Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sarah Homer Clarke-Obituary
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| Sarah Homer Clark |
Rites Saturday for Clarkston Pioneer
Funeral services for Mrs. Sarah Homer Clark, pioneer of Clarkston will be conducted Saturday at 1.p.m. in the Clarkston ward Chapel with Bishop A. L. Heggie officiating. Friends may call at the family home in Clarkston, Friday evening and Saturday until time of services. Burial will be in the Clarkston cemetery under direction of Kenneth Lindquist mortuary.
Mrs. Clark was the wife of the late John P. Clark, former postmaster of Clarkston, having come with her family when they homesteaded there. She was a resident of Clarkston most of her life and saw the first railway train pass through Utah at Corinne.
Mrs. Clark was the wife of the late John P. Clark, former postmaster of Clarkston, having come with her family when they homesteaded there. She was a resident of Clarkston most of her life and saw the first railway train pass through Utah at Corinne.
She attended school in a log school house receiving an honor for her penmanship.
Proceeding her in death was her husband John P. Clark and a daughter Ilda Clark Benson, surviving are 6 sons and 4 daughters, John Raland, David James, Michael H. Lester Lavern, Clarence P. & Maynard W. Clark.
Daughters, Mrs. Addie Athay, Mrs. Jennie Mc Bride, Susie Engdahl & Sarah Antrim.
Sarah Homer Clark Eulogized at Rites.
Final rites for Sarah Homer Clark, pioneer of Clarkston, were conducted Saturday in the Clarkston ward chapel with Bishop A.L. Heggie officiating. Prayer at the home was by William Homer.
Musical tribute included selections by the ladies chorus “King of Glory” & “Sweet Story of Old,” with Sarah Heggie as accompanist: trio composed of Melba Thompson and daughters Shirleen and Beth singing
“An Angel From on High”;violin solo, “Ave Maria” by Louise Clark accompanied by Eunice Ravsten; solo
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| Sarah Homer Clarke |
Those who spoke words of praise and consolation were Willard Homer, Judge J. Allen Crockett, Bishop J.
Byron Ravsten, & Bishop Heggie. Prayers were by C.D. McBride and D.J. Homer.
Pallbearers were the six sons of Mrs. Clark , J Raland, David J., Michael H, Vern, Clarence and Maynard Clark. Burial was in the Clarkston cemetery under the direction of Kenneth Lindquist mortuary.
The grave was dedicated by her son Clarence P. Clark
Ruth Burns McBride
MY PIONEER MOTHER
by Claude Duval McBride
by Claude Duval McBride
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| Ruth Burns McBride |
Ruth learned the Three R’s in the little school in Eden. She was a beautiful girl and grew up to be a very intelligent and refined young lady, and married my father, Peter H. McBride in 1874 in the Salt Lake Temple. My father had landed in Eden with his widowed mother and her five children after walking across the plains from Iowa as immigrants from Scotland and converts to the Mormon Church. They had come with the Martin Handcart Company, and Peter's father, Robert McBride had died and been buried in a grave with fourteen others at the upper crossing of the Platte river in western Wyoming territory.
My parents were called to go south into southern Utah, and then Arizona Territory to help colonize and develop communities when their first son, Robert Franklin was less than two years old. With eight other young couples they left Ogden Valley in covered wagons in the spring of 1877 to make their way to the United Order settlement called Orderville that was just getting started in southern Utah. Father's mission was to organize and develop musical and dramatic groups in the emerging Mormon communities wherever he went. Their first stop was to be Toquerville along the Virgin river. Before they arrived there, however their second son, Howard was born as they rested a day at Ash Creek a few miles south of what is now Cedar City. Howard was born, not in a manger, but in a covered wagon in the lonely hills of southern Utah. Like Mary of old, Mother Ruth was a chosen spirit for a wonderful mission as devoted companion and mother on the western frontier.
They reached Toquerville in a few days. There they met with the few saints who had started building rock houses and clearing the land and building ditches for irrigation. Father met with them in church and led the singing, and then organized a small choir group.
From Toquerville they made their way around the end of the plateau to Orderville. Here was one of the first experiments in Communal Living by the saints. The government was the United Order. All work was done under the United Order system. All produce went into the United Storehouse, and supplies were issued on the basis of need to all members of the community.
Mother worked with the sisters putting up fruit and vegetables, making quilts, weaving rugs, cleaning and carding wool, spinning yarn and making homespun clothing for the storehouse. Father worked in the fields, the rock quarry and the timber getting out stone and logs for building houses, a church and school house. Along with his manual labors he conducted the singing in Sunday School and Sacrament meeting and organized a choir and other singing groups.
After a year at Orderville my parents left for Kanab, another new settlement farther south. They said they soon got sick of the United Order because the lazy ones shared everything with the ambitious ones. The “workers” fed the “drones”. Others deserted the United Order also, and it was abandoned.
At Kanab father organized singing groups and led the singing in Sunday School, and mother worked with the sisters in Relief Society and Primary work, and in the Sunday School. She and her two sons, Frank and Howard were always at the side of father in everything he had to do.
The next spring they left Kanab and made their way to St. George thinking they could return to Ogden Valley. But there they met Brigham Young who told them their mission was not finished, and directed them to go on into Arizona and work with the new Mormon communities that were being settled in that area. With a few others they journeyed southward, crossed the Colorado at Lee's Ferry, and made their way, after weeks of slow and laborious traveling, and settled down at a place called Show Low. From there they went to Forest Dale near what is now Snowflake. Here they settled down to clear the land and build homes. Within three years this hardy band of pioneers had built log homes, cleared the land, built a public building they could use for church and school, and set up a town council. But again they were forced to move on. This time the Indians drove them out. Leaving their new homes and land they journeyed southward into the desert country of southeastern Arizona Territory and settled along the Gila. River. There they homesteaded the desert land, cleared off the mesquite, cactus and chaparral, dammed of the small river, built canals to carry the water to their thirsty lands and built adobe homes. It was near the little town of Pima, a Mormon settlement, but mixed with other adventurers from parts outside of Utah. Other towns were being settled in the Gila Valley, mostly by Mormons. Soon father was busy with his music work, and mother with her homemaking and family raising.
This became their permanent home. Little by little they cleared the land organized wards, developed church auxiliaries, and ultimately a stake, the St. Joseph Stake of Zion. Father organized choirs, quartettes, choruses, cantatas and became the stake chorister. He made his visits to each of the new wards to organize and develop choirs and other musical groups, and provided the music and choir numbers for the stake conferences as the years came along.
Mother was very talented and active in ward and community affairs. She played leading roles in some of father's cantatas and dramas, and was president of the Relief Society, the Primary and the Young Womens’ Mutual Improvement Association, and teacher in the Sunday School.
Soon the church authorities from Salt Lake City visited the valley and advised the brethren to take additional wives, under “The New and Everlasting Covenant.” Many of the good and faithful brethren followed their admonition and took one or more wives. Father and mother, being thoroughly devoted and loyal to their church and its leaders, considered the matter very seriously, but decided to disregard the advice of the church and its leaders. They were deeply devoted companions in life, and could not see fit to interfere with that sacred and romantic relationship. Again the church apostles came the next year for conference, and admonished the brethren to take additional wives as they were doing. More of the good brethren espoused the doctrine of polygamy and took additional wives. Still mother and father hesitated to follow their admonition. A third time the apostles came with the same advice. Finally mother told father that perhaps it was the thing to do, since it had been "revealed" to the prophet, and the general authorities were doing it, it must be what the Lord required of his faithful followers.
