--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Hardy, Anna K. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 18 number: 9 published: 1915-07 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Anna K. Hardy, "The Achievement of Civilization," *Improvement Era* 18, no. 9 (July 1915): 761–771.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1809unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1809unse start_page: 761 end_page: 771 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1915-07) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1809unse publication_year: 1915 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1915, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Achievement of Civilization The Achievement of Civilization Recollections of East "Brigham Street" BY ANNA K. HARDY Come, Memory, and bring to view images of landmarks of the Past. Yes, I drew my first breath near the boundary line of Brigham Street, and by its side have passed through the sweet and sad ex- — periences of a lifetime but that has no more to do with it than the pure, clear air that used to waft down from the foothills of the Wasatch mountains, grand old sentinels of its growth. What is my first recollection of the street? It sloped irreg- ularly from the north to the south sidewalk. The roadbed itself closely followed the line of the upper walk, and the space between that and the lower walk was filled with wild plants of the desert. I stood beside the small ditch which carried water for culinary and irrigation purposes, watching my brother and his friend sharpening sticks to dig segoes that grew abundantly in the sage brush. I shared the spoil, eating with satisfaction the sweet bulbs, learning-, too, to distinguish between the poisonous and edible variety— the plant that yields our dainty State flower. The — road itself grew into my childish knowledge, just a crooked bed of deep, fine dust, ground fine by the clumsy wheels of the quarry wagons going back and forth to Red Butte for sandstone used in foundations and buildings. The propelling power of these prim- itive wagons was a yoke, or perhaps two, of strong, slow, patient oxen, and the numerous grasshoppers and wild birds were startled into action by the vigorous-lunged teamsters who alternately shouted, "Gee, Bally ;" "Wo, haw, Buck !" And the gees and haws were plainly marked on the dusty trail in sundry curves and wind- ings that were bounded by sagebrush and dejected sunflowers with bowed faces too heavy with grime to look up at their sun-god, they just drooped forward towards the wheels of the advancing Juggernaut of civilization. This ribbon of dusty road extending from the. Eagle Gate to the quarry on the east, was henceforth to furnish my "moving pictures." From the Eagle Gate eastward, on the north side of the street, were only four human habitations. The "Bell House," at the foot of A street. (Mr. Bell was a partner of Ralph Ramsey, the carver, who made the historic Eagle that perched, even then, over the entrance to Canyon Road.) The other three houses, bleak- looking, two-story buildings, belonged to John, Adam, and Joseph Sharp and were fine residences at the time. Above these houses to the mountains was a wilderness. The old Kay corner, on the south side of the street, held a neighboring two-roomed adobe house, the first of its kind east of Eagle Gate. It was the style known as a "Salt Pile," meaning the roof slanted one way. The circle of loved ones who bounded my immediate horizon inhabited it. Somewhere to the northeast was a land of mystery. I had — been there once when my grandma was buried, near the begin- ning of our City cemetery. After that sorrowful little pilgrimage to the hillside, I understood the meaning of the processions com- posed of two or three wagons, the first one containing a plain box wrapped in blankets or quilts. The mourners were probably seated on boards laid across the wagon boxes. These evidences MODERN BRIGHAM STREET. SALT LAKE CITY, LOOKING EAST of sorrow and loss inspired reverence and awe in my childish heart, as I stood bare-footed, and bare-headed, with tears of sym- pathy in my eyes. ( Rare feet in those days were a necessity for children, and shoes on Sunday only a tribulation.) One of the first walks I remember taking was with my brother; he was seven, I about four years old. We went to look at a wonderful bird's nest he had located in a sage bush. The young were hatched, and as the tiny feathered mother flew away at our approach, we had a fine view of the birdlings that seemed all mouth, wide open. That was only about one short block north of Brigham Street. On our return we stood to watch a passing wagon from the canyon, loaded with wood. Standing on the top ONE OF THE OLD LANDMARKS Lion House, Salt Lake City, 1915. of the load was a great, unwinking owl, dazed by the light, a jolty trip, and its captivity, for it was tied by a string to a log. Often the loads that went