John F Smith Family

My dad, John F. Smith of Jerome, Pennsylvania, moved us to Hiawatha, Utah, in the spring of 1957. Our advenurous family consisted of my mom, Myrtle Irene Shaffer Smith; dad, John Franklin Smith, Jr.; brother, John Franklin Smith, III; and me, Janet Irene Smith. My younger brother, Samuel James Smith, was born a few years after we settled there.

I was seven years old. Needless to say, it was not easy...no friends, no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins. My dad was one of five children, my mother was one of twelve! I had lots of family in Pennsylvania but didn't know a soul in Utah. School was already out for the summer so I didn't get to meet anyone until fall. I remember how strange it felt, being an outsider. All of the Hiawatha kids were very close, they had known each other a long time. So it took some time for me to feel like one of them.

I attended the red brick school in Hiawatha until junior high, when I had to ride a bus to Price Junior High. I loved the old Hiawatha school. I loved the pretty wood floors, the wooden desks which were joined together by wood rails, the homey kitchen where Mrs. Nixon made the best rolls and brownies ever. And eventually I loved our little group of classmates. I would describe the Hiawatha kids as sincere, down-to-earth, fun-loving, and loyal. Price Junior High changed everything for us. We were in different classes and made new friends. Then the Hiawatha school was demolished. Looking at that pile of red bricks, I remember it being one of the saddest days I'd ever had.

But when school was out for the summer, life in Hiawatha was great again...old friends exploring forgotten parts of town, walking up the tram road, climbing the hills, playing on the old balll field, feeling the heat through the soles of our shoes when we tramped across the slurry pond, sneaking into the hotel, daring each other to enter old mine portals, playing night games on expanses of unfenced lawns. No place on earth could have been a better place for a kid to grow up.

Recently I asked my old friend Gloria Colosimo what she remembered of Hiawatha. She replied without hesitation, "Everything!" I can't say that I remember everything, but I remember so many wonderful things that the unpleasant must have been insignificant.

So here we are, a small group of people who shared something extraordinary. And when we are gone, so will be our Hiawatha, for there will be no one left to remember it.