Contributed by Stan Porter
Cleverly Crossing, or the Cleverly stop, was a Bamberger train stop, in the early 1900’s. On May 20th of the year 1913, Shipler Commercial Photographers took a series of pictures onto glass plates, for the Consolidated Wagon Machine Company. In each of the photos appear two men that appear to be demonstrating a new piece of road grading equipment.
In the first photographs, is a house that appears on the left side that still exists today. In the second, the Bamberger train tracks appear. Because of these landmarks, we can place the location of the photographs, and gain a great understand of this area.
In this first photograph, the photographer would have been standing just about the intersection of Excalibur Street and Highway 89, or the entrance to Camelot, taking the picture towards the North, on what then would have been Onion Street, now is, 400 East. The little white house on the left of the photograph is still in existence today. The school building on the right would have been the School District No. 2 building.
This second photo is looking south east on the same street. The Bamberger tracks ran parallel to what now is Highway 89. The road grader and horses are facing north on what now is the highway.
This third photograph, we can only guess is farther southeast on what is now 800 West. The foothills appears to be in line with the foothills in Photo 2, and they match current day foothills. We would also guess that this is the before shot, in other words they wanted to show what the road looked like, prior to grading.
This appears to be the "after shot" of photo three, looking north west towards the Highway.
Highway 89 near Cleverly Crossing
On March 28th, 1916 the Barrett Manufacturing Company sent the Shipler Commercial Photographer, Harry Shipler to take some pictures. By looking at the pictures it appears they were being taken to show a new road patch product. These picture are a great asset to preserving some of the history of North Salt Lake.
In this first photograph of the Barrett manufacturing series, we see Cleverly Crossing, looking North on the new Highway 89. Notice on the left hand side you will see the back of the school.
In this second photograph, the photographer moved farther south on Highway 89, the school can be seen in the distance on the left.
In this third photograph, the photographer would have been north of Cleverly crossing, looking south. Now the school is seen on the right hand side of the picture.
Special thanks to Randy Jenkins that brought these pictures to my attention. Check back, we hope to include current day photos taken at the same location.
Cleverly Crossing Stories
Full Pioneer Story of Abel Alexander
"Abel was very active in the Sunday School Organization in South Bountiful #2 which was held in the Rock School House at Cleverly Crossing." View the full story on the Sons of Utah Pioneers website.
District School of South Bountiful
In the early 1800's a one-room school was built on this site: a triangle of land between Onion Street and Highway 91. It was constructed of lime-cement and rock and measured 16 feet by 25 feet. There were six windows - three on the north side and three on the south side. The entrance faced west. A coal house was attached to the building. A potbellied stove stood in the center of the room with a long stovepipe reaching to the chimney on the east. There were three rows of desks on each side of the stove. Students furnished their own books and slates. Children who could not attend regularly, due to the farm work, had to bring their own desks. Each night a bucket of fresh water was carried from the Burtenshaw Well across the road for the children to drink the next day. A bucket with a clean dipper was placed on a table for their use. This school was used until 1898, when it was torn down and a red brick, two-room school was built on the property. About 1920, this location was renamed Cleverly Crossing by the Bamberger Railway Company and was a designated stop. Here a shelter was built for waiting passengers. In 1935 Onion Street, named for the onion trucks that came from the farms to the crossing every Friday, was redirected. After the change it crossed the old school grounds to enter Highway 91 in North Salt Lake. Plaque on back: (plastic) In appreciation for their help in erecting this monument: City of North Salt Lake, Utah; Don Sellers & Sons Masonry (Jim & Kim Sellers); Jack L. Nielsen, Beuhner Block Co., Members of monument committee Berta L. Taylor, Chairwoman (source).
Story From Dean Batt Cleverly
I recall a story from my dad's childhood in northern Utah. His family lived on a farm in south Davis County in what is now North Salt Lake and Woods Cross, and the Bamberger train, the interurban rail line that during the first half of the Twentieth Century ran from Salt Lake to Ogden, passed right in front of their place. There was a Bamberger stop in the area known as Cleverly Crossing. Dad and his brothers and sisters used to ride the Bamberger to Kaysville, where they attended Davis High, the only high school in the county at that time.
The story handed down from my father is that on a winter's morning, while waiting for the Bamberger to arrive, he licked the cold rail, probably on a dare, and his tongue stuck to the cold metal. With the train approaching, he did the only sensible thing a person in that predicament could do. He yanked his tongue away from the rail. That must have really hurt. And I doubt he ever tried that trick again (source).
My Early Life [Dorothy Batt Cleverly]
The next spring, 1932, we moved down to South Bountiful in Steve Moss’s house on the corner across from Moss Dairy (where the crossroads to South Bountiful and the freeway ramp are now, on the road [2600 South] that goes up to east Bountiful). We lived there until Ruth and I both married in December 1934.
