Lionel Edwin Williams
Autobiography
 |
| Gladys & Lionel Williams |
Grace E. Beebe was the daughter of Nelson Paul and Eliza Kemp Beebe and was born October 30, 1866, at Provo, Utah. Nelson Paul was born December 30, 1831, at Waterford, New London, Connecticut. His people lived in that locality since 1638, when the first of the family, John Beebe (1) moved there. John (1), however, died at sea on the way across, but his family of eight children settled in New London and became quite prominent. There is no record of the mother, Rebecca Ladd, and a daughter, Hannah, ever coming to this country, it is supposed they died in Broughton, England, where the family had lived.
My maternal grandmother, Eliza Kemp, came to Utah as a pioneer with her family. She was born at Carlton, Bedfordshire, England, July 3, 1841’. She married Grandfather Beebe in Provo, Utah, in 1862. They had 10 children, all born at Provo, except the last, Nell, who was born at St. David, Cochise, Arizona. The Beebe family moved to southern Arizona, when mother was 15 years old. They took all their possessions with them in wagons. They stopped on the Little Colorado River for a time where my grandfather built the first grist mill. He later traded his shares in it for cattle and moved on to St. David, where they lived until grandmother’s death on March 29, 1888.
While at St. David, my mother met my father, who after attending the University of Deseret at Salt Lake City, went to St. David to teach school. He had two sisters, Fannie and Elizabeth, living there at the time.
My mother had little opportunity for schooling in her life and had to help with the work on the ranch. She was fond of horses. She tells how she used to help her older brothers with the cattle, and it was while she was sitting on a corral fence watching the men brand their calves when my father came up to see what was going on.
Apparently, it was love at first sight, because after his first term of school was up, they were married on August 19, 1886 at St. David. Right after their marriage, they traveled to the Logan Temple and were sealed to each other.
After winter in Utah, during which time father taught school in a one room schoolhouse which stood on the corner of the intersection of the streets two miles west of the present Syracuse Church’ in Syracuse, Davis County, Utah, (this school has long since been torn down), my parents went back to St. David where their first child, Ada, was born July 22, 1887. She died on October 29, 1887.
Soon after this, the Gila Valley in Graham County was settled by the LDS people. My grandfather Beebe moved his family there soon after my grandmother’s death in 1888. They settled at a place called Safford, a town whose population was mostly Mexican. Other LDS people settled in a place they called Thatcher, a few miles down river from Safford. My father built a one room house on my grandfather’s land. The room was about 14 x 16 feet square, with studs four feet apart and cross purlins cut between and 1 x 12 boards nailed perpendicular on the outside and the cracks covered by a two inch bat. The walls and ceiling were covered with muslin over which (later) wallpaper was glued. The roof was covered (like the walls) with boards and bats over the cracks. The floor was of planed boards.
Into this humble abode, I was born on March 11, 1889, without benefit of doctor, but attended by a midwife, which was common in those days. Sometime, between my birth and that of my sister, Gladys, which occurred November 2, 1891, this one room house was moved about three miles to Thatcher, where the LDS people were building a school which was called the Gila Academy. For the next several years, my father taught in this school, which took all pupils from the first grade up. A little later, another schoolhouse was built in which I began my scholastic career under the tutelage of one whom we all called "Aunt Emma" (Merrill.) By the time I was old enough to remember, a lean-to was built on the back of the house. This lean-to had two rooms, one a kitchen and the other a bedroom.
In 1946, the last time I saw the place, it was much the same, no paint except on the trim around the windows and doors and by then it had a shingled roof.
Among my earliest recollections, was the trouble I got into with my mother because I had a propensity for running away from home. There was a small store across the street, operated by our neighbor, Joseph Allred. Bro. Allred had a son, Myron, whom we all called "My." "My" was much older than I and worked some in the store and occasionally gave us kids a piece of candy and was naturally well thought of by the small fries. He is the first person I can remember as a friend and hero. I imagine I was a regular pest to him.
My father’s sister, Aunt Fannie Kimball and family, lived only a short way from us, and it was to her place I usually went on my excursions away from home, and for which I received many boxed ears and spankings. But who could blame a six year old? All we had was a cow on a city lot. At Uncle Tom’s, who was a rancher and freighter, there were horses, cows, and all kinds of wonderful things to play with. There was a Shetland pony and a Great Dane dog, nearly as big as the pony. And it was with these wonderful things that we played. My cousin, David Kimball, who was only a few months younger than I, was almost my constant playmate when I could slip away.
At Uncle Tom’s place, there was a dog wheel in which the Great Dane was used to pump water from the surface well into a large tank or reservoir. The water was used to keep a small garden and provided water for the house. It was in this tank that I was baptized by my uncle during the summer after my eighth birthday.
It was at Uncle Tom’s that I lost the partial sight of my right eye. Dave and I were playing in the yard, trying to make us some knives by prying part of the iron railing off from the top of an old wagon box. I got too close, and a piece of the iron broke loose and struck me in the eye. The sight is practically gone, but I still have my eye.
Another tragic thing occurred during this period of my life. An epidemic of diphtheria struck the town and quite a number of children died. Among those children who died were Loran and Murry, sons of Uncle Tom and Aunt Fannie. These boys (about two and four years) died within a day or two of each other, while another older girl, Ada, had such a bad case of that it impaired her speech for the rest of her life. This was my first experience with death and it made a profound impression.
In the foothills near town, many burros or donkeys, roamed. No one seemed to own them, and it was the practice of boys to catch and ride them. While I still had a bandage on my eye, several boys (mostly older than me), were trying to catch some of these stray donkeys. One of the boys ran up behind one that had a foal. She kicked this boy right on the point of his jaw. He was unconscious with his face bleeding and cut, and we could not carry him, so I ran to his folks (quite a distance away) and brought his father. It was a thing I never could forget.
