| Notes |
- RESEARCH_NOTES:
1. Censuses:
1880 US: Harmony, Kane, Utah, p. 2 of 4, 2 Jun 1880, 14/15:
Mary A. Taylor, 56, postmistress, NY NY NY.
Edmund G. Taylor, 21, son, UT NY NY.
Albert E. Taylor, 17, son, UT KY NY.
Francis G. Taylor, 15, son, UT KY NY.
James E. Taylor, 13, son, UT KY NY.
Mary R. Sawyer, 6, granddaughter, UT MN UT.
1900 US: Harmony, Toquerville Town, Washington, Utah, p. 2 of 4, 22 Jun 1900, 194/195:
Edman C Grant, 41, Sep 1858, md. 15 years, UT NY NY, sheepherder.
Emely J Grant, wife, 34, Dec 1865, md. 15 years, 8 total children with only 6 living, UT AL IA.
Edman L Grant, son, 14, UT UT UT.
Elener Grant, dau., 13, UT UT UT.
Emely Grant, dau., 11, UT UT UT.
George A Grant, son, 9, UT UT UT.
Floid Grant, son, 4, UT UT UT.
Gladis Grant, dau., 9/12, UT UT UT.
1910 US: Harmony, Washington, Utah, p. 1 of 3, 3 May 1910
Edmund Grant, 51, md. once currently 25 years, UT US US, sheepherder.
Emily Grant, 44, md. twice currently 25 years, 8 total children with 6 living, UT AL IA.
George A Grant, 19, UT UT UT, sheep herd.
Floyd Grant, 14, UT UT UT, odd jobs.
Gladys Grant, 10, UT UT UT.
Edmund L Grant, 24, md. once for 0 years, AZ UT UT, shearing sheep.
Mary A Grant, 21, dau. in law, md. once for 0 years, no children, UT South Africa US.
1920 US: Harmony, Washington, Utah, p. 1 of 4, 13 Jan 1920, 2/2:
Edward Grant, 61, UT UT NY, general farming
Emily Grant, 54, UT AL IA
Floyd Grant, 24, son, single, UT UT UT, sheep herder.
Glaydus Grant, 20, dau., divorced, UT UT UT.
1930 US: Harmony, Washington, Utah, p. 2 of 4, 19 Apr 1930, 12/12:
Edward C Grant, 71, first md. at age 27, UT UT NY, general farming.
Emily J Grant, wife, 64, first md. at age 20, UT AL IA.
Gladies Whitehead, dau., 30, UT UT UT.
Blaine Whitehead, grandson, 9, UT UT UT.
2. FHL book 779.248/N1-H2g "The Harmony Valley - and New Harmony, Utah, History and Memories," compiled by Sheldon B. Grant and Kay Daun. Pace Edwards:
Pp. 121-122: "Independence [Taylor] was always called 'Uncle Penn.' His only known residence in New Harmony was the house across the street from Tom and Vilo Pearce's home (now owned by Mike and Alex Ashby) and south of the Post Office. Uncle Penn owned a six-acre lot east of his home and about 40 acres north of the cemetery and below the dry field ditch... He also owned another 20 acres on the south side of Lower Joe Lee Creek... Edmund Carbine Grant owned ground west of Uncle Penn's. These two men were not only neighbors but also true friends. Their lots joined on the north, and their stables, barns, and stockyards were less than 100 yards apart. They traded work on their places in town and on the farms on Joe Lee Creek, a tradition that carried to the third generation. Sheldon Grant said, "Grandfather would farm out his grandsons to help this good man." He remembers working on Uncle Penn's farm, riding a horse, weeding, irrigating, cutting corn, and other farm chores. Uncle Penn's granddaughters would also ride the horse to help with the crops. Through marriage, Uncle Penn and Edmund Carbide Grant also became related when Edmund married Emily Adair, a sister to Joseph Adair who had married Uncle Penn's daughter, Sarah Adelia Taylor... Independence Taylor died March 21, 1942... [and is] buried in New Harmony Cemetery. Their home recently sold, but the Adair family still own the property to the east. None of the Adairs presently live in New Harmony, but they are hoping to get the property they own annexed into the town of New Harmony for a subdivision.
