessible clichés. The political environment also factored into Post’s Navajo photography, for she was associated with prominent contemporary reformers. In addition to collaborating with La Farge, Post worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) and its commissioner, John Collier Sr., and her Navajo images reflect the ideals of Collier and La Farge.3 The relationship of Collier and the BIA to the Navajo people was hardly uncomplicated, and Post’s work was, itself, not without flaws. Still, with all that, the portraits she created of Navajos challenge preexisting visual representations of Navajos and offer a different kind of record.

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317

Figure 1. Trude Fleischmann (1895–1990), Helen Post Sorts Indian Prints, circa 1940, gelatin silver print. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Gift of Peter Modley, P1985.50.1475. © Estate of Trude Fleischmann.

The sensitivity Post granted her subjects contrasts with other images of the Navajo, particularly those produced by her contemporary, Laura Gilpin. Post’s contribution lay in her ability to humanize her sitters by emphasizing vulnerability. In this manner she is comparable to Native American photographers, such as the Kiowa photographer Horace Poolaw. Post assumed her position as outsider with relative ease, as is manifested in her remarkably personal images of a people who had a difficult experience with the United States government and those associated with it.4 Post’s skill as a photographer developed prior to her first travels to the West in the late 1930s. It was during her upbringing in New Jersey that she first experimented with the camera.5 In the

early 1920s, Post left the United States and traveled to Europe, ending up in Vienna where she lived off and on for several years. Artist friends influenced Post’s style tremendously and particularly her approach to portraiture. Post wrote about her attempts to manipulate lighting as well as the development process in her personal journal, indicating that she enjoyed the overall routine. Prior to Europe, Post did not adhere to any specific aesthetic. She did, however, admire Pictorialism, the hazy, dream-like style promoted by her mentor, Trude Fleischmann. Fleischmann, an Austrian-born photographer, was arguably the most influential person in Post’s life during the years in Vienna.6 Following several years in Europe, which included sporadic travels with her sister Marion,

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Post returned to the United States in the late 1920s.7 It was in New York where she met her husband, Rudolf Modley, a Jewish-Austrian refugee. Post and Modley traveled in the same political and social circles, sharing intellectual and artistic interests as well as a penchant for liberal thinking. Similarly, they were both passionate about the arts and supported many of the New Deal programs initiated during the time.8

318

Post made her initial venture to the American West with her husband sometime around 1936 or 1938.9 Business obligations required Modley to travel west on a somewhat regular basis; it was on one of those trips that Post joined him.10 Modley worked as a surveyor for the Soil Conservation Service (SCS), a product of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal, and the nature of Modley’s work necessitated that he inspect the terrain in the Southwest throughout the year.11 One of his assignments included compiling educational texts regarding erosion and conservation practices on reservation land. While her husband traveled across the country as an SCS employee, Post took her first photographs of Navajos in the summer of 1938, returning to the reservation often between 1938 and 1942.12 By 1940 Post had begun working for the Bureau of Indian Affairs.13 Additionally, she received an invitation that year to provide images for Oliver La Farge’s As Long as the Grass Shall Grow.14 The text was commissioned by the educational branch of the Office of Indian Affairs, later renamed the Bureau of Indian Affairs.15 La Farge became aware of Post’s photographs through John Collier Sr., then commissioner of the BIA.16 La Farge’s connection with Post proved to be a pivotal element of her professional pursuits, as was her connection with the BIA. Originally formed in 1824, the BIA sought to manage the relationship between the federal government and Native American tribes and was itself a player in that long relationship. One of the most damaging acts in relation to Native American rights was the Dawes Severalty Act of 1887, which stipulated that individual Natives could receive plots of land in exchange for U.S. citizenship. The outcome, however, benefitted Euro-Americans, as they swindled Native Americans out of their land while also subjecting them to destabilizing educational programs.

An apparent end to this era came with FDR’s election in 1933, the appointment of Collier that same year, and the adoption of a new approach to Native policies. Perhaps the most crucial changes occurred with the passage of the Indian Reorganization Act (IRA) of 1934, which attempted to return Native Americans to a communal living system.17 Ultimately, the IRA succeeded in fulfilling some of Collier’s goals but failed with others. While it protected Native land and provided educational resources, some tribes, along with politicians and other government officials, favored assimilation. In describing the IRA, the historian Colin Calloway has remarked: “In some ways the Indian New Deal was not new, but rather another attempt by non-Indians to do what they regarded as the right thing for Indians.”18 Collier’s infatuation with the Navajo did not waver during his lifetime; however, some of Collier’s associates suggested his acute focus on assisting Native peoples was a hindrance to them, rather than a benefit. Navajos specifically suffered because of the livestock reduction program that began in 1933 and was supported by Collier. He believed that reducing livestock on the reservation would prevent further degradation of overgrazed land but failed to realize the deep significance of sheep to Navajo culture and livelihood. The sale and slaughter of livestock caused financial, social, and emotional trauma for many Navajos. Although Collier persisted in his goals to better circumstances for Native Americans, the Navajo—along with many other tribes—generally opposed the commissioner’s reform efforts due to his handling of the reduction.19 It was in this environment and for this agency that Helen Post worked as she photographed the Navajo people (fig. 2). Many other factors complicated Post’s position as a white woman photographing Navajos, including how Euro-Americans had long represented Native Americans in art and the power dynamics of Native–white interactions. Yet, despite missteps, Post apparently approached Navajos with respect and treated them as individuals, a practice that resulted in poignant, unconventional images. It is imperative to situate Post’s work against the backdrop of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries,

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319 Figure 2. Helen Post (1907–1979), C. C. C. Navajo, circa 1936–1942, gelatin silver print. Helen Post spent some of her time between 1938 and 1942 photographing workers in the Indian Division of the Civilian Conservation Corps. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Gift of Peter Modley, P1985.51.17. © Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

when a number of damaging ideas framed the depiction of Native Americans. Existing stereotypes promoted by literature and the media presented Native Americans as naïve and as cultural oddities, tropes that still have footing in twenty-first century culture. Photographers portrayed Navajos, specifically, as extensions of their physical environment, suggesting they were merely props to beautify the landscape or add visual interest.20 White society, moreover, generally believed that Native Americans should be photographed in the name of preserving their culture. However, the medium proved controversial. Photographs could expose the deeply personal, but they could also foster misunderstanding and reinforce clichés.21 Given all of this, individual photographers still must be considered on their own merits, and

the evidence suggests that Post made thoughtful preparations before photography sessions and wanted to understand her sitters as people. Hoping to eliminate possible feelings of tension and distrust, she composed and sent letters of introduction to Navajos prior to photographing them, even though this was not a common practice.22 Her attitude and approach differed somewhat from other BIA photographers, whose methods ranged from unconventional to adverse. The BIA commissioned several photographers—including Charlie Wunder, Lawrence Kafer, and Peter Mygatt—along with Post. A few of them ignored tribal leaders and photographed sacred ceremonies; others forcefully inserted themselves into family homes and events without regard for the personal wishes of Navajos.23 On the other hand, the anthropologist James Faris reports that Post used some less-than-forthcoming techniques,

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such as “the old trick of using a loud shutter-cock” seconds before taking the real photograph.24 Yet, altogether, the personal warmth of Post’s Navajo images indicates that she generally attempted to consider the demands of her sitters and heeded them.

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The significance of Post’s Navajo photographs comes, in part, from the range of individuals she photographed. Her images portray Native peoples at different stages of life: children, elders, young mothers, and middle-aged men, among others. Post’s photographs depict Navajos busy in activity as well as in thoughtful contemplation, providing a broad snapshot of life on the reservation. The range of Post’s collection helps to create a familiarity not readily accessible in the works of other photographers. Post’s use of translators on the reservation also signaled her eagerness to better communicate with potential sitters. She valued the opportunity to see them communicate in their own language, and they taught Post several words and phrases that she retained throughout her life, as is evident from her personal notebooks.25 Likewise, she abstained from wearing a straw hat and slacks while on the reservation, both items considered appropriate solely for white men to wear. Post’s original sitters welcomed her into their homes for years thereafter, not unlike the Native peoples who knew and collaborated with the photographer Laura Gilpin.26 In a field notebook, Post reflected on the kindness and hospitality of her hosts.27 The friendships Post developed while photographing during these first few months in the West proved indispensable in later trips, reinforcing her connection to the West.28 One of the major projects Post undertook during this period was illustrating As Long as the Grass Shall Grow, which the BIA distributed. As commissioner of the BIA, Collier had assembled a team of sociologists and anthropologists to gather statistical information on the reservations in order to gauge tribal wellbeing. The compiled information was used with the intention to better tribal welfare, specifically food rationing, medical resources, and employment opportunities. One of several social scientists he collaborated with on this venture was Oliver La Farge, who shared, with Post, an interest in tribal culture.29

A social anthropologist, La Farge had traveled to Central America and the American Southwest as a graduate student at Harvard, completing fieldwork that included documenting ceremonial events and artistic practices.30 La Farge increased his social and political involvement in the region following his move to New Mexico in the early 1930s, more direct exposure to southwestern tribes, and his appointment in 1930 to the Eastern Association of Indian Affairs as a member of its board of directors. The association, later renamed the Association of American Indians Affairs, was established for the purpose of improving the welfare of those living on reservations across the United States, as well as promoting Native arts and crafts.31 Realizing that they shared an interest in Native issues, Collier and La Farge joined efforts to dismantle prevailing assimilationist attitudes.32 They became closely associated in 1934 following the passage of the Indian Reorganization Act. Collier requested that La Farge temporarily live on the Hopi reservation in order to assist the members in establishing tribal government. La Farge accepted the position as an opportunity to apply his reformist training firsthand. The Hopi, like the Navajo, were wary of government involvement due to past grievances.33 His time spent among the Hopi and the years afterward proved pivotal to his publication of As Long as the Grass Shall Grow, for which Post provided the photographs. La Farge begins As Long as the Grass Shall Grow with a timeline of Native history that touches on some of the crimes committed against Native Americans—including the “de-Indianization” that resulted from the Dawes Act—and culminates in a plea for tribal independence.34 La Farge asserts throughout the book that Native Americans and their rich heritage increased the quality of society as a whole; his position as an advocate of the Indian New Deal and as an opponent of the Dawes Act is clear, as is his tone of respect and sympathy. La Farge’s book was a formidable addition to the discourse on twentieth-century Native Americans. There are striking similarities between La Farge’s words and Post’s attitude towards Native peoples, as evident from her notebooks as well as a radio interview with Alma Kitchell in 1940. In an early passage of As Long as the

As is evident from the first few pages of the book, La Farge used Post’s photographs of various Native peoples throughout the United States. As Long as the Grass Shall Grow begins with several paragraphs about the history of Native Americans, hearkening back to the time when Native peoples first occupied the area now known as North America.37 Post’s photographs of desert landscape and grazing cattle accompany these first paragraphs, the images striking for their simplicity and technical sophistication. Farther along in the text, La Farge discusses how whites damaged the Native way of life by taking their lands and forcing their children into boarding schools, emphasizing the isolation and hardships youth experienced in the schools. As the book proceeds, however, the tone shifts from despair to hope, as La Farge affirms the significance of understanding and accepting Native traditions in modern society—a tone that, again, makes clear La Farge’s association with Collier and the IRA.38 Post’s black-and-white photographs enhance the

Like Collier and La Farge, Post envisioned a society that embraced Native peoples and their traditions. However, it is also important to consider her collection apart from her male colleagues. It is in that separate space that Post’s photographic contribution, to both the BIA and the field of photography generally, becomes readily apparent. This is manifested in the sensitive manner in which she portrays her sitters, as seen in the portrait [Navajo woman in wearing blanket] (fig. 3). Post attempts to depict each subject as a vulnerable, complicated human being apart from the familiar labels of “Native American,” “Navajo,” or “other.”42 Her sitters attract the viewer’s gaze with their direct eye contact and upright postures, establishing connection on an emotional level. It is a shared

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Since the educational branch of the BIA published La Farge’s book, copies were sent to schools throughout the country in which Native children were exclusively taught. Paul L. Fickinger, associate director of education for the BIA at the time, circulated a generic letter to nearly three hundred boarding and day schools in the United States, asking the respective principals and teachers to “please see to it that these books are recorded as an accession to the library just as you would any other book.”39 Two of those schools were in Utah: Uintah Boarding and Day School in Whiterocks and Goshute Day School in Ibapah. Located on either side of the state— Whiterocks in Eastern Utah and Ibapah near the western border—the schools both received multiple copies of As Long as the Grass Shall Grow, despite their relatively few numbers of students.40 This suggests that Fickinger, and the BIA in extension, deemed La Farge’s text valuable for placement in as many Native schools throughout the country as possible, regardless of size. Although there is no specific reference to what the students thought of the book, Post wrote a letter to Harold Ickes expressing her wish that the Native peoples in her photographs would know her appreciation for their generosity. She remarked how she “feels she owes a great debt of thanks to the many many Indians who have helped to make the book what it is. Is there any way to get this message to those who should hear it? I hope so.”41

Like La Farge, Post had spent time in Indian homes and saw in them hospitality, admiration, and humor; just so, her images in the book engender positive sentiments toward Native Americans. A wide variety of Post’s photographs are used in La Farge’s book to portray what he believed were neglected aspects of Native life, such as metalworking, cattle ranching, and weaving. It is likely that Post and La Farge selected the images together considering she helped him in choosing captions, yet the extent of her involvement remains unclear. In describing the writing process, Post recorded how she “paced up and down in his [La Farge’s] workroom, verbally creating text to go with the photos.”36 Clearly she made a substantial contribution to the work as a whole: of the more than 100 photographs in As Long as the Grass Shall Grow, only four are attributed to someone other than Helen Post.

dialogue that La Farge sets up in As Long as the Grass Shall Grow, and yet they stand as important visual documents on their own.