During our last year of high school we caught the Bamberger one-half mile south at Cleverly Crossing. We went to church at the old South Bountiful Ward, and many a time we walked the two miles and back several times a week. Between church and school we got to know our future husbands. We had a lot of friends and a fun time of life.
It was the time of the Great Depression, and Dad was out of work. Things were pretty lean. We had our own cow and plenty of milk and cream. We made our own butter and had chickens and eggs. The Red Cross brought us flour and things to keep us going. Hamburger was ten cents a pound, but who had ten cents! You could get a 50-pound sack of flour for 69 cents on sale, but we didn’t have that much either. Then Dad got on a WPA government work project and managed a crew up Farmington Canyon. Mother got a sewing class under the same project. She was always a profes¬sional dress¬maker, and when we lived in Logan she sewed for professors’ wives and well-to-do people in town. Things were a little better after this. I did babysitting, mostly for Deb and Al Moss, that winter and earned 25 cents a day and sometimes all night. They drank and partied a lot, and I’d go and clean house, feed the kids, and get them to bed. Sometimes I worked eight or ten hours for my 25 cents!
I had two real good girlfriends, Afton Bair and Elaine Hatch. I was with one or the other all the time. Afton lived over by the church on our road, and Elaine lived a mile below on the next road. They were as different as night and day. Afton never cared about anything but boys, and Elaine hated boys but loved sports, and we spent many hours swimming. In the summer we would catch a ride with a Moss Dairy truck and go to Beck’s Hot Springs, which is not there anymore. We would swim for hours at the point of the mountain where the freeway ramps cross the Union Pacific Railroad tracks. We’d dive off the roof and always took the Red Cross swim¬ming classes at Lagoon just to go swimming but in the meantime passing and getting our swimming and life saving certificates.
The summer before I was 19, Mattie Moss, the Mutual president, asked me to be her secretary, and I was that for two years, including one year after I was married. I really liked that position. I was in the choir too and walked over to practice every week or went with Dad. He was in the choir too.
That summer Dad tried to teach me to drive, but he’d holler at me so loud I’d about go off the road. I was a nervous wreck. I really learned after I was married, when we went once up to Harold Duncon’s in Centerville. He and his wife kept urging Ivard to drink beer until they had him drunk. They thought it was funny. I was never so mad in my life. Someone had to drive us home and Ivard couldn’t, so I did. We had his brother Fat’s car, and I’ve been driv¬ing ever since and have never had a citation or accident. I got in a road block once and got a ticket for no exhaust.
That Christmas was very slim. I bought each one a dime or 15-cent present, and Bill painted a little powder box with crayons for Ruth and me—the only present I got. That year, my senior year, I had a black shirt Mother made out of a pair of Dad’s pants and a beautiful striped silk blouse Mother made from an old dress. Someone gave her about the only thing I wore all year.
My senior year I took courses and was too bashful to try out for the operetta we put on, so our director, Jack Stacey, put me in charge of costumes and praised me highly after it was over because it was the first year there wasn’t one costume lost or not a hitch in everyone having what they needed at the right time.
Ruth wouldn’t wear the same thing twice in a week and if she had to she wouldn’t go to school. It didn’t bother me for some reason. I could wear a pair of shoes longer, Ruth needing two pair to my one. No matter how late we’d come home at night I’d hang up my clothes. Ruth would threw hers on the floor with the shoes on top. When she wanted them again she’d have to stop and press them.
We graduated in the spring of 1933, and there wasn’t any money for a new dress or shoes, but at the last minute Bill was walking out along the road kicking up the dirt and found a $20 gold piece and brought it to Mother. She bought material and made Ruth a peach and me a green organdy long summer formal. We also had new slips with satin sashes and even enough for new patent slippers. We looked as good as anyone at graduation.
The first time I ever saw Ivard was when we caught the Bamberger at Cleverly Crossing, which was named after his grandfather. That Halloween I went to a Halloween party Afton Bair gave at her grandmother’s house, and she invited me on a blind date, which turned out to be with Ivard. I was never so bored in all my life. All the rest of the couples were going steady and here we’d never even spoken to each other. All they did was sit around and neck, which was disgus-ting to us. We went together on and off for a couple of years, but he never did have money to take me anywhere. He would take me home from Mutual dances or we’d ride around to Salt Lake and stuff in his brother Fat’s car.