Father was a talented and handsome man, and more than one of his singing; and performing young ladies would not turn down a chance to become his second wife, or his third or fourth. The young lady he chose was Laura Lewis, a beautiful and talented girl.
So father became a polygamist,- with mother's consent,- and from these two talented and lovely women came two families of McBrides, all very talented and versatile children, who grew to be men and women of the highest caliber, each in his or her own right, very religious and spiritual minded, with high ideals and noble ambitions.
Mother gave birth to fourteen children, but raised only six of them to adulthood. Eight succumbed to childhood diseases. Laura raised six of her eight children.
Proving up on the old homestead, clearing it and bringing the land under cultivation with water brought from the river in canals, proved to be a lifelong task for mother, father and the boys. Mother was the planner and manager. The boys helped set up a mill to make adobes for the house and cellar. Mother sent to a hatchery in California for baby chicks to start in the chicken business. Then she bred up her flock year by year and became one of the leading egg producers in the valley. She and father and the boys made their daily rounds caring for the chickens, gathering the eggs, sorting and candling them and filling crates for the market at the stores in the valley.
Sometimes in the spring, when she was brooding a large batch of chicks the cats would break in and kill dozens of them in one night. Cats and skunks were a constant menace to her young chicks each year.
Mother was a great hand to plan ahead for her home and family. She prided herself on her winter vegetable garden where she raised hardy vegetables that could withstand the mild frosty nights that occasionally came along. Her spring garden was always filled with tomatoes, corn, cucumbers, cantaloupe, squash, watermelons, onions, peppers, lettuce, radishes, carrots, beets, and others. She also had some pomegranate, fig and plum bushes. Our adobe cellar, with double walls and an open air space between them kept fruits, vegetables, meats and dairy products cool in the summer and from freezing in the winter. We also had a pit outside full of sweet potatoes, carrots, turnips, beets and potatoes. On the shelves of the cellar mother stored an ample supply of bottled fruits, pans of milk, jars of cream, honey, sauerkraut, mincemeat and rounds of homemade cheese. There were also barrels of pickles, hams, bacon, flour and sugar, and baskets of fresh eggs in the cellar.
Mother also raised turkeys for thanksgiving and Christmas, pigs for hams and bacon, and made soap from fats and scraps. She had an old wooden churn for making butter, and a washer run by hand. That's where I got my start, and such a good start it was, on my way through life.
Mother had great ambitions for her farm and family. She dreamed of the farm becoming a prosperous enterprise under scientific management by one of her boys. She wanted all of her children to receive a good education, and hoped that one would specialize in scientific farm management and take over the homestead and develop it into an ideal farm.
Frank, Howard and Perle grew up and married before the schools had made much progress in the valley. They had to be satisfied with a grammar school education. But their main schooling came in the School of Life on the frontier. In that school they became Men-Among-Men in every endeavor in life into which they were cast by the challenging circumstances of that early western life.
Enoch was the semi-invalid, stricken as a baby with spinal meningitis and left with impaired speech and muscular control. He could never go to school, but always busied himself with the chores and farm work in his slow and poorly coordinated, but persistent way. He had a brilliant mind, but his impeded speech made it difficult for him to express his ideas. He was mother's constant helper and her care throughout life. She understood him better than all of us did, and knew how to care for his needs and yearnings.
With Frank, Howard and Perle married and gone from the old farm, mother centered her doting ambitions on me, to go on to college and specialize in scientific agriculture and return to take over the farm. She was my great inspiration to get an education and make something of myself. It was her ideals and ambitions in life that started me on my way to seek a college education. And it was her faith and idealism that guided me through life in many trying and discouraging situations.
And so it was that I, the youngest boy, and Bessie, my baby sister, were to be the only ones in the family to gain a formal education beyond the grammar school. We went away to school and worked our way through college, Bessie became a teacher and married a rancher and lived on a big cattle ranch in Wyoming. I became a teacher, and then a college professor, but never got back to the old homestead to develop it into a scientifically managed operation.
Mother and father lived and died for their religion, always following the advice of their church leaders and bearing their testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel and the divine calling; of the Prophet Joseph Smith, the founder of the church. Their life's ambition was to help build a temple in their frontier homeland and do their temple work in it. Their ambition was rewarded when they did their temple work in the Mesa Temple which they had helped to build. They returned to their maker satisfied that their mission had been fulfilled.
With their unshakeable faith and devotion, high ideals, rugged honesty and noble ambitions driving them on to ever new industrial undertakings, they left their footprints on the sands of time in every community and in every endeavor through their long and rugged life together. Their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and future generations will be forever grateful for their noble example and the eternal characteristics which they passed on to their posterity.
Little Peter with the Handcarts
MY PIONEER FATHER
by Claude Duval McBride
by Claude Duval McBride
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| Peter Howard McBride |
His parents, Robert and Margaret McBride, were converts to the Mormon Church. The ship was loaded with Mormon converts bound for Zion in the valleys of the Rocky Mountains in western America. Their dear folks back home had condemned and disowned them for listening to the missionaries and joining the Mormon Church.
All was hustle and bustle at the docks. Everyone was hurrying to get through the customs office with passports and baggage checked off to the station to catch the train and ride in box cars to Iowa City. They rode like cattle, and arrived two days later in a terrific storm. Wagons took their baggage to camp three miles away while the men, women, and children walked through the soaking rain. Children got lost and mothers wept in their frantic search for them.
On the ship they had sung songs and made merry. But now they were tired, wet, low in spirits, and much bewildered. Little Peter led his baby sister Maggie by the hand and followed the older ones along the wet road to the camp. She was hungry, tired and cried for mama. But she loved her brother and clung to his hand as they trudged along through the mud.
At camp, tents were pitched and food was prepared over open fires by hundreds of families. Peter's father gathered soggy limbs from the willow patches by the river, and with some dry paper, was able to get a fire started. His wife, in poor health but with a brave heart and cheerful soul, prepared sandwiches of bread, butter, and jam, and they drank water from a spring above the camp in the hillside.
Bedding was dried as best it could be by the fire. Soon they were all snug in their beds on the grassy wet ground and drifting away into dreamland. They dreamed of Zion in the valleys of the faraway mountains, and of a new home where persecutors would not molest them.
Morning came with bright sunshine and crisp, fresh air. All the tent people came out and spread their bedding and clothing on the bushes to dry. Here they waited three weeks for the handcarts to come which they would pull and push across the wide western plains and through the mountains carrying their meager belongings to Zion.
Little Peter and Maggie played among the trees and bushes on the hillside and along the river. Peter fashioned for himself a fishing tackle with a pin for a hook, a string for a line, a willow for a pole, and a cork for a floater. He caught some small grasshoppers for bait and went to the river to fish. He got frequent bites, but few catches--the hook would not hold them. “Wup, there's one!” he shouted as the cork bobbed under. He hung on the pole and landed a fish. “Yippie! I caught one!” he yelled. And Maggie yelled and jumped with glee at seeing the wiggling fish on the hook. Peter grabbed it and ran for the tent. “See Mother, I caught a fish!” he shouted running into the tent.
“My, what a big boy you are, what a great fisherman,” she said. Peter's ego swelled with pride.
Peter's success as a fisherman set the stage for a fishing expedition by his two older brothers, Heber and Ether. Mother's sewing kit was ransacked for pins to make fish hooks and crude outfits were put together. Young grasshoppers were gathered for bait and the fishing expedition was on.
Although most bites got away, the three of them caught a dozen fish, and the family had a fish fry for supper that evening.
