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As committee members came to grips with producing volume two of Draper history, it was
evident from the very beginning that all the history of Draper could not possibly be written
in one book. Bits and pieces of history like snowflakes continued to descend upon the
committee during the writing process, until the committee was forced to set a date when no
additional information could be used in volume two. Many different short histories of Draper
with unknown authors were received. Such histories included one, two, or more handwritten or
typed pages. All histories were read, differences noted, and with future readers in mind
only those parts of histories that generally agreed on important facts were considered for
inclusion in volume two. Some readers may be upset with selections made by the committee
when there was conflicting information about who built the first home, who fought against
the army commanded by General Albert Sidney Johnston, who owned the first car in Draper, who
was the first to enter the chicken business, and so on. These were the kinds of choices
continually experienced during the writing process.
The committee recognizes that some readers may feel a need to write their own Draper
history so the record can be corrected. No committee member will be offended should this
attitude produce other histories of Draper. Records used in writing this history will be
available in the Draper Historical Society Library for those individuals having a desire to
write their own history.
The history in this book, as said before, although not all inclusive, covers from 1849 to
1977. It appeared to the committee that history must mature, that is, time must pass before
an accurate appraisal can be made as to what really constitutes history. For this and other
reasons, the committee decided to cover only the time period from when Draper was settled in
1849 to 1977 when Draper became a city.
There may be a few mistakes in spelling of names, grammar, dates, and other parts of the
text. Countless hours in research and writing have been expended in publishing this history,
and the committee hopes that through this history all Draperites can be proud of their
Draper roots. An excellent proofreader, Stephen R. Cook, was engaged by the committee, and
they are convinced he has rendered an excellent service.
See Formatting
Your Pages
From converted horse stalls and hay lofts to modern laboratories and high technology,
Salt Lake Community College has experienced a remarkable one-half century. Opening its doors
in September 1948 to 175 students registered in 14 courses, the College had modest
beginnings.
Now, more than 50 years later, Salt Lake Community College serves over 53,000 students,
who are registered in more than 80 credit and non-credit vocational and traditional academic
courses at ten locations throughout Salt Lake and Tooele counties. Indeed, one of the
institution’s founding fathers, E. Allen Bateman, Superintendent of Salt Lake Public
Instruction, was correct when he predicted, "The school will become one of the greatest
vocational institutions in the Intermountain area." The College has not only achieved that
vision, but has expanded to become a prominent, nationally recognized community college.
The 1990's brought special challenges of an expanded institutional mission and
significant and steady enrollment growth. While this necessitated the addition of new
buildings and sites, it can never be forgotten that the special quality of Salt Lake
Community College is its people.
The College’s faculty are dedicated to assisting and enriching the lives of students.
They work tirelessly to provide instruction and personal attention to our students. Through
involvement in clubs, sports, and community service, students gain new knowledge, earn
national honors and awards, and acquire life skills which will serve them, their communities
and their nation in positive ways.
See Designing
Your Pages
About the Authors
Pat Walker, writer and unofficial historian of Daniel has been the driving force behind
this book. A relative newcomer to Daniel, she also writes for the Sublette County Journal.
Hayden Huston had been researching Daniel's history for many years and intended
eventually to publish a book on the town. He agreed to use his material for this book and
was appointed Editor.
Jonita Sommers, author of Green River Drift, and one of the Sublette County Artist guild
members responsible for publishing their most recent book, Seeds-Ke-Dee Revisited—initially
volunteered to help with photographs and ended up totally involved in all aspects of the
Daniel Wyoming book preparation.
Dianne Roberts Boroff, who spent many years researching history of the Merna area,
homesteads, etc., was willing to "sign on.
Barbara Pape, along with all her other involvements, became the Bronx historian.
Many other writers have also contributed their time and talent to the book.
Wilma Facklam, proofread the whole book several times in an effort to get out all the
spelling, grammar and computer bugs.
Cris Paravicini scanned the 250 cattle brands, and added the appropriate captions
describing them.
The town of Daniel was established by Thomas Pixley Daniel in 1900. It is located in the
high country of the upper Green River valley at an elevation of 7,192 feet.
Pat Walker recently wrote in an article that, "Daniel is still a small village. It
nestles among cottonwoods, poplars, and a variety of willows. While the Wind River Range
fills the eastern horizon, the Wyoming Range is on display to the west, and the more distant
Gros Ventre Range reveals its jagged skyline to the north. The Green River passes north of
Daniel as it weaves its way down the valley from its headwaters in the Wind River Mountains.
Prairie Creek runs along the north edge of this little town, with Horse Creek a short
distance to the south; these creeks flow from the Wyoming Range. Ranch land surrounds the
community.
"Only native Americans and wildlife visited the area until Wilson Price Hunt’s party
passed through on their way to the mouth of the Columbia River in 1811. Captain Benjamin L.
E. Bonneville, in 1832, built Fort Bonneville on the Green River. In the meantime, the
mountain men arrived in their quest for beaver pelts. They gathered in the Daniel area for
their annual rendezvous in 1833, 1835, 1836, 1837, 1839 and 1840. The need for railroad ties
during construction of the transcontinental railroad brought lumbermen into the upper Green
River valley in 1868."