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Grass Shall Grow, the anthropologist reflects on his experiences with Native daily life: “When I look in my own memory for the essence of what I have so loved in Indian camps, the summation of it, I find a tricky rhythm tapped out on a drum, a clear voice singing, and the sound of laughter.”35 La Farge’s favorable view of Native peoples, albeit romantically phrased, fostered his connection to Helen Post.

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Figure 3. Helen Post (1907–1979), [Navajo woman in wearing blanket], circa 1936–1942, gelatin silver print. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Gift of Peter Modley, P1985.50.1137. © Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

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experience: photographer, subject, and viewer observe one another in the same moment.

reentrenched tropes like the noble savage, romantic warrior, and defeated hero.43

Post’s images are not unique in their ability to elicit emotion. They are unusual, however, in that her depictions of American Indians vary from traditional representations that emphasized stereotypes rather than dismantled them. Arguably the most well-known photographer of Native Americans was Edward S. Curtis, the man who historically dominated the market in creating types of Native representations. Curtis spent a significant amount of time on the Navajo and other reservations at the turn of the twentieth century, seeking to gather lasting images of—what he believed to be—a “vanishing race” that could be looked upon in later years. He traveled extensively throughout the United States, stopping to photograph as many tribes as he could with the purpose of recording as much as possible. He, perhaps unintentionally,

Curtis’s prints are striking, oftentimes bearing softened edges, and could easily be described as aesthetically beautiful (fig. 4). It remains, however, that the majority of Curtis’s images present a type, intentional or not. In order to portray supposedly accurate depictions of Native Americans, Curtis would occasionally outfit his sitters in traditional clothing or ceremonial garb that belonged to disparate tribes. The individuals in his photographs are generally characterized by somber expressions and unyielding stances. While Curtis’s collection is comprehensive, it is a somewhat flawed representation of Native peoples, for it fails to present an active dialogue between subject and photographer. This was likely not Curtis’s goal, as he was focused on compiling information as quickly as possible, subsequently resulting in

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The key to Post and Gilpin’s compositional differences may lie in their personal financial situations: Gilpin sold her photographs to various individuals and institutions in order to make a living; Post did not or, at least, did not need to.47 This might have been an incentive for Gilpin to create images she knew would receive a wider reception, like the earlier images by

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Gilpin compiled a vast collection of images that contrast with those being created by Post at roughly the same time.45 Gilpin began photographing the Southwest in the early 1920s, eventually making her way to the Navajo reservation by the 1930s.46 An in-depth study of Gilpin’s work reveals a slightly more detached relationship between sitter and photographer. Instead of focusing on the individual, she concentrated

A cursory glance at Post’s photographic collection reveals character and personality distinguishable from Curtis’s work, as well as that of her contemporaries. To better understand her angle, it is necessary to place her next to a prolific twentieth-century photographer who adopted elements of Curtis’s style: Laura Gilpin.

on technical elements, such as lighting, composition, and depth. This is not to suggest that Gilpin’s experience among Native peoples was any less genuine than Post’s. Gilpin likewise formed close associations with Navajos and maintained correspondence with them throughout her life. Yet her purpose in photographing differed significantly from Post. Her focus on design is evidence that her primary focal point was aesthetics, not necessarily portraying the emotional range of her sitters.

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stoic faces and detached figures. Regardless, the lack of feeling leaves one wanting more.44

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Figure 4. Edward S. Curtis, Headand-shoulders portrait of Navajo woman, facing front, circa 1904, photographic print. This portrait shows both the aesthetic beauty of Edward S. Curtis’s style and his penchant for stoic, stereotyped portrayals of Native Americans. Courtesy Library of Congress, LCUSZ62–103498.

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The financial pressure Gilpin felt possibly surfaced during her earliest days as a photographer. As a student on the East Coast, Gilpin studied with a cohort of interesting and inspiring individuals. Her teachers specifically seemed to

stress the importance of making art that was aesthetically pleasing but also commercially viable.49 This, combined with Gilpin’s upbringing in a family that experienced their share of hardships, likely spurred her to place marketability near or at the same level as design. The Gilpins’ business ventures never managed to flourish, thus putting strain on the close-knit family. Throughout her life, Gilpin’s mother urged her to pursue artistic interests, while conversely, her father provided constant reminders of their financial struggles. This pendulum of emotions likely motivated the photographer to succeed artistically and financially, as is apparent from her imposing body of work.50 Gilpin’s photograph of the Navajo medicine man (fig. 5) embodies technical sophistication, bearing similarities to the earlier images by Curtis. The strategically draped blanket perfectly frames the sitter’s face. The close proximity of subject to photographer eliminates

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Curtis.48 This difference in patronage is significant. Gilpin likely emphasized technique and form to appeal to a wider audience and thereby increase her chance for commissions. She showed a keen interest in marketing and selling her work throughout her lifetime, a testament to her ever-fluctuating financial situation. Unlike Post, Gilpin did not have the luxury of relying on a companion’s income. She was solely responsible for her livelihood. Post perhaps did not experience the same kind of financial pressure as Gilpin, as she was employed by one agency and thus could produce a wide range of images. Since Post could rely on her husband for additional income, she created photographs solely for the BIA during this period.

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Figure 5. Laura Gilpin (1891–1979), [Tsetah Begay, Navajo medicine man], 1932, gelatin silver print. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Bequest of the artist, P1979.128.704. © 1979 Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

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The vulnerability of Post’s subjects is evident by their unguarded postures and poignant facial expressions, as seen in the portrait Mrs. Burnside, Pine Springs, Arizona (fig. 6). Mrs. Burnside looks up toward her left, holding her gaze with the lens and Post just beyond. Her

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It is important to note that both Gilpin and Post posed their sitters; however, there is a distinction between the two photographers. Gilpin provided blankets (see fig. 5) and other props to help her scenes seem more genuine.51 Post did not outfit her subjects with extra accouterments, which is one reason why her

sitters appear in both traditional and more modern attire. A brief comparison of Laura Gilpin’s photographs in The Enduring Navaho and Post’s work in As Long as the Grass Shall Grow further illuminates the photographers’ differences. Gilpin’s subjects seem to be caught at a certain time and place, a romantic past. Post’s sitters, on the other hand, appear to be active participants within their respective environments.

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the chance to do little more than confront the man’s gaze. Edges have been softened and tones imbued with extra warmth to attract the eye. A beautifully composed piece, the composition suggests a sense of rigidity. The viewer is drawn to the sitter’s eyes; however, they seem to be void of emotion, emphasized by their glassy appearance. Thus the viewer is unable to gauge a sense of the man’s character.

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Figure 6. Helen Post (1907–1979), Mrs. Burnside, Pine Springs, Arizona, circa 1936–1942, acetate negative. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Gift of Peter Modley, 1985.47.473. © Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

While undeniably striking, Gilpin’s photographs share more similarities with Curtis’s prints than Post’s contemporaneous collection. The title of Figure Study. Old Woman (fig. 7), is evidence of Gilpin’s desire to balance design with figural representation. The figurine

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glance is friendly, yet direct. The gentleness of her posture is matched by her strength and sense of self. She sits open to the viewer, yet she retains an enigmatic presence. Mrs. Burnside engages with the photographer, creating a visual dialogue that is both personal and warm.

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Figure 7. Laura Gilpin (1891–1979), Figure Study. Old Woman, 1938, nitrate negative. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Bequest of the artist, P1979.230.1189. © 1979 Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

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The individuals in Post’s collection, like Mrs. Burnside and the kneeling man, portray types seldom seen in other photographic volumes of American Indians prior to the late 1930s. Post’s sitters contradict the characters that Curtis portrayed, which gained popularity during the late nineteenth century.52 The United States government treated Native Americans as part of a vanishing race and consistently pressed them to assimilate; some cooperated, but most pushed back in opposition.53 Post’s apparent interaction with her sitters, however, represented the kind of interplay that Collier hoped would be adopted

A photograph similar to Mrs. Burnside is Post’s [Portrait of a Navajo man] (fig. 8). The subject sits on bent knees, hands relaxed yet assertive. His hands are positioned in a way that emphasizes the metal-worked cuffs on his wrists. The man is at once proud but also willing to submit—at least to the photographer. He looks straight ahead, locking eyes with the lens and,

in extension, the viewer. His palpable confidence dispels any awkwardness; he appears to be at ease and unguarded. Post has created an environment in which the sitter embraces his vulnerability. Trust has been established. The emotional connection formed between observed and observer overrides trivial details.

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in the upper left corner, while not the central subject, complements the woman’s outward gaze. Although she is just off-center in the composition, the woman acts as the focal point. Upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that the woman’s face is slightly blurred. Whether intentional or not, the blurring adds a feeling of ambiguity, elucidating a complex dynamic between photographer and sitter. The image acts as a lovely contrast to Post’s photograph of Mrs. Burnside (fig. 6), taken around the same time.

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Figure 8. Helen Post (1907–1979), [Portrait of Navajo man], ca. 1936–1942, gelatin silver print. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Gift of Peter Modley, P1985.50.872. © Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

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Figure 9. [Women at Navajo fair]. Acetate negative, ca. 1936–1942. Helen M. Post, photographer. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Gift of Peter Modley, P1985.47.394. © 1985 Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

by the general public. The photographer entered each creative space with a sensitive eye and appreciation for the subtle differences of those she photographed. She seems to have been both friend and confidante to many of her sitters. As such, Post’s work bears a closer likeness to that of Native American photographers, particularly the Kiowa photographer Horace Poolaw.54 Working over a period of roughly forty years beginning in the mid-1920s, Poolaw’s record of a people in transition should be lauded. Few Native photographers have produced a collection

as extensive in scope. One of Poolaw’s compositions, Three Young Kiowas, bears a close resemblance to some of Post’s photographs. Poolaw captures a seemingly candid moment that is as genial as it is genuine. There is a kind of amity between the photographer and his subjects. Poolaw’s preestablished position as insider allowed him to gain access to typically closed-off moments. Like Poolaw, Post evidently sought to develop a bond with her subjects. This understanding is displayed in a scene by Post featuring several Navajo women (fig. 9),

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Figure 10. Helen Post (1907–1979), [Portrait of female Navajo patient], circa 1936–1942, gelatin silver print. Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas, Gift of Peter Modley, P1985.50.852. © Amon Carter Museum of American Art.

[Women at Navajo fair]. The sitters’ faces exhibit varying emotions. The woman nearest to the photographer seems curious and perhaps a little cautious about the encounter. Perhaps she is looking at Post just beyond the camera, wondering this woman’s purpose in being there. The Navajo woman’s inquisitive glance balances the jovial faces of the women sitting behind her. Most central in the composition is a woman smiling unabashedly ahead. There is a sense of familiarity in the scene. Post, perhaps unknowingly, embraced the style forged by Poolaw and other Native photographers: pared down accessories, uncluttered frame, and simple design.

construction on several hospitals and other medical facilities. Additionally, due to funding provided by the New Deal he was able to hire nurses and doctors to work in the facilities on the Navajo and other reservations in the Southwest.55 In Post’s remarkably pared down portrait, a female Navajo medical patient gazes intensely out toward the viewer. The woman is likely a patient in one of the newly built hospitals. The most interesting aspect of the image is that despite the contrast between the subject’s warmth and the austerity of her surroundings, Post humanizes her and emphasizes her apparent self-assurance.

An image that represents this style beautifully, [Portrait of female Navajo patient], also provides a fitting capstone to Post’s Navajo work (fig. 10). As BIA commissioner, Collier sought to improve the health conditions on the Navajo reservation. After his appointment in 1933, he began

Her vitality is compelling. The mystery surrounding the patient’s persona heightens the tension in the scene. She is a Navajo woman who also happens to be outfitted in modern attire. There is no known information about the woman, but she is striking. It is interesting that

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Post photographed her in a hospital setting. On the Navajo reservation medicine men and other such healers would normally have been brought to family homes in the case of illness.56 The sterile, industrial environment in Post’s portrait only affirms the influence of outside forces that appeared in the first decades of the twentieth century.

