A Town That Rhymes with Diarrhea

One summer, on my family’s annual trip to the Northwest, we drove through Arizona and Utah.  Zion and Bryce were on the itinerary.  But my father had a hidden, and more personal, agenda.  As he steered the Chevrolet station wagon off the highway and onto a bumpy, potholed dirt road he told us that we were headed to a ghost town; a town with a name that rhymed with diarrhea.  That was not how he put it, but that was the way that we took it.

Paria was an unsuccessful Mormon settlement alongside the trickle of the Paria River.  This trickle, and a plethora of diseases that came with it, was why the settlement never made a go of it. My great grandfather had been sent by the church elders to settle a town known today as San Bernardino, California.  This task done, he returned to Utah and was ordered to do the same in Paria. The plan didn’t work.

Bouncing around in the back of the seatbelt-less station wagon my sister and I were excited about the prospects of seeing a real ghost town. Years of Wagon Train, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Roy Rogers, The Virginian and Rawhide had whetted our appetite for this Western phenomenon.  Perhaps my father had billed this excursion with a little touch of flair. But we were not prepared for the stark and desolate place that we found.

After several miles on the dirt road, we came to small cemetery.  We got out of the car and my parents looked at the names on the tombstones.  My sister and I weren’t as comfortable wandering around on top of the dead and stayed behind the small, iron fence.

My great grandfather’s grave was there.  And the graves of several children with our last name. And their mothers. These were all members of my dad’s family.

The name “Paria” became a joke in our family for a place no one wanted to go.

Twenty-five years later, my Scottish husband and I were spending our summer driving around the west. We found ourselves on the same dirt road. On this visit, I discovered a new development:  a movie set Western town was built along the road. “The Outlaw Josie Wales” was filmed there.  Our Honda Civic navigated the potholes until I was once again at the little cemetery. We parked the car and forded the river; which was not particularly difficult.

 The remaining structures and the cemetery had more meaning on this visit. I wanted to show my husband where my ancestors had lived and died. 

Eleven years ago, my husband, son and I took a family vacation to Nevada, Arizona and Utah.  And, yes, this time in a four wheel drive rented SUV, we took the dirt road to Paria.  We took pictures of my great grandfather’s grave, forded the “river” and climbed on the vermillion cliffs.  I took a bolt from one of the buildings that had yet to succumb to the elements.

That night, we checked into a small 1950’s style motel in the mostly Mormon town of Panquitch, Utah.  Across the street was a small museum run by one of the faithful.  My son and I took a tour of the relics, the old butter churns and dishes and went back to our air-conditioned room to settle in for the evening. We turned on the TV and went through the program guide by the side of the bed. “The Outlaw Josie Wales” was on.  The three of us watched Clint Eastwood ride through Paria.