Another thing that used to fascinate me as a boy was watching the great freight outfits go past our house loaded with coke. They were going to Globe at the other end of the valley. The coke was used in a smelter to reduce the ore from the mines into heavy copper bars, which were brought back by the freight teams. Some of these teams had as many as 24 horses or mules and four or five wagons. Uncle Tom Kimball had one such outfit and one year my father drove a four-horse outfit with one wagon.
However, this phase of life ended when I was about eight years old. The railroad came through the valley at about that time. It was my first sight of a train.
It was near this time that my father became interested in a saw mill, which was located in the Graham Mountains. These mountains were about 10 or 15 miles to the south of Thatcher where we lived.
One day in spring, dad was going to the mill in a buckboard with a good team. I remember that I wanted to go in the very worst way and begged, cried and did everything a kid could do to persuade him to let me go, but without success. So when his back was turned, I slipped under the seat and covered myself so he couldn’t see me. About three or four miles from home, I thought it was safe to come out of hiding, figuring that dad would take me along. But it didn’t work. All I got was a good spanking and a long walk home. Also, I got some very severely sun burned legs for I was wearing knee pants that day. In a few days, I had a section of new skin from my knees down. I never tried that kind of a stunt again.
But a little later I did get to go to the saw mill and stay until snowfall. All the family went. We lived in a two room shack with the back set on the side of a hill and the front set on poles so that we had to climb about ten or twelve steps to get to the porch in front of the house. For two summers my mother cooked for part of the men who worked at the mill. Aunt Fannie Kimball cooked for the rest.
These two summers were wonderful vacations for me. With a small axe, which Uncle Sam gave me, I had a wonderful time. As I look back upon it now, I must have given him a very rough time tagging him like a shadow wherever he went. But he was a wonderful man and liked kids. He liked to hunt and often went out for deer, bear, or cougar. There were quite a few cougars in the mountains. There were wild pigeons also, and as there were no game laws, they were hunted the year round.
One time a man brought a fawn into camp. He had killed the mother so Uncle Sam paid him $5 for the fawn and he raised it on a bottle. He let me feed it sometimes, and was I pleased. (Deer in right foreground of photo below.)
 |
| Beebe family in front of 'Long House' |
At that time, there were lots of snakes in the valley and Uncle Sam used to catch them or at least kill them and tan the skins. He made purses, handbags and other souvenirs from the skins. One day I was with him, and the buck was along too. We found a large black snake. When the deer saw it, he jumped in the air and lit with all four feet on that snake, and before he quit, he had stomped it all to pieces.
When I was about ten years old, I used to help my uncles Paul and Dave with the hay. I used to tromp the hay as they pitched it onto the wagon. One day, one of them pitched a black snake onto the load with me. The snake was hidden in the pile, and it didn’t take me long to get off the load when I discovered the snake. They killed it and later Uncle Sam skinned it and made a beautiful purse.
While we were at the saw mill, I had two very frightening experiences. There were quite a few mountain lions in the mountains. It was not unusual to hear them make their weird cry at night. They made a noise like a baby crying, and as kids we were told that this was to attract someone close enough for them to spring on. One night a piece of meat was taken from the wall of a house near us. The people heard the thump of the meat or the bang of the lion as he jumped onto the porch, but they didn’t try to follow. The next day, they did follow the lion, but without dogs they were unsuccessful in finding it.
Because I wandered in the woods a lot, one of the men at the mill decided to give me a good scare, and he did. As I was wandering some distance from the mill, this man got in front of me and hid in a thick course of ferns. As I approached, he shook the ferns and gave a growl like a cougar. He expected me to scream and run, but I was so frightened that I could neither move nor scream. I don’t know who was more frightened, the man or me, because it was quite some time before I regained my speech. It was a feeling I shall never forget.
Another time, I had been quite some distance from the mill with my Uncle Tom Kimball who was hauling logs from the end of a long chute, when I decided I would take a short cut back to the mill, as the road was quite a bit further. It was in the fall and leaves from the Sycamore trees had fallen and were quite deep in the grove I was going through. It was getting quite dark, and I was going along the trail kicking the leaves as I went. Suddenly, I kicked something solid which exploded from under me and sent me sprawling. This time, I wasn’t too scared to run. I think I made extra good time to the mill which was about a quarter of a mile away and down a hill. When I arrived, I couldn’t speak for quite sometime.
When I could speak, I told the folks I had stepped on a bear and that he had chased me home. The men got lanterns and investigated, but couldn’t find any thing in the dark. The next day, they took me to the spot, found the heap of leaves, but couldn’t find any tracks. However, in the mud of the creek bed near by, they found the tracks of my "bear." But these tracks were those of a sow that someone had brought to the mountains to eat the acorns which were plentiful.
One day some women were coming up the road from the lumber drying yard, which was further down the mountain, where there was flat ground upon which to stack the wood. As they came along, they heard the buzzing of a rattle snake by the side of the road. They said it was a large one. One of the biggest they had ever seen. They told Uncle Sam where it was, so he and I went to find it. We did and the women were right. It was the biggest rattler anyone there had ever seen. Uncle Sam killed it and when he counted its rattles there were 42. Of course, he skinned it and later it was made into purses and handbags.
Gila monsters were also common in the valley. It was their native land. I, myself, have killed quite a few. To most people they are terrible, but I was never as frightened of them as I was of snakes, even harmless ones.
After two summers in the mountains, my father traded his interest in the saw mill for a planing mill in Safford, so the family moved to that place. Our first house was a small one on Grandfather Beebe’s farm near town. It was known as the little brown house by all the relatives. Later we moved to a two room house on Relation Street in the Layton Ward. It was here I first remember going to school. It was in a one room school. I also got the feel of the first switch at the hands of my first school teacher, Mrs. Jones. There were three or four kids mixed up in this episode. A boy named Stan Crandall and myself got the switch. Someone near us got rid of a bit of excess gas which was quite audible. Stan and I laughed. When the teacher tried to find out why, neither of us dared tell her so she tried to find out from some of the other kids, including the girls. But they wouldn’t tell. So to justify herself or something, she sent a boy named Ammon Morris out for a switch. He brought in a long weeping willow (6 feet or more). This made the kids laugh, all but Stan and I, and made the teacher even madder than ever so she made him get another one. I can’t remember if the switching hurt, but it sure made us howl. When we did, Mrs. Jones desisted.
