One hundred and seventy-seven years ago on July 22, Brigham Young and what is known as the Vanguard Company of pioneers from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints camped in a clearing a few miles above the canyon they named, for obvious reasons, Emigration.
Young, who was sick with Rocky Mountain spotted fever, an illness caused by burrowing ticks, directed Orson Pratt to handpick seven men to go with him to scout the place the canyon emptied into.
Among them was a 38-year-old Pennsylvanian named Mathew Ivory.
After getting treated to a panoramic view of the Salt Lake Valley at the canyon’s mouth, the band of eight turned south and west, following a rough trail made the year before by the Donner Party. The Donners kept on traveling to California, to their peril, but the pioneers from Illinois stopped. On a grassy spot where Emigration and Parleys creeks came near each other, they set up their camp. There is a marker and small park on the intersection of 1700 South and 500 East that commemorates the event.
Exactly what Mathew Ivory used for a tent that night is a detail lost to history. But it was shelter.
One hundred and seventy-seven years later, Ellis Reed Ivory smiles at the memory.
“It’s what I like to call the first Ivory home in Utah,” he says.
Ellis Ivory is Mathew Ivory’s great grandson. He is the founder of Ivory Homes, a company that annually lays claim to being Utah’s No. 1 home builder. Since its founding by Ellis in 1989, Ivory Homes has built more than 20,000 houses in some 50 communities throughout the state.
But that’s not why he’s bringing up his great grandpa as Utah prepares to celebrate its 177th birthday on the 24th of July.
He’s bringing him up because, at 83, Ellis Ivory has made it his life’s work to preserve the memory and legacy of those long-ago pioneers, to make sure they are commemorated and not forgotten. Great grandpa included.
It’s been 18 years now, since 2006, that Ellis, who by then had already turned over the reins of the family home-building company to his sons, was summoned to a meeting with then-governor Jon Huntsman Jr. and LDS apostle M. Russell Ballard. The subject was the condition of This Is The Place Heritage Park, the state park that surrounds the spot where, on July 24, 1847, Brigham Young got his first glimpse of the valley and pronounced “This is the place.”
The park was in decline. Buildings were in disrepair, debt was piling up, visitorship was stagnant if not declining. There was talk of closing it down.
A man deft at running a company and managing people was needed to take over the nonprofit foundation that ran the park. It would help if it was a man whose roots ran deep in Utah soil.
Ellis checked all those boxes. Once he and the governor and the apostle agreed on a salary — he would get one dollar a year — he agreed to take on the job.
It’s been a labor of love ever since, heavy on the labor. “Every day he’s in his office at 9 a.m., and stays until at least 5 p.m.,” says Tresha Kramer, the park’s public relations director.
Says Ellis, “it’s not done much for my golf game.”
Meanwhile, the park has thrived. Numerous buildings, including an ornate reception hall, have been built. Historic structures have been refurbished. Trains have been added. In 2006 This Is The Place had 50,000 visits. This year visitorship is expected to top 450,000.
The irony is that 18 years ago, when he took over, Ellis knew little about the details of his personal pioneer heritage. He knew there was an Ivory who was with the first company that entered the valley, but not much beyond that.
“It was my brother George who was really into history,” says Ellis. “We used to make fun of him because he was so into it. He was an officer in the Mormon Trails Association. His wife once ordered him a license plate that said ‘rutnut,’ because he’d get so excited about the ruts the pioneers left.
“Frankly, I had little to do with my history ...”
He pauses.
“... Until I got up here.”
The more he immersed himself in This Is The Place, the more he connected with what had gone on before. “It gave me a new appreciation for not only history in general,” he says, “but specifically for what these pioneers did with what they had to deal with.”
A man who had spent his working life focusing on the present started focusing on the past.
“There’s a special spirit here. I can feel it when I walk around,” Ellis says, “even the workers who come up here to do repairs mention it.”
He believes that’s his great grandfather Mathew Ivory and the rest of them looking down with approval at what’s going on with the ground they first set foot on 177 years ago.
Quoting his friend and mentor, Elder Ballard, Ellis says, “I heard him say it at least a hundred times: ‘We can’t forget the story; the lessons of life that came through the pioneers cannot be forgotten.’”
Elder Ballard, the park’s protector, died last November, at the age of 95. But a couple of years before that he pulled Ellis aside. He told him he thought he deserved a raise. “He gave me a 100 percent salary bump, to two bucks a year,” says Ellis, “Then he told me, ‘I don’t get released until I die; I think you ought to be the same.’”
This Is The Place, it would seem, is in good hands.
