This article originally appeared in 2016. It connects to our latest exhibit, titled Park City Loves A Parade!, on display now through March 2027.

In the late 1800s, the United States was testing its imperialist might, and Spain was struggling to hold onto its declining empire. Both had vested interests in the Caribbean islands and as the century came to a close, conflict arose.

If you can recall learning the iconic phrase “Remember the Maine!” from your history classes, then you might recall what came to pass when these two world powers came to a head over the fate of Cuba: the Spanish-American War, fought from April to August 1898. 

Despite the exhaustive diplomatic efforts of President McKinley, public support for war with Spain was widespread and extremely vocal.

In part stirred to a frenzy by exaggerated reports in newspapers owned and run by William Randolph Hearst (whose father, George Hearst, made his fortune in part from our own Ontario Mine), the American people cried out for justice for the people of Cuba.

The sinking of the USS Maine in Havana Harbor in February 1898 was a turning point. By March, nearly all remaining opposition aside from President McKinley himself had been silenced, and by April, war was imminent. The official declaration came on April 25, 1898.

The Spanish-American War was fought in two theaters: the Caribbean and the Pacific. Spain had colonial holdings in the Philippines and other Pacific islands. The United States, under the guise of promised liberation, sent its naval vessels there as well as to Cuba.

Recruiters from the armed forces were wildly successful in getting volunteers, including many from Utah, to fight in the war. Thirteen-year-old Bobby Donohue of Park City was swept up by the excitement. Motivated by such local headlines as “Maine will be avenged and Cuba will be free,” “Johnny get your gun,” “Manila now at mercy of Dewey,” and “Great battle expected tomorrow,” Bobby tried unsuccessfully to enlist. Undaunted by his failure, Bobby ran away from Park City to San Francisco and stowed aboard a ship bound for the Philippines. 

Bobby neglected to inform his family of his whereabouts. During the fall of 1898, newspapers throughout Utah published missing notices. Guessing he’d gone to Heber, his mother, Bridget, made every effort to find him. She “is very anxious to get tidings,” The Park Record reported.

To the great surprise of many, when he returned a year later, it was with the Utah battery, soldiers from home with whom he’d connected in Manila. Referred to as the battery’s “mascot,” Donohue was recorded as the youngest veteran of the war. 

In 1899, he called upon Governor Wells. Bobby had been denied a medal of honor (reserved for regular volunteers), but upon meeting the boy, Wells was touched. “We’ll see what we can do for you, my boy,” he reportedly said. “I think you are entitled to one.” He did eventually get that medal. 

Donohue had “won the hearts of Parkites” and Utahns with his boyish bravery. Over the next few years, he was featured in parades and celebrations lauding the victories of American forces. He usually led the parades, continuing in his mascot role for the soldiers. Bobby is featured in “Park City Loves A Parade!” in the Museum’s Tozer Gallery.

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As is tradition for this column as the year winds down, let’s take a look at Park City’s history and the “way we were” one hundred years ago, in 1918.

Much like 2018 has been for us, 1918 was a rocky year for the world. Though an end was in sight for one of the bloodiest conflicts in history, World War I still raged. Having joined the fight in April 1917, millions of young Americans had already been sent overseas and communities across the country felt the consequences.

Park City life was affected by the war. Dozens of Parkites served in Europe and elsewhere. Post office boxes were full of letters home detailing the realities of everyday life on the front. On their journeys, many soldier boys marveled at the new opportunities that faced them, even amongst the distress of war. Klyde Peterson, for example, wrote of Coney Island and the crowds of New York City, something he hadn’t experienced in his quiet mountain life here in Utah.

The annual Fourth of July celebration was a different affair from previous years. Short of funds because of home front sacrifices and donations to causes like Red Cross, citizens rallied to create a homemade party of the highest order. Patriotism was strong as Parkites decorated the city with flags, organized choral societies, hosted speeches and picnics, and danced the night away.

The Park City High School graduating class that year included Roger Traynor, who went on to study at Berkeley and become a California Supreme Court judge.

