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Show "" J'H1;,' 1 .'itnH'1""" MU-- . .'ui;!wiw i ..nil . i i . i. n i .in in . ... I (0(D) Yeanrs Agn TTcodlay Arrival of spring in the Park greeted with sidewalk soirees, wild stories by Robin Moench Some things never change. In the century that has passed between the Park Record of March 7, 1885 and today's edition, the coming of spring has very likely been greeted by Parkites in much the same way: with a session of bone-toasting idleness in a patch of welcome sunshine. Today, popular locales for an extended siesta are McHenry's Beach in Deer Valley and any number of benches around town. And the fun is coed. But 100 years ago, "These warm afternoons cause many prominent places along the sidewalks to be occupied by men and boys. They regale themselves in the sunshine in groups like bees on the outside of a hive in spring-time just before swarming." Could it be the bee-like activities of local women were relegated by prevailing social norms to the less-than-sunny indoors? But with St. Patrick's Day only ten days away, all sections of the populace, young and old, male and female, Irish or no, anticipated a frolic. Chortled the Park Record: "In anticipation of this event the Knights of Pythias are making very extensive preparations for the coming holiday. They are getting up a dance and have hired Olson's full band brass and string and purpose having a street parade also." And, lest anyone predict a bland affair, the Record intrigued the wayward imagination, saying, "arrangements "ar-rangements . . will all be completed com-pleted in ample time for the great event which is to take our people by surprise for grandeur and interested-ness." interested-ness." Not all Parkites had whiled away the long winter in the Wasatch. Henry Menderson had been traveling travel-ing in Algiers "for his health." There such exotic spectacles had met his dazzled eyes he felt compelled to share his discoveries with the folks back home. In a letter written Jan. 2 from Hamman R'lbra he described an apparently animated and exhausting dance performed as a religious rite by a group of Arab fanatics. At one point in his observations the accompanying music reached a crescendo, then suddenly ceased. He described the outcome of the scene: "Then ... the dancers fell to the ground, their tongues protruding, their muscles rigid and stiff. Immediately those nearest the dancers jumped and danced upon their prostrate, forms, in order, probably to loosen their rigid muscles." Fortunately, the traveler noted, "There was nothing uncouth about the dance. On the contrary, the gliding motion had a peculiar grace." However, the climax of the frenzy involved piercing the 'arms and legs with pointed iron shafts that penetrated the flesh to a depth of half an inch. Menderson coolly observed: "Next came the ordeal of biting into the leg and chewing the prickly pear (cactus not a pleasant task . . . The fanatics were then handed burning torches, which they applied to their faces, hands and arms." It was at that point the Parkite, perhaps somewhat woozily, departed the scene. Back home on the business front it was noted that Mr. L Simon would soon move to the Park to take possession of the Silver Queen restaurant. The Record opined: "When he does, people living outside of Park City will know that we have at least one eating place here when they read The Park Record because Mr. Simon knows how to use printers' ink and understands me Hccus ui ma customers thoroughly. All will give him a hearty welcome." Apparently the Park Record knew a canny and well-heeled advertiser when it saw one coming down the road. Spring could be welcomed with considerably more peace of mind with the installation in town of five additional fire hydrants, bringing the total to nine. Pointing out that sparks from stove pipes and chimneys were a common occurrence, the Record cautioned, "The snow is now mostly off the roofs of buildings and the shingles will soon be dry as tinder boxes unless more snow would soon fall." And on that pre-spring day 100 years ago, the Record noted the demise of a pig at the hands of a rather inhumane member of Park City's large Chinese community. "The Chinaman," the Record rasped, "first hit (the pig) over the head a number of times with a small hatchet and then attempted to cut its throat with a dull knife." Then he "stood on the outside of the pen and held it fast by a rope attached to one of its hind legs and composedly awaited the slow, tortuous death of his victim." Fortunately the proceedings were cut short with the intervention of Marshal Kescel, who gave the matter his prompt attention. |