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Immeasurable complexities define the situation; the title signals she is Navajo, but the photograph contains none of the markers (looms, silver, red rock landscapes) that contemporary viewers would have associated with Navajo identity. Her identity is based on the brief but tender moment between photographer and subject. Post exhibits sensitivity to the sitter that overpowers other features. The bare composition forces the viewer to interact with the woman, thus participating in the dialogue. This Navajo patient is the figurative culmination of Post’s experience among Native Americans. Post photographed individuals in both traditional and modern dress, reaffirming the notion that she was trying to document everyday life, rather than life how she wished it would be. Her images are evocative and powerful, reaffirming Post’s desire to understand all types of peoples. Helen Post began documenting Navajos in 1938 and ended this effort in or around 1942. While her exact reason remains unclear, Post left the Southwest and her employment with the BIA when her husband stopped working for the CCC in the early 1940s. From that point on, Post devoted her time solely to photographing her family and close friends. She moved to Connecticut with her family and resided there for the rest of her life. Although Post intended to return to the Southwest again, hoping to visit with the people she had met, the plan never came to fruition.57 Years earlier, Post’s employment with the BIA and specifically her association with John Collier Sr. provided her with the opportunity to travel extensively to the reservation and create an impressive body of work. Post’s photographs provide insight into the daily life of her subjects, offering an intriguing perspective about Navajos. Post sympathized with both Collier and Oliver La Farge and shared similarly sympathetic beliefs concerning the Navajos, which

is evident in her impressive photographic collection. This dynamic between her and the two reformers directly influenced Post’s images; while not a social crusader on behalf of the Navajo—like both Collier and La Farge—Post undoubtedly shared similar feelings. Her tender depictions of the Navajo so suggest. Post’s interest in and appreciation of her sitters is manifest in the humanity she grants them in her photographs. She illuminated the emotionality of her sitters, in contrast to photographers like Gilpin who focused primarily on aestheticizing Navajos. Post’s collection is a refreshing addition to dialogue on twentieth-century Navajos—and Native Americans generally—and should be used to counteract the conventional myths and clichés used to represent this people. To echo Margaret Bourke-White’s comments from the Saturday Evening Post, Post widened her range to enhance detail, but more importantly, character.58

Web Extra Stop by history.utah.gov for more about Helen M. Post and her photography.

Notes 1 2

Margaret Bourke-White and Erskine Caldwell, “The American Indian: 1940,” Saturday Evening Post, May 11, 1940. Handwritten notes, box 1, fd. 2, Helen Post Papers, A2006.211, Amon Carter Museum of American Art, Fort Worth, Texas; Ann Nolan Clark, Brave Against the Enemy: T’oka wan itkok’ip ohitike kin he (Lawrence, KS: Haskell Institute, 1944), 5–35. Clark incorporates Post’s images solely as visuals in Brave Against the Enemy; she does not expound on their relation to the text, although their relevance is meant to be apparent. Post’s photographs do correspond to Clark’s chapter themes. Post formed the captions for The Enemy Gods, another of La Farge’s works, from the text. Gods centers on the story of a young Navajo boy’s attempt to assimilate into white culture and his eventual demise after returning to the reservation. Based off this information it seems that Post adapted text for the captions from another source rather than creating her own. Oliver La Farge, The Enemy Gods (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1937). Peter Modley, “A Short Interpretive Biography of Helen Post, Photographer,” Helen Post Papers; Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. Post photographed on various Native American reservations, such as South Dakota’s Pine Ridge Reservation and several in upstate New York. While she spent a significant amount of time among Navajos, it would be a disservice to not mention her work with the Crow, Salish, Sioux, and other tribes. Regard-

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following a trip with her husband, her photos came to the attention of Charles Collier’s daughter-in-law, and then made their way to La Farge. The dates here are somewhat confusing; it seems unlikely that Charles Collier—who was born in 1909—had a daughter-in-law by 1940. Additionally, Post identifies him as “[ ]upt. Collier.” This infers that Post was perhaps instead referring to John Collier’s daughter-in-law. Or, that John Collier was in fact the recommender and not Charles. Regardless, Post’s photographs were received by government officials at some point before the publication of La Farge’s text in 1940. Philp, Indian Reform, 130–32. The Indian Reorganization Act was originally called the Wheeler-Howard Act. It was also sometimes referred to as the “Indian New Deal.” Colin G. Calloway, First Peoples: A Documentary Survey of American Indian History (Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2016), 446. Calloway, First Peoples, 450–51; Marsha Weisiger, “Gendered Injustice: Navajo Livestock Reduction in the New Deal Era,” Western Historical Quarterly 38, no. 4 (2007): 437–55; Robert S. McPherson, Navajo Livestock Reduction in Southeastern Utah, 1933–46: History Repeats Itself,” American Indian Quarterly 22, no. 1 (Winter–Spring, 1998): 1–18. James C. Faris, Navajo and Photography: A Critical History of the Representation of an American People (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1996), xi, 19–32. Susan Sontag, On Photography (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1977), 4; Lucy Lippard, ed., Partial Recall: Photographs of Native North Americans (New York: New Press, 1992), 14–15. Post, “Alma Kitchell’s Brief Case.” In her 1941 radio interview with Alma Kitchell, Post confirmed that she asked for permission before photographing. Faris, Navajo and Photography, 212–18. Faris, 46, 218 (qtn.). Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. Although Post’s notebooks mention her experience of eating with and conversing with her sitters, they, unfortunately, do not include more personal information regarding the identities of her subjects. There are a few notes in her collection that name several individuals; however, those particular individuals are from tribes other than Navajo and, thus, not discussed in this particular essay. Martha A. Sandweiss, Laura Gilpin: An Enduring Grace (Fort Worth, TX: Amon Carter Museum, 1986), 54–55. Post, “Alma Kitchell’s Brief Case.” Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. D’Arcy McNickle, Indian Man: A Life of Oliver La Farge (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1971), 100– 104. McNickle, Indian Man, 41–50. McNickle, 80. McNickle, 106–7. McNickle, 110; see also Robert A. Hecht, Oliver La Farge and the American Indian: A Biography (Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1991), 61–64. La Farge became president of the Eastern Association in 1933, the same year Collier was appointed head of the BIA. La Farge published more than 20 literary works during his lifetime, both fiction and nonfiction. He won the Pulitzer Prize in 1929 for his novel Laughing Boy, which centers on Navajos.

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ing John Collier Sr., I know of only two pieces of correspondence in which Collier directly mentions Post. In one, Collier gives his approval of Post in a commission to photograph New York Indians. The other is an undated, unaddressed letter in which Collier glowingly discusses Post’s work among the Sioux Indians. Kenneth R. Philp, John Collier’s Crusade for Indian Reform, 1920–1954 (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1977), 127. Paul Hendrickson, Looking for the Light: The Hidden Life and Art of Marion Post Wolcott (New York: Knopf, 1992), 6–7. Post and her sister Marion visited a photography studio in East Orange, New Jersey, on at least one occasion. It was there that they first handled “black boxes,” and this was likely the initial source of Post’s interest in the craft. Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. In her notes, Post discusses her artistic circle in Vienna, although she does not list any names. She also writes about learning German, immersing herself in the local culture. Hendrickson, Looking for the Light, 11–15. Marion Post Wolcott worked for the Farm Security Administration during the 1930s and 1940s—the same time her sister, Helen, was photographing in the West. Marion, unlike Helen, has since received considerable recognition for her post–Depression era images. Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. “Alma Kitchell’s Brief Case, February 17, 1941,” and “Notes on Projects, Caption material, Radio Transcript, Letters of Introduction, and Autobiographical Notes,” box 1, Helen Post Papers. In 1941 Post told Alma Kitchell, on her WJZ radio show Alma Kitchell’s Brief Case, that she made her first trip to the West during the summer of 1938. However, Post’s digitized collection at the Amon Carter Museum of American Art lists the beginning date of her record as “1936.” Likewise, a short biography written by Post’s son, Peter Modley, also gives 1936 as the first year. It appears that no photograph included in the Amon Carter collection was taken before 1938, so I will accept Post’s comment in the radio interview that she first traveled to the reservations in 1938. Modley, “A Short Biography,” 3. Jennifer McLerran, A New Deal for Native Art: Indian Arts and Federal Policy (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2009), 106–15. The Soil Conservation Service (SCS) was in charge of the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). The CCC operated roughly from 1933 to 1942; it is interesting that Post’s Native American project ends in 1942—the latest date in her collection. It is possible that Post stopped photographing Navajos in conjunction with the end of her husband’s SCS employment in 1942. Modley, “A Short Biography,” 3; Handwritten Notes, Helen Post Papers; Post, “Alma Kitchell’s Brief Case.” Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. A letter written by John Collier to Indian Office employees and officials directly naming Post is dated “6/deb/20/40.” This is the only specific date given regarding Post’s commencement at the BIA. Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. Philp, Indian Reform, 130. The name change occurred in 1947. Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. Included in several pages of handwritten notes is Post’s description of her introduction to La Farge. She states that

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34 McNickle, Indian Man, 119. La Farge described the text as, “a study of the realities of Indian affairs and the Indian problem, a social document, and the possibilities excite me.” 35 Oliver La Farge, As Long as the Grass Shall Grow (New York: Alliance Book Corporation, 1940), 6. 36 Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. 37 La Farge, As Long as the Grass Shall Grow, 2–7. According to an appendix, Post photographed Crow, Blackfeet, Flathead, Navajo, Jicarilla Apache, San Carlos Apache, San Ildefonso Pueblo, and Taos Indians for the book. 38 La Farge, As Long as the Grass Shall Grow, 8–25. 39 Paul L. Fickinger to government Indian schools, 8 November 1940, 38617–1940–048, 11E3, 3/28/6, box 236, Central Classified Files, 1940–1957, Records of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, Record Group 75, National Archives and Records Administration, Washington, D.C. 40 Index of government Indian schools, 1 January 1940, 38617–1940–048, 11E3, 3/28/6, box 236, Central Classified Files, Records of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. 41 Correspondence from Helen M. Post to Harold Ickes, 31 May 1940, file no. 38617–1940–048-General Services, 11E3, 3/28/6, box 236, Central Classified Files, Records of the Bureau of Indian Affairs. 42 Faris, Navajo and Photography, 14. 43 Faris, 107–21; Brian W. Dippie, “Photographic Allegories and Indian Destiny,” Montana: The Magazine of Western History 42, no. 3 (1992): 40–57. 44 Christopher M. Lyman, The Vanishing Race and Other Illusions: Photographs of Indians by Edward S. Curtis (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1982), 13. On the other hand, in the introduction to Christopher M. Lyman’s volume about Curtis, Vine

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Deloria Jr. cautions that viewers should to try to understand Curtis’s work for what it is, rather than what it ought to be. “If [Curtis’s images] come to represent an Indian that never was . . . then our use of them is a delusion and perversion of both Indians and the artful expressions of Curtis.” Naomi Rosenblum, A History of Women Photographers (New York: Abbeville Press, 2000), 324. Rosenblum, Women Photographers, 320–22. Sandweiss, Enduring Grace, 44–64. Lyman, The Vanishing Race, 18–23. Curtis’s photographs began to receive acclaim following his death. His images especially gained popularity during the latter half of the twentieth century. Sandweiss, Enduring Grace, 28–32. Gilpin composed several booklets, pamphlets, and catalogs throughout her life that contained her photographs. She likewise applied for, and received, numerous fellowships, grants, and exhibition invitations. Sandweiss, 44–70. Sandweiss, 45–65. Sandweiss writes that Gilpin did not provide props for her sitters, but I have not yet been able to corroborate this suggestion with other sources. Faris, Navajo and Photography, 107–121. Philp, Indian Reform, 159. Nancy Marie Mithlo, For a Love of His People: The Photography of Horace Poolaw (Washington D.C.: National Museum of the American Indian, 2014), 9–10. Philp, Indian Reform, 129–30. Philp, 146–50. This was common practice until the early twentieth century. Handwritten notes, Helen Post Papers. Bourke-White and Caldwell, “The American Indian,” May 11, 1940.

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A marble cross marking the grave at the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery, Belleau, France, of Private Hugh A. McKenna, the last American killed in action, on November 11, 1918. [New York]: [World Wide Photos, Inc.], September 21, 1939. Courtesy of the Library of Congress, LC-DIG-ppmsca-55643.

