Editor’s Note: This is the second and concluding article regarding the history of square dancing in Park City.

In 1949, Judd and Beth Flinders purchased a 900-acre dairy farm in Kimball Junction.

During the depths of the Depression, they opened three restaurants in Salt Lake City. Under their customer-first philosophy, all three businesses flourished.

Besides the eateries, the family operated a small yet diverse farm in Millcreek. It too was a money maker. The demands of their success encouraged the family to buy the Park City ranch. On their new property, the Flinders would continue their winning ways for decades to come. Over time, the family developed nine separate yet interrelated businesses on their property. One of them was square dancing. 

In 1950, Judd applied for a license to operate a dance hall and confectionery business in Kimball Junction. This coincided with the opening of the Flinders Mountain Meadow Ranch Restaurant. In no time it became one of finest family-style restaurants in the area.

After operating the dairy farm for several years, Judd determined that raising beef cattle was financially superior. He made the transition without hesitation. 

An added benefit of the change: the elimination of milking operations on the lower level of the Big Red Barn. Of course, the massive hayloft remained a necessity to store cattle feed for winter’s duration. However, the hayloft was empty by the middle of May and would remain so until the end of August. Thus, the hay loft could be leveraged to start a new seasonal business. Square dancing beckoned. 

Before the move to Park City, the Flinders were well versed in the nuances of square dancing. A family friend, Wilf Marwadell, was a PE instructor at the University of Utah. The university offered a course in square dancing for one credit. Wilf was both the instructor and caller. He also belonged to the same LDS ward as some of the Flinders relatives in Salt Lake City.

Predictably, square dancing events occurred regularly at the church. On such occasions the dance floor was jammed with adults and children enjoying themselves. A bigger venue was needed.

Judd had a solution: modify his hayloft to accommodate dancing. He wasted no time doing so. 

Judd installed a set of 10-foot-wide stairs to access the loft. Next, a sound system, a calling stage, lighting (wagon wheels with tin cans as shades) and an ample supply of 78 RPM records. The entry fee was $1. Ice cold soft drinks were 10 cents. The loft could hold 194 dancers, or 24 squares. The first event sold out, and it would not be the last. 

During the summer season, dancing occurred on Friday and Saturday nights. Another of Judd’s many talents included promotion. He commissioned the painting of a billboard on the front of the barn, which faced Old Highway 40, advertising square dancing. The Flinders’ barn became a mecca for dancing and fun.

Alas, the advent of haying season signaled the end of square dancing (in the barn) until the next May. The Flinders hosted the seasonal dances for over 25 years. 

We’ll close out this story with a patter familiar to those aficionados of square dancing …  “All jump up and never come down, swing your honey round and round, till the balls of your feet make a hole in the ground. Granny, does your dog bite? No child, no.”

The author thanks the surviving Flinders siblings (Leland, Melvin, Jerran and Elizabeth) and Scott Smith for sharing their memories of square dancing at their Big Red Barn.

The next free admission day at the Park City Museum is Saturday. Free Days are sponsored by the Summit County Restaurant Tax Grant Program.

David Nicholas is a Park City Museum researcher.

The post Way We Were: Ranching to dancing, part 2 appeared first on Park Record.

On Mother’s Day years ago, the most coveted reservation in Utah was a table at the Flinders Mountain Meadow Ranch restaurant — its reputation for superb food and service legendary.

When asked his familiarity with the restaurant, fourth generation Parkite Steve Leatham leaned back in his chair as a wistful, faraway expression gradually appeared.

“Yes, I knew the Mountain Meadow Ranch well. It offered the finest family style dining in Utah. We ate there only on special occasions — Mother’s Day, birthdays, or when Uncle Doc visited from LA,” Leatham, said. He described the heavenly aromas and savory cuisine as if yesterday rather than decades ago.

The restaurant was owned and operated by the Flinders family. The popular eatery was located on their 900-acre ranch. It was one of the “big three” ranches in the Snyderville Basin area. The other two were owned by the Tree and Bitner families.

Judd and Beth Flinders purchased the ranch in 1949, raising dairy cows and cattle. Besides grazing, they grew hay, alfalfa, and harvested sod. The restaurant was a family affair. To ensure first-class service, on the busiest days you might find three generations of Flinders working. Their numbers were augmented as needed by ranch hands or workers from the surrounding communities.