Later in the year, I was sent to the big new two story school in Safford. A tall, thin Texan named Jones-husband of my former teacher-was the principal, but not my teacher. I can’t remember his first name.
I got in trouble at this school too. In those days we had outdoor toilets, and Mr. Jones frequently warned the boys about wetting the seats. They had no lids like today. Well, one day Mr. Jones went out about noon and found that some boy had wet on the seat. He inquired around and a boy about 18 years old told him he had seen me go into the toilet just before. He didn’t see me because I hadn’t been in all day, and I told the principal so. He tried to find other witnesses, but none came forth. I will never forget the scene in his office. The big boy accusing the little boy, and I stoutly maintaining my innocence. It ended in a draw. All I got was a good talking to, a few tears shed, and as near hate in my heart as I have ever had for any human being. I’ve forgiven, but I don’t seem to forget.
The planing mill was an interesting place, but I learned to hate it too. Mainly because I wasn’t asked to stay around and help with things except carry wood for the kitchen stove.
The power for the mill was a steam boiler and engine. Wood was the fuel, and it seemed that boiler could never be satisfied. When it was out of wood, the water injector would fail because of the dirty water which it pulled from an irrigation canal on whose banks it stood. Those were trying times.
An incident occurred here which made quite an impression on me. There was a foot bridge, about two-foot wide over the canal near the mill, and kids used to get on it and dance up and down on it. There was quite a spring to it. One day, my sister Gladys and, I think, Jennie and Edna Merrill, two cousins, were playing on the bridge when Gladys lost her balance and fell into the canal. The other girls screamed and yelled for Uncle Tom, my father, and in my excitement I ran into the mill yelling "Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom," trying to tell him of the accident. Of course, father rescued my sister. They had a great deal of fun teasing me afterward.
Another thing happened here that year. Some people named Kreager moved into a place near the mill. There were two boys, Otto, about one year older and, Freddie, about one year younger than I. We became friends, and it was quite a trial for my father to either keep them out of the way or keep track of me.
One day on my way to the store for my mother, I found Otto and Freddie playing in the street near the Jacobsen Store. They each had an old school note book. They would tear out a leaf, take a hand full of dust from the road, then wrap it up in the paper like a leaf and throw it at each other or anything. It would break as it struck and scatter dust around like a bomb exploding. As I passed by, one of them threw one of the papers at me. It struck me right in the face, filling my eyes so that it was some time before I could see. The longer I dug at my face, the madder I got. As soon as I could see, I charged for the nearest boy, which was Otto. It was my first fight. We wrestled and fought in the dirt of the street, but neither would give in. We had a few spectators including Uncle Dave and Martin Jacobsen. We fought near the R.R. track and as Otto backed, he tripped on the rail and went down on his back with me on top of him. I was mad enough to kill him if I could. But as I was on top of him, his brother picked up a coil of baling wire and struck me across the butt causing me to let go of my opponent. I guess Uncle Dave thought we had had enough because he grabbed me and held me while Martin took care of Otto. I bit and fought my uncle until he had to cuff me to make me behave. I don’t know who won, but we were a bit cool toward each other after that. I think it was from these boys that I learned to swear and even profane. Later it was very hard for me to overcome this bad habit. In fact, part of it still is with me.
In the fall of 1899, my father was called by the Church to go on a special mission. The Church was trying to have a Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Association in every ward in the Church. Many wards didn’t seem to take to the idea, so father with others were sent out on full-time missions to help convince the people and the Bishops that the YMMIA was a good move. The missionaries also helped in the actual organizing of the ward groups.
While father was away, our family went to live with my mother’s sister and family in a sparsely settled place called San Jose. It was about seven or eight miles from Safford. San Jose was a Mexican community, but they had some excellent land there. Many of the natives sold their farms to Mormon people. My uncles Dell Merrill and Will Bennett, who were husbands of mother’s sisters, Alice and Etta, had bought farms there, so it was here we went to live the winter of 1899 and 1900.
We lived with Aunt Alice. She had three girls at that time-Eliza, Jennie and Bee. We lived in a Mexican house built of adobe set on the ground. These adobes were about 16 inches long. The house was about 16 feet wide and 30 feet long. The house had no windows and only one door, no floor. The floor was smooth and hard as cement, but still dirt. The house also had a dirt roof. Later, the new owners cut some windows and put in a floor, but when we left it was still just one big room.
Also, the new settlers converted one of these Mexican houses into a schoolhouse and meetinghouse. During the first part of the winter, we had a teacher named Mrs. Dysart, but she quit or got sick. So the rest of the winter my mother taught the school. The children were about 1/2 Mexican, and I learned to speak their language pretty well.
In the spring, my father came back from his mission and informed the family that we were going to live in Utah. His labors while on his mission had taken him to northern Utah and southern Idaho, so before he left there he took a job selling some kind of kitchen cabinets.
About the first thing I remember about the move was that I wouldn’t have to chop and carry wood anymore because we were told that they burned coal in Utah. I hadn’t seen coal, but I sure thought it was wonderful stuff.
So the first day of May 1900 was a great day for me. I had no regrets at leaving my native land. I had my first ride on a train, and a long one. It was a wonderful adventure.