The city lost two of its best known citizens in 1918: David Keith succumbed to pneumonia in April and Father Galligan passed away in June. Keith had been a mining pioneer, working as foreman at the Ontario and helping install and run the famed Cornish pump before investing wisely in the Silver King and making millions. Father Galligan was, at the time of his death, the longest serving Catholic priest in Utah. He’d called Park City’s own St. Mary’s church home for thirty-five years.

The war officially ended on November 11, 1918. Park City’s soldier boys began to return home at what probably felt like an agonizingly slowly rate. But in the midst of happy reunions, a new enemy ravaged the population: influenza.

Though the first recorded American case of the so-called “Spanish flu” was recorded at Fort Riley, Kansas, in March, the disease spread worldwide that fall as families embraced loved ones who had spent the past four years in the trenches – war is one of the single best environments for a disease to spread.

In a single week at the end of October, 21,000 Americans died. On Oct. 11, Park City closed its schools and public gathering places. On Oct. 29, the mayor of Park City issued a ruling requiring face masks in public. November and December saw new cases reported daily.

As 1918 drew to a close, Park City was a changed town. The streets were mostly quiet due to quarantine, and many homes were missing loved ones. But Parkites with full hearts gently wished each other a prosperous new year.

Happy new year from the Park City Museum.

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By October 1919, World War I had officially been over for nearly a year and life, at least in the United States, was getting back to normal. For Park City merchant Hyrum Weisburg, however, a surprising reminder of the war was about to show up on his doorstep.

Hyrum Weisburg had immigrated to the United States in 1907 and, shortly thereafter, settled in Utah. In 1909 he and his wife filed a Declaration of Intention with the Salt Lake City courts, the first step in the naturalization process. At the time, the path to US citizenship was two-fold. The first step was the Declaration, in which immigrants stated their intention to renounce allegiance to their prior country of citizenship. The second step came several years later when the individual returned to court, usually with witnesses, to present evidence of their active and engaged membership in the community. If all went well, the judge granted the applicants citizenship.

The Weisburg family was naturalized in 1916. In 1917, they moved to Park City and in August of that year, Hyrum opened a gentlemen’s clothing store at 325 Main St. Golden Eagle, as it was called, quickly became popular with Parkites and just six months later, Hyrum expanded the store.

Hyrum and his wife Rose were both from Galicia, a region in Eastern Europe then under the control of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. When war broke out, the region saw heavy fighting between Austria-Hungary, a Central Power, and the Russian Empire, part of the Allies.

While many Americans are familiar with the trench warfare common on the Western Front, the characteristics of the Eastern Front were different. Power tended to shift more often and with more troop movement than in the west. In the early months of the war, Russia quickly gained control of the region, but only a short time later in 1915, Germany and Austria-Hungary had pushed Russian forces back. The shifts created chaos.

Worried about his family, Hyrum sent a letter to his mother in 1914. As later reported in the Park Record, “the town in which [his family] lived had been completely destroyed by the ravages of war, and apparently the family scattered in all directions.” The letter was never answered. Two years later in 1916, Hyrum wrote four other letters and mailed them addressed to a rabbi in the hopes that he could locate his family. Those, too, were never acknowledged. In October 1919, all five letters reappeared in his post box right here in Park City. They’d never made it to their destinations.

Happily, while his letters had traversed Europe and the United States over the course of five years, Hyrum had heard, though indirectly, that his mother and “other loved ones” were alive.

Hyrum, Rose, and their children only lived in Park City until 1920. Due to health problems and hoping to be closer to their relatives who lived here in the States, Hyrum sold his share of the Golden Eagle to his friend Morris Wolf and moved with his family to New York City.

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Quarantine as we understand it was first implemented in Venice in the mid-14th century. In an effort to prevent the spread of the deadly bubonic plague, known as the Black Death, Venetian authorities required ships to stay at anchor for forty days (quaranta giorni) rather than dock and come ashore.

By the mid-19th century, quarantine practices, though varied, were widespread throughout the United States and the rest of the world. Common diseases requiring quarantine included diphtheria, smallpox, and scarlet fever. With the blossoming understanding and study of germs in the scientific world, quarantine laws were adapted to fit the disease, location, and needs of the communities to which they applied.