Beth Flinders was the chef. She was the undisputed maestro of the kitchen, setting the menu, sourcing the freshest ingredients, and cooking. Judd Flinders stood by her side, ready to assist as required. Together they represented a formidable culinary duo. Their slogan embodied the dining experience: “Our Best Advertisement is Eaten -—Not Written.” The restaurant, ranch and family prospered.

Mother’s Day was one of the busiest days of the year. The first cars trickled in by 10:30 a.m. or so. The restaurant opened at 11 a.m., when the trickle turned into a torrent. For the next 10 hours, the scene could best be described as choreographic.

For one 1960s Mother’s Day, the most opulent private dining room, the San Francisco Room, was reserved for a family celebration. The San Francisco Room featured a gas chandelier, heavy velvet drapes embroidered with gold trim, museum quality furniture, and a braided rug. It was fit for a king, or a prophet. The name on the reservation was nondescript of all the other bookings on that sold-out day.

Working as a waitress, one of the Flinders children, Libby, entered the kitchen, mentioning to her parents that the McKay family was seated in the San Francisco Room. The eight new arrivals reposing in quiet luxury were just another family set to enjoy a wonderful Mother’s Day feast. Except that they weren’t just another family. A quick conversation ensued. Judd and Beth stated that they “needed a minute” to don clean aprons. They would briefly abandon their command post.

The Flinders were practicing LDS members. David O. McKay, attending to Mother’s Day matters in the San Francisco Room, was the ninth president of the LDS Church, a position he would hold from 1951 until his passing in 1970. Within the church hierarchy, his stature was equivalent to that of the pope. Like all the other diners that day, the McKay family eagerly anticipated experiencing the Flinders’ renowned hospitality and cuisine. They would not be disappointed.

Upon entering the private chamber, pleasantries were exchanged. With a smile, President McKay thanked Judd and Beth for their gracious hospitality. He appreciated the demands on their time, especially this day, and wished them well as they returned to the kitchen. Thus, a new chapter was added to the Mountain Meadow Ranch Mother’s Day lore — hosting the prophet. 

Acknowledgements: The author expresses his deepest appreciation to Leland Flinders, his surviving siblings (Melvin, Jerran, Libby), Scott Smith, and Steve Leatham for sharing their Mountain Meadows Ranch Restaurant memories.

Happy Mother’s Day from the Park City Museum! The museum is open every day, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., even in mud season!

David Nicholas is a Park City Museum researcher.

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Saturday, Feb. 27, 1971, provided a rare opportunity to experience a historic event: riding the final passenger train to Park City. The occasion received extensive media coverage.

Trains began serving Park City in 1880. Regularly scheduled passenger service ended in the early 1950s. Freight service continued until 1988.

Special winter excursions had commenced in 1936. These trains, always popular, coincided with Park City’s annual Winter Carnival. Such events, promoted by Salt Lake City, Ogden and Park City, showcased the town’s winter recreation possibilities. Skiing, sledding, sleigh rides, kite flying and ice sculpting represented some of the more popular activities.

After an extended hiatus, these winter extravaganzas and the trains to transport the revelers were resurrected on Dec. 4, 1965. In addition to the Salt Lake City, Ogden and Park City chambers of commerce, a new sponsor emerged: the Utah Olympic Organizing Committee, as the state had submitted a bid to host the 1972 Winter Olympics. The proposal highlighted Park City and its unique ability to accommodate the Olympics.

The ski train, named the Hootspa Special, departed the Union Pacific’s majestic Salt Lake City Depot that December day at noon. En route, the train stopped at Ogden Station to pick up additional patrons. It arrived in Park City at 4:30 p.m., 30 minutes past due. The sold-out train (350 passengers) featured local dignitaries, Hollywood stars, famous athletes and representatives from 40 travel agencies. It would return to Salt Lake City that evening, departing Park City at 8 p.m.

The following year, the excursion was renamed the Snowball Express.

The 1960s and early 1970s were a tumultuous period for the nation’s railroads. Excessive taxation, antiquated work rules, burdensome regulations and a free fall in passenger revenue ruined the balance sheets of all rail operators, including the mighty Union Pacific.

Responding to the crisis, in 1970 the Nixon administration garnered bipartisan support to essentially nationalize intercity passenger service. Effective May 1, 1971, a new federal entity, Amtrak, would operate long distance passenger trains.

