Death and Dying in Old Park City
Art: Don Weller
Driving past Park City Cemetery on Kearns Boulevard, I often wondered about its largely uninhabited section. There were a scattering of headstones and other grave markers, but the vast portion of the space was empty. This is the story of that vast emptiness —the story of the “forgotten ones”—people who were buried in the cemetery in the town’s early history, who, for a variety of reasons, were soon forgotten. They came from all walks of life, social status and nations. Some had large, celebrated funerals; others quiet, dignified services; still others, no service at all. Yet they all have a common bond: No official records exist of their deaths or the location of their graves.
In 1991, I purchased a copy of the Park City Cemetery Register, thinking it would be a handy tool in researching people I wrote about. It was not long before I discovered the register had many errors, missing information, and unaccounted deaths. In 1998 I had the good fortune to speak to Guy Olpin of Olpin Mortuary. I asked him if there were any records from Archer’s Mortuary, a former undertaking establishment in Park City, whom the Olpins bought out in the early 1960s. The answer was “Yes,” and he was generous enough to share them with me. From those records I found over 200 unrecorded deaths. Thinking I might double that number by checking the files of The Park Record, I stumbled into a project that is an ongoing work in progress. To date I’ve discovered over 1,000 unrecorded deaths, and I’m still researching.
When I started with The Park Record files, I was only interested in gathering data such as birthplace, date of birth and death, cause of death and parents’ names. After a month or so it dawned on me that many of the death notices and obituaries were time capsules—mini-biographical stories—much more powerful and moving than a mere death list. The way in which residents died tells us so much about our town’s history as well—the mine accidents, shootings, suicides and deaths by alcoholism.
The way in which death notices were written reveals much about our town psyche in the day. The Park Record was owned by the Raddon family for over 60 years. The Raddons were prime examples of pioneer newsmen of the 19th century; plotting, lecturing, arguing and contriving for community improvement. They were blunt in their judgment of people and institutions. Their bigotry was strong, their hatred great. The edited obituaries and death notices contained in this article are excerpted from The Park Record. In most cases, they speak the voice of Sam Raddon, the paper’s editor, and reflect his voice and attitude as much as that of the dead person him or herself.
A Few of the Forgotten Ones' Stories
Park City was a raucous, fighting kind of town with so many male miners living in close quarters. The lifestyle claimed many lives:
JOE CALLIGARO (found dead on Park Avenue).”Remains were moved to the Archer undertaking parlors, and when the preparation for burial was pursued, a slight abrasion on the chin was noticed; upon a closer inspection it became apparent that something more than a surface dent was there. The Undertaker called Dr. Clark, and Dr. Bardsley, county physician. They immediately proceeded with the autopsy.
In about two hours the deadly bullet of 30 caliber was located in the spinal canal. The jurors returned a verdict that deceased came to his death from a gunshot wound fired
having felonious intent. No motive can be ascribed for the act, the finding of currency in his pocket to the amount of $56.00 dispose the thought of robbery. The fact deceased had a sling shot gat, with the strap on his wrist, cannot be explained, as carrying this was unusual with him. His place of business, that of soft drink parlor [a prohi-bition era speakeasy].” June 21, 1929.
More of a silent killer was the alcohol many miners turned to:
FRANK COLLINS. “One of the early settlers of Park City and one of its best known characters, died alone in his cabin in Chinatown last Tuesday, after being confined to his bed for several weeks suffering with dropsy. Frank was born in old Camp Floyd, Utah, on September 4, 1866. He came to Park City when a little fellow. He proved quite a genius in various lines of work. He could turn his hand to almost anything, but carpentering was his favorite work. He became engaged in the undertaking business, but failed in that line. For years, he was in charge of the Dewey Theatre. He was ‘chief electrician’ for the Quinn Theatre and built the American Theatre for George Quinn. He had considerable ability in different lines of work, but the curse of so many men—liquor—prevented him from making a success of anything, and gradually dragged him down to a life of miserableness and loneliness. Deceased is survived by his widow and nine children.” January 5, 1923.
Raddon seemed fairly kind in his descriptions of Park City’s black community:
GOBE CAMPBELL. “The familiar figure of Gobe Campbell, the old negro, who had been doing porter work and shining shoes at the Center saloon for a long time, will be seen no more on our streets. Gobe was found dead in bed in his room over the Swede saloon Thursday. Heart trouble was probably the cause of demise. Gobe was 60 years old, whose chief delight and pleasure was to talk of the sunny south and days ‘befo de wah.’” October 5, 1907.
TOBY DAVIS. “The deceased was one of the landmarks of Park City, he having resided here for a period of seventeen years, and as nearly as could be ascertained was 69 years of age. Born into slavery, he never tired of telling his acquaintances of the joy he experienced when it was made known to him that ‘Marsa Lincoln’ had freed the slaves.” February 27, 1897.
Many Parkites met their untimely deaths due to mining accidents:
ED COTTER. “At 8 o’clock yesterday morning, Ed Cotter walked into the north shaft of the Silver King mine at the 7000-foot level and fell to the sump, a distance of over 600 feet. His body was terrible mutilated, a portion of it being brought to the surface in a candle box. Deceased had been a resident of Park City for many years and was an honest upright citizen.” July 13, 1907.
The prejudice against the local Chinese population, many of whom had come to Utah to work on the Transcontinental Railroad, is obvious in this notice:
AH FONG. “The funeral of Ah Fong, the Celestial who died from heart diseases last week, occurred Sunday last. A large number of Chinamen participated in the heathen ceremonies, and a large number of white folks looked on with considerable curiosity and apparent pleasure. There was a Chinese band furnishing the most distracting music; burning punk that filled the air with odors; the scattering of colored paper, and other outlandish things that kept amusement for the kids, as well as grownups. Dan Richardson was master of ceremonies and kept things moving—even the corpse.” October 7, 1911.
Several Parkites took their own lives:
SAMUEL JOHNSON. “Generally known as Sam Johnson, committed suicide early Tuesday morning about a mile and a half in the Ontario 600 level tunnel, by putting a stick of giant powder in his mouth, and exploding it in the ordinary way, blowing his head completely off, and sending him into the next world in double quick time. Deceased was born in Sweden on April 21, 1890. He was a steady worker, and Superintendent Harry Wallace says one of the best miners in the employ of the company. He is survived by his widow and one child, a daughter ten years of age.” March 6, 1925.
ALEX WRIGHT. “An empty half-pint whiskey flask and a box of ‘Rough on Rats’ found near the corpse, and the terrible distorted features, clenched hands and unnatural position of the body, told plainer than words how old Alex passed from earth into presence of his Maker. Alex Wright was an old timer on the coast, coming to Utah with Johnson’s army in 1857. He fought Indians under General Harney and for the past twenty years has followed mining. He was a native of Ireland and about 60 years of age.” July 18, 1885.
A rare write-up on women who died during the time:
MRS. FERRY. “The funeral services on Saturday of the lamented Mrs. Ferry were the largest ever held in Park City. It was indeed a sad, solemn procession, with the appearance of Mrs. Ferry’s favorite horse, the one she always rode, and the one that caused her death, draped in mourning. The dumb animal seemed to comprehend the situation, and followed the remains of his dead mistress to the little cemetery north of town. Men accustomed to all manners of sights and hardships could not refrain from shedding tears at the appearance of the horse as he quietly stood by the grave.” October 29, 1881.
Gary Kimball is a fourth-generation Park City native who loves studying the town’s history and lore.
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