There was a kid, Elmer Winegar, who used to come to see Ruth all the time. She was never home, so he’d sit and talk to me half the night on our front step, and I thought he was a big bully. He played a saxophone for our after Mutual dances, and Clint Mills, an old bachelor, played the piano. Lee Cleverly played the drums, and we had some good times. It cost us ten cents a night. I loved to dance and thought I was really something when Elmer would leave his horn and come down off the stage and dance with me and no one else. A lot of times he took me home after. I wasn’t his girl, but we were together a lot and all of a sudden I really liked him. He’s the only guy I could ever kid with and talk to like my own brother or sister. We used to have a lot of fun together, but somehow I couldn’t get serious. He had a hair lip, which wasn’t too bad, but I always thought if I married him my kids might all look like that. He took me for rides on his motorcycle and to visit his mother, who made the best apricot ice cream, and we’d go riding. We never went to places that cost money. Kids didn’t have much in those days. He was jealous of Ivard, and I think Ivard was jealous of him.
Sometimes I went out with some of the older boys in the ward that had jobs and cars of their own and could take me places—to Covey’s dancing or ball games or out to eat—but I didn’t find any of them I wanted to marry.
Ivard and I got quite serious and went together, but that wasn’t until the fall of 1934. We broke up that spring, and I never went with him once. Absence did make the heart grow fonder. We had a standing date for my birthday, September 29, and even though I hadn’t gone with him all summer, I just knew he would come. He did and brought me a tooled leather purse for my birthday, the first thing he’d ever given me.
He took me to his place to a birthday party for me. His dad and mother were in Idaho, and Annie and Bud were staying there from Nevada, his respectable oldest sister and her husband, returned missionaries and a school teacher. So I thought it was alright, and he had spent all that money on my gift. But, his sister Sarah and his sister-in-law Pearl, who weren’t so good, had talked him into a party, and he footed the bill. They fixed a good lunch and then brought on the beer. Ivard got drinking and didn’t take much, but he passed out. Annie and Bud had to take me home. I was never so mortified, hurt, humiliated, and mad in all my life. I cried all night, and that should have been the end of it. I didn’t want to live that kind of life. I never saw Ivard for a week and thought it was ended. Then he came over and apologized and said he was scared to come sooner. He said he wouldn’t do that again.
We went steady the next couple of months, and each Saturday night he’d come and take me to the ward show, and we’d go to the Mutual dances and church and to our place to eat. Once in a while we even went to a show in Salt Lake with Lawrence Cleverly and Afton.
My sister had been planning for several months on getting married in the Salt Lake Temple on December 19. I felt bad because I was the oldest and wanted to get married first, but Ivard hadn’t talked marriage. Then he took me to the Saturday night show the first week of December and afterwards showed me a wedding ring with my initials in it and the date of December 17, 1934. That’s how he asked me to marry me—had the date all picked and settled.
The next day he came to dinner and asked Dad and Mother if we could get married. His family liked the idea, but Dad and Mother tried to talk us out of it. They said it was too quick and Ivard didn’t have a job or anything to his name. He hopped milk for Moss Dairy for 50 cents a day. I wouldn’t listen. I thought if I didn’t marry now I never would and would be an old maid. Be-sides, I couldn’t believe it would happen to me because I’d thought we’d get mar¬ried on my birthday and what a letdown. I couldn’t get that excited again.
On Monday morning, December 17, 1934, Ivard got up at 4:00 a.m. to hop milk, then we went to see our Bishop Hatch to see if he would marry us that night. Then we went to Salt Lake City to the City–County Building to get our marriage license. Ivard had to take his mother to sign for him because he wasn’t old enough.
I had gotten up early and packed my things and washed my hair. It was cold and we were tired and I was sick, so we went to a show to rest. My mother had gone up early to Woods with her pressure cooker to help them can meat and had burned her hand bad. I thought she wasn’t even going to make it.
We went home and Mrs. Cleverly and Sarah fixed a lunch, and at nearly 9:00 Bishop Hatch married us. It was supposed to be at 7:00, but Mother was late. I wore a rust colored dress I’d made for Valentine’s Day in Mother’s sewing class, and we stood in front of the cabinet radio and were married. There were no flowers, no excitement, no chivaree, no nothing. It was just like any old day of the week. We had lunch and everyone left soon.
We went in Fat’s bedroom, which he let us have. We were so tired and scared we went to sleep. They didn’t have a bathroom, and in the night I had to go but was afraid and laid and wiggled till Ivard woke up wondering what was wrong with me. So he got up and took me out to the outhouse in the cold.
Ruth and Ray had planned their wedding for quite a while, and instead of being happy for us, they never did forgive us to this day, I think, and we have never been as close since. The night we got married all of us girls were giving them a shower, and I wasn’t even there.
When we got married Ivard’s brother Elwood (Fat) lent him $10, and Moss Dairy upped his wages from 50 cents a day to a dollar a day. We lived at Cleverlys and paid Fat back.
All photographs used with permission of the Utah State Historical Society, all rights reserved.