The Daniel area is naturally adapted to stock raising, and the economy of Sublette County
has always been based on the livestock industry—primarily cattle with some sheep. Ranch
owners and their employees were real Western cowboys. The towns and settlements, like the
ranches, developed along streams and rivers. Early Daniel could boast of having exactly the
typical places of business since settlements usually consisted of a general store, a post
office, a garage, a school and a bar. The towns and their businesses existed because of the
services they provided to the local ranchers. Not only were the businesses important for
their economic role, but they also acted as social and cultural centers.
In 1931, the Pinedale Roundup printed a description of the area around Daniel.
"Circling the upper Green River valley from east to north, the mighty barrier of the Wind
River Range rises in sheer majesty from timbered uplands. Rugged Fremont Peak, visible for
miles from the lower plain, and first climbed by General Fremont in his expedition of 1841,
borders one of the largest glacier fields in the continental United States. Here Gannett
Peak, the highest in Wyoming, rears its lofty pinnacle amid perpetual ice and snow.
"In the lower mountains and foothills hundreds of beautiful lakes, many offering fine
trout fishing and unexcelled summer home sites, form probably the greatest compact series of
natural water storage basins in the West. Fremont Lake, the largest, 16 miles from Daniel
and four miles from Pinedale, is ten miles in length.
"Completing the circle of the area to the north and west, the Wyoming Mountains, with
their extensive timber bodies of pine, spruce and fir, make of the whole valley a huge
amphitheater open only to the south, and radiated by dozens of clear streams flowing
southerly from high mountain meadows.
"Here indeed is an outdoor paradise for all lovers of recreation. The big game fields
close at hand provide herds of elk, also moose, deer, bear and mountain sheep, with antelope
on the plains to the south. Sage chickens, grouse and ducks are also plentiful. . .
"The extensive forest ranges provide adequate summer pasturage for the many thousand
cattle, horses and sheep wintered on ranches in the lower valleys. On upper Green River a
single grazing unit summers 12,000 cattle, the largest number grazed on any other national
forest range."
The few settlers around the Daniel area as early as the winter of 1888-1889 would forever
after remember it as probably the worst of Wyoming winters which, as any resident knows, can
be plenty bad.
There were but few settlers here that early. Cyrus Todd and son, William, were living on
land at the junction of Horse Creek and the Green River. D. P. Faler and family lived on
Faler Creek above the Burns post office. The George Hartley family had settled at Merna.
William Roy was living on Beaver.
See Hard &
Soft Covers
On a road map it is listed as Highway 89. But for myself and others who lived in the
northern towns, we will always know it as "The Old Road."
It began as a two-lane highway. However, as traffic increased, two more lanes were added.
It didn’t stop there. As overflowing traffic became too much for the four lanes to handle,
plans were made to build an Interstate Freeway, west of the present road. This would
accommodate the ever-growing problems of more cars, more trucks, and more travelers.
While the new highway was being built, the inhabitants of the surrounding towns, in their
daily conversations with one another, began to refer to the two different roads as "The New
Road" or "The Old Road." However, after the completion of the new highway, it was always
called from then on Interstate 15. "The Old Road" remained the same, and to this day it is
still regarded as "The Old Road" to those who lived there when all the changes occurred.
The completion of the Interstate became a blessing to those who for years had endured the
continuous roar of traffic. No one missed the huge semis, which by now traveled the road
24-hours-a-day. This had caused many a sleepless night for those living beside the constant
stream of traffic. The rumbling semis had shaken houses, rattled dishes, toppled pictures
from walls; their shaking resembled the tremors of an earthquake. Needless to say, the
opening of the Interstate was awaited with anxious anticipation. One looked forward to
quieter nights ahead when one could sleep without the bothersome sounds of the never-ending
traffic.
At the same time, there were those who had mixed feelings about the new Interstate. With
this being fruit country, the fruit growers depended upon the sale of their home-grown
products. For several years the steady procession of cars along "The Old Road" brought
customers to the fruit stands during the growing season. With the new Interstate becoming
the main stream of traffic, serious concerns were raised among the orchard growers.
The apprehensive farmers wondered if the drivers and passengers traveling the freeway
would take extra time to find the turn-off leading to "The Old Road." Here, some of the
finest fruit in the country was grown in surrounding orchards, and sold in the old and
reliable fruit stands. But the farmer’s fears proved groundless. As the summer season
approached, countless customers found their way to the fruit stands, along "The Old Road,"
to purchase the choice fruit. This fact delighted those dedicated to the life of a fruit
farmer.
It is the fruit farmer who plants the small trees in the ground, patiently watches their
slow growth, and guards the small tender shoots from the cold winter winds. It is the fruit
farmer who protects them from the rays of the hot sun beating down upon them. Every day he
hoes the weeds around his trees, keeping his orchard neat and clean. He insists that the
rows that carry the irrigation water past his trees are straight, an assurance each tree
will be watered and none left out.