Finally the handcarts arrived, one for each family, and the company started to move westward late in the afternoon under the command of Captain Henry Martin. He told them they would travel only a few miles the first day and camp for the night just to gain experience pulling the handcarts and camping on the open plains. Once they were on their way they would travel longer and farther day by day, he said. Four wagons pulled by six oxen were provided to haul extra provisions and those who might become sick and disabled by the hardships of the long journey.
Nightfall found them a few miles on their way. They pulled their handcarts into a big circle and pitched their tents inside for protection against the Indians, buffalo, and wolves. The next day they made a long drive, Father Robert and the two older boys pulled and pushed the handcart while Mother, Jenetta, Peter, and Maggie trudged along behind. In this fashion they traveled day after day across streams and wide stretches of grasslands. In camp at night they sang hymns and folk songs, led by Peter's father who was a talented singer. The bugle call and nine o'clock each evening signaled the call for prayer in their tens and to bed. With strong faith in God and his protecting care, and in the gospel which they had embraced, they thanked God and beseeched him for his protecting care and guidance on their long journey to Zion.
Many days passed crossing the Iowa plains before they reached the Missouri river at a place called Council Bluffs. Here they rested for a day and they crossed the river on a ferry boat to Florence, Nebraska where they were joined by the David Taylor Company, making a thousand in all.
Peter's mother became ill and had to ride in the handcart, and Jenetta had to be the cook and manager of the smaller children. It was now June, the weather was warm and the endless plains stretched out before them. They still had almost a thousand miles ahead of them and must push on as fast as possible each day to reach the valley in the mountains before winter came. Day after long day they traveled on.
They gathered buffalo chips for fuel for their campfires at night. Handcarts broke down and old women and men wore out and died, and were buried along the trail. Little Peter and Maggie trudged along behind the handcart. Their shoes wore out and their feet became sore and bleeding. Mother Margaret and Jenetta would wrap them and comfort the children at night. Little Peter often helped Heber and Ether gather buffalo chips for the fire.
The weather so far had been good, with only a few showers. At night the stars came out and the cool evening breezes rattled their tents. The solitude of the night was broken only by the plaintive wail of a coyote on a low hill and the footsteps of the guards keeping watch for Indians trying to steal the oxen.
Great herds of buffalo roamed the plains. At times the handcart company had to split and leave a wide gap to let the buffalo herds pass through on their way to water. Indians also roamed the plains in bands hunting buffalo for their hides and meat. One day a large band of Sioux Indians in war paint came riding toward the caravan. People feared for their lives, but the Indian chief greeted Captain Martin in a friendly manner and told him they were going to fight the Pawnee tribe. So their caravan parted and let them pass through.
Rations were running low. Flour was rationed 3/4 pound per day for each person at first. Then it was cut to 1/2 pound and finally 1/4 pound. Little Peter and his baby sister Maggie were given only 1/4 pound for both of them. Oxen pulling the wagons gave out and died, and their flesh was eaten by the starving travelers. Although there were plenty of buffalo roaming the plains, these immigrants from a foreign country knew little about hunting them. One good hunter could have kept the company in meat while they were in buffalo territory. One day and Indian came into camp and offered to trade a buffalo for tobacco. Some tobacco was found and a trade arranged. The Indian got his tobacco (five cents worth) for his buffalo. Too bad more Indians did not come in with buffalo while the tobacco lasted.
Tragedy began to stalk the company at night. Their trail followed up along the Platte River in Wyoming territory. The weather turned wet and cold and the weak and sick ones died. Tents became places of mourning and grave-digging became a daily chore. Brief funeral services were held and worn-out bodies were buried in shallow graves with crude slabs of wood for markers. Despite their hardships and losses, the pioneers would gather around their fires inside the great circle at night and sing songs led by Peter's father. One familiar song was:
“For some must push, and some must pull
As we go merrily up the hill
And faithfully on our way we go
Until we reach the valley-O.”
Little Peter's feet had long since become bare, and thick calluses had grown on their soles. Little Maggie now had to ride in the handcart most of the time along with her ailing mother. Father and the two older boys pulled and pushed day after day. Early snows began to fall in October to make things worse. On one cold night they were all hovering around the fire, stirring it and piling on more buffalo chips and sticks of wood. Heber started to sniff the air and said., “I smell leather burning.” Ether sniffed and said, “So can I.” All began to look around to see what was burning. Little Peter felt something warm under his foot and moved it, and there-was a hot coal. His foot was that tough.
Hunger, snow, and cold took their daily toll. Each morning the dead were counted in-each tent and graves were dug to bury them. Sometimes one big shallow hole became the grave for several bodies.
One day two men on horseback passed the company on their way to California. They saw little Maggie crying for food and her brother Peter tugging her along by the hand behind the handcart. One opened up his saddlebag and gave Maggie two cookies. She soon dried her tears and started devouring them. Little Peter, his stomach gnawing, begged her for one.
“Please give me one Maggie,” he begged.
“Here, you can have a bite of this one,” she said, reaching out her chubby hand with a cookie in it.
Peter reached out his mouth for a big bite, but she jerked it away and he got just a little taste--but, oh, how delicious!
Then stark tragedy struck when they reached the upper crossing of the Platte river in western Wyoming territory. The snow was deep and the air cold. The river was running with ice forming along its edges. Worn and starved as they were, the surviving men had to somehow get the carts, women, and children across. A horseman named Cyrus Wheeler, returning from a mission in the eastern states overtook the company at this point. He spent the day helping to carry the women and children and pulling the handcarts across by a rope from his saddlehorn. On the last trip he had three little boys and his horse with him, one in front and two on behind the saddle. Little Peter was the last boy left.
“Climb on boy, and hold on tight,” he said to Peter. Peter climbed on and held to the boy in from of him. Things went well until they reached the opposite bank. The horse lunged up the bank and Peter fell off into the icy water, but he grabbed the horse's tail and hung on for dear life and the horse dragged him out. Wet and shivering, he ran to the fire and stayed close to it warming himself and turning from side to side until his tattered clothes were dry.
That night the wind blew down the tents and the snow covered them up. Peter's father was counted among the dead. in the morning. Starvation, exposure, and endless struggle had worn him out, and his strong heart, weakened and worn, could sustain him no longer. He died singing this hymn:
Oh, Zion, when I think of thee,
I long for pinions like the dove,
And mourn to think that I should be,
So distant from the land I love.
The last verse was just a whisper as his strength ebbed away and his eyes closed in death. In the morning, the few-surviving men gathered up the dead and dragged them through the by their feet, heads bobbing in the snow, to a big shallow grave by the bank of the river. Fourteen men were thus dragged to this grave and dumped in. Peter's mother wept and begged her beloved husband to “come back”. The boys and little ones clinging to weeping mothers from this and other tents, sobbed as they stood helplessly by and watched the men cover their brave and loyal fathers in this cold, cold, grave in the forlorn and unmerciful land. “Where is God? And why has he so heartlessly forsaken us?” they cried out in grief and discouragement.
Little Peter watched with the others. Then he remembered something. “Oh, wait. Let me get the fish hook!” he cried. Climbing down into the hole, he worked his chappy hand into the pocket of his father's tattered trousers and pulled out a fish hook on a short line. Tucking it into his own pocket, he looked up with his smiling blue eyes and said, “There it is,” and climbed out of the hole.
Other people have turned cannibal under such tragic circumstances, and eaten the flesh of the dead ones. But these saintly people held life so sacred that they would rather die and be buried along with their loved ones than to molest their sacred bodies.