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Private George Gidney of Brigham City and Private James Wesley Chipman of American Fork died but five days apart.1 They fell in October 1918, in the final Allied push that would shatter the German army. In France, German artillery killed Gidney instantly. He was twenty-eight years old. Chipman succumbed to battlefield wounds received in Belgium. He was twenty-four. On November 7, the Salt Lake Herald announced Chipman’s fate. News of Gidney’s death appeared in print two days later, on the ninth. The Armistice of November 11, 1918, did little to lessen the grief the two soldiers’ families had only begun to feel. One hundred years later, the families of these two soldiers still honor their memories. Gidney’s nephew, a retiree, is one of my students at Weber State University (and he’s here today with his family). Chipman’s niece is married to my colleague in the History Department. They shared with me their relatives’ stories and their last letters written home. Wesley Chipman, for instance, was “the darling of [his] family,” who radiated joy. Christmas was his favorite time of year and he loved to decorate their tree.

Christmas came but weeks after the Armistice, and his absence was heartrending.2 I suspect all of us have World War I (WWI) stories if we invest the time to discover them. I encourage you to do so. And should you unearth them, please consider either donating materials or having them digitally preserved by the department of Special Collections at Weber State University’s Stewart Library or by the Utah State “We Remember Them Roadshow” at the Eccles Conference Center on Saturday morning. It’s a constructive step to ensure that we retain memories of this generation. We are here today to commemorate the American WWI dead and the Armistice of November 11, 1918. Gidney and Chipman ranked among the more than nine million soldiers who died in the war. Tens of millions of civilians also perished from genocidal violence, exposure to the elements, starvation, and disease. We have no accurate tally of the dead. But we can be thankful that after fifty-one months of uninterrupted slaughter, the war came to a conclusion. On Monday evening, November 11, a local newspaper, the Ogden Standard, proclaimed, “Peace! Germans Sign Most Drastic Document Ever Drawn Up By Any Nation.” The “Greatest Day in All History [was] Being Celebrated.” We can only imagine how muted were the celebrations at the Gidney and Chipman households.

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Editor’s Note: Branden Little delivered this address at a Veterans Day Ceremony and Commemoration of the World War I Armistice held at the Utah State Capitol on November 8, 2018.

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An Improbable Peace

Armistice, 1918

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What did this allegedly drastic ceasefire demand? In exchange for Allied forces halting their devastating attack on collapsing German lines, Germany agreed to evacuate conquered lands, free prisoners of war, and reduce its army and navy to a fraction of their war strength. The Allies would also occupy some of Germany’s borderlands to ensure that these steps were completed. In truth, the Armistice was less drastic than it seemed to the Ogden Standard. Why? Let’s highlight two reasons.

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First, its modest requirements bore no resemblance to Germany’s extortion of defeated Soviet Russia in early 1918. In the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, Berlin had forcibly acquired 1.3 million square miles of Russian territory, 90 percent of Russia’s coal reserves, one third of its arable land, and one third of Russia’s population, sixty-two million people. The Armistice merely compelled Germany to surrender its Russian plunder; it did not plunder Germany. Second, the November 11 Armistice was not drastic because it represented merely the last of a series of armistices negotiated between the Allies and Germany’s conspirators, who recognized their imminent defeat and sought to reduce their risk of Allied conquest. Bulgaria requested the first armistice in late September, the Ottomans followed one month later, and the Austro-Hungarian and German armistices came about a week apart in November. The terms of the Allied ceasefire with Germany were virtually identical to those agreed upon by the other Central Powers. Losers in this era understood that the loss of territory and other penalties were customary terms of defeat. Even though it was beaten, Germany had a harder time admitting its defeat than its coalition partners. Why have I titled today’s presentation, “An Improbable Peace”? Let me suggest three reasons. First, the Armistice led to treaties that did not produce absolute peace among the signatories. Losers grumbled about the terms of treaties and treaty enforcement mechanisms. In 1919, in the Treaty of Versailles, the Allies foolishly imposed on Germany an extraordinary reparations burden it couldn’t even pay, the equivalent today of $6six trillion dollars. Germany was also unfairly obligated to accept full

moral responsibility for initiating the war even though it was not solely to blame. Ever since then, it is commonly understood that these outrageous demands stoked the fires of German hostility that exploded in Hitlerian Germany. But there is a problem with this logic. Without realizing it, we erroneously blame British and French postwar policy for starting World War II. Blaming the Treaty of Versailles for the Nazi invasion of Europe, Africa, and the Soviet Union absolves Hitler of responsibility and excuses Nazi aggression. Should the Allies have treated Germany better? Yes, they should have. But Hitler’s hate-filled actions were not the inevitable result of Versailles. His Second World War was of his own making. This reassessment begs another question: would Germany have treated the Allies any better had it won the Great War? Germany’s brutal conquests of Belgium and western Russia give us a clue: it would have ruthlessly exploited the Allies had it defeated them. But our association of German suffering in the war’s aftermath with the rise of Nazism makes the November Armistice and the Versailles regime appear to be tragically flawed. Flawed as the treaty was, peace was improbable because unrepentant maniacs like Hitler yearned for glory. The second reason peace was improbable was because the war’s explosive forces had shattered empires. The armistices did not alleviate peoples’ mounting burdens, and in certain cases, multiplied them as whole governments collapsed. In the ensuing chaos, civil wars and rebellions enveloped Russia, Germany, Ireland, Hungary, and parts of the Ottoman Empire. Hunger, disease, and deprivation radiated from Scandinavia to Arabia, from the English Channel to the Caucasus. The third reason peace was improbable was that the survivors—grieving families, traumatized orphans, disabled veterans, foremost among the war’s many victims—could not simply exit the war. They could not because the Armistice itself was not a doorway to a new and peaceful world. The Gidneys and the Chipmans, along with all the peoples who had participated in this Great War, understood that their lives had changed. Many of them for the worse. Hints of these ominous changes were soon evident in coarser

We should also remember that the world’s leaders had proven unequal to the task of preventing war. So, millions of men like Gidney and Chipman heeded their nations’ calls to duty and died as a result. Their promising lives were cut short. Their families paid the ultimate price. We should always be wary of leaders who advocate war yet dismiss the reality of death and its manifold consequences.

Notes 1. Gidney died October 3, 1918. Chipman died October 8, 1918. 2. George Gidney to his mother, Mrs. George [Emma] Gidney, September 24, 1918, private collection of Rand Briem, Ogden, Utah; James Wesley Chipman to John Chipman and Jane Drew Clarke Chipman, July 12, 1918, private collection of Richard Sadler and Claudia Sadler, Ogden, Utah. “The darling of our family” quotation comes from Claudia Sadler, interview with author, November 6, 2018, Weber State University, Ogden, Utah. 3. William R. Castle, Jr., to Mrs. George [Emma] Gidney, April 1, 1919, Briem collection.

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Thank you.

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Men like George Gidney and Wesley Chipman deserve to be remembered. The Veterans of Foreign Wars Post in Brigham City is named after Gidney. What should we remember about their sacrifice? Truly, there are things worth fighting for. There is dignity in sacrificing one’s life for others.

At times like this we murmur, “Lest we forget.” It’s a reflexive act of commemoration. But we can repeat it often enough that it becomes meaningless. “Lest we forget” doesn’t tell us what we should remember.

In closing, in April 1919, some six months after George Gidney had died, his mother received a letter from the American Red Cross. It included details of George’s death as recorded by his commanding officer. And it closed with this note: “we with all American people will ever honor the memory of your son, who willingly made the supreme sacrifice that the world might be made a fit place in which to live.” May we do the same today and forevermore—honor the memories of fine Americans like George Gidney and Wesley Chipman by striving to make the world “a fit place in which to live.”3

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common language, in despairing literature, in horror films, and in empty houses of worship. The capacity to destroy en masse, to rally entire nations and fuel the fires of industrial killing for years without end, hinted at a dark future. Peace for many survivors was simply unobtainable.

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Avard T. Fairbanks’s World War I Memorials

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Shortly after the Armistice that ended fighting with Germany in November 1918, civic and cultural organizations began considering how best to remember those who had contributed to the effort to fight World War I (WWI). The mayor of Boston called such a group together late in 1918. One representative at the Boston Convention was the young artist Avard T. Fairbanks (1897–1987), who came from Utah and from a family of gifted artists. During his distinguished career, he was not only a prolific sculptor but also a teacher and an academic administrator. Fairbanks matured professionally in the 1920s and early 1930s, during which period he created four WWI memorials in the Northwest that are exceptional for their unique conception and visual impact. Fairbanks’s memorials must be seen against the complicated backdrop of America’s rapidly fading interest in Civil War monuments, shifting styles in the arts, and a naïveté about the worldwide political environment that had already sown the seeds of World War II (WWII), and the somewhat ineffective alliances between the nations. Avard Fairbanks’s grandparents, John Boylston Fairbanks and Sarah Van Wagoner, crossed the plains as Mormon pioneers and eventually settled in Payson, Utah. Avard’s father, also John B. Fairbanks, was born in Payson in 1855. John showed early promise as an artist and was mentored by another Utah artist, John Hafen.

In 1890, he studied art in Paris at the Académie Julian under the sponsorship of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to learn muralist techniques. Following his return to Utah, Fairbanks completed work in the Salt Lake Temple before moving to Provo, where he received an appointment at the Brigham Young Academy to teach art. Avard T. Fairbanks was born in 1897 in Provo. Avard’s mother, Lilly, died from an accident when he was a baby, and his siblings cared for the household. Even with these difficulties, Avard’s artistic talents were apparent early in his life.1 About 1910 John Fairbanks brought Avard to New York, where he gained permission for his son to copy art in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. During this period a benefactor became interested in Avard’s training and used her influence to obtain a scholarship at the Art Students League, where he studied with James Earl Fraser. He received a second scholarship the following year. Avard frequently modeled animals at the New York Zoological Park, where he probably received informal instruction from Charles R. Knight, A. Phimister Proctor, and Anna Hyatt.2 After two years in New York, financial difficulties forced the Fairbanks to return to Salt Lake City, but John wanted Avard to receive additional training. In 1913, therefore, he and

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Figure 1. Avard T. Fairbanks, detail of Jefferson High School Memorial, 1926, bronze. Portland, Oregon. Jayla Pride, photographer.

Avard departed for Paris. Besides studying at the Académie Colarossi and the Académie de la Grande Chaumière, Avard enrolled at the École des Beaux-Arts, where he studied under the noted sculptor Jean Antoine Injalbert. The École des Beaux-Arts closed during the summer months, but a peaceful vacation in the Alpine foothills was interrupted by the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Austria and the subsequent outbreak of WWI. Avard and his father left Europe as quickly as possible, but still they encountered more than one harrowing experience before crossing the English Channel and eventually sailing from Liverpool. Shortly after returning from Europe, Avard completed high school early in order to oversee a sculptural commission awarded to his older brother Leo Fairbanks (1878–1946)—also a gifted artist—at the Latter-day Saints temple that was under construction in Hawaii. He remained in Hawaii two years and married Maude Fox in 1918.3 When the couple returned

home, Avard enrolled at the University of Utah; since the United States was now involved in the war, he joined the Students Army Training Corps. Soon, however, the influenza pandemic of 1918 to 1919—which killed forty million or more people worldwide—closed the university, as well as other institutions across the nation.4 Guns fell silent in November. Then, in December 1918, came the call from Boston’s mayor to art commissions across the country, inviting them to meet with the Boston Art Commission to discuss the question of what form war memorials should take. Since Avard Fairbanks was in Washington, D.C. at the time, unsuccessfully seeking funding to visit the European battlefields, he was selected as Salt Lake City’s delegate. He later recalled that “one of the men who was present in the assembly with the others was my friend, and former advisor, Cyrus E. Dallin.” (Dallin was born in Springville, Utah, and, before joining the staff of the Massachusetts College of Art in 1899, he was part of the circle of Utah artists that

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included Avard’s father.) Representatives from a relatively small number of locales—Washington, New York, Philadelphia, Salt Lake City, Massachusetts, and Boston itself—met in Boston on January 7, 1919. In his opening remarks, Thomas Allen, chairman of the Boston Art Commission, noted that there were “two separate intentions in the erection of war memorials and the question resolves to this: Do we wish to commemorate Victory, or do we wish to keep green the memory of those who have made the supreme sacrifice?”5 Allen had articulated one of the central dilemmas of contemporary Americans as they tried to remember the dead—what kind of memorial to erect—even as they wrestled with the legacy of the Civil War, the ambiguities of WWI, and the rapidly changing world they now faced.6 Each delegation to the convention was given the opportunity to speak, and, for his part, Fairbanks said, “When I left Salt Lake City the city commission told me to emphasize their desire for a utilitarian memorial. . . . Of course the commission sent me to represent them and to get ideas from the best men in the country, so

I am here today to listen to your ideas rather than to speak to you.” Dallin, who represented both Massachusetts and Boston, followed by making a case for the ideal: I am going to speak from the point of view of an artist on the memorial proposition. . . . Now it seems to me that the artist must primarily represent the ideal or symbolic side of art in war memorials and that no memorial has any lasting value or gives any great joy unless it stirs the imagination of the beholder to a vision of something that is outside the ordinary facts of life with which he constantly comes in contact. . . . The great memorials of the past—what have they been? They have been in themselves something so beautiful, ennobling and spirited, that we do not have to ask why they were made. Dallin’s own beautifully executed WWI memorial, Memory, in Sherborn, Massachusetts, exemplifies his concept of the ideal (fig. 2).