Park City passed an ordinance in 1888 that provided for a board of quarantine. When a doctor discovered a highly contagious or dangerous disease in a patient, he would immediately implement quarantine procedures on the patient and his family or living quarters in order to slow or stop the spread of the disease. Often, though not always, yellow flags were placed outside the quarantined buildings.

The city took quarantine seriously. During a smallpox outbreak in 1901, a boarding house and all of its residents and managers were among the sites quarantined. One night, a small group of boys snuck into the boarding house, intending “to pay the two girls there a visit,” before heading to a community dance. They were discovered shortly after gaining entry and were not allowed out of the building, confined there until the quarantine was lifted at a later date.

Though considered eradicated since 1980, smallpox reared its deadly head periodically throughout the early twentieth century. Park City saw a few local cases in 1905, though at least one was falsely reported. That December, the Park Record published a notice that Frank T. Jones had contracted smallpox, necessitating he and his family remain quarantined in their house at 803 Norfolk Avenue.

The paper published a retraction a week later. “The Record was misinformed regarding Mr. Frank Jones having the small pox,” a small article noted. “Mr. Jones is well and hearty and looking after the wants of his patrons with the same care and attention as ever.”

Presumably, Jones’s business had suffered in the week following the notice of his nonexistent illness. The Record sought to make amends. In addition to being in perfect health, the paper reported, he also “has a large line of picture mouldings and is prepared to make frames of all kinds and sizes on the shortest notice. Give him an order.”

Jones’s house at 803 Norfolk is one of several featured in this year’s upcoming Historic Home Tour, hosted by the Park City Museum. Join us for this special one-day-only event this Saturday, June 23, from 10 a.m. until 3 p.m. Catch a glimpse of Park City’s past and see how today’s residents make creative use of these historic structures. For more information and to purchase tickets, please visit our website at www.parkcityhistory.org.

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The house at 733 Woodside Ave. stands out from its neighbors. While its floor plan is, at its simplest, a T/L cottage (named for its shape, reminiscent of a T and an L), it is larger than many other historic residential structures built in Park City around the same time. Additionally, the gabled roof and decorative elements on the porch frieze and brackets are representative of Utah’s Victorian-style architecture, which was not particularly common in Park City.

The property was purchased by Maggie McDonald in 1904 and the house was built shortly after. At that time, two styles of Victorian architecture were popular: Queen Anne and Eastlake. Eastlake houses were commonly constructed from wood, while Queen Annes were a variety of building materials. 733 Woodside has elements usually seen in Eastlake architecture in Salt Lake City and parts of rural Utah.

Census records show that Maggie, who had relatives in Park City, lived in Salt Lake City with her husband. She sold the house in 1919 to Frank E. Knotts, manager of the Orpheum theatre. Knott rented the house to miner Louis Hartwell and his daughters.

After a succession of other owners, Ted and Wilma Larremore bought the house in 1951. The mining industry had long been in decline by the 1950s and Park City’s population had shrunk to around 1100. Ted, who was raised in Wyoming, had come to Park City in the late 1940s to visit his sister and undergo an operation at the Miner’s Hospital.

He loved Park City from the moment he arrived. “When I first turned that corner and first [saw] Main Street I thought, my god, it’s like goin’ back a hundred years,” Ted said in an oral history interview with the Park City Museum in May 2000. He got a job in the mines, met Wilma, and settled down. The couple bought 733 Woodside about two years after their marriage.

“People got by,” Ted reminisced. “We struggled. … We bought the house because [Wilma] liked the house, and I liked it.

“We had a hell of a time paying for it and we paid $35 a month for it for four years. We gave $1,800 for this corner when we bought it and that was a lot of money. We had a lot of people stop by and say, ‘You’re crazy; this town will never amount to anything,’ and they [were] moving out and they said, ‘You’re crazy to stay here.’”

But stay the Larremores did. Although they briefly moved to Nebraska in the 1960s, Ted and Wilma had permanently returned to Park City, and 733 Woodside, by 1976.