Pp. 134: Edmund Carbine Grant was born September 11, 1858, in Kaysville, Davis County, Utah, to George Roberts Grant and Mary Adelia Carbine. His only sibling, a sister, died as an infant. When his father, George Roberts Grant, went to California and left him with his mother, Mary Carbine Grant, she married William Warren Taylor. Edmund was about five or six years of age when he moved to New Harmony with his mother and stepfather. Stepchildren sometimes have a hard time being accepted by their new parent. Edmund was the oldest boy in the family, but there was friction between him and his three half-brothers and stepfather. It was perhaps inevitable that he would leave home while still a young man. Edmund had excellent skills in handling and caring for horse teams. By the time he was ten years old he was driving them, and by age 15 he could handle them as well as anyone and better than most. When he left home it was only natural for him to go into the freighting business, He was very good at it and enjoyed the excitement of the lifestyle it represented. John D. Lee had been called to Arizona to start a lumber mill in the early 1870s. Edmund C. Grant and John D. Lee became very good friends. It was in Arizona that he went to work for Lee. John D. Lee became a father figure to young Edmund. Edmund said to many of his grandchildren, 'A finer, more outstanding, square-shooting man I have never known.' If anyone ever made derogatory remark about John D. Lee, Edmund would bristle and say, 'Humph! I do not believe it.' Edmund met and married Emily Jane Adair on February 4, 1885, in Nutrioso, Apache County, Arizona. Their first child and son, Edmund LeRoy Grant, was born there on November 21, 1885. Their remaining seven children - Eleanor, Emily Adelia, George Albert, Pansey, Floyd, Rosamond, and Gladys - were born in New Harmony. After moving back to New Harmony, Edmund continued to do what he liked best for several years - freighting. He made regular trips to Lund, Utah, (before the railroad came into Cedar City), and to Cedar City, Hurricane, St. George, or anyplace else where he could find work. It was an honorable profession and was much in demand at that time. The omnipresence of semi-trucks and trailers on modern highways indicates that it still is. On one trip Edmund camped for the night and began to prepare his evening meal. He always fed, watered, and blanketed his horses before attending to his own needs. Another teamster came by and asked if he could camp with him. 'Sure, it's a free country,' Edmund said. 'Take care of your horses. Supper will soon be ready, and you are welcome to eat with me.' After the meal and the remaining camp chores were completed, the two men talked for a time around the campfire. Edmund then suggested that they roll their beds together. 'It's going to be a cold night, and we will keep warmer that way.' The man replied, 'You don't want to sleep with me, I'm lousy.' 'Good Hell - so am I!' Edmund exclaimed. The next morning he really was. When he reached home, his wife washed and ironed all his clothes and the bedding and eventually got rid of the lice! After he slowed down in the freighting business, Edmund Grand managed several sheep herds for Wilson Imlay in the Hurricane valley and other places. Later he ran a small farm south of New Harmony. He continued to do some freighting, primarily for himself and his friends. He also did all the work that any other pioneer did, although on a smaller scale. He taught his boys and grandchildren the value of work early in their lives. He know horses - his first love - and taught his children and grandchildren about livestock raising. Edmund and Sidney Goddard were good friends and spent time together at Goddard's ranch eight miles north of New Harmony. He was a hard worker, a good father, husband, and grandfather, and a true friend. He rode his pinto horse saddled until he couldn't saddle it anymore. Then he led it to a big log on his place and rode the horse bareback. He was still riding when he was close to ninety years old."
Pg. 136: "Emily Jane Adair was born December 28, 1865, at Washington, Washington County, Utah to George Washington Adair and Emily Prescinda Tyler. She married Edmund Carbine Grant on February 4, 1885, in Nutrioso, Apache County, Arizona. Emily's maternal grandfather was Daniel Tyler. He was a pioneer, and educator, and was prominent in both the Church and community. Daniel was well versed in church doctrine, and exercised the spiritual gifts of prophecy, speaking in tongues, and the interpretation of tongues many times throughout his life. Before his baptism he was slow of speech, but afterwards he was blessed with a fluent tongue. Daniel had close associations with the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother, Hyrum. He was a member of Zion's Camp and suffered mobbing and expulsion with the Saints. He also attended the School of the Prophets and was a member of the Nauvoo Legion. He filled several missions for the church, and was one of the men who responded to President Brigham Young's call to serve in the Mormon Battalion with the United States Army. Thirty-six years later, at the insistence of his comrades and with the encouragement of President John Taylor, Daniel compiled what came to be recognized as the accepted history of that incredible adventure."