The opportunity to rid itself of money-losing passenger operations was compelling — Union Pacific announced that they would join Amtrak. One of the many stipulations associated with joining Amtrak required the participating railroads to abandon passenger service. Special excursions, such as the Snowball Express, were not exempt. Thus, the curtain would fall on Feb. 27, 1971.

Considering the nostalgic opportunity to ride the final passenger train to Park City, that last Snowball Express sold out. The train would follow the same route as its predecessors. Departure time was set for 9 a.m.

The Snowball Express enjoyed a well-deserved reputation as a party train. Not subject to local liquor laws, the train’s bar cars poured boozy refreshments. Additionally, two of the 10 cars were retrofitted to accommodate live music and dancing. The bands Slocum and Slum Gullions would provide entertainment. When not performing, the band personnel mingled with the passengers.

For this historic occasion, Park City planned a reception for the ages. Mayor Sullivan, local dignitaries, and the renowned Park City High School Band would greet the train. Lewis Brothers Stage Lines provided free transportation to Main Street, C’est Bon, Park City Mountain Resort and Park West.

Considering that the previous five excursions had been at least 30 minutes late, schedules were set accordingly. Uncharacteristically, the train arrived on time (1 p.m.). A mad scramble ensued as the welcoming committee hastily assembled. No problem. For those disembarking the train, they were clueless as to the pandemonium that ensued immediately prior to their arrival.

At 4:45 p.m., the engines sounded their horns, signaling it was time to reboard the train for its 5 p.m. departure — and a place in history.

The Park City Museum will host a train themed lecture called “Snowbound,” given by David Nicholas and Stuart Stanek, on Wednesday. Feb. 28, from 5-6 p.m. at the Park City Museum’s Education and Collections Center, located at 2079 Sidewinder Drive.

David Nicholas is a Park City Museum researcher. He expresses his appreciation to Alan Dearden, Leland Flinders, Steve Leatham, and Scott Smith for contributions to this article.

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This is the first article in an occasional series covering the history of the Flinders Ranch, the Flinders family, and their family-run restaurant.

Many a chart-topping song has expressed the wonder and transformative magic of the feelings given by love. On this Valentine’s Day, we will explore a love story that personifies this curious thing called love.

In April 1930, George T. Flinders (Judd) and Beth Engh were married in Ogden, Utah, thus beginning a remarkable journey together. Even the economic contagion associated with the Great Depression proved no match for their love. Powered by love, their faith and holy matrimony, life offered only limitless possibilities. Together they would realize their dreams.

At the time of their marriage, Judd worked for the local Coca-Cola bottling plant. He drove a delivery truck, one that was not heated. His route covered Salt Lake City to Logan and all points in between. The work was physically demanding, the pay meager. But he was thankful to have the job.

Judd’s work exposed him to numerous eating establishments. His attention to detail knew no limits. He witnessed first hand formulas that resulted in either success or failure.

When not working, Judd helped Beth with their growing family, sharing his experiences and discussing his aspirations. They envisioned a future in which they would control their own economic destiny. The cornerstone, starting a family business with multiple sources of income. For Beth and Judd, failure was not an option. Their undeniable love would conquer all challenges.

In 1933 they opened their first restaurant, The Boat, at 21st South and West Temple in Salt Lake City. The business thrived. Leveraging that success, in 1935 they opened a second restaurant, Judd’s Drive In, at 3320 Highland Drive in Salt Lake. This was followed by a third eatery, Park ‘n’ Dine, at 17th South & State Street in Salt Lake. T

ogether they managed the inevitable complications of family life while running three businesses amidst bleak economic times. Their emphasis on high quality, reasonably priced meals, and a “customer first” focus proved a winning formula. It was time for their piece de resistance.

In 1949 the couple purchased a 900-acre cattle and dairy ranch at Kimball Junction. The oldest of their five children, Leland, was 18. Like other families of the Depression era, the children, along with their parents, exhibited an amazing work ethic. They had no choice. Besides managing the ranch, Judd and Beth opened a restaurant, Mountain Meadow Ranch. In no time it established itself as one of the finest restaurants in Utah.

Pursuing their goal of financial diversification, they opened a motel and trout “catchery” (“you catch ’em, we clean ’em and cook ’em”).