Dressed in striped overalls, with an old felt hat upon his head and his shovel carried
across his shoulder, he walks through his orchard, stopping to observe the growth of each
tree. Like a father nurturing and protecting his children, he builds a strong bond with his
young trees and feels responsible for each. When they develop into maturity, they reward him
with an abundant crop, giving him a feeling of success, making the hard work worthwhile.
To keep each tree alive and healthy, he takes his water turn faithfully, regardless of
the time. Many times throughout the years, he has crept out of bed, flashlight in hand, his
trusty shovel over his shoulder and leaves his house to go into the dark still night. He
trudges up the ditch where he releases the main gate that changes the direction of the
water. The water flows into his orchard, where with his guidance, the stream finds its way
down the narrow long furrows alongside each row of trees.
Then, one day in early spring it happens. At first a few blossoms gradually appear, here
and there. Then, as if by the touch of a magic wand, the trees come alive with color. White
blossoms compete with various shades of pink, each outdoing one another with their
loveliness in presenting a splendid display of beauty in the cherry, apricot, and peach
orchards growing alongside "The Old Road."
See Preparing Your
Disk
In 1906 the town laid a wooden pipe line from the mouth of Monroe Canyon down Main Street
at the cost of $5,280. Soon water was piped into the city lots. A water tap in the yard was
considered a great step forward in community progress. As the town and its inhabitants
became financially able branch lines were extended through all the streets and eventually a
water tap was a part of almost every city lot.
In 1921 the city officials went about four miles up the canyon and developed the cold
springs which bubbled out of the mountain side. They tunneled into the mountain and obtained
water that was never touched by light until it came out of the taps. The water was brought
to the community at a cost of $20,000. After the project was completed, Monroe had as fine a
supply of culinary water, both in quality and quantity, as was to be found in the state.
After using candles and kerosene lamps for about forty years, Monroe was about to get
electric lights. Two men, James Jeppsen and John Manson decided that the old Bertelson Grist
Mill located up in Monroe Canyon might be a good prospect for getting electric power
inasmuch as it had run the Grist Mill successfully by water. They obtained the mill pond and
water turbine. Soon they were able to install a generator. Then they strung power lines into
Monroe. My father used to marvel at what two men could do, and as children my brothers,
sister, and I took it fore granted that the light bulb hanging in the middle of each room
would always be there, and that it was just a part of our "Modern Day" life.
There was however, some stress in trying to pay the light bill. Sometimes the bill would
be as high as almost $2.00. Then there would be talk of having to use what we called the
"Coal-oil Lamp." When we were forced to use the "Coal-oil" Lamp to get our school lessons,
we all gathered around the big oak dining room table with the "Coal-oil" Lamp set in the
middle of the table. These are precious memories, with the family so closely knit, and
sharing much more than the light.
By 1927 or 28 we were able to have an electric iron and an electric washing machine. Yes
indeed! We were children of the "Modern Age."
When my family went to live in the Basin in 1924, the early years of conflict had settled
into an acceptance of the allotment system, resulting in a checkerboard pattern of White and
Native American land use. The administration of Native American affairs was centered in the
offices and facilities located at Fort Duchesne. The Uintah Basin Alfalfa Seed Experimental
Farm was established on an allotment near Fort Duchesne in 1925. The land had been leased
for ten years. The Farm was operated jointly by the Utah State Agricultural Experiment
Station and the Farm Bureaus of Duchesne and Uintah counties. My family had spent the
previous year in Roosevelt, where my father had taught in the High School. He had graduated
from the Utah State Agricultural College with a degree in Agronomy, and planned to continue
his graduate studies while he served as Superintendent of the Farm.
I was a toddler, aged two years, when we moved into our house at the Fort, and my
awareness of our surroundings grew gradually as I grew. My first conscious feeling about
Indians, was anxiety for I was a curiosity to them. The genetic heritage of my Swedish and
Danish ancestors was all too apparent in my blue eyes and snow white hair. Women wanted to
touch it, to see if it were real. This made me shy of them, for their faces bending close to
me were solemn and unsmiling. I could not see into their black eyes to judge their motives,
and when they spoke in the Ute language, it did not reassure me for I did not understand
what they said. Native Americans dressed differently, and often their long dresses and
shawls smelled of wood smoke and campfires.
My mother’s friends, who were Native Americans living at the fort, were sometimes hired
as baby sitters and part-time household help. I did not see them as different from me, but
as family friends. I became aware of Native Americans as individuals as I watched them
walking past the four-foot wire fence my father erected temporarily one summer to enclose
our play yard. My brother and I were quarantined, because we had whooping cough. A huge
orange cardboard sign was hung on the outside of the fence. It carried a message printed in
large black letters, "WARNING! WHOOPING COUGH!" The practice of quarantine for communicable
diseases was common in the city, but at Fort Duchesne no one had practiced it. Many persons
passed by our improvised corral during that summer, when my brother and I were shunned like
victims of a plague. We were often too busy playing to notice, but still we felt ostracized.
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