Figure 2. Cyrus E. Dallin and William W. Dinsmore, Memory, 1924, bronze. Sherborn, Massachusetts. Kent Ahrens, photographer. Courtesy of the author.

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When Fairbanks returned to Salt Lake City, he reported to the City Planning Commission on the proceedings of the war memorial convention. One of the primary questions debated by the representatives was whether it was appropriate for war memorials to take the form of utilitarian projects such as roads and bridges or whether they should be abstract symbols, such as idealized figures upon bases. Communities wishing to erect memorials will vary across the country, from small communities to large cities, and they will have different problems with respect to finances, location, and the very spirit of the constituencies. It is important, therefore, that the form of memorials be a matter of local judgment. Where state

or regional art commissions existed, designs should be submitted to them for review, but art commissions should not dictate the form of memorials. Convention members agreed that the nation should avoid the mistakes that occurred after the Civil War, when communities rushed to commemorate the conflict and poorly designed stock models flooded the country. Clipston Sturgis, representing the Mayor’s Committee, remarked, “We wish to emphasize in our memorials, not force, necessary in war, and represented by the army and navy, but the ideals for which we fought. The memorials of the Civil War—figures of soldiers or piles of cannon balls—represent force—the means to the end, rather than the unity of our country and the end of slavery—the objects for which we fought.” Meanwhile, Charles A. Coolidge (also of the Mayor’s Committee) suggested that the arch, for instance, be avoided because “of its being borrowed from the Romans as an expression of triumph.” Open

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Inspired, perhaps, by Augustus Saint-Gaudens’s Adams Memorial, the enigma of Dallin’s haunting monument dedicated to the casualties of war is the absence of military figures symbolizing fallen soldiers and sailors.7

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Figure 3. Avard T. Fairbanks, Doughboy of Idaho, 1922–1923, bronze. This Doughboy is in St. Anthony, Idaho; a second Doughboy of Idaho is in Moscow. The St. Anthony statue was conserved in 2018 by Adonis Bronze of Alpine, Utah. Here, Denny Jenks of Adonis Bronze works on the statue. Courtesy Adonis Bronze.

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competitions had been a bone of contention among artists for decades, and the representatives agreed that the best results would be achieved by engaging talented artists and architects based on other criteria. Of course, the war involved the efforts of the entire nation, and Charles Moore, representing the National Commission of Fine Arts, observed, “the turning of a hundred millions of people from manifold pursuits of peace to the one pursuit of war is well worth commemorating.” In keeping with the general tone of the convention, Fairbanks’s report concluded idealistically, “we agreed that we should not express the attitude of being proud of our victory over our enemies (not of the savage attitude) nor should we commemorate only the heroes and those who have made the supreme sacrifice; but we should hold uppermost the ideals and spirit with which we went to war.”8 After the experience of attending the Boston Convention and listening to its delegates, Fairbanks had the opportunity in the next years to create his own WWI memorials. As it happened, Avard’s brother Vernon was working in a store in Preston, Idaho, where he became friendly with the chairman of the State of Idaho Memorial Commission, and his influence was important in Avard receiving a commission. Idaho officials determined that each county should have the opportunity of deciding what was appropriate for a memorial. In response, Fairbanks made a small figure, Doughboy of Idaho, which he could exhibit throughout the state. In his reminiscences he recalled, “It was a figure of one of the soldiers in the field, but a very fine type of young man. Not the type of man to show hatred, but one that showed our determination to bring about victory for a just cause.” Versions of Doughboy of Idaho (fig. 3) were erected in both Moscow and St. Anthony. Statues of military heroes, either mounted or standing with the appropriate battle dress and armament of their time, trace their development back to the early Renaissance. In that tradition, Fairbanks’s statue is that of a single figure in somewhat detailed battle gear, with his rifle clutched in his muscular right arm and hand. He wears a typically shallow WWI helmet. Later in life, Fairbanks received an advanced degree in anatomical

studies, but his interest in an accurate rendering of the figure was already evident with Doughboy. The soldier is shown gazing off to his left, and in his left hand he holds a German helmet as a trophy of war. Is the implication, then, that of a doughboy contemplating his recent victory over a now-defeated, dead enemy soldier? It is difficult not to infer a sense of victory in Fairbanks’s Doughboy, in spite of the convention’s recommendation that symbols of triumph over the enemy be avoided. Certainly, a sense of victory over the enemy is clearly the case in a very similar image in Clyde Forsythe’s poster for the Victory Liberty Loan campaign (fig. 4). Forsythe’s promotional piece, which was designed to stimulate the purchase of bonds, also portrays a somewhat battered doughboy holding his rifle and bullet-riddled German helmets, with the inscription “And they thought we couldn’t fight.” Since their artistic purposes varied, there is a marked difference in style between Fairbanks’s reflective

Figure 4. Clyde Forsythe, And They Thought We Couldn’t Fight—Victory Liberty Loan, [1917]. Courtesy Library of Congress, LC-USZC4–10221.

Leo was likely instrumental in helping Avard obtain a commission for the Agriculture College’s large bronze relief panel commemorating three fallen classmates from the Spanish American War and those who died in World War I (fig. 5). The somewhat cumbersome contract between Avard Fairbanks and a representative committee from the Class of 1923, which commissioned the work, was executed in March 1923. The contract required that Fairbanks would first construct a plaster cast of the subject, at least six-feet-six-inches high, in accordance with a sketch he had first submitted for approval. Following approval of the plaster cast, the relief was to be cast in bronze by an American foundry. The bronze was to be placed in the vestibule of the Library on or before September 1923. However, the contract went on to stipulate that the class committee wished the relief to be placed by June 1923, and if that proved to be impossible the artist would provide a full size, bronze-colored plaster cast until the bronze was delivered. Fairbanks’s Service Memorial was eventually placed in the college’s Memorial Union, which was dedicated in June 1929 as a working memorial to the college’s war heroes; a veteran of the Civil War led the honor guard. Following a long tradition in commemorative sculpture, Fairbanks combined realistic military details

In 1930 Fairbanks’s 91st Division Monument (figs. 7 and 8) was dedicated at Fort Lewis, Washington, to pay tribute to the troops from Utah and other western states who served in Europe. The 91st Division first saw action in the SaintMihiel Offensive and later gained distinction in the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. The division was demobilized in 1919, but shortly thereafter its veterans formed an association which met annually. In 1926 Fairbanks submitted drawings that he considered to be an appropriate monumental

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If Fairbank’s Service Memorial is a quiet, reflective relief, his memorial in the Jefferson High School, Portland, Oregon, is much less so (figs. 1 and 6). The vivid imagery of ghostlike soldiers wearing gas masks behind the sandbags of trenches calls to mind the visceral horrors of war in the poetry of Siegfried Sassoon. (Only a site like Verdun in France can truly reveal the senseless carnage of the Great War.) Certainly, by 1926 the horrific effects of gas warfare were known and terrible images of the soldiers in the trenches were readily available for Fairbanks to draw upon. The standing soldier to the left—his battle gear hanging from his shoulder—personifies the casualties of war, who look upward toward the winged figure. She is symbolic of such qualities as grace and memory, if not a more religious meaning as indicated by the cross behind her. Between the two figures is a plaque inscribed, in part, “Dedicated to the Jefferson High School Students Who Served in the World War.” The relief, which was unveiled in April 1926, was presented as a gift from Jefferson High School alumni.11

During this period, Fairbanks and his wife made a difficult automobile trip through Idaho and Oregon, where he was fortuitously introduced to one of the deans at the University of Oregon. A faculty member had recently died, and the university was looking for a young instructor to replace him. Based on photographs of the work Fairbanks showed him, the dean appointed him assistant professor in the College of Architecture and Applied Arts. Except for leaves of absence to pursue other activities, Fairbanks taught at the university from 1920 until 1927, when he received a Guggenheim Fellowship to study in Italy. Then in 1923 his brother Leo Fairbanks, who had also studied in Paris, was appointed professor of art at Oregon Agricultural College in Corvallis, where he taught until 1946.

with allegorical elements, thereby taking the viewer from the mundane to the ideal—or from the worldly to the spiritual. In the relief, a winged angelic figure embraces a WWI soldier as she prepares to lift him skyward. His left arm, which she supports, rests on a plaque with the inscription “Service Memorial of the Oregon Agricultural College,” below which are inscribed the names of the fallen. The tips of her wings caress the bottom of the relief, where the row of crosses symbolizes the war casualties and the stars probably refer to “The Golden Star Men of Oregon State,” that is, men who died in conflict.10

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war memorial and Forsythe’s agitated public relations poster.9

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Figure 5. Avard T. Fairbanks, Service Memorial of the Oregon Agricultural College, 1929, bronze. Corvallis, Oregon. From the Avard T. Fairbanks Collection, OSU Libraries Special Collections and Archives Research Center.

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Figure 6. Avard T. Fairbanks, Jefferson High School Memorial, 1926, bronze. Portland, Oregon. Jayla Pride, photographer.

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Figure 7. Avard T. Fairbanks and John Graham Sr., 91st Division Monument, circa 1930s, bronze. Fort Lewis, Washington. Courtesy Lewis Army Museum, Joint Base Lewis-McChord.

346 design honoring the division; the association agreed and requested permission from the War Department to erect a memorial at Fort Lewis. Frank McDermott, president of the Bon Marché department store in Seattle, agreed to pay for the project. Fairbanks’s figures were completed and cast in bronze from about 1928 to 1929. John Graham Sr., a Seattle architect, designed the forty-foot sandstone shaft sheltering the bronzes. The figural group depicts a woman and a man— identified as a nurse and a volunteer worker—attending a fallen figure, while two soldiers in full battle gear stand guard. The figure of a crusader above conveys the notion that “right” will prevail. While Fairbanks’s 91st Division Monument lacks the visceral impact of the Jefferson High School relief, it is a beautifully executed memorial combining the elements of the Beaux-Arts style that he would have learned in Paris: collaboration with an architect, exquisitely finished bronze work, realistic figures often combined with allegorical ones in closely observed detail, and an emphasis on portraying the ideal.12

Avard Fairbanks’s career as an artist and an educator continued to progress throughout the twentieth century, much of it spent in Salt Lake City, and he remained active until his death on January 1, 1987—just two weeks before a retrospective exhibition of his work opened at the Salt Lake Art Center.13 Among the artistic legacies Fairbanks left are his WWI monuments, works that reflect the grief and angst of the interwar era. Erich Maria Remarque’s profound novel, All Quiet on the Western Front (1928), describes young men— boys really—caught in the meaningless conflict to kill or be killed, even as they began to realize that although they might survive individually their generation would be “destroyed by the war.” Reminiscent of much of Remarque’s later writing, Fairbanks’s monuments dedicated to the Great War visually evoke a sense of tragic loss and profound change wrought upon civilians and veterans alike: to use Cyrus Dallin’s term, ideal memorials commemorating a terrible conflict.

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Figure 8. Avard T. Fairbanks and John Graham Sr., 91st Division Monument, 1967, bronze. Fort Lewis, Washington. Courtesy Lewis Army Museum, Joint Base LewisMcChord.

Web Extra View a gallery of some of Avard Fairbanks’s work at history.utah.gov.

