I learned how to drive a car in Bingham Canyon, Utah. Bingham Canyon was the largest and longest canyon in the Oquirrh Mountains and was, at one time, home to more than 10,000 residents, who primarily earned their daily bread by working in the ever-expanding open pit copper mine.
Mining operations long ago buried and/or dug away the city of Bingham (and all subsidiary towns like Copperfield, Highland Boy, Galena, Yampa, Frogtown, Carr Fork, Dinkeyville and all the rest). The mine ate the entire canyon, leaving but a remnant piece of it at the very bottom, the area that once housed my family in Lead Mine, plus the town of Copperton, which looks nearly the same as when I was young—minus the grade school, high school, butcher, grocery store, barber, gas stations and confectionary. The three churches remain, however.
While Copperton was spared (Lead Mine was merely demolished, not buried), the rest of the Oquirrh Mountains were a bit less fortunate, with ugly brown waste dumps from the mine stretching for miles and miles along the eastern face of those once green mountains, rich with gullies, gulches and ravines. Basically, the Rio Tinto mining company owns the Oquirrh Mountains, from Magna on the north to Butterfield Canyon on the south, and has spared no extra change turning that land into an ecological and environmental disaster.
By now, you may be fairly wondering what all this has to do with me learning how to drive. One, I seldom resist the chance to pay homage to the wonderful town I grew up in, lest it be forgotten one day. And two, it's now reported that Sean Hannity and Donald Trump, in a show of unity for their poorly dressed, but very wealthy buddy, Elon Musk, are both purchasing Tesla automobiles. It's the least they could do for their fellow Americans who have been laid off by the thousands.
Never mind the stock market taking a major, pre-recession tumble. We've entered a tariff trade war against the two best neighbors any country ever had. Our European allies are figuring it out that Donald Trump is neither friend nor ally. And the rising cost of consumer goods is hitting the very 75-or-so million Americans who took the bait and voted for a man who has literally nothing in common with them—not even the Bible.
If Trump and Hannity were going to spend six figures in a show of unity to someone, I'd kinda prefer that it had been to a soup kitchen or to a needy family, not to a ketamine-amped billionaire who is not only tanking three companies at once (Tesla, Starlink and X) but also aiding and abetting (up to his eyeballs) in the gutting of the very core of what used to be the haughty claim of the Republican party—American Exceptionalism. But in this bizarro world, nothing cements the Trump base more effectively than does a good slap in the face.
I'll hold the wheel—you do the math. Divide the $300 million that Elon gave to the Trump campaign and divide it by the price of a Tesla. It's the smallest of fractions. But what is better for our gullible neighbors than the sight of two creepy fawners driving around in shiny new Teslas?
A Tesla wouldn't be of much use up in Bingham Canyon—not even the abominable Cybertruck. Bingham Canyon trucks were Fords or Chevys, with gun racks and an open bed—better for hauling deer off the hills during poaching season. The Tesla is a city-boy truck.
So, as I hold the wheel, I imagine Trump and Hannity trying to navigate Bingham's single, narrow road. Can they make the blind bends below Heaston Heights? Climb the hills of Highland Boy? Can they dodge the power poles that sometimes were laid right into the street itself? Could they parallel park in front of the Princess Theatre?
Have you ever seen either of those guys behind the wheel of anything? I learned to drive on a city street that one could easily spit across (and pee across too, according to canyon folklore). I parked in driveways that doubled as the testing centers for the parking brake, eked along ledges where a miscalculation would send you tumbling into the depths, and bounced upon rutted dirt roads that led everywhere and nowhere. We also had lots of snow.
Our mountain road was maintained as good as could be expected. The county trucks would lay salt and plow in the winters. With but one road, it had to be opened all the time—and everyone made sure that was the case. No one asked permission to make their roadway better or safer. They just did it.
Compare that to how the Utah State Legislature has passed a bill (SB195) that rescinds Salt Lake City's control over its own streets. Want a speed bump to slow down the Avenues banker-elite, Republican NIMBYs? Want a painted crossing where a bush-league Tesla driver would be alerted that kids might be present—even in the Harvard-Yale area? Call UDOT.
That's stupid. You see a hole, you fix it. There's no real good reason for such a disruption of public safety except what is always par for the course in state politics: Republican legislators always mandate punishments on Utah's capital city, which they consider to be puke incarnate.
The House and Senate bill sponsors are Republicans Wayne Harper of Taylorsville and Kay Christofferson of Lehi. Ever driven in either of those two traffic hellholes? If ever a case were made to use the cliché, "Physician heal thyself," this is the time.
Mayor Mendenhall, next time SLC needs a facial, call Frankenstein.
Send comments to john@cityweekly.net.
