Who would have thought Beaver, Utah could be so exciting for the family? Let alone a fourth-grade geography project? Below is a family story written by my father Jim about an unforgettable trip he had with my sister Angela and mom Linda about 22 years ago:
Angela, Linda, and Jim Hartley:
Grab the Steering Wheel!
Grab the Steering Wheel!
In April 1998, my wife,
Linda, our youngest daughter, Angela, and I had a harrowing experience that we
might not have survived if God had not miraculously intervened. It happened
while helping Angela with her fourth-grade geography project.
At the time, Angela attended Horizon Elementary School in Murray, Utah. The school had an annual geography event in which each fourth grader would complete a detailed project on one of Utah’s 29 counties. The project included creating an elaborate, illustrated display of the county’s history, geography, economy, and culture. The completed projects were then showcased at an impressive “County Fair” for the students’ parents and families.
For her project, Angela chose Beaver County. We wondered about her choice. Beaver County is a narrow, horizontal slice of desolate land in rural, west-central Utah. It seems that 10-year-old Angela was attracted by thoughts of little buck-toothed beavers waddling around the countryside.
At the time, Angela attended Horizon Elementary School in Murray, Utah. The school had an annual geography event in which each fourth grader would complete a detailed project on one of Utah’s 29 counties. The project included creating an elaborate, illustrated display of the county’s history, geography, economy, and culture. The completed projects were then showcased at an impressive “County Fair” for the students’ parents and families.
For her project, Angela chose Beaver County. We wondered about her choice. Beaver County is a narrow, horizontal slice of desolate land in rural, west-central Utah. It seems that 10-year-old Angela was attracted by thoughts of little buck-toothed beavers waddling around the countryside.
As Angela worked on her
project, she was quickly losing enthusiasm. So, Linda and I decided to take her
on a fieldtrip to get a first-hand look. Beaver County is located about 200
miles from our home—roughly a three-hour drive south on Interstate 15.
In the sleepy little town of Beaver, we saw the historic 1908 opera house (vacant), the public library (with its statue of a WWI “doughboy” soldier), and the historic 1882 county court house (a museum for the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers).
In the sleepy little town of Beaver, we saw the historic 1908 opera house (vacant), the public library (with its statue of a WWI “doughboy” soldier), and the historic 1882 county court house (a museum for the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers).
The most interesting spot in
town was the Farnsworth Historic Park next to the old courthouse. It is
dedicated to Beaver’s most beloved “native son,” Philo T. Farnsworth, the
inventor of the world’s first electronic television. The park features a
heroic-sized statue of the inventor and the humble log cabin in which he was
born.
The highlight of our
fieldtrip was our visit to Frisco, the county’s most infamous ghost town. At
its peak in 1885, Frisco had 6,000 people and produced $60 million worth of silver,
gold, zinc, copper, and lead. But it was also known as the wildest, most
lawless town in the Great Basin. Murders were a daily occurrence, and
history claims that an average of 12 men were killed each night. But what
eventually killed Frisco was a massive mine cave-in, from which the boomtown
never recovered.
By 1929, Frisco was
completely abandoned. It was fascinating to wander through the ghostly remnants
of silenced mining equipment, huge hollow brick kilns, old rotting buildings,
and a surprisingly large “boot hill” cemetery.
At the time we were
there, Frisco was still open to anyone willing to drive 45 miles west of Beaver
City. Frankly, Frisco was [is] a dangerous place with its open mine shafts,
poisonous gas, unstable rock formations, crumbling buildings, rusting mining
equipment, and numerous other hazards. But Angela loved it!
Sadly, the only buck-toothed
beavers we saw on our fieldtrip were cute stuffed animal souvenirs in a small
gift shop. But Angela bought one anyway for her presentation.
Once Angela was satisfied that we had enough for her project, we headed home. About 15 miles north of Beaver there is a divided, two-mile stretch of I-15 between Manderfield and Sulfurdale. The first part of that stretch gradually ascends from the south over a mountain pass, then it abruptly drops down a steep, northerly straight-away for about a half-mile.
Once Angela was satisfied that we had enough for her project, we headed home. About 15 miles north of Beaver there is a divided, two-mile stretch of I-15 between Manderfield and Sulfurdale. The first part of that stretch gradually ascends from the south over a mountain pass, then it abruptly drops down a steep, northerly straight-away for about a half-mile.
As we approached the
summit, I felt a strong and urgent impression to slow down. But traffic was
scarce and the road seemed fine. I ignored the prompting. Within seconds, I
regretted that decision. We hit that steep, downward straightway at the same
time as a sleet storm.
The road quickly iced over.
Brakes were useless. We began to fish-tail down the slope at about 65
miles-per-hour. Two-thirds of the way down we were fish-tailing out-of-control
toward a deep storm trench that paralleled the right side of the freeway—a
trench easily as deep as the width of our car. I fought the steering wheel desperately
trying to regain control.
Suddenly, Linda grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and held tight. I could no longer steer the car! Helpless, I yelled, “What are you doing!” “You told me to grab the steering wheel!” she yelled back. “No, I didn’t! Let go!!!” Stunned at my panicked reaction, she let go just as we hit a rare spot on the ice-covered pavement where there was traction. The car spun to a stop backwards. Now pointed at the pass above us, we saw two huge semi-trucks starting their downhill ride side-by-side occupying both lanes of traffic coming straight at us. Without a moment to blink, I turned the car around and pounced on the accelerator. We miraculously outran the semis and avoided being swallowed by the storm trench.
Suddenly, Linda grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and held tight. I could no longer steer the car! Helpless, I yelled, “What are you doing!” “You told me to grab the steering wheel!” she yelled back. “No, I didn’t! Let go!!!” Stunned at my panicked reaction, she let go just as we hit a rare spot on the ice-covered pavement where there was traction. The car spun to a stop backwards. Now pointed at the pass above us, we saw two huge semi-trucks starting their downhill ride side-by-side occupying both lanes of traffic coming straight at us. Without a moment to blink, I turned the car around and pounced on the accelerator. We miraculously outran the semis and avoided being swallowed by the storm trench.
With hearts pounding, a warm discussion between me and Linda followed:
“Why did you grab the steering wheel?”
“You told me to!”
“I did not! I was too scared to say anything.!”
“You told me to grab the steering wheel with both hands!”
“Why would I do that? I wouldn’t be able to steer the car with you holding onto the steering wheel.”
“I clearly heard your voice tell me to grab the steering wheel!”
Dumbfounded, I turned to our wide-eyed 10-year-old in the back seat. “Angela, did you hear me tell Mom to grab the steering wheel?” “No,” she insisted. “You weren’t saying anything!” Linda protested, “But I heard him!” “Mom,” Angela gently countered, “Dad never said anything!”
Puzzled silence. Then we all slowly came to the same realization. The voice Linda heard was real, but it wasn’t mine. It was a divine voice that had spoken to her mind. I had ignored the earlier prompting and had put us in grave danger. But Linda had listened and immediately did something no person would have ever rationally done—something so unthinkable it saved us from absolute certain tragedy. Grabbing the steering wheel when she did positioned the car where we could quickly regain traction. We had just experienced a miracle of divine intervention! There is no other explanation.
Now, more than 20 years later, many of the details of our fieldtrip to Beaver County have faded from our memories. But we will never forget the sleet storm on that steep downhill stretch of I-15 north of Beaver and how infinitely grateful we were that Linda had grabbed the steering wheel! The lesson I learned from that fourth-grade geography project? Pay attention to promptings! God may not give me a second chance next time!
***
Written by James E. Hartley, December 2019