Notes 1

Dr. Eugene F. Fairbanks, of Bellingham, Washington, and executor of his father’s estate, has generously shared unpublished manuscript material containing transcribed recollections of the artist, typed essay material, photographs, scrapbooks and clippings—all hereafter identified as Estate Papers. The estate manuscripts “John B. Fairbanks, Pioneer Artist,” and “Development of the Arts in Utah,” were probably written by Avard Fairbanks. In 1892, when the sculptor Cyrus E. Dallin’s statue of the Angel Moroni was secured in place, the exterior of the Salt Lake Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was completed. However, the interior of the temple had yet to be decorated. Therefore, in 1890 an LDS church sponsorship provided funds for John Hafen, John Fairbanks, Loris Pratt, Edwin Evans, and later Herman Hugo Haag to learn the art of mural decoration in Paris. “81 Tomorrow. Reception Will Be Held for Pioneer

Utah Artist,” unidentified clipping related to John B. Fairbanks, Estate Papers; see also “John B. Fairbanks,” Utah Artists Project, accessed July 31, 2019, lib.utah .edu/collections/utah-artists/. 2 “Boy Sculptor Has Won Two Scholarships at 14,” and “A Short Sketch of the Life of the Utah Boy Sculptor,” clippings, Estate Papers; see also “Zion’s Boy Artist Wins More Honors,” Salt Lake Tribune, July 6, 1911; “Utah has Young Genius in Art,” Salt Lake Evening Telegram, March 27, 1912; Ora Leigh Traughber, “Fairbanks Ancestral Home Preserved for 300 Years,” Salt Lake Tribune, December 22, 1912. John Fairbanks went to New York on an ill-fated project to copy paintings in the Metropolitan Museum of Art for patrons back home. 3 Eugene F. Fairbanks, A Sculptor’s Testimony in Bronze and Stone: The Sacred Sculpture of Avard T. Fairbanks (Salt Lake City: E. F. Fairbanks, 1994), 16–23. At the time, Leo Fairbanks was Superintendent of Art in Salt Lake City schools. 4 Norman Davies, Europe: A History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 776–77; New York Times, November 11, 1918. 5 “Report of the Secretary at the Meeting of Jan 7, 1919,” Proceedings: vol. I-4, 1917 November 8–1921 June 21, Series I, Boston Art Commission Records, Coll.

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0272.100, City of Boston Archives and Records Management Division, Boston, Massachusetts; Boston City Council Records, Annual Report of the Art Department for the Year Ending January 31, 1919, 5–8, City of Boston Archives, Boston. 6 Lisa M. Budreau, Bodies of War: World War I and the Politics of Commemoration in America, 1919–1933 (New York: New York University Press, 2010), 1–4; Jennifer Wingate, “Over the Top: The Doughboy in World War I Memorials and Visual Culture,” American Art 19, no. 2 (2005): 27–28. 7 Annual Report of the Art Department [. . .] 1919, 15–17, 10; Kent Ahrens, with an introductory essay by Fred Licht, Cyrus E. Dallin: His Small Bronzes and Plasters (Corning, NY: Rockwell Museum, 1995), 78–79. 8 “Report of War Memorial Convention at Boston. By Avard Fairbanks, Delegate of City Planning Commission of Salt Lake City,” 1919, Estate Papers; Annual Report of the Art Department [. . .] 1919, 5–25. The national influence of the American Federation of Arts in the matter of WWI memorials is unclear. Nevertheless, copies of the convention’s minutes were circulated throughout the country. And in 1920 the American Federation of Arts asked the Boston Art Commission to accept, “the duties of a Regional Committee on War Memorials for New England,” Annual Report (1920), 5. Commission approvals were granted in 1921–1924, including for Cyrus Dallin’s English High School relief in 1922. In 1924, however, approval was withheld for a war veteran’s monument on an East Boston sidewalk. In January and February 1921, the Metropolitan Museum of Art exhibited a collection of WWI-related art that was organized by the National Art Committee and was intended to be circulated by the American Federation of Arts. National Art Committee, Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Florence Nightingale Levy, Exhibition of War Portraits: Signing of the Peace Treaty, 1919, and Portraits of Distinguished Leaders of America and of the Allied Nations, Portraits by Eminent American Artists for Presentation to the National Portrait Gallery (New York: National Art Committee, 1921). “The most appropriate permanent home for the pictures was . . . provided for and the foundation of a National Portrait Gallery laid when Charles D. Walcott of the Smithsonian Institution approved the committee’s project for permanently housing this historic group of pictures.” The art is now located in the National Portrait Gallery and American Art Museum, courtesy Collections Information and Research, Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery. “Exhibition of War Portraits,” Bulletin of the Metropolitan Museum of Art 16 (January 1921): 3. 9 Eugene Fairbanks, “Creator of Heroic Monuments: Avard Fairbanks, Sculptor,” Artifact: A Regional Magazine of the Arts and Antiques 2, no. 1 (July–August 1996): 20–22, and A Sculptors Testimony in Bronze and Stone, 2–3. One important method the United States took in raising finances for the war was Liberty Loans or Liberty Bonds. There were four issues of Liberty Loans between April 1917 and September 1918. A fifth, the Victory Liberty Loan, was issued in 1919. Dozens of posters and other illustrations were produced urging the purchase of Liberty Loan bonds as a patriotic duty. Whether Fairbanks knew Forsythe’s poster is an open question. 10 Contract, between Fairbanks and the class committee, March 14, 1923, Contract Administration Records, RG

212, Special Collections and Archives Research Center, The Valley Library, Oregon State University, Corvallis, Oregon (hereafter OSU); “The Dedication Ceremony,” and “The Gold Star Men of Oregon State,” The Memorial Union. Oregon State College (Corvallis, Oregon, 1929), 30–33, 44; “Memorial to OSC War Dead Serves Students Ten Years,” clipping; “All States Join in Dedication on June 1 of Memorial Building at Oregon State College,” clipping, Avard T. Fairbanks Collection, MSS Fairbanks A, OSU. 11 “Plaque To Be Unveiled,” Morning Oregonian (Portland, OR), April 13, 1926, 8, courtesy Jefferson High School for Advanced Studies. When negotiating commissions, Fairbanks would prepare either sketches or clay models for approval and sign a contract. Despite the wealth of written and oral information that Fairbanks left behind, private conversations between him and patrons were rarely if ever recorded, and it is unknown if any dialogue stimulated the Jefferson High School reliefs. Fairbanks’s brothers Ortho and Delmar had served in the Army and Navy, respectively, and they may have discussed the war with him. 12 In 1927, while traveling to Italy to study under the auspices of a Guggenheim Fellowship, Fairbanks visited the battlefields in France, including ground fought over by the 91st Division. Duane Colt Denfeld, “91st Division Monument is Dedicated at Fort Lewis on May 30, 1930,” HistoryLink.org, accessed August 12, 2019, historylink.org/File/9354; see “The Latin Quarter of the University of Michigan,” The Michigan Alumnus, October 19, 1929, 72, available at hathitrust.org, for a model of Fairbanks’s 91st Regiment Memorial. B. H. Wells, Acting Secretary of War, to the 91st Division Association, August 2, 1928, grants permission to erect a monument, transcription courtesy of Lewis Army Museum, Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington. 13 In 1929 Fairbanks was appointed associate professor of sculpture at the University of Michigan, where he taught until 1947. During WWII, university enrollment decreased, and Fairbanks took a leave of absence to work in personnel at the Ford Motor Company and public relations at the Willow Run Bomber Plant, which produced the B-24 Liberator Bomber. His work at Willow Run involved a broad range of activities, including greeting congressmen and visiting dignitaries. In 1948 Fairbanks returned to Salt Lake City, where he was appointed dean of the College of Fine Arts at the University of Utah, a position he held until 1965. In 1954 he received the prestigious Herbert Adams Memorial Medal and Citation from the National Sculpture Society. After spending 1966–1968 as a resident artist at the University of North Dakota, Fairbanks returned to Salt Lake City. “The Position of Prof. Avard Fairbanks on the University of Michigan Campus,” typescript, and Fairbanks resume, Estate Papers; “Professor Fairbanks Recognized as One of Outstanding Sculptors,” The Michigan Alumnus, August 15, 1942, 482, available at hathitrust.org; Willow Run information courtesy of Eugene Fairbanks; Minutes of the National Sculpture Society, Annual Meeting, January 12, 1954, National Sculpture Society, New York, New York; Ahrens, “Avard T. Fairbanks and the Winter Quarters Monument,” Nebraska History 95 (Fall 2014): 183–84; George Dibble, “Retrospective Show a Tribute to the Late Avard Fairbanks,” Salt Lake Tribune, January 18, 1987, in Estate Papers.

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BOOK REVIEWS Monumental Mobility: The Memory Work of Massasoit By Lisa Blee and Jean M. O’Brien

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Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2019. 272 pp. Paper, $29.95

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This one felt like an easy fit. Having been raised in Massachusetts not too far from Plymouth, where my lifelong interest in Native Americans began, a return to my roots seemed natural and interesting. The story of the Pilgrims and their friendship with Massasoit (actually 8[W]sâmeeqan or Yellow Feather), the first Thanksgiving, and interaction with the Wampanoag Tribe was familiar territory, but why the Utah Historical Quarterly was interested in treading this wellworn path was a mystery. The two thousand miles between Plymouth and Salt Lake City and the four hundred years of history seemed too much to bridge. My educational journey was just starting. When the Improved Order of Red Men (IORM), an organization of Anglos interested in promoting Progressive ideals and a palatable national history with American values, commissioned Cyrus E. Dallin (1861–1944), a sculptor born and raised in Utah but who practiced much of his art in Massachusetts, they hoped to solidify a peaceful narrative of Indian and Pilgrim cooperation. When the IORM installed the bronze statue Massasoit on Cole’s Hill overlooking Plymouth Bay in 1921, commemorating three hundred years since the first event, they reaffirmed the narrative of friendship so often encapsulated in the first Thanksgiving story and the fifty peaceful years thereafter. Dallin apparently achieved his goal. He could not have known that not only would Massasoit be copied a number of times against his wishes, but that it would appear in some of the most unlikely places—a mall in Kansas City, Missouri; an artistic shopping plaza in Dayton, Ohio; and the Utah State Capitol, Springville Art Museum, and Brigham Young University, among others. How this happened and what it has done to the initial narrative is the subject of this book.

Following an introduction that provides contextual information about Dallin’s life and work and a brief history of the statue and its surrounding story, the authors divide the topic into four chapters. The first, “Casting,” tells of his efforts to create a realistic sculpture based not only on the topic but that also incorporated heroic ideals observed with Indians encountered through life experience. Once the statue had been placed in Massachusetts, the large mold came to Utah with the understanding that no other copies would be made; following Dallin’s death, this wish was denied. Copies eventually appeared in different parts of the country due to less than honorable circumstances. The second chapter, “Staging,” examines not only the installation of the Massachusetts statue and how site selection played an important role in furthering the accompanying narrative but also how it was received by the last descendants of Massasoit. When copies of the statue arrived in far-distant cities, mixed messages were often sent, either confusing local history or accepting irrelevancy. This gave rise to the third chapter, “Distancing,” in which a series of “man/woman-on-the-street” interviews á la Jay Leno showed just how mixed or lost the actual intent had become. Those in the IORM would have gasped at the gaps in historical memory. In a number of instances, the desired narrative, has been reversed by deep plows unearthing the dark side of the past. In both this chapter and the final one, the authors discuss how Native Americans have produced a counter-dialogue that sees the arrival of the Pilgrims as an upsurge in a genocide started earlier, how the first Thanksgiving is now a “Day of Mourning,” why the supposed fifty years of initial peace erupted into King Philip’s (Pometacomet’s) War, and how the white narrative has been totally distorted to erase real events. This is the milieu provided to discuss the broader theme of the role that statuary plays in defining—through memory, narrative, and art form—the past. For those seeking relevance to today’s world, one only has to turn on the television or pick up a news magazine to see what is happening to statues ranging from Christopher Columbus to the Founding Fathers to

—Robert S. McPherson (Emeritus) Utah State University, Blanding

Memorials Matter: Emotion, Environment, and Public Memory at American Historical Sites By Jennifer K. Ladino Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2019. xxii + 295 pp. Paper, $29.95

For those curious about the intersection of history, memory, and places, Jennifer Ladino’s recent work, Memorials Matter, provides a welcome addition to the assortment of studies by historians, geographers, and anthropologists on the subject. Leaning on her extensive experience as a National Park Service ranger, Ladino grounds her book in the concept of “affect,” what she terms “a slippery, nebulous, downright confusing term” from environmental humanities scholars for “feelings that precede or elude consciousness and discourse . . . and can transcend the individual body” (12). While indeed slippery, in Ladino’s hands, affect becomes an effective tool to describe the often chaotic and diverse array of reactions, thoughts, and

Considering the historical and geographic breadth of her analysis, Ladino’s collection weaves together a remarkably cohesive argument about affect’s role in historical interpretation. Tackling seven case studies of memorials developed over the last century, all in National Park units in the American West, she discusses a full range of interpretive and historical topics, from how well the western grasslands of Colorado evoke memories of spirituality and grief at Sand Creek, to the ownership of place afforded native Hawaiians at the USS Arizona memorial in Honolulu, and whether the sacrifice of Chinese immigrants in the construction of the Central Pacific Railroad is lost amid the techno-centric interpretive strategy at Golden Spike National Historic Site. In assessing each site’s affective qualities, Ladino molds an examination of a hypothetical visitor’s background, prior knowledge, and biases, the interpretive mission of each site, the landscape design surrounding memorials in those parks, and the interpretive messages crafted on displays and in ranger-led programming. She further considers the design of the memorials and their location, whether their intended affect is helped or hindered by that design, and whether the institutional intentions are appropriate. Navigating the “nebulous” nature of affect, Ladino artfully sculpts a suggestive critique of each site, and she extends her reach beyond each individual

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For the Utah reader, there is much in this book to recommend. Whether looking at the life and works of one of our own sculptors, the role that Brigham Young University played in an art controversy, how Utahns greeted and understood the statue of Massasoit when mounted both inside and outside of the State Capitol, or in relaying historical messages both past and present, one will find here a well-researched and thought-provoking work.

emotions that different visitors might experience at the memorials studied in her book. By framing her study in this manner, Ladino adds another foundational piece to public history scholarship on memories and memorials, such as Martha K. Norkunas’s The Politics of Public Memory (1993) and Monuments and Memories (2002); Mike Wallace’s forays into controversies in public history in both Mickey Mouse History (1996) and his essay “Culture War: History Front,” in Tom Engelhardt and Ed Linenthal’s History Wars: The Enola Gay and Other Battles for the American Past (1996); and David Lowenthal’s The Heritage Crusade (1998). Ladino crafts an exploration not just of scholarly history or the current interpretive strategy of her selected memorial sites but of the often more powerful and lasting emotional connections people make with history itself as a result of the landscapes that comprise historical memorials.