After’ a trip through New Mexico and Colorado, we landed in Salt Lake City about four or five days later. There I saw the first electric cars and horse drawn cabs. We rode in one of the latter to the home of my father’s oldest sister, Aunt Tillie King. The Kings lived on about 5th North and 2nd West at that time. After staying there overnight we were taken, by father’s youngest brother Frank, to Kaysville. He had brought a team to Salt Lake hitched to grandfather’s spring wagon. It was always referred to as "The Hack," and it was a long ride to Kaysville--22 miles.
What, with the excitement of meeting all my relatives, whom I had never seen, and renewing acquaintances with grandfather and grandmother who had visited us once in Arizona, it seemed that the journey would never end. Finally, it did, and there to greet us were father’s two younger brothers-uncles Fred and Orton. Aunt Etta was also still at home not having married yet.
A short time after we arrived in Kaysville, my grandmother took me to Sunday School and introduced me to many of the boys and girls of my age. Among these boys were Arnold Barnes, Amos Odd and Howard Larkin. Martha Barnes, usually known as Hattie, was the teacher of the class, and she made quite an impression on me. That was probably because I was a stranger, and she made quite a fuss over me in order to make me feel at home with the other boys and girls.
My stay in Kaysville was short lived however, a week or two at most. It was then that I had a chance to visit my Uncle Henry’s farm in Syracuse. I promptly fell in love with the place, and it has been home for me ever since. I suppose it was the farm life that attracted me most.
There were horses and cows, sheep and pigs on the farm, and I soon learned to do many things I had never done before. I could ride and milk before this, but what I had done was just for fun. Here I could take the cows to pasture about a mile from home, herd the sheep in the streets, and feed the pigs. But the most important thing, the one that gave me the greatest thrill of accomplishment, was that I learned to handle a plow all by myself.
In those days there was quite a bit of the ground in what we called "the bottoms" that was being plowed and winter wheat grown on it.
My Uncle Henry’s pasture was located 1/2 miles south of the corner which is one mile south of the Syracuse Church. It is now part of the George A. Rampton pasture. Well, part of that ground was being plowed that spring for summer fallow, and it was here I began my career as a farmer. I learned to plow with three horses hitched to what was called a 40 Oliver chilled plow. This plow was easy to handle. A very little pressure on the handle would keep it in an upright position. At the end of the furrow, we would just tip it over and drive along the headland; and then, as the horses came into position, we’d just lift one handle till the point took hold and it would straighten itself up and away we’d go. I really thought I had accomplished something when I could do this by myself. And then, when I first learned to put the harness on the horse by myself, that was another stride ahead.
The next year, Uncle Henry took about 40 acres of ground to plow on the Barnes farm, and I did a great deal of that plowing for him. In succeeding years, I hardly missed a year but what I earned a little by plowing on this farm. One year, I plowed 80 acres of the land across from the church house. That year the land was plowed twice, so I got in on both plowings, using George Rampton’s team. We used to figure on doing two acres per day and that year I got 1/2 of what was earned. We got $1.25 per acre for second plowing and this seemed like a pretty good wage in those days. I took a 14 miles walk behind the plow each day besides a mile home and back, and I had to take care of the horses.
In the fall of 1900, my folks came to Syracuse. We all lived at Uncle Henry and Aunt Bell’s. I don’t know how it was managed because there were only three rooms in their house, with what was called a summer kitchen out at the back. I know there were lots of beds on the floor, some slept on straw mattresses, or anything that could be found. I honestly believe that I slept on the floor as many times as I slept in a bed until I was 13 years old.
During the tomato season, most of the family worked at the canning factory which was located two miles west and 1/2 mile north of the church house. The factory was on the northwest corner of the James T. Walker farm. There was Uncle Henry, George, Elsie and Lizzie from that family then father and myself who worked at the cannery. We drove the approximately three miles in the "Whitetop," a canvas covered spring wagon, which had two seats. It had curtains that you could roll up in good weather, and it was considered a very up-to-date rig in those days.
The work hours were from 7a.m. to 6 p.m. with an hour for lunch. It was dark when we left and dark when we got home. My job was to run the slop wagons. This was a dump cart to which I hitched old "Brownie". I would back the cart up to the platform and as soon as there was a load of peelings and refuse from the peeled tomatoes to fill the cart, I would take it out back of the factory and dump it on the ground. Then I’d go back for another load. I also helped the slop carriers move the slop to the cart. For this I was paid 75 cents a day, 25 cents of which went for the use of the horse.
Father and Uncle Henry helped with the cooking and stacking of the tomatoes. George did what was called venting the cans, and Elsie and Lizzie peeled the tomatoes.
Canning machinery was pretty crude in those days. That year every can had to be soldered by hand. The can lids were not as large as the can, probably 1/2 inch smaller all the way around. The lid came with a ring of solder on the outer edge and a small vent hole in the middle. To seal the lids, one used a soldering iron that just fit the lid. The lid had a hole through the middle, so that a rod could run through it. One rod was sharp and the other had a handle. Above the heated part of the iron was also a handle. When the iron was hot, the operator brushed some acid on the lid then took the iron from the fire, dipped it briefly in some acid, then inserting the sharp end of the rod into the hole in the lid, let the iron down onto the pre-sealed red lid and proceeded to turn the iron back and forth until the solder melted and sealed the can. The cans came to the solder man in shallow trays, and they were paid by the number of cans soldered each day. Some of them made as high as $2.00 per day. After the soldering process, there was still the small hole to solder up. This was the job done by my cousin, George Williams. I think he held it for several years.
Well, after the canning season was over, my father took a job teaching at the main school in Syracuse. This building was a one room school, located where the present school is. The structure is still a part of the building.
Our family then moved into a small two room log house which stood about 1 3/4 miles west of the church house. On the corner, a short distance from this house, was the original Syracuse schoolhouse, having been used as school, church, and for all other public gatherings until the first meetinghouse was constructed about 1896, on the present sight of our modern church.
It was in this school that I began my educational career in Utah. An attempt was being made to grade the schools at this time. The first five grades went to this school and to another one located on the corner, one mile north of the church. The older students went to the central school where my father taught.