This and other houses on middle Woodside and Park Avenues will be featured on this year’s Historic Home Tour, hosted by the Park City Museum. Join us for this one-day only special event on June 23, from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.. Catch a glimpse into Park City’s past and see how today’s residents make creative use of these historic structures. For more information and to purchase tickets, please visit our website at www.parkcityhistory.org.

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Most of Park City’s historic houses follow a handful of standard architectural forms. The hall-parlor, noted for its square structure and central hallway separating a hall room and a parlor with one or two back bedrooms, the pyramid style, noted for its gabled roof, and the T/L cottage, noted for its shape resembling said letters, are the most common.

The house at 949 Park Avenue, originally built in the 1880s by Charles V. Jenkins, is a classic T/L cottage. Jenkins obtained the legal title to the property in 1890, meaning he had built and was living in the house prior to actually owning the land. This was a common occurrence in the early years of Park City’s settlement.

Jenkins was a prominent and busy Parkite. Among “other important positions,” he was a notary public, expert accountant, typist, manager for the Park City Heat, Light, and Power Company, and served as private secretary for mining magnate E.P. Ferry.

Jenkins and a small group of the town’s “leading citizens” gathered together in November 1891 to “discuss the advisability of organizing a social club for Park City patterned somewhat after the style of the Alta Club of Salt Lake.” At that meeting, the men appointed a committee to promote the idea, gauge interest, and recruit members. Optimistically, the group decided that “if sufficient members can be obtained, the club will erect a new building and begin its existence in a pleasant and approved manner.” The Park City Social Club was officially organized with about forty members, including Jenkins, by January 1893.

Utilizing his noted stenography skills, Jenkins was appointed to several mining delegations and appropriations committees in the state legislature. During the legislative session, he traveled to and lived in Salt Lake City in order to better conduct his official business.

In mid 1893, Charles Jenkins left Park City and moved to Blackfoot, Idaho. Shortly after, he moved to Rossland, British Columbia, where he managed a power company and later worked as a purchasing agent for the War Eagle mine.

He stayed in touch with his Park City friends, keeping them apprised of his various activities. In 1905, a short mention of him appeared in The Park Record, noting that he had accepted a “more lucrative and important” position at the American Smelting and Refining Company, a company founded and owned in its early history by such recognizable names as William Rockefeller and Meyer Guggenheim.

Later owners of the house at 949 Park Avenue included John F. Geiger and the Bircumshaw family.

This and other homes on middle Park and Woodside avenues will be featured on this year’s Annual Historic Home Tour, hosted by the Park City Museum. Join us for this one-day-only special event on June 23, from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Catch a glimpse into Park City’s past and see how today’s residents make creative use of these historic structures. For more information and to purchase tickets, please visit our website at www.parkcityhistory.org.

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“It seems evident to all that there is a crying need in our town, a live town of 5000 population, for a Real Library,” the Park Record proclaimed on March 30, 1917. The question, however, was not if Park City needed a library, but how to fund it.

Parkites saw an answer in Andrew Carnegie, industrial steel magnate and philanthropist. In 1880, Carnegie had set up a foundation to fund the construction of public libraries in communities across the United States and the world. While at first the communities that received funding were ones with which Carnegie had personal connections, by the turn of the century, the number of libraries funded had dramatically increased. This coincided, in part, with the rise of women’s organizations like the Woman’s Athenaeum Club of Park City. Nationally, these clubs were responsible for the organizational efforts of about 75-80% of all libraries.

To qualify for a Carnegie grant, communities had to follow a certain formula. This formula emphasized local input by requiring, among other things, that a city draw from public funds (not just private) to run the library, annually contribute 10 percent of the original construction costs to support operation, and provide free service for all.

A.B. Fowler, principal at the Park City High School, was instrumental in getting the local effort to establish a Carnegie library off the ground. At a city council meeting in March 1917 Fowler and students from his ethics class presented a petition signed by over five hundred Parkites. The mayor endorsed the petition and set up a committee to investigate potential sites and funding sources.

A $10,000 grant was available for Park City from the foundation for construction once a site had been chosen after which Parkites would have to give $1,000 annually for the library’s upkeep. The simplest way to fund this, Fowler and the rest of the library committee argued, would be through taxes.