Peter's little sister was sick and starving and his mother was near death. Jenetta had to take over the responsibility of caring for them and helping the boys keep body and soul together. She proved herself equal to the task. She carried water from the river for cooking the scant meals and nursed her mother and baby sister. Her shoes were gone and her feet left blood spots on the snow. Little Peter got hold of a bone from one of the dead oxen. He cut off the skin and roasted the bone in the fire. But just as it was done, two bigger boys grabbed it and ran away. He cried and ran after them, but they ran too fast for him. Then he boiled the skin in a kettle and made soup and drank it. Then he ate the skin. This was his best meal for several days. Jenetta's worn out shoes were boiled to make soup which she thickened with flour and fed the family.
The next day, the survivors struggled on a few more miles through the snow and cold to Sweetwater River. Here they camped and held a meeting. They decided to give up and not try to travel on. They would stay there and hope and pray for the Lord to rescue them. The rest of the oxen died and their skinny flesh was stripped off and divided up among the survivors. The bones were roasted and ground into meal for soup.
That night a blizzard came and blew down the tents and covered them with snow. Little Peter had curled up in a corner and gone to sleep. When their tent blew down the others crawled out and went to another tent that was still standing. But, little Peter dreamed he was dying. Then he started flying like a bird and came to a valley by a lake and saw people’s homes and flowers, and lots of food at their tables.
In the morning the daily search for dead ones went on as usual. “How many are dead in this tent?” a man was heard to say. All were accounted for except Peter. “He must have been frozen during the night,” said Jenetta.
They pulled the tent out of the snow and dragged little Peter out with his hair frozen to the tent. He was alive and warm. The tent and snow had saved him.
That day good news came to the disheartened survivors, now living on boiled bark from willows and trees along the river. Ox teams and wagons with food were coming from the valley. Word of their plight had reached the valley by a scout, and Brigham Young had sent rescue teams for them. Hearts leaped up, and the little band of humble and thankful people knelt and thanked God for their salvation. Wagons arrived late in the afternoon with food. Others came the next day and the sick and weakest ones were loaded into the wagons. But the others had to walk. They traveled on through the snow and cold, stopping at times to build fires to dry their clothes and warm their cold and bleeding feet. In a few days the summit of the big mountains was reached, and all climbed into the wagons for the ride into the valley.
They arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on November 20, 1856 and were received by the saints who had arrived each year since 1847 and built homes of rock, logs, and adobe. Little Peter, barefoot, tattered, and starved, had walked every step of the way, over a thousand miles, at times pushing on the handcart along with his father and older brothers.
His mother's health improved and she made her way with her family to Ogden and then to Ogden Canyon in the hills east of Ogden, and settled in the little town of Eden. Here the boys built a log house and worked in the fields and timber to support their mother and the family. Here little Peter and Maggie grew into young manhood and womanhood. Their mother married again and Peter became a talented singer and leader in music and dramatics.
His pioneering days were not over, however. Soon after he was married, he was called by Brigham Young to take his young bride, Ruth, and their infant son and go south to help build settlements in southern Utah and Arizona. They left with nine other couples in wagons in the spring of 1870. They lived the United Order in Orderville for a year and then moved on to Kanab for a year, then returned to St. George on their way back to the Ogden Valley. But there Brigham Young met them and told them their mission was not finished and sent them on into Arizona territory. They settled in a place they called Forest Dale and started building homes and clearing the land and developing a community government. But the Indians drove them out and they moved on into southeastern Arizona and homesteaded along the Gila River near the little community of Pima where a few of the saints had settled earlier. There they built a house of adobe and became leaders in community and church life. Peter's mission was to organize choirs, cantatas, dramatic groups, and develop the musical talents of the saints wherever he went. He raised a large family and filled his mission well.
Peter and Ruth lived to help build a temple at Mesa and to do their temple work in it. This accomplished, they felt their mission had been completed, and they passed on to their reward, satisfied that they had earned salvation in the celestial kingdom. Their bodies lie in the cemetery near Pima, Arizona, along with those of many of the other pioneers. They had lived and died on the frontier in this western land, and had passed on to their reward.
John Peter Clarke
History of John P. Clark
Written by Lu None Clark Heilesen,
Written by Lu None Clark Heilesen,
Grand-daughter
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| John Peter Clark |
John Peter Clark was a man to be remembered. He had an outstanding character and personality. He was of an easy going, quiet disposition and always avoided quarrels and arguments, but was set in his ideals and determined in his way.
Keeping out of debt and facing the world with a good honest name, was always a part of his life. Although he was never a church man, he did much for the church in ways of donating and tithing, etc. His ideals were high and his intellect was keen, and although he had little opportunity of going to school he had a wonderful practical educational He was well read on all subjects one could choose to discuss. He was a wonderful Geologist and few people understood rocks and minerals as he did.
When John Peter was a small boy the family moved to Virginia City, Montana, with the gold rush. His brother Jimmy was the first boy born in Virginia City.
Several incidents stood out in the memory of John Peter through out his life. There was a creek called Aldergulch that ran down the middle of the town, and the houses and tents were built on each side of the creek. One time a drunken bully by the name of Slade came galloping down the road shooting and throwing gold nuggets; J.P. and his brother Alfred hid under the bank of the creek. The bully drove his horse right into the Saloon and ordered the bartender to give it (the horse) plenty of whisky. Sometime after this J.P. witnessed the hanging of this man by the Vigilantes.
At this time the family lived in a two room log house with a high covered wagon bed by the side of it, close to the creek. One day a sick man crawled into the wagon bed. He was burning up with Mountain Fever. J.P. a small boy of five, kept this man alive three or four days on cold water. He told no one about the man, but one day his mother saw him carrying water into the wagon in a cup. She investigated and found the man. She called a Dr. who worked with him some, but the man died. They found beside him a satchel of the finest Dr,’s tools. He was a Dr. who had come out from the east. They got in touch with his folks and let them know. John Peter’s mother always figured that the Dr. she called in didn’t do his best because he wanted those fine tools.
John Peter always remembered his first boy’s suit that he ever had. It was of blue woolen material, with brass buttons.
When he was four years old he and his older brother started to school, but the teacher sent J.P. home and let Alfred go. The school house was made of logs with a porch around it, and it was situated on a side hill.
During these years, law and order were kept by a secret organization called the Vigilantes. There were many gold thieves and horse thieves among whom the sheriff was a ring leader, until he was caught by the Vigilantes.
The next big incident was when they moved to Helena. New gold had been discovered and placer digging was good. The family traveled by wagon and ox cart, with the exceptions of his mother who was ill and went by stage coach. She did not want to move again and she broke down and cried. It was in 1863 when they moved . J.P.’s father made two trips a year to Utah for flour. He also freighted cattle. During their trip from Virginia City to Helena, a man brought in some fish and some sand cherries. Also during this trip, J.P. fell out of the wagon and the wheel passed over his wrist.
Helena was built in Grizzly Gulch. There where no house for a long time, only tents, prospect holes and timber. People were afraid to go out at night for fear of falling in one of the prospectors holes which were situated along the creek and side hills.
J.P. took a five dollar bill to the store and got 1 piece of candy.
J.P.’s father built a one room log cabin and kept adding on until it had six rooms and a porch.
The first school that J.P. attended was a Catholic Church, and his teacher was Sister Tereca, a Catholic Nun. Sister Benedict came once a week and went over their work. The second year he went to a public school and his teacher’s name was Mc Knight. At recess they played ball, marbles and in the mines.
In was extremely cold in Montana, Forty degrees below was very common. One day during a cold spell in the winter, the family went visiting and it was too intensely cold to go home so they were put to bed in Buffalo robes. They always slept in buffalo robes. They wrapped in blankets first and then laid on a robe and had two robes over them. It was so cold this night that the robes froze above their heads and they had to crawl out the bottom.