Their next successful venture: square dancing. The ranch featured one of the largest barns in the state, so once the hayloft was emptied (typically May), square dancing took center stage. Friday and Saturday nights consistently sold out. In the fall, weekend hayrides superseded square dancing.

In the economic blight that gripped Park City during this period, the Flinders Ranch succeeded — a miracle powered by the love between Beth and Judd, their children, their families, and their customers.

Acknowledgements: This article owes its existence to the wonderful cooperation of Leland Flinders, his surviving siblings (Jerran, Melvin, Libby), and Scott Smith.

Happy Valentine’s Day from the Park City Museum!

David Nicholas is a Park City Museum researcher.

The post Way We Were: Love and partnership in life and business appeared first on Park Record.

On Wednesday, Oct. 11, Keith Droste joined his fellow hard-rock brethren in the great beyond. No doubt his beloved wonder dog, Alta, was the first to greet him. For those who knew Keith, our sorrows of his passing are profound. By all measures Keith was an extraordinary person — his generosity, intellect and physical stamina.

Keith’s relationship with Park City and the surrounding communities exceeded 20 years, though not consecutively.

His first visit to the area occurred in 1959. He was 26 years old. At the time, Keith worked for Hecla, a mining conglomerate known for a culture that promoted innovation, collaboration and employee self-actualization. Keith thrived in such an environment. His assignment was to perform due diligence regarding a potential joint venture between New Park Mining and Hecla.

New Park, chartered in 1932, listed the Mayflower Mine as their principal asset. Persistently undercapitalized, New Park struggled to realize the property’s full potential. For New Park, access to Hecla’s financial and engineering expertise could be a game changer.

When possible, Keith explored the surrounding communities. Midway’s numerous calderas intrigued him. No question the underlying hydrogeological system featured heat.

Did the Mayflower Mine share geothermal linkages with Midway? Considering the mine’s location, it seemed likely. Why was this important? As a result of his education (B.S. Geology) and experience (Hecla’s fast-track career development program), Keith knew that gold deposits were typically found in igneous and sedimentary rock formations with active geothermal systems.

Keith’s intuition, combined with a thorough analysis of all variables associated with the potential joint venture, culminated in his recommendation to consummate the agreement. Hecla agreed.

Keith returned to the Mayflower in 1962 as the mine’s superintendent — a remarkable achievement for a 30-year-old. Under Keith’s management, the Mayflower achieved its full potential. By 1966 it was the sixth-largest gold producing mine in the U.S. That was another notch in the growing legend of Keith Droste.

Under the privileges of professional courtesy, Keith explored the neighboring United Park City Mines Company (UPCM) operation. He left the Mayflower in 1966, as another assignment beckoned. The mine closed in 1972 — a victim of forces beyond the joint venture’s control. The same fate awaited UPCM.

With his reputation firmly established, Keith’s expertise provided an opportunity to travel the world in pursuit of his profession. Each assignment enhanced his knowledge and aura.

Keith returned to Park City in the 1990s. It was during this time we met. I could never thank Keith enough for his patience tolerating my unending questions about Park City’s mining history and his career. To know him was an honor.

For a glimpse into the realities of subterranean employment, please read “Cage Call,” by Louie Palu and Charlie Angus. It’s not for the faint of heart. Thank you Keith for the book.

I will close this tribute with a quote from Jim Hewitson, a fourth-generation miner who knew well Keith and the mines of Park City: “I was saddened to hear of Keith Droste’s passing. He was one of the last living experts on the mines and mining in the Park City District. He will be greatly missed”.

The author thanks Winona Dale Barcon (Keith’s wife), Jim Hewitson, and, of course, Keith Droste for their contributions to this article. 

David Nicholas is a Park City Museum researcher.

The post Way We Were: The last living expert appeared first on Park Record.

Improvise, adapt, overcome is a mindset, a philosophy embodied in the culture of the U.S. Marine Corps. So too for multiple generations of Parkites. Mining communities are accustomed to boom and bust cycles. It’s the nature of that industry. In the face of financial gloom, preservation depends on collaboration, resiliency and neighbors helping neighbors. 

As the Roaring 20s drew to a close, optimism infused Park City. The venerable publication Western Mineral Survey boldly predicted that the Park City Mining District was poised for its best year in a half century. In March, The Park Record heralded a “rich strike” at the Park City Consolidated Mine (Park Con), declaring it the “most important discovery in 40 years.”