While Parkites initially showed a lot of interest, a much larger event quickly pulled attention away from the issue: on April 6, 1917, the United States joined the First World War. Draft registration, the purchase of war bonds, Red Cross fundraising, victory gardens, and so much more took precedence over a local library.

A special election to approve the library and its funding was held on July 26, but in the end only 66 people voted. The majority voted yes, but concern waned and plans lagged as Parkites focused on the war.

By 1919, after war’s end, a site still had not been chosen and though there was brief renewed interest in the project, no decisive steps were taken. That year, Andrew Carnegie died and the final foundation grants were dispersed. Park City had lost its chance for an official Carnegie library, though it did eventually open a public library. In the end, over 1,600 public libraries were built in the US using Carnegie funds. The last to be constructed was in American Fork, right here in Utah. It has since been demolished.

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In the pre-dawn hours of April 18, 1906, San Francisco was jolted awake by a violent earthquake. Though the quake preceded the Richter scale by decades, scientists have estimated the magnitude at 7.9 based on eyewitness accounts and geological studies. At the time, San Francisco was the largest city on the West Coast and one of the most important financial and cultural centers in the country. The quake leveled eighty percent of the city and left hundreds dead. In the subsequent days, over thirty fires caused more death and destruction and the city was left reeling.

Parkite Carrie Vivian Hodgson had been visiting friends when the quake struck. She returned to Park City nine days later and related the “terrible, almost inconceivable, nerve-wracking experiences” she went through to The Park Record.

Though immediately awakened, Hodgson was trapped in her room until the shaking stopped. When she made it to the street, she encountered “frantic men, women, and children in their night-clothes.”

Fire broke out almost immediately and the neighborhood was evacuated. The quake had “frightened the fire department horses, causing them to break away,” Hodgson reported, which delayed the firemens’ response to alarms. Furthermore, water mains had broken, cutting off the water supply and leaving firemen “powerless.”

Aftershocks plagued the city for days, with a particularly strong one occurring on April 19. Hodgson, standing in the street at the time, witnessed a gas main explosion that threw debris high in the air and scorched her hands and face.

Other Parkites or former Parkites directly or indirectly affected by the quake included: Dr. Ward, whose family lived in Berkeley; Will Scranton, whose parents lived in San Francisco; Robert Westwick, a student at Stanford; H.W. Thomas, who survived but lost his business and home; Jack Middour, who lived in Santa Cruz; Mrs. S.W. Platt, whose son lived in San Jose; Mrs. E.P LeCompte, whose sister lost the several homes she owned on Nob Hill; Clarence Horsford and his brothers Myron and Star, who lost their homes and business; and Thomas Hickey, who had moved with his family but returned to Park City after the quake. There were likely others who went unreported.

Though some developers in San Francisco tried to use the quake as an opportunity to push out the city’s Chinatown, the Chinese community rallied and rebuilt where they’d been. The Park Record noted that Park City’s Chinese residents made a special donation to San Francisco’s Chinese residents. The local community also “answered many personal calls for help.” It’s likely that many local Chinese residents had friends and family in San Francisco at the time, though the paper did not report their names.

The quake’s impact was felt for decades. Several insurance companies went bankrupt after issuing payouts and financial repercussions of the quake contributed to the economic Panic of 1907. Additionally, trade and commerce diverted to Los Angeles, which quickly overtook San Francisco to become the largest and most important city in the West.

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In celebration of “the power of imagination on wheels,” the last Wednesday of March each year is designated as National Little Red Wagon Day, an initiative of the Radio Flyer Company.

The iconic red wagons are produced by the Radio Flyer Company, founded around 1920 by Italian immigrant Antonio Pasin. In 1917, Pasin, a skilled woodworker, built small wooden wagons to carry around the phonograph cabinets that he sold door to door. People often asked to buy the wagons in addition to the cabinets and, sensing a market, he began selling them to local shops. The Liberty Coaster Company, named in honor of the Statue of Liberty, was officially founded in 1923.

Initially the wagons were made of wood but demand far outpaced production and after four years the company switched to stamped steel and an assembly line process. The wagons sold for about three dollars each, about forty dollars today.