When eleven years of age, J.P. followed the race tracks and hired out as a jockey. He followed the fair to Phillipsberg, and here he saw a Chinaman and a Negro hung. He also saw another Chinaman brought in from the mountains where he had been found hung on a tree and had probably been there all winter.
When J.P. was thirteen, the family moved back to Utah, but found conditions very bad, so J.P.’s father and grandfather went back to Montana. They left J.P. in charge of affairs at home.
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| John Peter & Alfred Clarke |
When J.P. was 17 he went to work on the railroad, the Utah and Oregon Shortline. He followed it from Portneuf Canyon to Deer-lodge, Montana. He worked one summer in a saw mill in Butte and returned to Clarkston when 20 years of age.
An interesting incident was when he first met Sarah Homer. Some girls were over on the square playing around and some fellows dared each other to go over and take the girls home. They all ran over and picked a girl, J.P. Clark grabbed Sarah Homer by the arm. But she was bashful and tried to get away from him. The story goes that she slapped him, but I have never heard her acknowledge this. He did however take her home. And again as a result of a dare he stepped out beside her as she walked along and their romance began. They were married in the Logan Temple by Apostle M. W. Merrill, on September 17th 1884.
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| John Peter Clark & Family |
The early part of their lives together was spent in most humble circumstances, but they went forward with willing hearts and high ideals. The lived in a log cabin with a dirt roof until they moved out onto Newton Bench where they took up a homestead. They lived there five years, until they proved up on the land and it was theirs. During this time two more children were born (one on the ranch and one in town). The other six children were born after they moved back into Clarkston. They built a new home in Clarkston. On the lawn they planted some apple seeds brought across the plains by his father. These seeds grew into two large apple trees which are standing today.
At this time J.P. became postmaster, and he held the position for 25 years. He had the post-office in his home for a few years and then he built a little building out on the corner of his lawn. It was the gathering place for all the men of the town. For years there were always horses hitched to the hitching posts there. A lot of times people would come very late at night and J.P. would get up and go out to the post-office so they could get their mail.
J.P. Clark had his code of ethics. He was of a generous disposition and helped out on all donations. He had given his children fairly good educations. He kept one son on a mission and one son went to the war.
September 17th 1934 J.P. and his wife celebrated their golden wedding together, with another couple who were married the same day. It is a peculiar coincidence that each couple had eleven children all of whom were present at the celebration. Each couple had lost one grandchild. The celebration was a grand event. Invitations were issued to nearly every one in Clarkston and many people outside. It was held in the Clarkston Church and Amusement Hall where a banquet was served and interesting program presented. In the evening there was a dance. A picture was taken of the two couple and a write-up made and sent to the Salt Lake paper.
Much could be written about the “hobby” of Geology in which J.P. was interested and active. He probably got his first interest when he was in the mines. He found and recognized many good gold samples. He has spent much time roaming the Clarkston hills in search of mineral or meteors. He always felt that there was something valuable in the hills above his home. The nearest he came to having this dream realized was in an Aragonite vein which he found. He had a road made up to the mine. But he didn’t have the money to back up the operations. Through some business maneuver or lack of money he lost the mine.
John P. liked to read and had a love for books, from them he learned many interesting things. If he sat down to read a novel he would always read the ending first if he didn’t like how it ended, he refused to read the book.
John P. had a great love for birds, he would put food out on the window seal each day and watch as they came to eat the seed.
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| John Peter Clark |
After a lingering illness caused by stomach cancer, he died on November 30, 1937 at his home in Clarkston, Utah. His entire family was present and many relatives from near and far. He had a large and beautiful funeral. Before he died he requested that a certain rock up in the Clarkston hills be brought and placed at the head of his grave. He had always loved that certain stone.
My Story of the
John P. Clark and
Sarah Homer Clark Family
By Sarah Eliza Clark Antrim born 6 February 1901 8th
child and 4th daughter.
My stories come, mostly from older members as well as
the last 3 Children and Grandchildren.
My memories 1st started
one beautiful starlet night on the old front porch after my
Father had been playing his guitar, which he did beautifully coming from a musical
family at the old home in Clarkston, Mother had been taken to the hospital at Logan from a diabatic
coma, we were lonely but we were together.
Beginning with his "Grandpa
Patrick he said came from Athboy, Ireland as a Stoway
coming to Boston as young man, he married a lovely lady, her name was Mary
Ward he had two son's Michael Joseph, a son Peter who they lost track of during
the war, Grandfather said he never heard from him again. They also had a little
girl named Mary Kathleen she died when very young. Grandfather Patrick was a
material designer for a yardage factory. While a very young boy Great Grandfather
knew his son Michael was a very talented boy, so he started him taking lesson
at the New England Conservatory School of Music, when he finished, he was
a conductor of Boston Brass Band, and a Concert Pianist. One evening while playing
for a Concert, he look up on stage and saw a beautiful little dark haired girl dancing
in a pined dress, he fell in love with her, and married her against her father's wishes.
Susannah's Father had joined the Mormon Church, and Grandfather was a Catholic.
The Joseph Lewis Thompson's
family came on to Utah with the pioneers, and Michael and Susannah
stayed on in Boston, Maine and Rhode Island.
Grandfather had his oldest son,
Uncle Alfred trained to be a very fine trumpet player, and he played
several instruments.
Susannah became very
homesick to see her family so Grandfather Michael packed his beautiful piano and
harp left them both and came to Utah. The night they landed in Logan, Utah John Peter was born in a dugout.
Great
Grandfather Joseph Lewis Thompson settled in Clarkston, Utah 18 miles from
Logan, so Michael and Susannah moved out to Clarkston and lived with her
parents. Grandpa Michael expressed freight from Cornin, Utah to Montana. When
the gold rush stared, he decided to move to Montana and he signed up to give
Concerts while in Montana. There Uncle Jim and Aunt Dolly were born.
Grandfather, Grandmother, Uncle Al, my Father John and Jim were great
entertainers, Grandmother was a Ballerina and Grandfather a pianist, Uncle Al played
the trumpet, Uncle Jim and John P. played Banjo and Guitar, they tapped danced and were beautiful
Western type singers.
Grandfather
sent to Boston for his piano and harp, also for Grandmother's beautiful costumes made of
fur and silk and 2 jade vases from England.
When
Jim and John P. were small Grandpa Patrick came to Montana and took
care of them, he took them to a Catholic Church they were Choir boys he John P.
said Grandpa Pat would spend four hours on Saturday polishing their pretty
black boots,
and cooking for Sunday Dinners.
John P. and Jim sold
newspapers to the pool halls. John P. said they did not like it because the people playing cards and drinking acting so silly.
They never wanted to live that way.
So when John P. my Father was eighteen years old he found a job on the railroad and came to Utah.
While working on the railroad he started to smoke a pipe they thought
nothing of it being bad.
Then tragedy happened
Grandfather Michael J' s opera house burned down destroying his Grand Piano, harp and some of
Grandmas clothes, also the two Jade vases. The Thompson family went to Montana
and brought Grandmother and the things
they saved back to Clarkston. Grandpa stayed on for awhile then he and
Grandfather
Pat came down. Grandpa Pat acquired the lot Maynard's home is located on today (1981).
Michael had a home and garden there so Grandpa and Grandma
and the family stayed there for awhile. The folks from all around came to see
Patrick's beautiful flower and vegetable garden. And out to the old Homestead north
of Clarkston Grandpa Michael also had a beautiful garden, he made a ditch from
the creek so he could water it. It was planted in rows with walkways in between
and also he put benched where you could set and rest for awhile, many friends and family came to
see his garden.