by were surmounted by bunches of serviceberry limbs in full fruit occasionally a bear skin, or part of a bear would ; be seen. When the logs were unloaded, they not only furnished firewood, but an excellent gum was extracted from the bark by the busy fingers of the pioneer children. If gum had been offered for sale, they knew nothing of the luxury of the possession of a nickel for commercial purposes but their necessities made them ; keenly appreciative of every good thing that came along. A freezing winter day brother, eight years old, sister, five, : toiling along the south side of the street. A primitive, clumsy, heavy tub bound with bark-covered wooden hoops. This product of a pioneer cooper, handicapped for material and tools, was 7(A I.M PR< )VEMENT KRA mounted on a home-made hand sled. Brother pulled on the rope, sister pushed on the tub. Two blocks of uneven, icy surface; every hump causing the precious water in the tub to distribute itself in big splashes on the snow, while the little girl assistant shed bitter tears over the aching fingers frozen to her woolen mittens. Oftentimes the thirsty cows and oxen were driven eight or nine long blocks to the Eagle Gate through which quite a large volume of water was flowing. The tiny streams bordering the blocks had turned to ice. Mothers at such times were kept busy melting- snow. And speaking of cows how many residents of this mag- : nificent, paved and parked boulevard date their residence on the street to the days when the cows of those who lived on it played quite as important a part in its kaleidoscope settings, as the sight- seeing vehicles of today? My memory of Brigham Street runs to the time when every family domiciled on its borders was the for- PXF. 0~ -TTV p* T .A"E« OX tfODFPN imGHAM "T»EET. RA T/T T. KX K TTTV — tunate possessor of a cow. And each morning these cows were gathered, formed into herds and driven away for forage. Many were taken to the foothills and "benches" and returned at sunset. The most picturesque of the herdsmen was one Anderson. Whether it was Anderson, his avocation, or the wonderful horn that he carried over his shoulder that made him stand out as a noteworthy character in my childhood on Brigham Street, I am unable to say, but I retain a vivid recollection of the blasts of his horn that sig- nalled some member of the family to let down the bars to the Brigham Street lots so that the Bossies could join the herd that went over Jordan to browse. How well I remember that some- times the cows that pastured on the flats ate bitter-weed, willows, or wild onions. These imparted remarkable flavors to the milk. However, it tasted good to us children as we sat on the doorstep in the twilight, dipping pieces of bread into tin cups full of it. At the same time the music of a colony of frogs living in a pond situated opposite to where the Brigham Street Pharmacy now Photo b\< C. (!'. Carter. FIRST BICYCLE IN UTAH, .MADE i5Y MR. SILVER, IN 1872 stands, afforded us amusement. Father, mother and baby frogs vied with each other in producing a wonderful medley. But the music that surprised us most issued from the Scotch bagpipes of Brother W. C. Dunbar. On a certain notable holiday, I think New Year's day, he came to serenade Bishop John Sharp, our neighbor, and we young ones shared in those marvelous sounds the "drone" especially giving indescribable pleasure. When the playing began, girls and boys seemed to spring up on the street numerous as blades of grass in Spring ( ?). : The United States soldiers, stationed at "Camp" Douglas, as it was called at first, used Brigham and First South streets on their promenades back and .forth from the fort to the heart of the city. In the main, they seemed civil, but among them I saw the first and only intoxicated men I ever saw as a little girl. The army ambu- lances and supply wagons with their strong, well groomed mules were objects of interest, as were, also, the fine parades of the men. The irrigation ditches carrying pure mountain water, were found around nearly all the blocks of the growing city of "Great Salt Lake." These were especially admired and praised by the "emigrants," or strangers, who came here. It was not long before these creeks were bordered by shade trees, locusts, and the native box elder predominating. The locust blossoms sweetened the air for blocks around, while the deep shade of the box elder was intensely welcome. Oh, the pity! that modern efforts to beautify the streets caused the slaughter of hundreds of these trees of noble growth. To show the refinement and love of the beautiful of the early home makers, there was scarcely a house destitute of a lovely, old-fashioned flower garden. People exchanged seeds, bulbs, and flowering bushes, and for this privilege would walk any distance. Of course, the vegetable gardens were a necessity. Fruit trees were planted in abundance, and from April to May the orchards all over the city were abloom with the white of