In May of the same year, financial prognosticators suggested that mining stocks with ore in the ground were a better investment than airplane and/or automobile stocks. The Park Con announced that they were fully financed, courtesy of the Engineer Exploration Syndicate of New York. The investment enabled two shifts.

Following eight months of preparation, full production commenced in August 1929. Had it been discovered earlier, it would have been one of Park City’s biggest producers. But on Friday, Oct. 29, 1929, worry replaced optimism. 

Fueled by unsustainable speculation and questionable financial transactions, the stock market bubble burst in spectacular fashion. In four days, the market declined by 25%.

In the following months, a series of inept decisions by the Herbert Hoover Administration and the Federal Reserve sparked further chaos. The U.S. descended into arguably its worst financial crisis in history. The darkness would last 10 years, ultimately substituted by a different misery.  

Utah and Park City suffered. By 1933, 36% of the state’s workers were unemployed — the fourth highest percentage in the nation. So too in Park City. Prices for silver, lead and zinc plummeted. The town’s economy, based exclusively on mineral extraction, contracted accordingly.

The town’s largest mines tried their best to preserve jobs. To do so, workers endured a 45% wage reduction, not including a 20% decrease in hours. It wasn’t enough. A “Hoover Cafe” opened to feed the unemployed. A stark reminder of just how desperate the situation was: In 10 years the town’s population would decline by 50%. 

However, within these dark clouds silver linings existed, albeit just a few. Works Progress Administration (WPA) construction projects provided employment in town. These included the War Veterans Memorial Building, a Girl Scout camp on Lake Brimhall, Marsac Elementary School, and Snow Park in Deer Valley.

Perhaps the most important development was the repeal of Prohibition on Dec. 5, 1933. Once again, Park City’s numerous bars were packed with thirsty patrons. At least one segment of the town’s economy improved.

The onset of a second world war and its attendant demand for minerals would revive the local economy, but only marginally so. Upon the war’s merciful end, the town’s decline resumed with a vengeance.

For Parkites, salvation once again depended on their ability to improvise, adapt, and overcome, including a little help from one of those WPA projects — the building of Snow Park in the Deer Valley area of town.

The Park City Museum has its annual Pub Crawl to three bars in historic locations on Nov. 9. Get your tickets here: parkcityhistory.org/event/pub-crawl-2023.

Sources: “Treasure Mountain Home,” G.A. Thompson and F. Buck; “Oral History Interview,” May 10 to June 28, 2000, Anji Buckner; Park Record articles in 1929.

David Nicholas is a Park City Museum researcher.

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Note: This history is written from the perspective of a figurative miner at the Mayflower Mine, based on interviews and information from Keith Droste, Jim Hewitson, Gary Kimball and Steve Leatham, along with other historical research. The details of the miner are historicized, while the other information is historical. This is the first of two articles.

I grew up in Midway. My ancestors were part of the Swiss migration in the 1870s. Since then, we’ve operated a self-sustaining farm in the Heber Valley for almost four generations. Unfortunately, my father was disabled during the Korean War. As a result, I became “man of the house” (so to speak) at a young age. No leisurely childhood for me.

Between mom, friends, family and myself, the continuity of our farm was preserved. Such responsibilities I accepted without hesitation. The resulting maturation would ultimately serve me well. During this transition from a boy to a young man I displayed a preternatural inclination for all things mechanical. As with savants, this “gift” was not easily explained. Farm equipment, irrigation systems, plumbing, electrical, etc. — I mastered them all.

I graduated high school in June 1962. Despite academic excellence, attending college in the foreseeable future was not possible. That being said, I yearned for a job that provided both a good income and the flexibility to help my parents tend the farm. Twenty minutes from our home, economic opportunity beckoned at the Mayflower Mine. Though opened in 1929, operations commenced in earnest when the New Park Mining Company was chartered in 1932, listing the Mayflower Mine as their primary asset. In the realm of Park City’s mining history, the Mayflower was unique. It was the last mine to open and the second to last to close (1972). Further, it was deep, hot, modern and a significant gold producer.