One
evening a knock came at the Clark family’s door. John P. answered it and to
his surprise there stood a tramp, face and cloths so dirty, his body was
covered with boils, he asked for help to which John P. replied, “I can't take
you into my home as I have young children, but I
will make you a bed in the old shed out back,” which
he did and Sarah made him some warm soup, John P. dressed his boils each day
and Sarah made food for him, soon he was better and he thanked John P. for his kindness.
When
it was apparent that John P. was going to die, I came home to help Mother
with the things she need to do. One evening I lit a pipe for John P. and he
looked me straight in the eye and said "No daughter of mine is going to
lite that sinful old pipe for me," and he wouldn't
take it. He died a very painful death from cancer of the stomach.
Peter Howard McBride-Musical Life
Musical Life History of Peter H. McBride
By his youngest son, Clyde McBride – 1988
By his youngest son, Clyde McBride – 1988
The history of my Father’s earlier life has mostly gone down in the McBride annals. But much of the musical part of his life I am quite sure has never been told - especially my personal experiences beside him.
THIS IS JUST A ‘PRELUDE’
Peter was born in Scotland. There his family joined the Church - then migrated to America. While crossing the plains to the Salt Lake Valley, Peter’s father, Robert McBride, died from exposure. Just a few years after they arrived at Salt Lake Valley, his mother ‘Margaret’ remarried - this time to a prosperous farmer. He was a widower who was left with a small family (Samuel Ferrin).
This dad told me: His stepfather gave him the task of digging two rods of ditch a day. Then what was left of that day he was free to use studying music. That could have been the beginning of his musical career.
Other members of the family have told of Dad’s association with Evan Stephens, Composer of Church songs. They used to herd sheep together and often sat on the hillside and composed music together - sang duets, etc.
Now to continue this Prelude, just a few years after Dad was married, he was called on a mission by President Brigham Young. His mission was to go to Southeastern Arizona and help colonize that part of the territory and assist in building up the Church in that part of the Lord’s vineyard. Teaching music was also part of that mission call - so I was told.
His journey from Utah to Arizona is also history now. He finally arrived at the place along the south side of the Gila River that was later called Smithville and then Pima. There, about the first thing he did was homestead a quarter section (or 160 acres of land) of almost solid mesquite, except for a cottonwood grove along the river’s edge. This homestead was about two miles west of the town of Smithville and was later called Matthewsville and now Glenbar on the map.
Again - this, dad told me: When he first settled on the Homestead, he grubbed 4 or 5 mesquite stumps every morning before breakfast.
As far as I know, he never had any musical training or schooling. He did have volumes of books of instructions for studying music which I am sure was a great help. But he was born with a gift for music such as few people are blessed with.
He was a self-made musician. By study and taking advantage of his many gifts and talents, he became a professional teacher in both music and poetry.
In my youth, and on through my young manhood, I was usually with him and often given a part in many of his productions and presentations. He confided in me many of his accomplishments and also his disappointments. Not because of me, but I think mainly because of my inherited love of music which he seemed to recognize. So I am ‘listing a few that are still very clear in my memory.
First, he taught music in all the wards in the valley. He organized male quartets mixed quartets, ladies Chorus’ and ladies Trios. He organized choirs in all the wards in that part of the St. Joseph Stake. He wrote words and music for love songs, comic songs, sacred songs, political songs and western songs.. songs for every occasion. All he needed was just a few hours notice and he would compose music and words for that occasion.
Each time he always received a standing ovation. I remember attending church socials, ward parties, and political rallies. Someone would call for a song by ‘Uncle Peter’. He always obliged and always sang his own compositions. The applause was so great he was often called back for a second and third and sometimes a fourth performance. Many times I have seen him take his seat and leave the audience still applauding.
Dad didn’t have what was called a ‘Grand Opera’ - ‘Bing’ or ‘Mario Lanzo’ voice - nor a tenor or bass voice - but just a plain true, cheerful, attractive, and forceful baritone voice that could be heard and understood by large audiences in most any size building built at that time.
He organized and produced Christmas cantatas, operettas, comedy and western shows, tragedy shows and a real ‘shoot-out’ occasionally.
In one Christmas cantata, I believe every kid in the ward was given a part that night. Several little boys sang, and of course, all the little girls were given parts, too. But none of them ‘registered’. There was one part on the show that night that did ‘register’ and is very clear in my memory. As the curtains opened, my two little sisters, Bessie and Flo, came on the stage each holding their own ‘Great Big Beautiful Doll’. Then in song - described their dolly’s apparel and related many of their qualifications thus:
BESSIE-FLO
I have a dolly-So have I
Mine has blue eyes-Mine can cry,
Mine I call Bessie-Mine I call Flo,
See Bessie’s gown-Look at Flo’s shoe,
See her feet-Isn’t she sweet?
Dollies we love you-We love you so well
Now she cries-Close her eyes
Beautiful stories our dollies can tell.
There could have been other verses, but this is the only one that ‘registered’ that night. I never knew the author. It sounds much like dad - but I am not sure.
There’s another little child’s song that is still clear in my memory, both words and melody. I never knew the author and I’m not sure where or by whom it was written. I have often wished I could hear two of my little great granddaughters sing it as a duet. I still remember every note of both parts. Maybe some of the older members of the family remember it. I believe it was from an old Primary Song Book.
Oh, I had such a pretty dream, mama
Such pleasant and beautiful things
Of a dear little nest, in the meadows of rest
Where the birdie her lullaby sings
A dear little stream full of lilies
Crept over the green mossy stones
And just where I lay, its thin sparkling spray
Sang sweetly in delicate tones
And as it flowed on toward the ocean
Thru shadows and pretty sunbeams
Each note grew more deep, and I soon fell asleep
And was off to the island of dreams
I saw there a beautiful angel
With crown all bespangled with dew
She touched me and spoke, and I quickly awoke
And found there, dear mamma, ‘twas you
In my youth and later, it seemed that Dad, with his choir nearly always furnished music for Stake Conference. At times, it was the home ward choir, but on special occasions, when General Authorities were called to attend conference at St. Joseph Stake, Dad organized a combined Stake Choir with a few voices from several wards throughout the Stake. After one or two choir practices they would furnish music for the next Stake Conference.
In those early days of the church a General Authority always attended conference, and on several occasions a Church President visited conference in Thatcher. In my youth it was a custom that everyone who wished would line up and shake hands with the General Authority in attendance at that time. Later that custom was abandoned and that ended the hand shaking line. Before, that, I had the privilege of shaking hands with at least three Church Presidents: Heber J. Grant, George Albert Smith and David O. McKay. But that’s a bit off the subject. However, during my lifetime I have outlived all the Church Presidents since Wilford Woodruff. I was just under two years old when he died, making ten in all, including President Ezra Taft Benson. I have had the privilege of shaking hands several times with President Spencer W. Kimball but not in the line-up.
A LITTLE OFF-BEAT!
Lines Hall was a large dance hall, skating rink, show house or play house with a modern stage, change rooms, sliding curtains a roll curtain and all built over the original Lines Bros. Mercantile Co. Store. Uncle Joe Lines was in charge at this time. He had a large supply of Roller Skates. If you had 25¢ you could rent a pair for the evening. This one evening I happened to have 25¢ and it was there I took my first great fall. Apparently one skater tried to skate ‘upside down’ causing a big ‘pile-up’ and I was caught right in the middle of it. As a result, I came out with an injured knee that gave me trouble for several months.
