Author: Terra Wright

Born and raised in Midway, Richard is one of the many local residents who carries the Bonner surname. Unlike the rest of the Bonner clan, Richard can stake claim to one other title: Wasatch High School’s first state wrestling champion.

Today’s Heber Valley residents call the three red houses that don the corner of Main Street and 100 East in Midway “Racehorse Lane.” During Richard Bonner’s childhood, however, these buildings were simply “home.”

From his time helping out on his Uncle Floyd’s farm as a child, Richard was no stranger to hard work. That work ethic paid off when Richard started wrestling during the 1952 – 1953 school year. Weighing in at a whopping 98 pounds, he was the smallest member of the team. Coach Marion Tree had brought the wrestling program to the Heber Valley and, despite his size, it was quickly apparent that wrestling was something at which Richard excelled. His passion and talent were evident, and he went on to win the state championship his junior year — a first for Wasatch High School.

After high school Richard moved to California, only to return to the valley and marry his wife, Carol. Much akin to a classic love story, the pair kept in touch while he was away, sending hand-written letters back and forth. When asked how they met, Richard jokes that he walked out of Chicks Café one day, only to find Carol sitting in his car waiting for a ride home. Carol’s version — they met through family members — is a bit more believable, but not quite as entertaining.

As an adult, Richard’s passion for wrestling once again emerged when he and Ed Clyde started what is now known as Little Wasp Wrestling. After seeing how much the kids thrived in a two-week wrestling camp put on by Jack Bishop, Richard and Ed, they decided to create a weekend wrestling program in Wasatch County.

Richard poured his heart and soul into the program. He spent hours matching kids up — determined to find combinations that would guarantee each wrestler got at least one win — and helped cultivate their love and passion for the sport.

Hundreds of kids joined the program. As the program grew, it really began to formulate into something Wasatch County could rally behind and support. By the program’s third year, community sponsorship from local businesses was strong, the kids were making a name for themselves and some of the kids were invited to wrestle outside of Wasatch County.

At this point, Steve Sanderson, the father of Olympic gold medalist Cael Sanderson, was hired. Sanderson helped bring the program into the national spotlight and was influential in expanding the styles of wrestling taught in the program. Little Wasps Wrestling has grown over the past few decades and continues to give young wrestlers a place to develop their discipline, skills and love for the sport.

After almost 60 years of marriage, the stories Richard and Carol have to share about life, raising children and staying in love are full of wisdom, humor and a dash of sarcasm. Over the years, they raised nine children of their own, fostered two others and welcomed into their home too many neighborhood children to count. At times, Carol was feeding 15 children breakfast before school. As a family man raising his children to have a strong work ethic, Richard lead by example and often worked multiple jobs so his wife could stay home with their children.

He was a moonlight painter, a sheet-metal worker and insulation installer. He spent eight years on the Wasatch County School Board and 32 years as a volunteer fireman in Wasatch County. He and Carol also owned a local pizza place called Van Jo’s — a spot that also served Snelgrove Ice Cream and was located where June Pie and Vacuum Villa are today.

The legacy Richard has created in the Heber Valley is one built over time through deep community involvement, selfless service and love. Whether it be through the lives of his nine children, 33 grandchildren and soon-to-be 19 great-grandchildren, or through the lives of the parents, coaches and wrestlers who participate in Little Wasp Wrestling, our community will forever be blessed and strengthened by Richard Bonner’s lifetime of service.

The morning air is frigid and the sun is barely spilling across the ground as Calvin Giles, Calvin’s friend, my husband and I pull on to Calvin’s plot of land in the North Fields. Calvin’s cattle hear the truck coming and make their way to greet us. It’s an early Saturday morning, and while most Heber Valley residents are still sleeping, Mr. Giles has been up for hours going through his morning routine — the same routine he’s had for nine decades.

Born in the Heber Valley in 1925, Calvin Giles — affectionately known within his family and the community as “Cal” — has always been a hard worker and a farmer. After the death of his father, Cal, who was only five years old at the time, took over the care of the family’s 13 head of Hereford cattle — a number that would eventually grow to 50. When I ask how a five-year-old boy could possibly manage caring for 13 head of cattle, Cal replies, “Nothing beats getting up and doing. You don’t learn how to farm by reading books, it’s all about firsthand experience no matter how old you might be.”

After serving three years in World War II, Calvin Giles came home and went right back to his life of cattle farming, taking incredible time and effort to breed and keep only the best lines. “These cows are beautiful. I’ve been working on them for over twenty years,” Cal said, his voice teeming with pride and a hint of affection. Cal is right; his girls are beautiful. I can see the time and effort he has dedicated over the years, ensuring his cattle are well taken care of and healthy. His herd has wintered well — they’ve packed on weight and thickened up their coats.

As we slowly drive down the feeding line, Cal begins to point out the cows individually and tells me about their personalities. One of the girls, the one with curly hair on top of her head, is “a bit flighty with strangers,” he says. Down the line is cow who looks a bit thin and bony. Cal shows me her calf  and explains why the mother is a bit thinner than the other girls. The calf was born on July 25, over 90 days after calving should have finished for the season, which gave his mother less time to bulk up for the winter. Both the calf and his mother stayed together throughout the winter and the mother cow will wean the calf by spring. Cal should then be able to separate them. In fact, almost all of Cal’s calves are naturally weaned by their mothers before they go up for sale each fall.

Farming is not a career for Cal, it is his life. Accordingly, the lines between his “work” and his “personal life” are often blurred. As Cal talks about a time when he had no health insurance and needed to pay for his wife’s open-heart surgery by selling off 40 head of cattle and 38 of his dairy cows, I am humbled at the intricate ways this man’s cattle have been a way of life for him. “It almost broke me, paying for that surgery with my wife not being old enough to qualify for Social Security and Medicaid — but it didn’t, and we made do.”

We finish feeding and Cal hops out of the truck to herd a calf into another side of one of the pens. Cal moves with more precision and ease than I would have expected for a 92-year-old. He walks furtively up to the barn and presses  himself tightly against the wood, not moving even the slightest inch as he waits. As the calf comes around the side of the pen, Cal raised his arms, startling the calf and causing it to run through the gate. Just like that, the job is done and Cal is back in his truck, not missing a beat. That’s how the entire morning has gone. Managing cattle is second to breathing for Cal.

As we talk, Cal expresses his concerns for the future of farming in the Heber Valley. “Not long after I die the North Fields will be full of houses and asphalt, and my sons will have nowhere to care for these cattle,” he says. “One day we will realize just how important our gardens and open land really are, but by then it’s going to be too late,” he laments, perhaps echoing concerns other valley residents may share.

As our time together comes to an end, Calvin Giles tells my husband and me that we are welcome to stay and take pictures of the cattle or anything else — but to “please just latch the gate” when we were done. Simple as that: no padlock, no expectation for us leave when he did, just good oldfashioned integrity and small-town trust. I was initially interested in interviewing and highlighting Cal because he personifies the nostalgic, simple  lifestyle we have all come to cherish within our valley. However, the more we chatted, the better I understood on a deeper level how much of Heber Valley’s heritage is living through, and being honored by, people like Cal Giles. Speaking with Cal helped me better understand the importance of appreciating and honoring our roots as a community.

The Heber Valley’s heart and soul are embodied by the farmers, ranchers and open fields throughout our valley. And while the evidence of growth and change surrounds and sometimes overwhelms us, it’s important to take a moment and appreciate who we are and where we’ve been as a community, and to look forward together knowing there is a place for us all.