Strolling Amok

Grand Canyon Pioneer Cemetery

The entrance to Pioneer Park, erected by the John Ivens of the American Legion. and presented in 1928.

[Caution: If you are on a limited cellular data plan, you may want to avoid clicking on “more” to continue reading this post – it’s loaded with medium-resolution photos.]

Easily accessed but seldom discovered, the Pioneer Cemetery in the Grand Canyon National Park is the final resting place for several hundred people – and counting. The first burial took place in 1919, and if a cemetery can be popular, this one is increasingly so. The entry qualification is that you have to have lived at the Canyon for at least three years, and the only way to do that these days is to be employed there. Family members of those already in residence also qualify, as do those who have made a “significant contribution” to the Canyon in some way. At the current rate of four burials per year, it won’t be all that long before current capacity will be reached, and then some difficult decisions made.

On-site, there’s an aura of significance and history on these grounds. What would be a melancholy pursuit in any other burial place is here an absorbing exploration into lives lived, personal identification, and anonymity. The gravestones range from none, to bare unmarked stone, to faded wood, to purposeful simplicity, to charming, and to overworked reflections of our current worship of high tech. The bulk of burials seem to be “recent”, meaning newer than the turn of this century, so the cache of being buried in the Grand Canyon is, for better or worse, catching on.

In weeding through the photos for this post, I found something notable or compelling in far too many – otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered taking the snaps in the first place. So, rather than present a nicely-sized proper article here, one not too short or too long to be comfortably informed or entertained, you get a photo dump, and the opportunity to either discover and satisfy a curiosity for something interesting, or a chance to quit while you’re ahead. It’s there for the taking. These photos are small enough that you may have difficulty reading engravings, so I have kicked up the resolution so that clicking on any photo will present a larger one that is more easily read.

This couple of 22 died together, apparently. Nothing like starting off the post with a tragedy, eh? But this was something I had not expected.

There are many married couples here, but not many with descriptions like these.

This one is too recent to have a gravestone or marker.

Mrs. Pearson appears to have had adoring descendants.

Just the briefest breath of life, if that. A reminder that we should not take our own days for granted.

“Elsie Chamberlain, August 1878-May 1888.” At that time, less than 3 of 10 of those born could expect to reach age 70, and the sifting began early.

The better half of a deeply devoted couple, complete with the introduction to how – and where – they met and stayed before migrating to the Canyon.

Born in 1872 and lived to see the end of WWII.

A romanticized description of Ken’s days here, and he appears to have had the ten careers that the restless soul instigates. The last line relates that as a Park Ranger, he was murdered at Point Reyes National Seashore, likely by poachers, often referred to as mountain men at one time. It’s all about the money.

Mr. Smith reached only middle age, but found his home and made his mark.

Brief, and difficult to duplicate as prime qualities.

There was a prime Harvey House hotel here, the El Tovar, and Harvey Girls were a few cuts above your common waiter or waitress.

In 1875, Fred Harvey was a freight agent with the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad. He somehow managed to open two eateries in Kansas and Colorado along the Kansas Pacific railway. They didn’t last a year, but the experiment convinced Harvey of the profit potential of high quality food and service alongside railroad lines. Dining cars did not exist, since railroads were in the business of transporting people and cargo, so restaurants were scattered at various engine-related stops along the way.

The problem that made the wonder of cross-country travel miserable was that the usual passenger experience was to disembark to a local eatery whose staff would be overwhelmed at the mass of humanity pouring in. The food would be whatever was available, cooked hurriedly because of the train’s schedule, and regardless of its taste or lack of same, the end result might range from acceptable to hazardous. Stale or rancid food at every stop snuffed many a flame for exciting westward rail travel.