Pg. 142: Sidney C. Goddard and LeRoy Grant, son of Edmund and Emily Adair Grant were partners in two adjoining ranches. Sidney never married. He died at age 67. "Sidney left his ranch to Emily Adair Grant. Her son, LeRoy, lived on the ranch and operated it along with his own property. When Emily Grant died, the ranch became property of Emma G. Neilson. By this time the Goddard name had been dropped and it was called the Grant ranch. It is still called the Grant Ranch on signs and maps, although it is no longer the property of any Grant descendant. A. Cannon Huntsman, a son-in-law of LeRoy and Sadie Grant, now owns and operates that part that belonged to LeRoy."
Pg. 143:"Joseph Welton Adair, Sr. was born November 6, 1881, in Washington, Utah, [Kerry's note - error: should be Nutrioso, AZ] to George Washington Adair and Emily Presinda Tyler. He was a brother of Emily Jane Adair. He married Sarah Adelia (Susie) Taylor who was born Nov. 6, 1882, in New Harmony to Independence and Julia Anner Taylor. Soon after Joseph and Sarah Adelia married, they moved to Farmington, New Mexico. All their five children were born there. Farmington is a farming and livestock area located on the San Juan River. They lived there for about 22 years. Eventually their longing for the area where they were born and raised and the aging of their parents brought them back home. They sold their holdings in Farmington, and with team and buggy, wagons, horse, mules, and an Angora goat herd, they covered the 600-mile journey to New Harmony, arriving during the summer of 1925. The Angora goat business was booming in New Harmony at the time. A total of 10,000 head were owned in the Valley, and Joseph Adair owned 1,000 of them. He summered them in the East Mountain area and wintered them on the Arizona Strip. Joseph and his two oldest sons, Joseph and Mark, were with the herd most of the time. They used two riding mules named Tom and Betty. Joseph W. Adair, Sr. died Nov. 9, 1926. The load of caring for the goat herd then fell fully upon Joe, Jr., age 18, and Mark, about 15. The children at that time ranged in age from six to 22 years. The two youngest children, Ruth and Riley, were in school in New Harmony. In 1933, when Lurene Pace Taylor moved into the Max Pace home, Susie Adair and her family moved into the home of Independence Taylor to care for her aging father. Uncle Penn was 79 years old at the time. Susie Adair eventually married Randell Lunt. When Independence Taylor died, his home lot and other property near town became her property. When Susie died, the property became owned by Ruth and George Smith. Both Joseph Adair, Sr., and Sarah Adelia Taylor Adair Lunt are buried in the New Harmony Cemetery."
3. Received from Don Smith, 2003, authored by Margie Mecham, 1968: "And a Pure Heart." Margie's grandparents in this story were Edmund Grant and Emily Jane Adair:
"Two large pictures hung on the wall in Grandma's bedroom. One was the portrait of a sweet-faced woman, the other, a full length pose of a young sailor, hand on hip, and with a proud lift to his head. As a child these pictures greatly intrigued me, for I had always known that sorrow and mystery hung as an invisible shroud around the unfamiliar faces.
When time and opportunity allowed, (such an occasion being rare as Grandma didn't like an unattended child dill-dallying in her bedroom), I tiptoed close to better see and study each face. A camera had preserved the features of two people whom I had never known but whose names were as familiar to me as my own. They had been greatly loved by those near and dear to me and so I loved them too. A little pang would strike at my Childish heart with the realization that they would never know of my existence- that I was Emma's and Jim's girl. Suddenly and unfailingly, goose flesh prickled my arms and I would shiver a little and turn away, wishing I hadn't stopped to remember what had happened to "Aunt Mame" and "Uncle Floyd."
The loss of a member from any family circle is grievous and heartbreaking. Was it because Aunt Mame was a bride of less than a year; that she had never known much of happiness until she married my mother's oldest brother; that she had died in the early stages of her first pregnancy, that made her passing more tragic, harder to reconcile?
She had been a girl of numerous virtues and much character; loved and accepted by her husband's people as a fine addition to their family. Even Grandma would have been hard put to have found a more worthy wife for her adored first-born.
Mamie and Roy were anxious for a baby. I have never known whether they had a short time of happiness knowing that she was with child before the nausea began, or if the terrible retching and vomiting was their first indication of her condition. This early symptom of pregnancy is, normally, far more uncomfortable and troublesome, than dangerous. But such was not the case with Mamie. All the medicines and home-remedies of that day did little, or nothing, to ease her suffering. She became weaker and more dehydrated daily and those who labored in the fight to save her life were all too helpless in the face of this uncommon development.