When I began going to school, I got acquainted with more of the boys and girls of my age. But there seemed little that made much of an impression on me that winter except that one day the teacher caught me whispering when I should have been learning, and I got a good whack across the shoulders with a ruler.
This brought me to attention fast. This is the last time any teacher ever laid a ruler on me that I can remember. I’m sure there were many times I needed it, but I didn’t like it. I did not blame the teacher for the rap and never did feel any bitterness toward him. He was always my good friend until he died. His name was Erastus Fisher.
School only lasted about six months in those days, but I didn’t stay in the whole year. In the spring, Uncle Henry wanted me to go up on the sand ridge with George to take care of his sheep. So the folks let me quit school and go with him.
Our first camp was located about 3/4 to one mile east of the south gate to the Arsenal. This was all open country then, covered by sage and rabbit brush for the most part. The canal hadn’t been dug very long, and we watered our sheep in the canal each day. We were just pasturing the sheep here until the snow went off the mountains so they could be moved up there. I was there about two months.
Two other things stand out in my memory about this time. One is that none of the dogs would work for me at first, and I nearly ran my legs off trying to control those sheep. I believe I learned to hate sheep there and have never cared about them since, herding them, that is.
Second, George was mortally afraid of snakes and to play a joke on him one day, I killed a harmless blow snake and laid him in the groove which the camp door slid in. In order to open the camp door, one usually put his hand over this groove when the sliding door was opened. So when George came into lunch, he reached up and took hold of that snake. Somehow George didn’t see the point of that joke. He let out a yelp you could hear a mile away, then turned white as a sheet, then started out for me. I wasn’t fast enough to get away from him, and I took quite a whaling from him. I swore I wouldn’t help him anymore, but shortly after dark I was willing to come in out of the cold and get something to eat. However, I got it back on him. One day, our best dog disobeyed him so he got mad and gave the dog a good thrashing. From then on, I had the dog, for he never could get that dog to follow him, and the dog never worked for him again.
The third of these events I shall never forget. About once a week, Uncle Henry came to bring us supplies. One May day our school was going on a picnic and Uncle Henry had promised me he would let me go on this picnic. He said he would be up the night before with the supplies and I could go home with him. Well, late afternoon came, then darkness and no Uncle Henry. I was pacing the sage and listening for any sound that might indicate he was on his way. But nothing came. I suppose I must have wept a little in my disappointment. I refused to go to bed, but sat huddled on the wagon tongue waiting. Finally, I gave up all hope that he would come and decided I would go home anyway. So without a word to George, who was now asleep, I struck out for home on foot. It must have been six or seven miles to our house, with only two homes near the route I intended to follow, and these I would avoid. After crossing the canal bridge just north of what is now Clearfield, I struck out across the fields until I hit the R. R. spur leading to Syracuse. I then walked down the track until I was opposite our house, which was 1/4 mile away. The folks were quite surprised to see me when I arrived about midnight, but I went on the picnic, which was on the anniversary of our leaving our former home in Arizona. It had been an eventful year, in which I had learned to do a great many things. I am most grateful for all those experiences.
We lived in the old log house the summer and winter of 1901 and 1902. After school was dismissed in the spring of 1902, we moved into part of the Peter Christensen home a mile north of the church. We were very crowded here, so I spent most of my time working and boarding anywhere I could get a place.
It was this spring that my father bought 10 acres of ground, part of which had never been broken from sage and rabbit brush. This land was located 7/8 of a mile south and 1/8 mile east of the church. It had no frontage to a street, and was connected with the street by a two rod lane which was purchased from J. Fred Walker. My father paid $500 for this land.
So when school was out, we began to build us a house. We borrowed some teams and wagons and hauled rock from near the mountain for the foundation. I drove one team and father the other. There was one place on the way where we had to double up our teams to pull the loads through strips of sandy road.
I was 13 years old then and made a trip to Salt Lake City to get a load of lime from the kiln. I stayed all night at grandfathers in Kaysville then got up early, drove to the kiln in North Salt Lake, got the lime and then drove back to Kaysville in one day. It did seem like a long old trip for me.
I helped what I could around the house. I remember mixing mud for the rock masons. I thought they were trying to make the foundation of all mortar instead of using part rock. So I watched and helped the house grow all that summer.
Late that fall, the walls up, the roof on, and the two back rooms plastered, we moved into the new house. It was a fairly large house with three rooms, a "buttery" as it was called (later turned into a bath room and a large entrance hall downstairs). There were to be two bedrooms upstairs.
But for some years, we lived in the two finished rooms. In the summer, I slept in the unfinished front part. It was several years before the staircase was built and the upstairs bedrooms made usable.
In this new neighborhood, I became better acquainted with boys and girls of my own age. There was the Charles Barber family nearby. They had a well and for years all our water had to be carried from this well. I imagine it was at least 250 yards from our house. So it was natural that their son, Eljan, and I should become best friends. While there was a lot of difference in our natures, we became almost inseparable in everything we did.
Then there was the Willey family who lived on the bluff road only about 1/2 mile away "through the fields." On the other side were the two Baird families, Aunt Fannie and Aunt Ellen. They lived in log houses on the bluff road west of where the Clyde Hansen families now live. The head of these families, James H. Baird, was a blacksmith as well as a farmer, and he had a small shop about where Morris Hansen now lives. These were large families, but the boys of my age were Chance (called Chancey) and Orin. They were hard working boys, but we had a lot of fun together. I have always thought that it was through their good example and persistence, almost militant, teaching that I was able to overcome the habit of profanity, which I picked up before I came to this country.
About this time, there was another family who moved into the neighborhood. They were the Henry Smedley’s. They bought land 1/2 mile north of us and built a large brick house which they only partly finished when they moved in. There was Henry Jr. and Clarence, who became members of our gang.