Many traveling troupes and magic shows chartered that old hall. In one magic show I remember they were having a weight lifting contest. A steel plate was placed in the middle of the stage. A big husky man walked over and tried to lift it. He pulled, yanked, jerked and struggled. No Luck! He waited a minute and then tried again - then walked off the stage, defiant. Then a young lady came out on the stage, picked up the weight and carried it away with ease and grace. Then for that small lady, the applause was great. Later, El Norton and I became curious and our curiosity got the best of us. We went out and crawled up under the stage and there, fastened to the bottom of the stage floor, was a high powered electric magnet operated by an on-off switch. That solved the whole magical mystery.
IN TUNE AGAIN!
In the early days of Dad’s musical career, and before my time, he organized a dramatic company. The members at that time were Joseph Foster Sr., Will Webb, Tom East and of course Dad and others. They produced western, comedy, dramatic, tragic, and other shows depending on the script. Occasionally a sheriff and an outlaw staged a bloody demonstration. Dad wrote a theme song for the group but I can only remember the last two lines.
Thus: "We are here and we’re going to stay
We’re the Pima Dramatic and Comedy."
This show was very similar to those old traveling shows that oft-times came through the valley - except they didn’t try to peddle their cure-all medicine and I don’t remember them ever ‘traveling’ outside of the valley. I don’t believe I ever missed one of dad’s shows and I know I never bought a ticket. So, did they or didn’t they ever sell tickets?
SOUND YOUR A
At one time, other musical professors began coming into the valley and invading Dad’s territory and it didn’t set too well with him, but he went along with them. The four I remember were: Professor Claydon, Professor Bond, Professor Snodgrass and Professor Jones. Later Professor Snodgrass became the laughing stock (or a ‘hiss’ and a ‘by-word’) among the younger set, with comments such as "Does Snodgrass look like Johnson grass" or "Will donkeys and billy goats eat Snodgrass," etc. etc.
Later, all those ‘Profs’ got together and planned to give a concert and demonstrate their ‘wares’ or ‘peddle their apples’. Then, of course, Dad was invited to participate. The concert was held in the old Lines Hall. The participants, actors, or maybe ‘Stars’ were stationed at the front of the hall, but not on the stage. Prof. Claydon was first on the program. He told of his many accomplishments, his abilities and talents, etc. then sang a few English songs. Then Prof. Bond carried on in about the same manner then gave a few renditions on the piano. Now, Prof. Snodgrass and dad never did hit it off too well. It seemed they were always at odds with each other. On this night, Claude and I were sitting on the front bench (about the middle of the hall) when Prof. Snodgrass began his part of the show. Claude and I started giggling, laughing and doing a little hooting. I guess we thought we were doing dad a favor, but I remember dad marched right down in front of us and shook his finger in our faces and said in no uncertain words that if we didn’t be quiet, we would have to leave the show. So, WE BE’D QUIET! Then, like the others, Snodgrass gave his life’s musical history and then gave two or three beautiful and professional renditions on the violin. Now, Prof. Jones was also a great pianist. He filled the entire hall with much professional noise.
Now Dad was the last on the program and I believe he had planned it that way. As usual, he had composed a song especially for that occasion. I can’t remember all the words, but he started in song by telling all the things that happened -
"When ‘Claydon’ with his ‘hay-ton’ leads the Band.
Then it was:
"When ‘Bond’ with his ‘wand’ leads the Band."
Then he really poured it on Professor Snodgrass. He told of the awful things that happened –
"When ‘Snodgrass’ like a ‘jackass’ leads the Band."
Next He let Prof’ Jones have it on the chin - Thus:
"By the motion of his chin all the players will begin. When ‘Jones’ with his ‘bones’ leads the Band."
Then he told how the band members enjoyed ‘tooting it up’
"When ‘Peter’ with his ‘beater’ leads the Band!"
Again, as usual, Dad received a standing ovation - long and loud.
Now Professor Claydon was a very close friend of dad’s and remained here in the valley for many years. He used to walk all the way from Thatcher and stay all night - just to visit dad and talk music. But more about him later. I know nothing more about the other two professors but I am of the opinion - their pastures became over-grazed and went in search of greener pastures.
If there is any member of the family who has the original fore-mentioned song, I would really love to have a copy of it.
Years later, Lines Store, Hall, Warehouse, and all was destroyed by fire.
B SHARP and B FLAT
After attending a stake conference in Thatcher - for some unknown reason, Dad drove on to Safford (of course, with the horse and buggy!) For another unknown reason, when he left home that morning, he had placed his briefcase in the back of the buggy. As he left Safford it began to rain and then turned into a regular cloudburst. He told me later the wind blew so hard it almost blew him, horse, buggy and all off the road. Then before he reached Thatcher the storm cleared up enough that he reached home safely, but his brief case was gone.
The next day he took Claude and I to Thatcher. From there Dad rode the buggy and we each walked along a barpit searching for papers. We made two or three round trips from Thatcher to Safford but never found as much as one paper or the brief case. It seemed very unlikely to me that this could happen without leaving a single clue or trace of evidence. I have always had in mind that some prankster or older kid snitched the case while the buggy was parked and unattended - hoping it contained valuables. Then finding nothing but papers, kept the case and destroyed the papers. Of course, this is only my personal opinion.
But whatever happened, Dad was a broken-hearted man. He told" me later that the briefcase contained about 75 compositions - most of his life’s works. Then it seemed I detected a lump in his throat and with an unsteady voice he made this statement to me: "If all those papers are lost and never found, I will never write another song." Then later he said he could remember a few of his works and could rewrite a few more - but most of them were lost and gone. Now, I am sure that his God-given talents were too large to hide under a bushel and his love for music outweighed his disappointments, for be was soon leading choirs, teaching music, and producing shows just as before. He didn’t quit! He couldn’t quit! To him there was no such word. He didn’t know the meaning of quit. Dad placed an ad in the local newspaper and offered a reward for the return of the briefcase and its contents or any information leading to their whereabouts. But no leads were ever found and no one ever claimed the reward.
PAVILLION
I believe this building was constructed after the Lines Bros. Store was burned down. It had a stage and a large Dance Hall, very similar to the old Lines Hall. It was built just north and a little east of the present Pima Ward Chapel and on the same lot. It was called the Pima Ward Pavillion. It was used for all ward activities. Dad also took advantage of it and presented many musical and religious programs, cantatas, operettas and many similar fore-mentioned presentations.
In one of his dramatic shows, the Hall was filled and he had the west side of the stage decorated with flowers and a few baskets of apples and oranges. I remember wondering where dad got enough money to buy all that fruit, it must have had something to do with the show but it didn’t ‘record’ with me. Hugh Foster’s act is about all I can remember. It seemed he played the part of a demented tragedian. He yelled and waved is arms and walked back and forth across the stage and recited several weird and haunting Poems.
Now, I had a part in the show that night but it also didn’t ‘register’. But after I finished my act I slipped over and grabbed an orange and ran off the stage. Later Dad scolded and said I almost ruined the show. But it brought the only laughter and applause I remember hearing that night.
WAY OFF-BEAT THIS TIME
Now, besides all Church activities (dance, family socials & weddings) and similar to the old Lines Hall, this Pima Ward Pavilion occasionally was chartered by those old traveling dramatic, comic and magic shows. This night was no exception. The Hall was filled and just waiting for the show to commence. An elderly couple was sitting just about the middle of the Hall. For now, we’ll just call them ‘Pa and Ma’. Now this was before Hearing Aids were born and Ma’s hearing registered almost zero. Ma leaned over and asked "How much was the ticket?" Pa whispered in her ear and said "fifty cents." Then a few minutes later Ma again asked and said "Pa, how much was the ticket?" This time Pa placed one hand over her ear and with a little more accent exclaimed "fifty cents!" Then apparently Ma still hadn’t got the message. This time, with a little more emphasis, she said "How much was the ticket. Pa?" By this time Pa seemed to be getting a little vexed and he placed both hands over Ma’s ear and yelled as loud as he could yell, "fifty cents!" Then due to that explosion by Pa, it seemed nearly every person in the Hall issued a little chuckle or giggle and I think some of the customers got their money’s worth before the show even commenced.