The Liberty Coaster Company was renamed to Radio Steel in 1930 and the wagons rebranded as “Radio Flyers.” With this name, Pasin honored Guglielmo Marconi, known for his wireless telegraph inventions, and Charles Lindbergh, the first pilot to successfully complete a solo transatlantic flight. Radio Flyer is still synonymous today with a little red wagon.

Pictured here are the Mon children of Park City. Frank, Lillian, and Lincoln Mon paused in their play to pose with their wagon in 1930. Their father, Richard Mon, had moved to Park City in 1923 to work with his uncle Charlie Chong at the Senate Café, which Chong owned. After a few years in business together, Mon opened his own restaurant, the King Far Low.

There were five Mon kids in all. William and Lincoln were both born before the family’s move to Utah; Lillian, Frank, and Thomas Richard (who went by Richard) were all born here in Park City. Though Park City once had a thriving Chinatown, by 1930, the Mon family was one of only three Chinese families remaining.

With the bombing of Pearl Harbor in 1941 and the United States’ entry into the ongoing Second World War, many of America’s young men left to fight overseas. William, Lincoln, and Frank all joined the military upon graduation from Park City High School. By 1943, only Richard and Lillian were living at home, and the Mon family decided to pack their bags and move to California in search of better opportunities.

Before he left town, Richard Mon gifted his wagon to his friend Merrill Sanchez. “I remember,” Mon recalled in an interview with the Park City Museum in 2012, “he was so happy because they used to live up on the top of Empire Canyon. And we used to ride wagons down.”

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At 11:20 p.m., July 15, 1902, a powder magazine stored underground at the Daly West mine exploded. At the 900-foot level Hennessy, a shift boss, heard the “smothered report;” at the surface, the hoist engineer felt a tremor in his engine. These were the first and only two indications of what would become Park City’s worst mining disaster.

Hennessy came to the surface to report an explosion at an unknown level. He and two volunteers descended to investigate. After detecting gases at the 1400-foot level, Hennessy ordered everyone out of the mine.

One full hour elapsed from the time of the explosion to the time the first body was brought to the surface. John Nimmo, foreman on duty, joined the search party to direct the rescue efforts. At 12:30 a.m., the alarm was sounded and the rest of Park City awoke to the news.

Deadly gases continued to accumulate, overwhelming many of the rescuers. While the initial explosion killed two men, 32 more died from asphyxiation after the fact. Nimmo kept tabs on the rescuers, closely monitoring their health. “With every cage of the dead,” The Park Record reported, “some one of the rescuers was sent up overpowered by the gases.”

Bodies and survivors were brought to the surface continuously for over five hours. But at 6 a.m., John Nimmo refused to let the rescue teams descend again. It was a difficult decision and he tried to placate the enraged crowd. It was his “duty not to allow live men to go after the dead if the living ones also were to perish,” he tried to explain.

Eight men protested. They wanted to get Johnnie McLaughlin, a 20-year-old who’d joined the search parties and gotten lost below. The men argued that they knew exactly where to find him. Nimmo held firm for 45 minutes before yielding.

The team recovered McLaughlin alive and brought him to the surface but he died shortly thereafter.

The reaction of the crowd was “almost open mutiny.” Threats against Nimmo “bordered on the violent nature,” including the “alarming” threat of lynching. The police were called in to mitigate the situation.

Angry and looking for someone to blame, Parkites pointed fingers at Nimmo. “The refusal of Nimmo to permit McLaughlin’s friends to go into the mine after him overshadowed every other feature of the disaster” for days afterward, reported the Salt Lake Herald. A special inquest was called.

Forty witnesses — all involved in search parties — were interviewed. Thirty had passed out while working and all testified that “the gas was much worse than anyone thought.” In the end, however, the inquest ruled that, though Nimmo thought he was doing his best, McLaughlin would have lived had Nimmo allowed the men below.

Nimmo had made a tough call. Though McLaughlin died, many others were likely saved. The town recovered and eventually their anger toward the foreman faded. Legislation prohibiting underground storage of explosives was passed in 1903, a direct result of the disaster. Nimmo died of silicosis (“miner’s consumption”) in 1911.

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