They didn't get the Memo

Richfield in 1870 wasn't much to see... in fact there was very, very little to see.  The people had left in a big hurry and were now living elsewhere for the time being.  Many of them were questioning whether they even wanted to return.  It wasn't the red dirt on their carpets that was their concern, it was the red men in the hills.  Blackhawk and his warriors were still marauding and any peaceful farming saint wanted to keep his scalp and his life. Richfield sat in the middle of the valley had little to offer in terms of protection and safety.  When the year 1870 arrived it was an empty village and it would take another year before the place would be safe to return to.

But the Constitution of the land, which also included territories, explicitly stated that the people must  be counted every ten years, and this year of 1870 was a year for counting.  Apparently the task fell to a Mr.Wm.W. Rockhill, a newly minted "Census Marshall," who had taken the oath of office and was either not informed of the grave risk to life and limb that lurked in southern Utah, or was unconcerned and oblivious to the dangers of the Indian uprising; but his duty was to count...  and count he would. 

Use your best imagination and you can see him riding an old flea bitten U.S. Government mule down from the north country, pencils in pocket, satchel under arm, with a round derby hat perched on his head, and little wire rimmed spectacles on his nose.  No doubt he had been carefully trained in the Palmer Method of handwriting which would have been a perfect supplement to his emotionless, accountant-like personality.  Exercise that imagination some more and you might see him slowly making his way down what little main street there was, stepping around some errant tumbleweeds.  There would have been little or no wind in mid-June and an oppressive stillness filling the afternoon.  But there was a curl of smoke at the end of the street and to that spot Rockhill focused his attention and gave his old mule a kick.  The only live body in the entire town was an old Swedish sheepherder by the name of C.P. Anderson.  Picture him at the campfire whittling a stick and judiciously considering the uninvited guest who was dismounting from the mule.  Rockhill would have politely introduced himself as a representative of the US Govt, which probably made him less welcome in the deserted town than Chief Black Hawk himself.   Up to this time the only questions that had been asked by agents of the federal government had to do with the marital status of Mormon men, and that never turned out very well.  So as Mr. Rockhill asked the required questions the wary old Swede probably told him the basics at least.  But listed below Anderson's name were three young men, without names, ages 20,18,16.  The notations are puzzling and we are left to guess who they might be. Were they sons of C.P. Anderson? Did they not have first names, and if they did, why no recording of them?   These are good questions; perhaps they were sons that Anderson had not yet gotten around to naming.  Or perhaps he didn't want the US Govt to know their names.  Or better yet... maybe the interview was cut short by a Ute arrow that suddenly struck a nearby tree.   Me thinks we will never know the details of that June 14, 1870 day in Richfield, so our imagination is all we have to go on.  The motto is; when in doubt... make it good!.

The entire Richfield Census of 1870

So that was what Richfield consisted of in 1870.  Humble start for an exciting town!!

Mr. Wm. W. Rockhill, Ass't Marshall of the US Govt., concluded his census count of Richfield with the following notation:

Note:  After agreeing to a peaceful resolution of the conflict, the Ute's lived in peace for over 140 years and then decided to join the PAC 10 where they lived the rest of their days in obscurity.