Harvey wanted to establish a system-wide dining operation, but his employer declined his pitch. When the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad contracted for an experimental restaurant at their stop in Topeka, Kansas, the strict levels of service and food quality despite the onslaught, so impressed passengers and railroad officials alike that Harvey was successively given financial carte blanche to pepper nearly the entire line with restaurants about every 100 miles by the late 1880’s. This first restaurant chain created a uniformity of expectations across the entire run of stops, a feature taken for granted today. Older highway travelers might be better acquainted with the Howard Johnson line of restaurants, which were closely patterned after Harvey’s proven strategy, and faced less challenging circumstances. Even today, the motivation for Harvey’s plan can be experienced in small towns of the Great Southwest, where anything goes, and the finer points of dining civility are not just missing, but unacknowledged. When you travel and pick a restaurant out of the blue with no prior help, you may be delighted, or you may spend an active overnight. I’ve done both, haven’t you? For a train passenger who had to eat and dive back onto the train before it could roll off, a Fred Harvey restaurant was a welcome sight.

The end result was an expansion into hotels at larger stops, a few of which are still in business today. The Fred Harvey chain aggressively promoted tourism in the Southwest – and succeeded. The AT&SF had to joyfully expand to accommodate. The goal at that time was to make places like the Grand Canyon more available to people at a time when the car was the horseless carriage, and was barely able to break into the hobby category, let alone track down a whimsical series of utterly desolate trails. Now, no matter where you lived back East, you could hop on a train and see the magnificent Grand Canyon, a once in a lifetime experience, and go on to California if you wished, getting to know other travelers along the way, as well as eating and sleeping admirably.

This bargain so benefited the railroad that it carried all Harvey restaurants and hotels their meat and produce via dedicated refrigerator cars at no shipping charge. It operated two large dairies to supply them fresh milk. When dining cars finally came into play, AT&SF gave Fred Harvey the contract to operate them, and thought it unstoppable marketing to advertise “Fred Harvey Meals All The Way!” It succeeded because it actually worked in adding comfort, quality, civility, efficiency and safety into what had previously been so notoriously dismal an experience.

Though only given a very tight 30 minutes to cycle a train-load of passengers through, all meals were served on fine china and Irish linens. Harvey himself set very high standards, was a stickler for both cleanliness and efficiency, spent much time personally inspecting, and even required customer coat and tie at many of his more appropriate stops. The food was both good and plentiful for the price. Example: when you asked for a slice of pie, you got one-quarter of it, not a sixth.

What of Harvey Girls? They were a key part of the equation, and what would now be called the face of the organization, since it was up to the serving staff to make the experience pleasant and seamless for the customers. Harvey knew this, and in 1883 advertised in East Coast and Midwest newspapers for “white, young women, 18-30 years of age, of good character, attractive and intelligent”. While that would cause an understandable uproar today, that was then, and this is now. For relatively good pay on a one-year contract, these young women wore a specific black and white uniform as befit the times, contained their hair in a hairnet, and were allowed no makeup or chewing gum on duty. The senior Harvey Girl acted as house mother for enforcement to terms, which included a 10 PM curfew. Failure to end the year resulted in forfeiting half of the base pay, and marriage was the most prevalent cause of a girl leaving her service. As far as potential young suitors were concerned, these bright young women had already been pre-screened for character and intelligence by Fred Harvey himself. What’s not to love?

The high standards were the source of pride in being a Harvey Girl, as it was tough to get in, and you had to be truly competent under pressure to stick with it – a bit like the jet fighter pilot’s saying, “hours of tedious boredom, punctuated by moments of stark terror”. For this, each started at $17.50 a month, in loose terms about $438/month today. Sound bad? It was damn good money for that type of work then, since they also kept tips (without governmental meddling) from relatively wealthy travelers on vacation, and were already provided room and board, which at a Harvey Restaurant was not exactly gruel.