A mantle of grief settled about the young husband and remained with him for the fifty more years that he lived. With voice's that trembled occasionally, eyes welling with tears, my mother and grandmother would tell of those first dark days and weeks of his despair. Endless hours each day found him lying on the floor, head cradled in his arms, the mother and sister searching in vain for words that would comfort this beloved son and brother. The bright, hand-loomed carpet and musty straw beneath, absorbed each wave of tears and bitterness and saw the death of much that was Roy. With this dying went youth and the ability to really enjoy life; a little compassion and understanding for others went too. As I grew older I sometimes searched his face and manner for signs that would indicate this capacity to love so deeply and grieve so bitterly, but they were lost in the man I knew. When I made mention of this to my parents, they would shake their heads sadly and say: "He changed after Mamie died."
The young man who had stood before the camera and tried so hard to look old enough to be in Uncle Sam's navy, had been a lad when his sister-in-law died. Floyd was a bright boy, curios and eager to learn something new. He was also a dreamer and a planner, with imagination and vision. He was a talker and a natural born salesman. Grandma always said: "No sense in tellin' a story if you can't make it good." And she practiced what she preached. Grandpa wanted no truck with this sort of thing and he grunted louder and louder as her stories got better and better. Floyd inherited his mother's talent for telling a story by both breeding and example and it was not unusual to see some of the local boys doing his chores while he told stories and entertained them. He was saved from being a young confidence man by his honesty, goodness, and love for people.
When the disastrous flu epidemic struck, Floyd was one of the few who seemed to have an immunity. Day after day he went about making rounds; from house to house he went, doing the necessary chores, preparing food, nursing and comforting each stricken household, barely permitting himself a few scant hours sleep at night. Such dedication and devotion is rarely found in a teenage boy. Finally he reached the point of complete and utter exhaustion. Fortunately, by then some of the earliest victims were getting on their feet and the weary boy could permit the crushing load to slide from his shoulders.
Floyd longed for the world and its wonders - he longed for the new and different - for excitement. Most of all he longed to find himself and his niche. His mother yearned and cried over him. His father plainly did not understand this boy who was so different and his patience grew thin.
Everyone was singing, "There's a Long, Long Trail Home" - he sent his love to all. Then there was nothing more from him, or about him.
It was not until I had a son of my own did I realize, to any degree, the extent and texture of this special kind of pain and suffering; There would be the first faint annoyance at him for not having written, at least another card, before now; The annoyance turning into nagging anxiety; Then mounting fear and frantic hours stretching between one day's mail delivery to the next. How did they bear it, my grandparents, bear the aching and the longing?
Looking back I realize that they took this great sorrow with more fortitude and dignity than most people could muster. As a youngster, however, I wondered why grandpa didn't have much to say to people but muttered a lot to himself and pulled at his hair in annoyance. His frail shoulders took everything that life brought his way, they bent a bit more with the burden but this man would never break. I wondered why grandma cried quite a bit and sometimes spoke of bitterness, saying it in such a way that you could taste the nasty acidness in your mouth. I wonder no more.
After I had grown up, I questioned my father at length about Uncle Floyd. He said he had thought for years that Floyd was dead, otherwise he'd have been in touch. Even if he'd decided not to come home he had loved his parents, his brothers and sisters, and their babies - and it was not in his character to have deliberately hurt them so. It was my Dad's theory that Uncle Floyd had probably been murdered in some dark alley of a remote European City, robbed of his money and identification and subsequently buried in an unknown grave. My mother, and her parents, would never hear this bit of logic from Dad but I was sure this must be, or pretty nearly so, the right answer. Mother never spoke of her brother's returning, she was certain he would not, but she could never bring herself to say out loud that she believed him dead.
This time the songs were "Don't Sit under the Apple Tree, "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition," "The White Cliffs of Dover," and the world was at it again. One day a special letter came for Grandma. The postmark and address were strange. Grandma and Grandpa were something like eight-two and eighty-seven years old. Their health was not the best, of course, and their eyesight failing. Hope, that seemed dead these many years, flickered in the breasts of the poor, old folks. Grandma's heart pounded alarmingly and she trembled and cried. Grandpa controlled himself, as always, and called for a passerby to go after my mother. He could not let himself think that the letter was from Floyd until he had more to go on than what they could make out on the envelope, but they must wait, both knowing they could not be alone when its contents were revealed, regardless of whether it contained a miracle, or it did not. My parents arrived - the letter opened. A local boy in Europe had thought of his hometown and its people and had written to say "hello" to "Aunt Em" and "Uncle Ed." In my opinion it was then, and only then, that the lost boy was really given up, finally and forever.
