My grand folks, Clarence and Elise Rogers, had left Idaho in the early 1920s, lived in Ouray, Colorado for nearly a decade, then moved to Thompsons, Utah in 1930.
By 1930 nearly all the mines in the Ouray, Colorado area had shut down due to the nationwide depression. Apparently, Grandpa Clarence and Grandma Elise decided that they couldn’t make a very good living there anymore. Besides which, they had had enough of the kind of winters that “The Switzerland of America” is known for.
After marrying in Idaho, Clarence and Elise Rogers began a trip by horse and wagon down towards Arizona, but ended up in Ouray, Colorado instead. It was getting late in the year of 1921. One of Grandpa Clarence’s first jobs in the area seems to have been ranch work at Piedmont.
Clarence William Rogers was born in Soldier, Idaho, on Feb. 9, 1900. Elise Genevieve Blattner was born in Darby, Idaho, on March 25, 1900. Their destinies intertwined in 1919.
Let’s take one last look at the history Edith Johnston left for us when she finished her 36-year effort to write her memoirs in 1996. I consider her stories worthy of this column since she grew up in various little places across the Cisco Desert along the base of the Book Cliffs, and that is what this column is really about; telling the stories of the people who spent time in the Book Cliffs country.
This will be the third time in a row that I’ve shared excerpts from Edith Johnston’s memoirs with those of you who read this column. Once again, I want to thank Colette Johnston, daughter of Vion Johnston, who many of you Moabites probably know, for allowing me to use portions of her grandmother’s opus.
I Introduced you to Edith Johnston in my last submittal to this fine old small town newspaper. Edith grew up in this neck of the woods, living in several small southeastern Utah communities.
I was thrilled to be given a copy of the “Memoirs of Edith Johnston” by two of Thompson Springs’ newest townsfolk. I’ve always said that our little community could use a few good people. Not too many mind you, but a few.
The following is a story written a number of years ago by my youngest sister, Marles Oldroyd. It’s a story of a horse that she loved very much. No one who ever knew Sister Marles ever had any doubt that she was born to be and always will be a complete horse nut.
Now you can rest assured that Mr. Bill Cunningham was tough! Another good old boy we all called Uncle Kennis used to work for him and he said that if Bill sent you out to pack salt or check the range and cattle, well, Bill figured you hadn’t done nothing if you didn’t ride 50 miles by dark.