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Confederate generals to any topic that people find controversial or offensive. Whether it is a matter of erasing the past, promoting racism, encouraging self-aggrandizement, or setting the record straight, traditional history has been challenged on many fronts. Even as older people complain about how younger people know little about it—which might be true—history also has a way of engaging and activating response as never before. The link between historical events and current affairs is often short-circuited into soundbites and then acted upon.

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Ladino’s focus on the American West is refreshing and compelling, and an important read for any practitioner of public history, whether a government historian, a museum curator, a park ranger, or an historic preservationist. Ladino’s work brings the relatively new perspective of the environmental humanities to the established interdisciplinary literature of public history, mixing traditional humanities and public history methods with psychology and landscape architecture. The result is a well-crafted treatise that joins Eric Foner’s Who Owns History? (2003) as an analysis of how people connect with history and how practitioners of history ought to facilitate those connections in a free society.

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park or memorial to an examination of the state of public history in the United States, its values, and its methods, concluding that there is a great deal of work yet to do.

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Memorials Matter reminds the reader of several important things: first, that history in the American West is critical to understanding the nation’s broader narratives about people and environment; second, that how people learn at memorial sites (and arguably at historic sites overall) is as much an emotional process as it is an intellectual one; and third, that these memorials, interpreted and managed by the federal government, have a unique charge to educate in a democratic way without the benefit of being entirely neutral. While acknowledging that the American narrative is not, cannot be, and should not be a cohesive one, crafted solely by authoritative institutions, Ladino politely indicts the habit of memorials dealing with controversial topics to avoid direct confrontation in favor of passive and open-ended approaches. Noting that such passivity often leads to failures in interpretive (or affective) intent, Ladino instead calls for a more active interpretation at these sites that acknowledges the complexity of the human experience but also challenges visitors by using compassion and human connections to foster learning. Ladino’s core message rings forth as a powerful call to action for practitioners at memorial sites to accept controversy as a normal and necessary aspect of public history craft. As Ladino puts it, “understanding how affects work—not just the negative ones but also love, compassion, and wonder—is an essential step on what sometimes

seems like a very long, slow walk toward freedom and justice” (268). —Jim Bertolini Historic Preservation Planner, City of Fort Collins, CO

The Chinese and the Iron Road: Building the Transcontinental Railroad Edited by Gordon H. Chang and Shelley Fisher Fishkin, with Hilton Obenzinger and Roland Hsu Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2019. xiii + 539 pp. Paper, $30.00

One hundred fifty years ago, on May 10, 1869, the eastbound Central Pacific Railroad (CPRR) met the westbound Union Pacific Railroad (UPRR) at Promontory Summit, Utah. Although Chinese laborers made up the great majority of the workers, they were conspicuously absent from the well-known photograph taken at the driving of the golden spike that commemorated that historic event. Their immense contributions to American commerce and industry became largely forgotten. In 2012, scholars at Stanford University initiated the Chinese Railroad in North America Project. They, and the many others who joined their efforts, were determined to recreate the Chinese workers’ experiences, despite a dearth of relevant historical documentation. The Chinese and the Iron Road succeeds admirably in returning these Chinese laborers to their central role in completing the transcontinental railroad. The book’s five major sections encompass “Global Perspectives” (two essays), “Ties to China” (three essays), “Life on the Line” (eight essays), “Chinese Railroad Workers in Cultural Memory” (three essays), and “Chinese Railroad Workers after Promontory” (five essays). As the section titles indicate, the book covers much more than just the United States and its transcontinental railroad. Discussions of Hong Kong connections, European travel narratives, Chinese laborers in Cuba, Chinese villagers in China, and Chinese contributions to town development in Nevada broaden its scope, impact,

If sales warrant reprinting, a few suggestions can be made for its improvement. For example, as coeditor, with Sue Fawn Chung, of Chinese American Death Rituals: Respecting the Ancestors, this reviewer was stunned to be identified as “Patricia” (470) in an index entry that also omits the subtitle; the reference is correct elsewhere, however (e.g., 409, 481). Although the index is lengthy, at twenty-two pages, the reader will still want to have pencil in hand to

University of Idaho

The Journey West: The Mormon Pioneer Journals of Horace K. Whitney with Insights by Helen Mar Kimball Whitney Edited by Richard E. Bennett Provo, UT: Religious Studies Center, Brigham Young University, in cooperation with Deseret Book, 2018. xlv + 442 pp. Cloth, $34.99

Richard E. Bennett, professor of Church History and Doctrine at Brigham Young University, has produced another significant volume on the Mormon overland journey of 1846–1847. As the author of two previous volumes on the subject, Mormons at the Missouri, 1846–1852: “And Should We Die . . .” (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1987), and We’ll Find the Place: The Mormon Exodus, 1846–1848 (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1997), Bennett has distinguished himself as one of the leading authorities of the inaugural Mormon migration from the Midwest to the Rocky Mountains. The present book’s main feature are the journal entries of Horace K. Whitney’s overland record taken from six leather-bound journals housed in the LDS Church History Library. The volumes total 631 pages (some 200,000 words), although

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The notes, glossary, and bibliography add to the scholarly significance of this book. The Chinese and the Iron Road complements, and expands on, other recent publications, such as “The Archaeology of Chinese Railroad Workers in North America,” edited by Barbara L. Voss in Historical Archaeology 49, no. 1 (2015), and Finding Hidden Voices of the Chinese Railroad Workers: An Archaeological and Historical Journey, by Mary L. Maniery, Rebecca Allen, and Sarah Christine Heffner (2016). Curiously, some of the notes for chapter 17 were truncated for length. Although the explanation referred the reader to a “Bibliographic Essay for ‘The Chinese as Railroad Workers after Promontory,’” on the website of Stanford’s Chinese Railroad Workers in North America Project, the URL for that site, as given in the Works Cited section, was incorrect. The correct URL is web.stanford.edu/group/ chineserailroad/cgi-bin/website/bibliographic-essay-for-the-chinese-as-railroad-workers-after-promontory/ (accessed June 17, 2019).

add topics of interest that were not included. For example, according to the introduction, “few Chinese females were among the railroad workers in North America” (21). Because this statement implies that there were some women who were railroad workers, the index should have included page references to them, or at least to this statement, even if the topic was not discussed directly (538). Colporteur (a peddler of religious books; a word lacking in this reviewer’s vocabulary) is not defined where it appears, nor is it indexed (163, 165). More illustrations would have enlivened the text, and poems numbered 2 through 7 in the chapter 3 appendix should have been provided in the text where the English translations appear. These caveats definitely do not detract from the significance of The Chinese and the Iron Road, which is highly recommended.

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and usefulness. In addition, numerous other U.S. railroads employed Chinese workers, as did railways in Canada, especially the Canadian Pacific Railway. Chinese poems and ballads related to migration, portrayals of Chinese railroad workers both in U.S. and Chinese history and literature, and documents in Chinese—including letters, work contracts, and travel loan agreements—all add “human interest” and perspective to the narrative, as does the story of Chin Gee Hee’s rise from laborer to railroad financier, plus the accounts of the interactions that the CPRR’s president, Leland Stanford, and his wife, Jane, had with their various Chinese employees. The Chinese and the Iron Road will appeal to a wide audience of students, scholars, Chinese Americans, and other members of the general public with an interest in history, archaeology, Asian studies, or railroads in general.

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a part of Journal 3 includes entries from Whitney’s missionary travels through the eastern states in 1843 and are excluded in Bennett’s compilation. An additional significant contribution of the book is the inclusion of extracts from the autobiographical reminiscences of Horace’s wife, Helen Mar Kimball Whitney. From 1880 to 1886, Helen composed her memoirs, subsequently published in serial form between 1883 and 1886 in the Woman’s Exponent (and more recently, in 1997, in Jeni Broberg Holzapfel and Richard Neitzel Holzapfel’s A Woman’s View: Helen Mar Whitney’s Reminiscences of Early Church History). While writing the narrative about her journey to the West, Helen referred to her husband’s journal record, thereby creating an additional firsthand dual account. Recognizing the significance of Helen’s composition, Bennett astutely included selected passages from Helen’s narrative that corresponded with those of Horace’s journal entries, providing the reader with additional descriptive information and details. Helen’s entries appear in italicized text to distinguish them from her husband’s. To underscore the importance and significance of Whitney’s record, Bennett notes who he considers to be the foremost diarists of the 1846–1847 trek, namely, Thomas Bullock, Wilford Woodruff, Hosea Stout, Orson Pratt, William Clayton, Norton Jacob, Howard Egan, and Horace K. Whitney. Of these, only Clayton, Jacob, Egan, and Whitney’s narratives cover all five phases of the trail (xxvi–xxxviii). Clayton’s journal has been the primary source most often cited by historians in connection with the 1846–1847 overland journey and understandably so, due to his role as the official secretary to Brigham Young and as the company clerk for the vanguard company. But Whitney’s record is equally impressive, and in many instances he provides more details and better descriptions than Clayton. Over the course of twenty months, from the time he began his overland record, Whitney rarely missed making a daily entry. With the publication of this volume, perhaps Whitney’s journal will get more acknowledgment and recognition from the historical community. Bennett divides the 1846–1847 Mormon exodus from Illinois into five phases: first, the crossing of southern Iowa (February–August 1846); second, the temporary layover at Winter Quarters

(fall 1846–spring 1847); third, the vanguard company’s overland journey to the Salt Lake Valley (April 1–July 24, 1847); fourth, establishing the Salt Lake settlement (July 25–August 31, 1847); and fifth, the return to Winter Quarters/Kanesville (late August–October 31, 1847). The book is composed of six chapters that correspond with the period covered by Whitney in the six journals. While this is certainly fitting, it is my opinion that a better arrangement would have been to organize the narrative chronologically into chapters associated with the five periods or phases of the Mormon trek as outlined by Bennett. Readers will appreciate Bennett’s thirty-seven-page introduction, in which he shares an informative overview of the lives of Horace and Helen, both of whom were children of prominent early LDS figures. Less than four weeks after their marriage, the newlyweds left Nauvoo as part of the first wave of Latter-day Saints to begin the 1,400-mile trip to the Salt Lake Valley. On March 8, 1847, Horace and his younger brother Orson were chosen to be members of Brigham Young’s vanguard pioneer company. The two were selected to go in place of their father, Newel, who, as the presiding bishop of the church, remained behind to take charge of important affairs at Winter Quarters (178). Both brothers were assigned to be members of the 10th company, 2nd division, headed by Heber C. Kimball, Horace’s father-in-law (194). One month later, on April 9, Horace started west, leaving Helen to remain at Winter Quarters. But Bennett does not leave Helen behind. Periodically he includes excerpts from her autobiography in order to give the reader occasional glimpses into what Helen and the main body of Latter-day Saints were experiencing back at Winter Quarters (190–91, 195–96, 197, 212–14, 219, 225–27, 246–249, 256, 269–70, 365–66, 367). The assignment to be in the advance company filled Whitney with a sense that their undertaking would influence the future history of both the American West and, more importantly, the LDS church. His journal reflects a feeling that he believed the reason he was selected to be in the company was because it was his mission and duty to record in detail the company’s travels. This is partially evidenced by the fact that

Bennett is to be commended for his painstaking efforts to produce an accurate transcription of Whitney’s original text, as well as for his extensive annotation. The book makes a significant contribution to the study and understanding of the early Mormon experience and western expansion and migration. This is indeed an important and impressive work! —Alexander L. Baugh Brigham Young University

Lot Smith: Mormon Pioneer and American Frontiersman By Carmen R. Smith and Talana S. Hooper Salt Lake City: Greg Kofford Books, 2018. xi + 289 pp. Paper, $28.95

Can one man really have been a soldier in the Mormon Battalion, a guerilla fighter during

The absence of insights from historical scholarship is especially noticeable in chapter 1 (“Mormon Battalion”). Sherman Fleek’s excellent work History May Be Searched in Vain: A Military History of the Mormon Battalion (2006) and other Mormon Battalion histories receive no mention. In chapter 3 (“Utah War”), the authors fail to reference any of William P. MacKinnon’s myriad articles or books representing

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The authors plumb nineteenth-century resources masterfully, from diaries and letters to newspaper reports and Latter-day Saint church records. The book falls short, though, in considering recent scholarship, especially for the three key military-related periods in Lot Smith’s life: service in the Mormon Battalion, the Utah War, and the American Civil War. With a bibliography listing almost 450 sources, it is telling that only seven were published in the twenty-first century and none pertain to Smith’s important military service. Consequently, some military-related factual errors crept into their book, such as differences between serving on U.S. Army active duty and in a territorial militia, such as the Nauvoo Legion (74, 81, 89).