The night Grandma died I sat by her bedroom door - she was in a coma and I had been told there was nothing for me to do except take a turn at waiting. In the next room Grandpa was waiting also - waiting for Grandma to go, then he would permit himself to die.
In her eighty-sixth year Grandma had been trying all summer to give up her life. Grandpa had just turned ninety-one and was marking time. He didn't want to do anything inconsiderate, or selfish, like dying first, else it might disturb Grandma and cause everyone more trouble and concern. He would do hid dying like he had done everything else, as quietly, unobtrusively, and with as little fuss, as possible. Under heavy sedation he would not require attention that night.
The handiwork I had thought would be a panacea for nervousness, lay in my lap. I had made determined effort to count stitches, but each time I lost track. It was impossible to concentrate with the sound of Grandma's harsh and labored breathing gripping at my heart. The old clock on the mantelpiece ticked a long time between each of those shuddering breaths and little darts of fear dried my throat.
It would be over soon - the years spent running in and out of this house, (less frequently the past while, since I had been away from home so much), but still, each room, most every piece of furniture, or dish, held memories. The oddly matched couple who had lived here had been as much a part of my growing up - taken as much for granted - as the air I had breathed. Their blood was in my veins and I had in me some 0f their recognizable traits and characteristics. Mine were not the commonly stereotyped grandparents. They were distinct personalities and I had loved them as much for their faults and failings as for their many good qualities. It occurred to me then that I had loved them even more than I had known.
Quietly and with calm purpose I went to Grandma's bedside to say my good-byes. Before long my parents would come and send me home and I knew that she would be gone before I returned. Almost automatically, I raised my eyes to the two pictures hanging on the wall by her bed, then I prayed that Uncle Floyd and Aunt Mame would be among those spirits who would soon come to be her escort.
Several days after Grandpa died I was alone in the house that had been my second home. The errand, for which I had come, took me to Grandma's bedroom. Feeling the guilt of Childhood I hurried to complete my task. Having finished, I looked around lovingly; the old trunk, (that bore resemblance to a malformed camel at rest), the chiffonier with its worn, black paint; my eyes moved on to the brass bedstead and to the Bare Space On The Wall Where Two Pictures Had Hung!!!!!! who had removed them? Not my mother, I knew. Funny, I had never noticed before how dingy the walls were, how ugly and bare the room. There was really nothing here for me anymore. Grandma and Grandpa were gone-the pictures too, it didn't seem right, so soon. Without another glance I walked out for the last time, never to return, and I was cold and crying.
In fiction writing the end of a story is placed in its correct position, all wrapped up and tied in a proper package. This is a convenience sometimes denied the writer of life and truth. On occasion, time magically turns the end of one story into the prelude of another. In this case, time being slightly less than one year.
My parents had spent a quiet, Sunday afternoon in early fall. Along toward sunset a car was heard pulling to a stop. Dad's favorite chair is by the front-room window and he glanced out to see who their visitor might be. A rather seedy, middle-aged man, carrying a cheap suitcase, got out of the automobile and it drove away. Dad squinted a little, if he didn't know better he'd think that the person taking so much time to open the gate and walk up the path was Floyd Grant. Well, anyway, it was obviously a relative on Grandma's side of the family, for he had the Adair look.
The knock came quietly, timidly. Mother went to the door and opened it. The man framed in her doorway said: "I was told I have a sister here."
There is no clear explanation available, of what happened to Uncle Floyd in the thirty some years he was away. He tried at first to speak of those years and answer the questions everyone had for him, but the telling and the reliving would disturb him greatly. His sentences were often incoherent and the stories hard to connect together. With agitation came stuttering and we gave up trying for details, for straightening out discrepancies, or for tying up loose ends.
Roughly then, without effort on my part to clarify here, these are the basics. A sick spell, shell shock and amnesia. At some early point he returned to the states. He married and lived in New York City and had two children. While riding her bicycle one day, his teen-age daughter was struck by a car and killed. This tragic loss of the only one who truly loved him brought about a complete mental breakdown. Prior to this he had been miserable and unhappy with his wife and his son had become a stranger to him. They were glad to put him in Bellevue Hospital and be done with him.
For several years he remained hospitalized, working to repair his mind, to overcome the hallucinations and the nervous stuttering. His Doctors were among the best in mental health; two or three friends remained true and with their combined knowledge, skill and encouragement, he began to heal.