the cherry, apricot, plum and pear trees, and loveliest of all, apple buds and blos- soms. The peach trees were dressed in delicate pink, the native currant bushes in yellow, and the fragrance equalled their beauty of form and color. Later came the welcome harvest. The fruit, especially the peach crop, was gathered and dried on board platforms or roofs when flat enough to hold them. The dried fruit was exchanged with the few merchants for their commodities and many a dear, old-time girl insured herself a pretty "Merino" dress, fine shoes, or ribbons, by untiring labors in this direction. Enough of these dried fruits were reserved for home consumption, and were soon welcomed elsewhere as Utah exports. The native Indians were dirty and degraded in appearance, and their begging propensities could not be surpassed. We were fascinated by their blanket attire, beaded moccasins, the sacks in which they carried the biscuits and sundries of their collection. They would solicit from a needle and thread to a house and lot, if not interrupted by refusals. Everybody fed them, to conform to the counsel of President Brigham Young. His wisdom said "It is better to feed than to fight them." The papooses hung, face outward, in little sacks or cases suspended over the shoulders of the squaws. These were especially interesting. The men carried bows, and arrows tipped with flint. They were followed by the young, white boys eager to "swap" anything to get possession of one of these weapons. At a later period, when Mr. Head was Government Indian Agent, Brigham Street, on the south side for about a block and a half, was occasionally alive with bucks, squaws, pappooses, ponies and dogs. These gatherings of the Red men were to obtain their government supplies. In the beginning of the Street's history, the shifts of people going back and forth were about equal in "caste." Many of these workmen, "public hands" they were called, on their way to the I'.RIGHAM STREET, 1915 Eagle Gate as it appears since the reconstruction, in 1891. Temple Block, fathers, brothers and sons, might be seen hurrying to their welcome toil on the Temple or Tabernacle. In their hands were tin dinner pails, illumined by the rays of the morning sun. At night they returned with the glitter of the now descend- ing sun reflecting on the same receptacles. Probably meat, vege- tables or fruit from the tithing office in a flour sack over their shoulders. There were no deliveries then. These were the work- ers, builders, carpenters, stone cutters, stone masons, the aristo- — crats of labor. Today, before dawn, come milkmen later, paper ; carriers, carmen, laborers, mechanics, clerks, teachers, school chil- dren also, men nad women of comparative leisure; there are yet ; some who walk. It is a wonderful daily panorama apart from cars, automobiles, bicycles, motorcycles, and a motley variety of vehicles. Perhaps the most beautiful and inspiring sight of early times was the processions of pioneer school children forming in line 768 mpr< jvkmknt era about the head of State street to march to the "Bowery" or some building on Temple Grounds for their Fourth of July celebra- tions, or the Twenty- Fourth of July, Pioneer Day. These were events of importance: the girls had new white dresses with red and blue ribbons for hair and sash. The boys' wore white trous- ers and blue waists. Some pioneer mothers took a part of a flour sack that had been partially bleached for a background and on it stitched the stars and stripes made of red and blue flannel, that the little ones might carry their Country's flag in the pro- cession. The elated children stood bareheaded in the glaring July sun, scarcely feeling the heat, and men passed up and down the ranks with tin dippers and buckets of water. We did not fear microbes then, our lives were too simple, frugal and healthful. The "Stars and Stripes" floated to the breeze. Banners bearing mottoes, "God Bless Our Country," "In Union There is Strength," etc., were in evidence. Bands played patriotic airs and salutes A PALATIAL RESIDENCE ON MODERN BRIGHAM STREET, SALT LAKE CITY of canon were fired, and within the Temple Grounds the National hymns were sung. The Declaration of Independence was read, also speeches of Daniel Webtser, Patrick Henry and other notable Americans. Thus was loyalty instilled into the hearts of the pioneer children. Since that far distant time, presidents of our dear America, Ulysses S. Grant, Theodore Roosevelt, William H. Taft, and many other distinguished statesmen have honored Brig-ham Street with their presence. When Theodore Roosevelt came, he led the troop of shouting Rough Riders on a wild dash up the street. President William H. Taft bowed in reverence tn the throng of school children dressed in red, white and blue to represent a "Living Flag." For years, the Veteran Volunteer hire Brigade, Wasatch No. 2 was located near the corner of Fourth East and Brigham streets, and many a time our hearts have