This Is Short Creek

Cowboys and Indians
I grew up in Short Creek straddling the Utah/Arizona border. For reasons which I will describe, I do not think fondly of this town. I’m not saying that I didn’t enjoy my childhood. I did. The mountains, the creek, the skies, and the dirt were a child’s dream. My family life was great, too. I had lots of siblings and we did everything together. We hiked often and went horseback riding. We rode bikes which we patched together from spare parts, bailing wire, and twine. We played “Cowboys and Indians” with guns carved from wood falling off of the old chicken coop and with bows and arrows cut from willows growing in the creek. We weaseled into Dad’s tack room where he created handcrafted harnesses and used his equipment to make our toy guns and real knives. This was especially gutsy because Dad hated weapons. A great friend and high adventure were seldom more than a brother away. We milked life for all of the excitement we could and we milked the cows, too.

The Worst Thing Was A Tattle
My childhood amusements distracted my young mind from the abuse and corruption that surrounded me on every side. I’m grateful for that. I remember that nothing in town could be done without worrying about what Uncle Roy would think. He was the highest ranking religious leader. Fortunately, the authoritarianism did not adversely impact my childhood, at least not that I was aware of at that tender age. I always had the mountains and no one ever told me that I couldn’t spend my meager coins on a Coca-Cola because Uncle Roy wouldn’t approve. We weren’t allowed to have toy guns, but we boys did a fairly good job of hiding them. Once in a while a little snitch would tattle anyways. The worst sort of person was a tattle. Boys and girls were forbidden from forming romantic relationships and were directed instead to enter into arranged marriages. Since the attraction between boys and girls was and is one of the strongest forces in nature, they responded like we little kids did with our guns; they hid it. This usually worked until a snitch told on them or the girl ended up pregnant.

What Happened To Joe?
Beyond what we could make of twigs, wire, and twine, almost every aspect of our lives was dictated by the ecclesiastical regime. Music, talk, walk, hair, dress, and ultimately our very thoughts were governed by priesthood doctrine. One of my friends from school vanished over summer break. I found out that his family had been “kicked out of town” by Uncle Roy. I never learned why and I never saw him again until we were both adults. The church owned people’s homes, their wives, and their lives. It could cost a man everything he had to oppose the priesthood. As far as commerce was concerned, competition was discouraged. There was a single store where we could buy necessary goods as long as they were the goods which the store happened to stock. There was a single cafe where leading elders would gather to discuss their interpretations of last Sunday’s sermons. The cafe smelled of rancid fat and stale ideas. This was my least favorite place in town. Unfortunately, I couldn’t avoid it entirely because my grandma was friends with the cook and I loved riding with grandma on her errands.

The Only Constant Is Change
It was later, as an adult, that I learned how destructive this totalitarian regime was. It wrecked many people’s lives. I moved to Salt Lake within a year of Uncle Roy’s death and eventually all of the priesthood leaders of my childhood died. However, the tight grip that they held over town life paved the way for an utter despot to take control. Warren Jeffs so thoroughly screwed people over that in a lot of ways he put an end to the ecclesiastical oppression of this town. You can only stretch a rubber band so far before it snaps and it snapped hard! Now hundreds or thousands of people are returning to Short Creek from the far flung cities of their exile. They are returning to connect with family members who have also had enough of the oppression. They are returning to take advantage of court rulings which restore their homes as inheritances. They are returning to the hills and the creek. They are returning to the sand that got into their veins.

New Life in Short Creek
From the ineffable spirit of the people, numerous institutions are bubbling up all over Short Creek which represent the hopes, dreams, and values of its residents and neighbors. These ideas are hatched up over coffee and pie by ordinary folk sitting around kitchen tables, not by council members sitting in sanctuaries praying to God to reveal his special will to them concerning the needs of the people. The people are creating what they need. We have the Creekers Helping Creekers Foundation, the Colorado City Music Festival, and the Short Creek Community Alliance (SCCA) attempting to unite the fragments of people returning to their homeland–the fallout from religious folly in this town. Sports programs and sports leagues are popping up all around. And did I mention the library?! A godsend. Thanks Washington County. Nonprofits serve the people in various heartfelt capacities such as Cherish Families, with many wonderful services which the children love, and Heritage Family Services, which organizes food drives, etc.

Female Mayor and New Newspaper
Short Creek now has its first female mayor (in Hildale), Donia Jessop. Her election precipitated the resignation of a slew of men (here’s one resignation letter) who couldn’t work for an apostate or for a woman; either way, good riddance! We have more hope for her than all previous religious appointees to public service for the past sixty years or more. The Uzona Chamber of Commerce formed to support local businesses. Mohave Community College built a new community center including a business incubator where entrepreneurs can go to access valuable resources. We have the Canaan Mountain Herald, the first independent news source in the area. As for that single cafe in Old Short Creek, it has been replaced by at least seven eateries (here, here, here, here, here, here, and here). If the people of Short Creek had waited for the ecclesiastical powers to effect these changes, they would still be waiting and hearing, “pay an honest tithing and prepare for God’s blessings to flow.”

Micro Brewery
Several years ago, a few beer enthusiasts applied to the Colorado City Council for a brewing license. After city council members took turns giving their opinions and anecdotes about the evils of alcohol, and the mayor read the poem “A Bar To Heaven, A Door To Hell,” the city council unanimously voted to reject the application. The brewers decided to appeal to the Arizona State Liquor Board which overturned the municipal decision and granted the license. On the heels of losing a $1.6 million law suit for discriminating against non-members of the prevailing religious sect, the city decided to work with the brewers who finally found city officials to be quite congenial in working toward getting their location adequately permitted and inspected. The glorious result is the Edge Of The World Brewery. It is the greatest beacon of freedom and hope to appear in Short Creek in my lifetime. The atmosphere is great, the food served from the adjacent bakery is delicious, and the beer causes me to think that maybe God made good on all of those promises from my childhood, after all. I’m going there tonight to raise a pint to progress.

Cheers,
Ariel Hammon
Author of JACK