There’s more than one former Harvey Girl buried at the Grand Canyon, all of who served at the El Tovar Hotel. Opened in 1905, it was built just as a collision in goals began to take shape. The Santa Fe RR had its Grand Canyon Railway branch to handle increasing numbers of visitors. This was the trend in all similar areas that would later become National Parks, as the only practical way for tourists to gain access. President Theodore Roosevelt visited the Grand Canyon in 1902 and spoke of his hope to keep the Grand Canyon entirely free of commercialism – specifically free of buildings like cottages and hotels. Since plans for the hotel were already in development at that time, Harvey scented the wind and had them hurriedly completed for a 1903 start of construction and 1905 completion. Roosevelt expanded on protective orders the following year, with successive orders, until Congress finally designated it a National Park in 1916. Roosevelt himself stayed at the El Tovar in 1906 and again in 1913. The hotel was built just 20 feet from the canyon’s rim, and was located right at the end of the rail branch. Originally built as a luxurious 103-room signature hotel boasting 21 bathrooms, today it holds 78 rooms with baths. Again, our culture and expectations have shifted markedly.

The inscription says it all.

She found more than she had hoped for.

Gone, but not forgotten.

Same grave. 1973-2014

“Sugar” almost made it to four.

This an American Legion-inspired cemetery, and flags and ranks abound for those who served.

Made it to middle age as a Park Ranger.

“Tusayan Don” offered “23 years of service in the Park.”

This is a marker left by a mortuary. Not everyone can afford a gravestone, or is in much of a position to deal with such a heartbreaking loss.

What drew me to this is the photo of the couple in their salad days. It says a lot that the plaque cannot.

At 1890, Emmet Ellis likely just caught the tail end of WWI, since he was in his fifties by the second one.

Emmet’s wife was born the same year, and outlived him by twenty years. Though cultural and economic changes may trim this common gap, I doubt it will ever be erased.

Born in the 1800’s and each lived to 90, despite not knowing what tofu is. Next time I plan to sign up for the next popular “how to live your life” craze, I’m remembering this little rectangular reality.

Mr. Gustafson actually had two stones, this one for his service.

It’s obvious that Marvin didn’t write his own epitaph.

This one tells a story without the verbiage.

Remember Emery Kolb in the second photo? I’m guessing that Ellsworth was his brother, and that Poor Emery lost both Ellsworth and his wife in the same year.

Imagine earning your first class Boy Scout ranking in the Grand Canyon troop. Erik passed away at just 14, earning his place here.

Unmarked, unknown, but still here. Before the cemetery became officially recognized, some were simply buried where they lay or were washed up in the canyon or surroundings.

The above photo reminds me that a lot of early adventurers here never made it to any cemetery. Whether broken bones, exposure, bullets, cave-ins, avalanche, rock blasting or drowning in the Colorado River a mile below got them, that’s where they stayed put and/or were buried, or were carried off by the river. Now and then today, some poor camper or would-be explorer follows his muse and trips over a weathered skull.

In 1956, the mid-air collision of a TWA Constellation and a United Airlines DC-7 at 20,000 feet over the Canyon resulted in 128 deaths, the 29 on the United flight who could not be identified being buried in a mass grave here. There were no survivors. The worst air disaster on record at that time, it prompted the creation of the FAA.

1844-1901? Wow. As far as the white explorers and settlers were concerned, the Grand Canyon was a bona fide wilderness then. Mr. Ashurst was a miner who died in a landslide below the rim near here. His friend John Hance buried him there, but his body was disinterred twice before resting here.

A nickname no doubt earned in his later years.

Captain John Hange is considered the first to be buried here, since six weeks after his death and burial, Congress created the Grand Canyon National Park, and then the Park Service designated Captain Hance’s grave as the centerpiece of the new cemetery.

I had serious problems deciphering this one, which is obviously hand-made. Best guess: “In loving memory, Troy Robert Gastagne, 1965.”

“Bamma’s” grave is coated end to end with pine cones, a sign that she is not forgotten.

“Elsie Worden, ‘A Harvey Girl’ 1903-1945.”

This memorial stone says, “In memory of those who gave their lives serving our country,” listing a few area names from both World Wars.