In 1961 Hecla Mining Company (renowned for their deep mining and business acumen) forged a joint venture with New Park. The infusion of capital combined with innovation created a mining “miracle” compared to their long-suffering Park City brethren — United Park City Mines (UPCM). Essentially a holding company, UPCM owned the assets, both surface and subsurface, associated with the once-glorious mines in the Park City Mining District.

The Mayflower was non-union, whereas UPCM was unionized. However, wages at the Mayflower were equal to and/or greater than those at UPCM. The absence of union-related rules and regulations allowed the “flower” of innovation to flourish. Another attractive perk: Hecla offered interest-free home loans to their employees. For these and other reasons, working at the Mayflower was desirable. I wanted to work there.

Through family connections I secured an interview at the mine — and was hired! Hecla’s commitment to safety and employee development were paramount. Induction programs emphasized safety protocols and cross-training. “Newbies” (like me) rotated through all aspects of the mine’s operations — it was a fascinating experience.

Check back next week for this miner’s account of working in the Mayflower Mine.

The post Way We Were: From a Mayflower miner’s perspective, part 1 appeared first on Park Record.

Welcome back to our second article discussing the impact of the first Transcontinental Railroad on the development of Park City.

At the onset of the Civil War, Patrick E. Connor volunteered for a third tour of duty in the U.S. Army. He was then living in California. Assigned the rank of Colonel, Connor assumed command of the 3rd California Volunteer Infantry numbering 2,500 troops. Their orders: establish a post in the Salt Lake Valley to protect the overland mail route and telegraph lines, and ensure that Brigham Young remained faithful to the Union.

Neither Connor nor his troops relished their deployment to Salt Lake. They were a world away from the real fighting, their post was remote, and they were outnumbered by the Mormon militia four to one.

Their first order of business – establish a command post. For this Connor selected a plateau three miles east of Salt Lake City. Thus Camp Douglas was established in October 1862, renamed Fort Douglas in 1878. Their second and much greater challenge: dilute the Mormon monopoly and do it peacefully.

The impact of the California Gold Rush on that territory cannot be overstated. As one example, in 1846 the population of San Francisco was 200 – by 1852 it was 36K. The combined population and economic growth resulted in California becoming a state with the Compromise of 1850. Connor and some of his men were veterans of the California Gold Rush. Connor himself had realized $85K in profits (a value of approximately $2.7M in 2020). The Colonel dreamed of a Utah Gold Rush – but how?

Connor’s local foil, Brigham Young, had professed neutrality to the Southern cause. He and his followers allowed slavery in the Utah Territory until June 1862 when it was outlawed by Federal decree. One activity Young aggressively opposed, however, was prospecting. He considered it a “lustful pursuit”.

He knew well the consequences of the California Gold Rush. In 1862 approximately 50K people lived in the Utah Territory, most of them Mormon. Connor’s “dream” was a nightmare for Young. Fortunately, the remoteness of the Utah Territory ensured that transportation costs were prohibitive to creating a viable mining industry. This would soon change.

The Pacific Railroad Act of 1862 ensured that rails would bind the Utah Territory to the Union. “When” was a different story. No matter to Connor and his men – they weren’t building the railroad. However, they could “set the stage” for a Utah Gold Rush.

In November 1863 Connor helped organize the Wasatch Mountain Mining District. In the spring of 1864 the mountains were systematically explored using techniques perfected in California. Commensurate with their prospecting, Connor utilized the telegraph to communicate sensationalized accounts regarding gold and silver possibilities in the Wasatch Mountains. Published in northern newspapers, these stories attracted the attention of speculators and miners as the boulevard of iron expanded westward.

In May 1869 the Pacific Railroad passed through Echo, Utah, coming within twenty-seven miles of Parley’s Park (as the area was referred to before the establishment of Park City). Consider that before 1869 crossing the continent either by land or sea took five to six months by wagon or ship. Under the best of circumstances it was an arduous, expensive and life-threatening journey.

By June 1869 that same journey took four days! The railroad established cost-effective, reliable transportation which was absolutely necessary to create a “Utah Gold Rush.” Prospectors, speculators, miners and financiers came pouring in.

Park City was incorporated in 1884. Rails reached the town directly by 1890. And by 1898 7,500 people lived in Park City working directly or indirectly for the burgeoning mining industry. Connor’s California Dreamin’ had become a reality.

Be sure to check out A World Transformed: The Transcontinental Railroad and Utah at the Park City Museum. The exhibit will be up until March 15.

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