throbbed at the sudden clanging of the Bell. Tn that day, long before the advent of the tele- phone and electric signal, through some mysterious means of com- munication, the news of fire was brought to the ears of some fire- man who hastened to ring the bell, that all whose duty it was to respond might be informed. Without money or compensation these men served the public, risking health and life racing madly ; to their station, often dressing in their red shirts as they ran from studio, shop, desk, bed, or wherever they happened to be. One of the vivid recollections of the Veteran Fireman's or- ganization getting into operation when the alarm of fire was Till-; OLD EIOME OF DANIEL II. WELLS The present Zicm's Savings Bank corner, looking east mi Brigham Street, in early day--. ! ; 770 I.M PR( >VEMENT ERA sounded, is that of a faithful member of the Brigade, gardener for the pioneer merchant, S. P. Teasdel. At the first sound of the old fire bell he dropped his hoe or tools and mounted to the cupola of the Teasdel home for a survey of the city, and location of the fire or smoke. He then ran to the engine house nearby and reported results. Then the men caught hold of the long rope to pull .their precious hand engine to where they might save life and property. All honor to their heroic service The humble homes of long ago were scantily lighted begin- ; ning with firelight, then "grease lights," tallow candles, kerosene afterward, gas light, and now the wonderful, brilliant electric shine. Needless to say the street light evolved in the same way, Catholic Cathedral and First Presbyterian Church. excepting, in the beginning God's glorious moon and stars sent out their peaceful beams unaided by artificial means. From my window I have seen infants taken in baby carriages for an airing up and down the street have watched them play ; marbles, ball, and indulge in the innocent pranks of youth: as, get- ting up to the end of a long underground flume that crossed the street, and shouting into it "Help! help!" Excited pedestrians were running around the end of the opening, wondering how they could release the imprisoned child whose pitiful cries distressed them. The "juvenile court" then, if matters went too far, was father's stern rebuke, or mother's correction in love, tears and prayers. TWatched these girls and boys going back and forth to school, "going through the grades;" then, on their way to the university or college. Today, they are passing by with chil- dren of their own. These men and women are numbered with — our most useful and substantial citizens college professors, doc- tors, writers, business men. Their mischief, due to the exuberant spirit of youth, with proper correction, doubtless taught them to avoid sin or crime. The wild birds and flowers, sage brush, sunflowers and In- dians are things of the past on the old Street. As to transporta- tion, oxen are never seen mules and horses are employed mostly ; for drayage purposes. The first cars drawn by mules, gave place to the electric. Old fashioned vehicles are nearly gone every ; kind of modern automobile is skimming along. Jitney auto busses in competition with electric traffic are dodging and scurrying around just as the rabbits used to run in the sage brush big ; Brigham Street is paved, parked and cleaned. About the only natural, whole-souled pleasure the little children living on its borders now get, is when the street flushers come along. The more daring, doff shoes and stockings and wade. The timid ones stand — on the curb, screaming to the drivers "Turn it on !" They ache to get a sprinkle or two. Brigham Street has taken on aristocratic, metropolitan airs. I must tell you that the man for whom the street South Temple has been nicknamed, Brigham Young, predicted to my father in the early 50's that it would eventually be the fine residence street of the city. Are his words fulfilled? I am waiting to see airships serving as public utilities. But with the changes, modern conveniences, and evidences of all wealth, let me tell you, no truer, more industrious, self-sacrificing, cheerful or God-fearing people will ever live on the dear old Street than the pioneer fathers and mothers who faced the perils of the wilderness to serve God according to the dictates of con- science. "What is the difference between life and love?" asked the senti- mentalist. "Just this," said the practical grouch; "life is one fool thing after an other; and love is two fool things after each other!" Mrs. Caswell, while you were in Venice did you see the Bridge of Sighs?" "Oh. yes; I saw what they called that. But, my land, I've seen bridges ten times its size without ever going out of Pennsylvania!" — Chicago Tribune. "Why don't you go in?" asked one tramp of the other, as they stood before the gate. "Dat dog's all right. Don't you see him waggin' his tail." "Sure I do," said the second tramp, "but lie's a-growling, too, and I don't know which end to believe."