It was about this time that I first became interested in any church activity. I had always gone to Sunday School and Sacrament meetings with the folks, but there seemed to have been nothing of any great importance happening since my baptism to cause me to remember much about it. But about this time, they began to hold priesthood meeting in the evening each week. Bro. Smedley was the leader of the deacons of the ward. Now, I hadn’t been ordained yet though I had attended a few meetings with the boys. When my name was presented, one of the boys reported to Bro. Smedley that he had heard me swear. So Bro. Smedley came to me and talked to me in a kindly way he had, and asked me if I thought I could overcome the habit. It was my first experience of that kind, and I shall always feel grateful to that man for the way he encouraged me. I have always held him up as one of the best influences in my life. He died shortly after this, but at least in one person his influence still lives.
With borrowed horse and equipment, we began to clear and level and get our 10 acres in shape to help make our living. We planted about four acres to apples and pears just as soon as we could get water on the ground. For a few years, we grew beets or tomatoes between the rows. The balance we planted into grain and hay. Then we began to collect bits of equipment as we could afford it. A plow was the first item we found. It was a steel plow, one of the first I had seen, and I still have the plow (1955). We got a cow and a small team, and a buggy to travel in. It took three or four years before we got even this much.
It fell to me to do most of the farming, as father tried to get a job at other things as soon as school quit for the summer. School lasted about six or 7 1/2 months.
Of course, I attended my father’s school for my sixth, seventh, and eighth grades. The spring of 1904, I graduated from district school. There were very few students that went beyond this, and at that time there were comparatively few who even went that far. I was in the second class ever to get that far in Syracuse, and there were only four of us--three girls and myself. They held county-wide commencement exercises and made quite an affair of it. I remember we had to go to Centerville for these exercises, and then we went to a dance. I took my first girl. She was Elma Cook, who later married Walter Steed. It seemed an awful long way to drive after midnight. I think we both went to sleep, leaving the horse to find his way home. It was getting light when I arrived home after taking Elma home.
I wanted to go on to school, but the next winter was a hard one so far as finances were concerned. I had to put school off. The next fall, however, the folks thought they could manage to let me go to the LDS University in S.L.C. I was to board with father’s oldest sister, Tillie King, and we furnished vegetables, fruit, and whatever we could from the farm to pay for my board.
I got along very well at school in most of the subjects. But in art and algebra, I was a flop. Oh, I made passing grades in algebra, but it was awfully hard for me. My teachers were among the best of the times. Bryant S. Hinckley, Miss Bitner, whom he later married, Mosiale Hale, Nephi Anderson and Lee Greene Richards, the artist, Miss Anne Cannon, and Edward P. Kimball, music. They could have made something of me, if I hadn’t been so dumb.
My higher education came to an abrupt end in March. For the past two years, father had been teaching what was then the only school in the north end of Davis County to teach anything above 8th grade. It was similar to our Jr. High’s of today, only I think he had only 8th and 9th grades. In midwinter, he began having severe pains in his legs which the doctors diagnosed as sciatic rheumatism. He had to give up the school, and I had to come home and look after the farm for him. He suffered terribly for about three months. When he was able to work again, he went to work for the Syracuse Mercantile Co., as clerk and lumber salesman. This also ended his teaching career.
The only other schooling I got after that was a three month missionary course at the LDS U. in Salt Lake City. I had most of the same teachers that were teaching while I attended the school a few years before. It was a great help to me in the mission field, when I arrived there about a year later.
In October of 1909, it was conference time in Salt Lake City, and Eljan Barber’s Uncle Ed Kent came to their place to visit. He had a contract to build the R.R. grade, or at least some of it, for the C.B. and Q. (Chicago, Burlington & Quincy) R.R. through the upper part of the Big Horn Basin in Wyoming.
He wanted Eljan and me to go with him. He wanted us to drive some of his teams on this grading job. He said we could board with him for 75 cents per day and that he would pay us $2.50 per day for our work. Later, when I drove four head of horses on a Fresno scraper, I received $2.75 which netted me $2 for my work. This was for 10 hours, beginning at 7 a.m. and ending at 6 p.m. At this time of the year, we went to work before daylight and quit after dark. We also had to tend our own horses. It was real tough going when the weather was below zero on the thermometer, which it often was.
Our shack we built ourselves. It was 16 foot square, single board thick and covered with tar paper. We built double deck bunks in one corner and a cook stove, a table and some benches completed the furniture. The floor boards were laid right on the ground. When the fire was low, it got real cold in there.
Eljan and I had the top bunk. During the coldest weather, the moisture from our breath froze to the roof boards until it was a half inch thick or more. We took turns getting up at 5 a.m. to feed our string of horses, and I believe that that was the toughest part of all, as we had no shelter for the horses.
There were some pretty tough characters working in that gang. I remember one fellow who proudly displayed the notches on his gun butt. I believe he had three. He claimed he’d killed these men in self defense.
But we lived pretty well to ourselves. Eljan’s Uncle Ed, his son, Golden (about 12 years and out of school), lived in our shack. Uncle Ed did not drive a team, but hustled feed for the teams, and us. Loveless Kent was his youngest daughter, and she cooked for us, but slept with another girl in another nearby camp. She was about 18 and a very beautiful girl. I don’t know why I didn’t fall in love with her, unless it was because every other young buck in the camp was, and this caused considerable friction and even a few fights. However, a fellow named Al Snedeker from Grand Island, Nebraska, won out, but not while I was in the camp.
It was while I was here that I received my call to go on a mission to Great Britain. I think my folks may have hurried this call along because they were worried about my being in such a place. Mother was pretty set against my going at all; and before I left, she extracted a solemn promise from me that I would stay chaste and leave liquor alone. This I managed to do, but it took quite a struggle and brought many a gibe from the fellows I worked with. However, I believe they really respected me for my stand.