By general appearance, I thought this to be of another colorful character, but it is for David James Lee Sharp, 1936-1937, “Age 8 months & twenty four days.” A heartfelt expression for the infant is on the lower plaque.

I think you had to be an adaptable all-rounder to make it out here in the early days.

Another married couple, still together.

Gunnar Widforce, 1879-1934. “Bury This Man Here” “Here, here’s his place, where meteors shoot, where clouds form, lightnings are loosened, stars come and go. Lofty designs must close in like effects, loftily lying. Leave him still loftier than the world suspects, living and dying.”

Leo H. Clauson, 1859-1937. I thought the simplicity and the beauty of the stone remarkable.

Lizzie W. Clausen, his wife, died in 1922. The concrete pillar is still holding nicely.

Leone died at just 44, perhaps working here.

Just 22 years old, a demise much more common than now.

Ouch. Her anguish at leaving her young children must have been strong.

I guess it’s just me, but abbreviating the dating to omit century on this little infant’s grave reads too much like an office memo. Still, it only truly matters to them.

This gave me pangs…

…But not everyone has descendants, and friends end their own journeys, too. No one is left to know, with the possible exception of Park staff.

The dates. You can lose a grizzled trailblazer with some fond regrets, but this is another realm entirely.

I do not know.

William Wallace Bass. 1849-1833. “Pioneer, guide, miner, poet — man of vision. Though his ashes lie on Bass Tomb, his spirit is everywhere in the canyon he loved.”

Another wow. Hope your screen is big enough to read this.

“Burt” Herbert R. Lauzon. 1886-1951. “Beloved son, brother, husband, father, grandfather and friend. Pioneer resident of Grand Canyon 1910-1951. He was a miner, rancher, explorer, riverman, horseman, law officer, and for twenty-three years a Park Ranger of Grand Canyon National Park.” This is a memorial marker only, his ashes having been spread over the Holy Grail Temple feature of the Grand Canyon.

His beloved died long before he did. Wives nearly always get stuck in the background of earthly glory, but so often deserve the hero’s award, if the quiet truth were known.

L.H. “Tiny” Lauzon, 1922-2002. “A true Western Man.” His mother apparently died when he was two.

Robert S. Bingham, 1892-1919. “Forest Ranger, U.S. Forest Service.”

Unique, and pretty.

“In loving memory of Watson Mosely Lacy, 1883-1963.”

Another very brief one.

No identification.

Notable.

Considering the residency requirements, they’re a slam-dunk.

Can a grave be tacky? Looks like New Orleans.

It’s actually a child’s grave. 1958-1971.

1970-1971 is not much of a chance.

An architect’s grave and “Our Dad”.

Another reminder for me to appreciate the gift. That last line makes me assume that his children came up with the wording.

Well, here’s a Minnesota doctor who achieved 90.

The Verkamp’s have quite a contingent here, this one, John George, from 1877-1944.

Oscar Joseph V. looks to be possibly a brother, at 1881-1946.

Rose Wirthlin V., 1883-1969.

Michael Kenyon V., at 1971-1995. “Our nature boy”

“M.R.S. 1882-1935”. I’m guessing a former miner. Those are a woman’s reading glasses laid on top.

A Director of the Arizona-Senora Desert Museum.

Too many reminders for me. But usually, perhaps too few.

This is a thin single piece of wood with no crosspieces. I could make out little but the years, which appear to be 1906-1925.

A second, bare board is at the foot of the grave. Neither is warped or decayed, but paint technology in 1925 was tough going.

“U.S. Park Service Blacksmith Louis L. Richard. Died Dec. 18, 1928. ‘Thy will be done.'”

“45-year resident and legend of Grand Canyon. Loved by all.”

“Amy Clark” and a single illegible date painted on an iron rod is all there is. The date could be 1980, but the paint has crawled and filled in so badly that there’s no telling. Apparently, circumstances were such that this painted stick is all that could be done.

“Father John Manley, 1882-1937”

He served in WWI.