With the gradual return to health came lucid memories and pictures of home and parents, brothers and sisters, and boyhood chums. How he longed for all of them, but he was afraid to break the long silence. Thru these many years whenever vague recollections, or flashes of memory would strike him, the urge to locate his people was strong but his wife assured him repeatedly that his family would be dead, or scattered, or both, and if they were not it had been too long, they wouldn't want to hear from him now. She had done her dirty work well and now he could not run the risk of finding out that she had been right.
Being despicable in nature, the wife and son refused to sign papers for his release to their custody and he was confined for an extra year while the loyal friends and the Red Cross worked for his unconditional release and legal release. It was then he made a vow that when he left the hospital he would get a job and work at it sixteen hours a day until he had enough money to go home. He was going back to where his life began and regardless of what he found there, he would cope with it somehow. But oh!!! how he prayed that loved ones would welcome him home.
Nearly eighteen years have passed since that Sunday afternoon in early fall. Uncle Floyd is getting along in years now. He is quieter, happy and content to live out his life close to his family and beloved church. During a recent visit, he told us, my husband and me, about his latest project. He was boyish and eager, as though he were about to go out and see the world - in a sailor's suit.
The boy did not fit into a mold-nor does the man. Time and suffering have made the difference's greater and more apparent. Some call him an "Oddballn him."
Invariably, when I think of Uncle Floyd, the twenty fourth Psalm comes to mind, for he is best described by these words: "He Who Hath Clean Hands and A Pure Heart; Who Hath Not Lifted Up His Soul Into Vanity, Nor Sworn Deceitfully."
PHOTO:
1. Photo as man riding horse on file.
BIRTH:
1. Date per website for Utah State Historical Society Cemeteries Database; 1 Jan 2002. Date and place per www.familysearch.org, Pedigree Resource File, disc #8, Pin #456942, submitted by Vern Hixson, 819 Mesa Court, Los Banos, California 93635; 6 Jan 2002.
MARRIAGE:
1. Date and place per www.familysearch.org, Pedigree Resource File, disc #8, Pin #456942, submitted by Vern Hixson, 819 Mesa Court, Los Banos, California 93635; 6 Jan 2002.
DEATH:
1. Date per website for Utah State Historical Society Cemeteries Database; 1 Jan 2002.
2. Date and place per www.familysearch.org, Pedigree Resource File, disc #8, Pin #456942, submitted by Vern Hixson, 819 Mesa Court, Los Banos, California 93635; 6 Jan 2002.
3. Per website ; "Cemetery/Death Indexes (1852-1996) in Washington County, Utah," compiled by Wesley W. Craig, Ph.D.: "Emily J. Grant, b. 11 Sep 1858, d. 16 Oct 1949, New Harmony Cem."
BURIAL:
1. Place per website for Utah State Historical Society Cemeteries Database; 1 Jan 2002. Date and place per www.familysearch.org, Pedigree Resource File, disc #8, Pin #456942, submitted by Vern Hixson, 819 Mesa Court, Los Banos, California 93635; 6 Jan 2002.
OBITUARY:
1. The Salt Lake Tribune, Mon., Oct. 17, 1949: "Rites Tuesday for South Utah Pioneer. Tribune Special. New Harmony, Washington County, Oct. 16 - Funeral services will be conducted Tuesday at 3 p.m. in the New Harmony ward chapel for Edmund Carbine Grant, 91, who died Sunday in the Iron county hospital of causes incident to age. Born in Kaysville Sept. 11, 1858, he was a son of George Robert and Mary Adelia Carbine Grant, pioneer settlers. He married Emily Jane Adair at Neutrioso [Nutrioso], Ariz. Feb. 4, 1885. She died Oct. 3, 1949. Following a period of pioneering in Arizona, they werre called to help settle New Harmony in 1886. Known as a prominent livestock operator for many years in southern Utah, Mr. Grant had been a sheep grower in Washington and Iron counties. He was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Survivors include a daughter, Mrs. Emma A. Nielson, two sons, George A. (Bert), and Edmund L. (Roy) Grant, all of New Harmony; a half-brother, James E. Taylor, St. George; 21 grandchildren, and 32 great-grandchildren. Funeral services will be conducted by Bishop Marion Prince with interment in New Harmony cemetery under direction of Southern Utah Mortuary."
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Chris & Julie Petersen's Genealogy
1858 - 1949 (91 years)