In Utah, July and celebration are synonymous. We hardly get the ringing out of our ears from the Fourth of July fireworks before it's time to refocus on the Days of ’47 gala.
Ironic, isn’t it, that in both instances, the dates on which we celebrate are off by a couple of days. In 1776, the colonial Congress adopted the resolution to part company with the Brits on July 2. Two days later, the Congress approved the Declaration of Independence itself, validating what had already been done. But what the heck; who wants to go around extolling the “Glorious Second of July”? Doesn’t have the same ring, does it?
And the first Mormon pioneers to come out of the mouth of Emigration Canyon to get a good view of the Salt Lake Valley, according to an LDS Church study manual, were Orson Pratt and Erastus Snow. They “shouted for joy” and marked the day — July 21, 1847. When Brigham Young, leader of the vanguard company, who was ill and in a wagon that followed, arrived in the valley on July 24, land had already been prepared for a potato crop and water diverted from a stream to become a rudimentary irrigation system. He declared: “This the right place. Drive on,” and the die was cast in favor of a July 24 pioneer celebration each year.
Dates aside, when the Days of ’47 Parade rolls down Salt Lake City’s downtown streets, I always think of those pioneers of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as leading the march. Belatedly, I would like to nominate three honorary grand marshals for this year’s go-round. Their stories were among many printed by the Deseret News in 1997 during the sesquicentennial celebration of the epic story of the Mormon pioneers.
Duckworth Grimshaw
I would like to nominate Duckworth Grimshaw in honor of his ingenuity in meeting the challenges of frontier life. Duckworth (who said in a memoir that he “didn't much like the name”) worked in textile mills in England before joining the LDS Church.
When he decided to emigrate in 1862, he had no idea he would soon be asked to drive an ox team to Utah Territory; he had never to that date seen an ox team. On his first day out, he whipped the lash and wound it firmly around his own neck. In time, he got the hang of it and headed west.
He learned to plow and to plant and settled into pioneer life. At one time, he had a toothache so bad he could no longer endure it. He got a large spike and a hammer, lay his head on a log and had his father knock out the offending tooth. The toothaches continued, however, and the next time he became desperate and there was no one around to help, he rolled up a bit of cotton, dipped it in gunpowder, packed it into the shell of a tooth and ignited it. With a little hissing sound, it blew the tooth into four pieces that were easily extracted.
For more about his story, see “Pioneer drew on ingenuity to survive” on deseretnews.com.
Mary Ann Bond
I nominate Mary Ann Bond simply because she never did anything that drew attention to herself. She was one of thousands of LDS women who were the warp and woof of Utah’s fabric. She is not even mentioned by name as a member of the William B. Blodgett Company that crossed the plains in 1856, encountering severe winter storms that caught them far from the Salt Lake Valley.
With others of the company, Mary Ann abandoned her goods, including items she had brought from England, to improve their chances of getting to the valley. Typically, the Bonds were sent to colonize areas outside of Salt Lake City, in their case to Henefer. Chronicles of the challenges of frontier life seldom noted Mary Ann, although she was listed among the members of the Henefer Relief Society. She didn’t appear in historical records, but her obituary told a great deal when it said, “She did all that she could to relieve the hungry, the sick and dying. … She was a good wife and faithful mother, true to the last.”
For more about Mary Ann’s experience, see “Pioneer mother’s quiet life was one of service, adversity” on deseretnews.com.
William Anthony
I nominate William Anthony because he did little boy things no matter where his parents’ travels took him. When he was just 3 years old and still living with his family in Glasgow, Scotland, he demonstrated a bent for mischief that would travel with him all the way to Utah Territory.
His grandmother had just died and was laid out on an improvised bier in front of the fireplace. Running around little-boy-like, William found a large ball of grease that had been saved for some purpose. He tossed it onto the fire, and with a roar like thunder, a great blaze filled the fireplace. A gust of wind roaring the other way down the chimney sent flames nearly to the center of the room.
It took a bucket brigade to quench the flames, but not before they had scorched the sheets on Grandmother’s bier.
On the boat en route to America when he was 9, he tried to find out what made the ship go by crawling out about 10 feet along a pole that extended over the water. When he saw the Atlantic roiling under him, he became frightened and clung to the pole for dear life. A sailor rescued him. As an adult in Utah, a hunting accident left him somewhat crippled, and he became a schoolteacher.
For more on his life, see “Young boy had knack for getting into trouble” on deseretnews.com.
Let's hear it for all those wonderful pioneers!
Twila Van Leer is a former Deseret News editor and staff writer who serves as a family history missionary.