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The story of Lot Smith’s interesting and colorful life is told by the mother-daughter team of Carmen R. Smith and Talana S. Hooper in Lot Smith: Mormon Pioneer and American Frontiersman. This book will appeal to casual and serious readers alike. Smith (1917–2018) was married to Omer Smith, one of Lot Smith’s many grandsons. Hooper is the author of A Century in Central [Arizona], 1883–1983, and several family histories.

The book is printed on glossy paper and enhanced with photographs, drawings of geographical landmarks, illustrations, paintings, and maps (both period and modern). It also includes an extensive glossary of individuals mentioned in both Horace’s journals and Helen’s autobiography (although not all persons in the texts could be identified) and a substantial subject index. The volume will be the most useful to historians, researchers, history buffs, and students of the Mormon exodus. Given that the narrative includes an extensive amount of reading material, it will be used mostly by individuals who are not necessarily planning to read the entire narrative, but rather to refer to it to learn more about a particular aspect of the 1846–1847 Mormon migration, such as details about what occurred on a certain day, a specific event, or an individual.

the Utah War, the commander of Utah’s only active duty military unit during the American Civil War, a friend of Brigham Young, one of the rescuers of the Willie and Martin Handcart companies, a member of the Utah legislature, a missionary in Great Britain, a polygamist with eight wives and over fifty children who often outfoxed federal marshals intent on arresting him, a Latter-day Saint stake president, and a colonizer assigned by Brigham Young to preside over a communal settlement in an extremely harsh northern Arizona locale who was killed during a grazing dispute with Native Americans?1 In Lot Smith’s case, the answer is “Yes!”

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at this juncture his journal entries are generally lengthier and more detailed and descriptive, suggesting he was more conscientious of time and place. It further demonstrates that he considered the trek to the Salt Lake Valley to be the most important aspect of his overland experience. Given the ordeals associated with the daily grind and long arduous hours of overland travel, one wonders how he could even find time to write so much material—in longhand no less—at the end of each day.

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exhaustive research during the past half-century, including his outstanding documentary histories At Sword’s Point—Part 1 (2008) and Part 2 (2016).

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Similarly, the authors’ research fell short in chapter 6 (“Civil War Captain”), which discusses Lot Smith’s military service from May to August 1862 as a Union Army captain and commander of Utah’s Lot Smith Cavalry Company. The only book acknowledged by Smith and Hooper is Margaret M. Fisher’s 1929 Utah and the Civil War, which contains no footnotes or bibliographic entries but does include hyperbolic overstatements, such as the whopper (repeated by Smith and Hooper) that Smith’s unit completed “the most hazardous [duty] ever performed in the West by United States troops in defense of their country” (89).2 The chapters on Smith’s military experiences as well as his life in Utah seem slighted when compared to the detail and length the authors devote to Smith’s civilian colonization efforts in their native Arizona. Throughout the book, the authors share interesting stories, though— several of which they note are based on family or local folklore. Here’s one: “Lot looked up the road to see a man on horseback. . . . He told [his son] Al to stay in the wagon and not to lie or he’d skin him alive. Smith took his gun and hid behind a bush. . . . When the [federal] officer asked where his father was, Al answered, ‘Right behind that bush beside you.’ The officer didn’t look; he only said to wish his father a good day and rode on” (211). Even with its deficiencies, this is a worthwhile biography of Lot Smith, more readily available than Charles Peterson’s landmark journal

article about him.3 The authors paint Smith as a resolute, talented, and heroic figure, but acknowledge he was less than perfect—perhaps Mormonism’s premier horseman, but a man who frequently angered and offended his wives as well as associates, especially in his later years. This biography might profitably be read in tandem with William G. Hartley’s chronicle of Lot Smith’s equally accomplished contemporary, Howard Egan—Faithful and Fearless: Major Howard Egan: Early Mormonism and the Pioneering of the American West (2017). Both men—rivals as well as comrades-in-arms— shared an extraordinary, Forrest Gump-like range of experiences in support of the Latter-day Saints in the West. —Kenneth L. Alford Brigham Young University

Notes 1

The authors mention Smith’s “last and fifty-second child” (ix) and “fifty-two children” (241), but appendix C (“Wives and Children of Lot Smith”) lists fifty-five children born to his eight wives (247–48). Only a few books have focused exclusively on Utah’s role in the American Civil War, including Margaret M. Fisher, Utah and the Civil War (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1929); E. B. Long, The Saints and the Union: Utah Territory during the Civil War (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1981); Kenneth L. Alford, ed., Civil War Saints (Provo, UT: Brigham Young University Religious Studies Center, 2012); John Gary Maxwell, The Civil War Years in Utah: The Kingdom of God and the Territory that Did Not Fight (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2015); and Kenneth L. Alford, ed., Utah and the American Civil War: The Written Record (Norman, OK: Arthur H. Clark, 2017). Charles S. Peterson, “‘A Mighty Man was Brother Lot’: A Portrait of Lot Smith—Mormon Frontiersman,” Western Historical Quarterly 1, no. 4 (October 1970): 393–414.

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American Polygamy: A History of Fundamentalist Mormon Faith By Craig L. Foster and Marianne T. Watson

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Charleston, SC: History Press, 2019. 286 pp. Paper, $21.99

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American Polygamy: A History of Fundamentalist Mormon Faith offers readers an accessible history of Mormon fundamentalism from its beginnings in the 1920s to the present. Writing in a respectful and sympathetic tone, Foster and Watson highlight several defining moments in the formation of Mormon fundamentalism. These events include the 1886 John Taylor revelation; the 1890, 1904, and 1933 manifestos from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; the 1944 raid and priesthood split; the 1953 raid on the community in Short Creek; and the 2008 raid of Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (FLDS) properties and arrest of Warren Jeffs. Among the groups covered in the book are the FLDS church, the LeBaron groups, the Centennial Park group, the Peterson group, the Kingston group, the Apostolic United Brethren, and independents such as the Darger family and the Rockland Ranch community. One of the book’s most valuable features is the inclusion of some two hundred photographs from various collections. These images, along with explanations of religious terms such as Council of Friends, priesthood council, one-man rule, and placement marriage help make American Polygamy an important window into Mormon fundamentalist history, community, and religious belief.

Liminal Sovereignty: Mennonites and Mormons in Mexican Culture By Rebecca Janzen Albany: State University of New York Press, 2018. xxiv + 220 pp. Paper, $21.95

Rebecca Janzen’s Liminal Sovereignty: Mennonites and Mormons in Mexican Culture examines the ways in which twentieth- and twenty-first-century Mexican government documentation and popular media have portrayed Latter-day Saint, Mormon fundamentalist, and Mennonite colonies in the state of Chihuahua. Central to Janzen’s task is the

exploration of how concepts of race, religion, language, economic prosperity, and national identity are employed to shape government and public perceptions of Mormon and Mennonite groups. Janzen explores these concepts using a variety of sources, following a chronology from the 1920s to the present. Highlighting issues in the early twentieth century, she examines the language found in government-created “foreign registration cards.” Later, in explaining mid-twentieth-century land disputes between the colonies and edijos, Janzen relies on government reports and official correspondence. In her treatment of more contemporary conflicts between Mormons, Mennonites, and drugs cartels, Janzen analyzes depictions of the colonies in television shows and webcomics. Through these sources, Liminal Sovereignty offers readers insight into the rhetoric surrounding the creation and preservation of Mormon and Mennonite exception to Mexican law.

The 1875 William Henry Jackson Diary: An Illustrated Journey of Discovery Edited and annotated by Alan C. Terrell n.p.: Author, 2019. xxii + 226 pp

Alan C. Terrell’s edited and annotated edition of William Henry Jackson’s 1875 diary includes a typescript version of Jackson’s daily field diary entries, interwoven with Jackson’s reminiscences of corresponding dates. Terrell has undertaken the painstaking task of retracing, hiking, and rephotographing Jackson’s original expedition route. The author’s rephotographs are placed side-by-side with Jackson’s 1875 photographs, allowing the reader to see how the landscape Jackson encountered has changed in the intervening 140 years. In addition to his rephotography, Terrell includes modern maps and images of Jackson’s original sketches to illustrate Jackson’s route through some of the most scenic areas of Utah, Arizona, and Colorado. Relying on collections housed primarily at History Colorado and the United States Geological Survey, Terrell’s labor of love immerses readers in the world of this notable frontier artist.

RAÚL IBÁÑEZ HERVÁS is currently completing his PhD in contemporary history at the University of Zaragoza, in Zaragoza, Spain. He is also vice president of the Centro de Estudios de la Comunidad de Alabarracín (Center of Studies of Albarracín Community) and director of the Albaqua Project, which focuses on water sources in the Sierra de Albarracín region of Spain, and he has numerous publications. Ibáñez holds a bachelor of arts in geography and history. CARLYLE CONSTANTINO is an independent historian currently residing in Las Vegas,

KENT AHRENS was educated at Dartmouth College and received his doctorate in art history from the University of Delaware. After two years as a fellow at the National Gallery of Art, he taught art history at Florida State University and the FSU Study Center in Florence, Italy, Randolph-Macon Woman’s College, and Georgetown University. He served as Associate Curator of Painting at the Wadsworth Atheneum and was director of several museums, including the Rockwell Museum and the Kennedy Museum of Art at Ohio University. During WWI, his father, Fred E. Ahrens, served in the 26th Infantry at St. Mihiel and Meuse-Argonne.

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BRANDEN LITTLE is an associate professor of history at Weber State University in Ogden, Utah. He earned a PhD in history from the University of California, Berkeley. He is an award-winning author and teacher who specializes in the history of the First World War. From 2017 to 2019, he served on the Utah World War I Centennial Commission. Little has published numerous essays in forums such as the Journal of Military History and First World War Studies.

HELEN ZEESE PAPANIKOLAS (1917–2004) was born in a small coal town in Carbon County, Utah, to Greek immigrants, Emily Papachristos and George Zeese. In 1933, the Zeeses moved to Salt Lake City, where Helen graduated from the University of Utah with a degree in bacteriology. Papanikolas soon applied her gifts to understanding the world of Utah’s immigrants. She established a longstanding relationship with the Utah State Historical Society and the Utah Historical Quarterly, becoming the dean of Utah’s ethnic history.

Nevada. She is a graduate of the Art History and Curatorial Studies master’s program at Brigham Young University. Her research interests include early twentieth-century American photography, visual depictions of Native peoples, and the New Deal.

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ROD DECKER’s book Utah Politics: The Elephant in the Room was published in July 2019 by Signature Books. He studied at the University of Utah, University of Chicago, and Harvard, was a soldier in Vietnam and a Utah political reporter, married the late Judge Christine Decker, and has three children and six grandchildren.

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Bingham Canyon, Utah, July 4, 1908 (detail). This image provides a glimpse into the social world of turn-of-the-century Bingham, where a largely immigrant labor force manned huge mining operations. Note, in the background, a banner advertising the return of the Joe Gans versus Oscar (Battling) Nelson fight. Gans, a brilliant African American boxer,

first defended his lightweight title against the Danish-born Nelson in September 1906. The match lasted forty-two rounds in the Goldfield, Nevada, heat. Gans won. The two fought again on July 4, 1908, with Nelson taking the title. Visit history.utah.gov for more on boxing in this era. Utah State Historical Society, photo no. 1328.

Utah Historical Quarterly, Volume 87, Number 4, 2019

Articles inside

Contributors

Notices

Book Reviews

In This Issue

Railroad Rate Regulation in Utah, 1896–1923

Life and Labor Among the Immigrants of Bingham Canyon

The Shared History of Jabaloyas, Spain, and Utah

Emerging from the Archive Helen M. Post’s Photographs of Twentieth-Century Navajos

Armistice, 1918 An Improbable Peace

Avard T. Fairbanks’s World War I Memorials