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The Utah State Prison has been located at Point of the Mountain since before my family moved here in 1970. It was the first Utah landmark I acquired.

For other transplants it was probably the Salt Lake Temple, Zion National Park, BYU, the Great Salt Lake, or the greatest snow on earth. For me, it was the prison.

We rounded Point of the Mountain on I-15 late one winter evening. Road weary after an all-day drive from Southern California, we got our first glimpse at the valley that would be our final stop in a nomadic military life.

It was dark and the valley was brightly lit. The Old Man pointed in the general direction of Holladay, where we would be living. Then he pointed to a stark, well-lit facility just off to the left.

"And right over there is the state prison … Robert," he said, evenly.

I was only 16 at the time. Although too young for prison just yet, I' d already been in trouble enough in California to recognize the hint.

The prison became my north star during the early years in Utah. The distinctive shape of Point of the Mountain was how I navigated. It was south of everything in the valley and not all that far off in my future if I didn't shape up.

While I never ended up in prison as an inmate — for which I still thank a low draft number and a determined wife — the prison nevertheless played a constant and important role in my life.

The friends I initially made in Utah referred to the prison casually. "Yeah, my brother is out at The Point." "My uncle just got released from The Point." "We'll end up at The $%&#@ Point if we get caught."

I also passed the prison on the freeway fairly often. I'd look over and wonder which part of it I would be housed in if I got too careless. I never once saw anything about it that looked inviting.

Eventually I did go to The Point. In the fall of 1971, Bammer called me after his father drove him to the prison and kicked him out in front of it for taking his mom's car to Boston without asking.

Bammer was hysterical by the time I arrived. He swore that the guards in the towers had been taking beads on him through rifle scopes. We sped away hunched low in our seats.

I wouldn't go back to the prison for another 10 years, and by then I was a cop. I went to The Point with another officer to interview a guy we liked for several unsolved crimes.

Even though it was business, I still didn't want to be there. Being a cop is no guarantee against doing something criminally stupid. At the time I knew that a couple of former Salt Lake City police officers were serving time for bank robbery.

Later, after I left law enforcement, I still managed to end up at The Point. I went there several times as a journalist working on stories about conditions. It's where I met Sonny.

Sonny was a corrections officer for a million years or so. He told me stories about prison that made me almost tearfully grateful that I managed to hold myself together long enough to avoid being one of the stories.

Now they're talking about moving my main Utah reference point. I don't have an answer as to where the prison should be relocated.

Instead, I wonder how many guys like me aren't out there today because of that north star nudge from where the prison has been located all these years.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley. Find his past columns at http://www.sltrib.com/lifestyle/kirby/