The nearest town was Thermopolis, Wyoming, a resort town near the Big Horn Hot Springs where many people came for their health. There were more saloons than any other business in town and they handled more money than the bank. In one of these, I saw the only $1000 dollar bill I have ever seen. We went in occasionally on Sunday and Christmas Day. A few of the saloons had moving pictures, the only amusement in town. So mother had some cause to worry.
About March 1, 1910, we finished the grading where we were and because of the hard winter and the high cost of feed for our horses, we lost money. Every little contractor lost money. Because of the bond they were under, they lost their equipment and horses so they went back to their farms. I never did get the money I had coming. Ed Kent moved his outfit across the mountain to a place near Shoshoni, Wyoming. This had to be done by way of Montana, South Dakota, and Nebraska because there was no way to get through Wind River Canyon. But I didn’t go with them, but came on home to get ready for my mission. I was to leave on April 14 for England. I landed with about $15 in my pocket. That was all I got for that very hard winter’s work. I had sent home enough to pay my tithing and a little for the folks, but I wasn’t the only one who worked for nothing that winter.
Well, I came home and went to work on the farm trying to get the crops in before I was to leave. I didn’t quite finish.
In the meantime, Eljan Barber came home and got a Box B letter calling him on a mission. He was to go the same time as myself. We went through the temple together, and we were set apart for our missions.
On the morning of April 14, 1910, we were driven to the R.R. station in Clearfield in a wagon. We each took a trunk so it required a wagon. I remember it was pretty well loaded with our luggage and the two families. The R.R. station, at that time, was located just back of where the Clearfield State Bank now stands. Houses in that area were few and far between. Thus began the most profitable and happy time in my life. If at that time I could have seen all the things that would come into my life, whether I wouldn’t have backed out and stayed home, I don’t know. I suppose it’s a good thing we can’t see the end from the beginning. It would probably cause us considerable worry.
We had a very interesting trip. There were sixty-seven missionaries in the company. We were placed in charge of an Elder Mauglin from Cache Valley. I didn’t envy him his job, for some of the boys were pretty wild and hard to keep track of. We traveled by way of Omaha, Chicago, Cleveland, and Niagara Falls. We did some sight-seeing in Niagara Falls. Great chunks of ice were still racing over the giant cataract at this time of year, and it was quite a sight to us. Most of us were used to small rivers and streams.
At Albany, New York, the company split. Part were going directly to Portland, Maine, where they were to board a ship. The rest of us were going to New York City for a couple of days sight-seeing. It cost $8 extra for this side trip to the great city, but I enjoyed it. We also had a short time to visit in Boston, Mass.
I was greatly impressed with the scenery in the eastern part of the country. It was quite a change from the mountains and the part of the west I was used to.
We arrived in Portland, Maine, a day ahead of the sailing, and there we were met by Diamond Layton, who was laboring as a missionary in that city. He had the day off, so he showed us the sights of the city; and as we understood that we could get no ice cream in England we tried to eat enough to last us for a couple of years. This was a foolish thing to do just before embarking on an ocean voyage. As I went aboard the ship at 10 a.m. the next day, I felt pretty rocky. It’s the biggest wonder in the world, but I wasn’t violently seasick. I had to pass up lunch after being at sea for an hour; but by dinner time I felt better and never missed another meal.
Our ship was the "Canada" of the Dominion Line. During the summer months, she sailed from Montreal in Canada. She was 500 foot long and about a 1,000 ton ship, rather old and out of date. She carried no 1st class passengers, so we occupied what used to be 1st class or the best rooms on the ship. There were not a lot of passengers on board. Besides the 67 Mormon missionaries, there were about an equal number of English ministers who had been attending some kind of convention in Canada.
One of these men was quite friendly with me, and I spent quite a bit of time with him during the 10 day voyage. He was somewhat of a naturalist as well as a minister. I was greatly interested in his talks. He had a powerful pair of binoculars through which he let me watch a school of porpoise and a whale. Our talks about religion were confined chiefly to events in Church history and the reasons we were on our way to the old country. He was very tolerant, and I enjoyed him very much.
I think it was May 1st when we finally arrived in Liverpool, England. To my delight, I was met by my Uncle Henry Williams who was laboring as a missionary in the Liverpool district. At the time, Liverpool was headquarters of the European Mission, and the mission home was located at 295 Edge Lane, an address well known to thousands of Mormon elders.
 |
| L.E. Williams |
It seems that not many wanted an assignment to Ireland, and when Pres. Penrose told one boy he was going to Ireland, the boy turned white and the rest of the fellows laughed. But when the Pres. told Eljan that he was to go there, I just thought he was going to pass out. He couldn’t speak and I felt very sorry for him. It was the last place in the world he wanted to go. He told me he was going to try to have it changed, which he eventually did. He was finally sent to Birmingham.
My assignment was to Manchester, only about 30 miles away. As I had no particular choice, it was all right with me. I was the only one going there, so I was instructed on how to get there. I was given the address of the district president.
This was one of the most discouraging things of my whole mission. I bid farewell to all the other boys who had been my companions on the trip to England. They were going to scatter all over Europe, and I had to get to the station and take a train for the last part of my trip.
It was a lonely ride to Manchester. I was even lonelier when I arrived. However, I had been given the tip that the English "Bobby" was just about man’s best friend if you were alone in a big city and didn’t know where to go, so I found this to be true. Many a time I have gone to a Bobby and asked him for directions, when I seemed hopelessly lost in those winding streets of most large English cities. So I found a Bobby and gave him the address. I asked him how to get there and by following his instructions I arrived at district headquarters. President Larsen of Lewiston, Utah, was there and he assigned me to the Stockport Branch. I labored with Elder Chas. A. Spruce. Elder Spruce was from Wellsville, Utah.
Pres. Larsen told me what train to take to get to Stockport. He also told me how to get to the elders lodge of Offerington Lane. I believe that was the loneliest ride I ever took. I could feel everyone staring at me. If I could have backed out then, I would have been glad to do it.