When the show was about half over - a man came on the stage, interrupted the show and announced: "Henry Ford is in the audience tonight!" Everyone in the Hall craned their necks trying to get a glimpse of that national and internationally famous auto builder. Apparently, Henry chose not to be recognized. Soon the announcer called again, "Will Mr. Ford please stand up?" No response. Then the announcer called and pleaded "Will Mr. Henry Ford please stand and be recognized!" Still, there was no response. Then with a little apologetic voice the announcer said "I was sure Mr. Henry Ford was in the audience tonight, I saw his Model T parked in front of the building!"
As I mentioned before, Brother William M. Claydon and dad were very close friends, maybe because of their common interest in life - music. Claydon was a convert from England and brought along many of the English customs in both poetry and song. When I was just a kid, Brother Claydon was St. Joseph Stake Sunday School Superintendent. I remember him visiting the old Matthews ward many times. He taught the Sunday School classes English, music, both sacred and classic. He always stressed promptness and punctuality. That seemed to be part of his religion.
At one time the Globe ward, St. David, El Paso and the Duncan wards were all members of the St. Joseph Stake. My dad tells this story: "On this one Sunday Brother Claydon had an appointment to attend the Matthews Ward Sunday School. He walked and ran all the way from Ft. Grant. He arrived five minutes late. He turned and walked away." Those were Dad’s exact words!
HARMONY PLUS
We’ll just call this man ‘Bill’. At this time, Bill and his Wife were living up at Bear Springs Flat, a flowing well district near the foot of Graham Mountain. Now Bill’s wife was a well educated woman and a poet in her own right. Bill told Dad later that his wife had volumes of poems written by her own hand. I believe this woman came out West due to her poor health, but after suffering with cancer for several years she finally passed away. Now here is where dad played his part.
Bill contacted the Bishop and the funeral was held in the old Glenbar Church building. The day before the funeral, Bill came to dad with one of his wife’s favorite poems and asked him if he would recite it at her services. But instead, he sat down and wrote the music for it - all four parts. Then he called the choir together for one evening’s rehearsal. Then we sang this lady’s own poem at her own funeral services. Dad told me later that this man Bill, came to him and thanked him over and over for such a beautiful rendition in honor of his ‘Dear Deceased Wife’ and ‘Life’s Companion.’ I had occasion to meet Bill at times for many years and as far as I know, he never did remarry.
My father, Peter H. McBride, was ward and stake chorister for 40 years. When he was released from his stake responsibility without notice or without thanks or even one word of appreciation for the many years he had spent serving in that position, he wasn’t resentful. But he felt ‘cut to the quick’ and his feelings were very badly hurt. From that blow I don’t believe he ever did completely recover. I never did hear of his release as ward chorister.
I found a few pages of dad’s diary, written on Sept. 1882. Quote: "Enroute for St. George, Utah, to marry Laura Lewis, we left Smithville on the 21st of September 1882. The Smithville choir is going along as far as Snowflake to attend conference." On another page: "30th - Sat. - Conference commences today. Our choir, the Smithville, did the singing in the forenoon and joined with the Snowflake choir in the afternoon. Then on Oct 1st - Sun- Attended conference and was in charge of all the singing." The Snowflake Ward must have been a member of the St. Joseph Stake at that time. My oldest sister, Laura, told about the time Dad took the Pima choir to St. David for conference. She told of meeting many new faces and how well they were received and how much every one enjoyed their music and complimented them on their presentation. She said they sang on most of the trip and even the horses seemed to enjoy the music, Laura must have been about 16 at that time. She had 12 years start on me so that would leave me about four years old - too young to join the choir.
The road map shows St. David a little over 80 miles from Pima - a one-lane dirt road at that time. Now I am inclined to believe they must have had at least two wagons to accommodate an average size choir and all the necessary equipment. No team of horses could make that trip in one day, so they must have camped at least twice both ways. Where and how many times was never mentioned as far as I know and I never asked.
JUST DAD
At one time, Dad had a song book titled ‘The Psalmady’. I believe every song in it was a verse set to music from the Book of Psalms in the Bible. He also had a Hymn Book called ‘The Hymnal.’
Dad claimed he never had a headache in his life. He also said he never shed his ‘baby teeth’. In my youth I remember dad telling of his association with Karl G. Maeser. In dad’s younger days, Brother Maeser was Church General Sunday School Superintendant and I believe that Church history will show he is the originator of the Church Sunday School system.
At one time Dad was Sunday School Superintendant of the Matthews Ward. He told many stories and sang many songs about Karl G. Maeser. One song he sang many times to the Sunday School class (and I can only remember the last two lines) went thus:
We met Brother Maeser at Sunday School--
Twas there he taught us the Golden Rule!
My brother, Howard, told of this incident - then of course, dad told him: When the Handcart company arrived at the Platte River, it was running high and with floating ice-packs. Now there must have been some wagons with the company. He said the water was so deep no one was permitted to ride the wagons across the river except the teamsters. He also said that Peter’s father, Robert McBride, waded and carried 65 women and children across the river - dodging ice-packs both ways. He didn’t say how many days it took or how many men were involved but, as a consequence, his father, Robert, died from exposure (likely pneumonia) and was buried with 14 others in a common grave. Now Howard also told this. Little Peter was standing on the brink of the grave sobbing and with tears running down his cheeks. A lady put her arms around him and tried to Console him - then, between sobs, he said "My fish hook was in my father’s pocket!"
My sister Della was an accomplished pianist in her own right. She could have been called an artist or genius at the organ or piano. As far as I can remember she was the only piano accompanist her father ever employed during her active lifetime. She began her musical career by taking piano lessons from Prof. Jones.
The names, ‘Peter H. McBride’ and ‘Della McBride Larson’ should go down in history in the musical section of the ‘Hall of Fame’. For in my opinion, they were the great artists of their time. My father, Peter H. McBride, died at the age of 84 and my mother, Laura Lewis McBride, died on Christmas day 1954 - just a few days before her 90th birthday. Both of their funerals were held in the present Pima Ward Chapel and both were buried in the Pima Cemetery. At each service, the building was filled to capacity, with standing room only.
Immediately after Mother’s services, my sister Flo came to me and with a rather serious and a slightly excited voice asked, "Did you see Dad leading the choir? I hadn’t and was a little dubious at first, but she said, "He stood right in front of the choir and with both hands kept perfect time with the music and led the choir just as he did throughout his whole life here on earth.". Now Flo was the only member of the family or otherwise, that was permitted to view this Heavenly demonstration. She said Dad stood there just as natural as life and led the choir about 15 or 20 seconds then suddenly he just wasn’t there. I believe Flo is now over there singing in her father’s choir as always.
In my youth, it seemed Dad often had a theme song. I wouldn’t be too far off to say I have heard him sing it fifty times or more. He would often ‘sign off’ by singing it at the close of family gatherings, birthday parties, Church socials, and others. Maybe I will too - with just a chorus. Thus:
"Well, its Home - dearest Home,
And its Home you’d better be.
Over on the Gila
In the white man’s count-ter-ree,
Where the Cottonwood and Ash
And mesquite will ever be,
Growing green upon the river,
There’s a Home for you and me."
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