By the time I reached Stockport, it was getting dark. I was so confused I wasn’t sure which was straight up, but once again I found a Bobby and he told me another train to take which would put me near the lodge. Then I had to find my way on foot. After some time asking a lot of people, I found No. 10 Offerington Lane and knocked. I asked the lady who answered the door if the Mormon elders lived there. She said yes. Her name was sister Newton.
I was introduced to her family. There was Bro. Newton and children-Tom, Doris, Harold and Horace. Horace was quite a little fellow about three years old. He and I became great pals during the next six months. But right then, I was ready to weep with disappointment because the elders were away. I had to spend the night alone. The Newtons tried their very best to make me comfortable, but that night and the next day until the elders returned were bad. I was mighty homesick.
For the next two years, I kept a brief but quite complete diary of my activities. This diary is available to those interested in this brief sketch. However, there are a few things I would like to mention which are treated very briefly in my diary.
For about six months, I labored in Stockport where we had a nice branch with a few faithful men who held the priesthood. Except for the frequent street meetings, I enjoyed my work very much. I enjoyed the street meetings after they got underway, but it nearly frightened me to death to help get one started.
After about six weeks, Elder Spruce was released to return home. The President sent me an oldish companion who had been a bishop. But the worst thing of all, he made me the presiding elder.
This period was the hardest of my mission. This elder had relatives in a nearby town, and he left me a great deal of the time while he visited these people. He stayed with them a good many nights, leaving me alone to visit members of the Branch. But, he would always be on hand early in the morning to go tracting. That is about the only thing we did together. After awhile, I became so discouraged I asked the President to either send me a new companion or give me a new assignment. He was kind enough to comply. He sent me an elder who had been out six or eight months longer than I. But he still left me as presiding elder. I felt so inadequate, but Elder Wm. E. Mitten from Logan was such a wonderful fellow. He let me lean heavily on him until I was able to stand on my own two feet.
We held a lot of street meetings. I became a little braver and had greater confidence in myself It was during this first six months that I really learned to pray and depend on the Lord for guidance. I don’t know if I did any good to anyone else, but I believe I grew and my testimony got stronger each day. I learned to take responsibility, but it took all the extra meat off me that I had put on the first few months.
From Stockport, I was sent to Heywood on the side of the Conference. Here Elder Ed Whittle was the presiding elder. That was a relief to me. We had a nice branch with Bro. Thos. Hurst as S. S. Supt. He was an ex-preacher and a wonderful and faithful man. He had a large family, and they all helped in the branch. It was here Elder Whittle and I had some difficulty among our members. There was a couple whom we figured were very staunch. But when a young woman joined the church, this man fell in love with her and met her clandestinely. His wife found out and complained to us. We were placed in a difficult position, but we called the man in and had a talk with him. He admitted his seeing the girl. However, he said nothing had happened between them that he was ashamed of except that he wanted to marry the girl. Then he told us that he had never been married to the woman he had been living with and that he wanted to break off this relationship, still be a member of the church, and marry the girl.
This situation didn’t help us a bit and it was disrupting to the branch. So we had to go to the other woman for her side of the story. She readily admitted that they were not married. However, she said it was not too uncommon a thing in the country and that they thought nothing of it. She finally agreed that it was best to let her man go as she wanted to be a member of the Church. She was willing to make amends and be baptized under her true name. This was done. This was quite an experience for a couple of young fellows like Elder Whittle and me.
About this time, there was a woman novelist called Winifred Graham who began writing anti-Mormon novels. It seemed she turned out a book every few weeks. One of them was made into a moving picture that was shown all over the country. The newspapers and magazines began writing articles against the Church. Some of the rankest stuff ever to be published against the Church was published.
Because of this agitation, we elders became the object of taunts, mudslinging, and other indignities. Street meetings were also impossible.
Finally one Sunday evening as we were holding our service, a large mob assembled outside. A prominent minister in Heywood came to the door and told us we would have to leave Heywood. He said they would give us a week to get out. He added that we must agree to do so right then and there or suffer the consequences of the mob outside. We asked for time to consult the president of the district, but this was denied. So after consulting with members of the branch, we gave him our word that we would go. This was the first branch of the Church to be closed in England because of mob violence during this period. But, others followed in different parts of the mission. Our district lost one more, the Bury Branch. For about a year after that, the elders in the land had a very difficult time.
I was sent to the Bolton Branch. This was the only city in the whole district where we could hold street meetings and such. The town hall square was open for such meetings, and the police gave us protection. However, I doubt if we did much good. Wherever we went we were pointed out. It wasn’t uncommon to have mud thrown at us as we walked down the street.
We tried to keep some contact with our members in the closed branches, and one day I went to Bury to visit a member who was sick. As I was leaving to catch a train, I passed a schoolhouse. As I walked along, a crowd began to follow me. Grown men and women egged the children on to throw mud or anything they could get hold of. I tried to ignore them at first, but finally felt compelled to turn and speak to them. I told them that I didn’t think they were displaying that British fair play I had heard so much about. Somehow, I felt calm and unafraid as I stood in the center of the street and faced those people. I don’t believe they would have done anything serious, but they were just relishing the discomfort of a fellow who was outnumbered. After a few minutes, I walked on without any more trouble. But I had a very dirty overcoat.
In the spring of 1911, I was moved into the city of Manchester-to the headquarters of the district. But we didn’t live in the city. I was made branch president. Elder Ben Layton of Cardston, Canada, and I found lodgings in a suburb called Altringham. It was a residential area in which many of the well-to-dos and middle class had moved. They commuted to their work in town. This was rather difficult work as it was hard to come in contact with the people. The people we saw were chiefly the servants of the household. We would send in our card, but we were mostly turned away.
In late summer, we moved back to town and lived at headquarters. There were four of us. Wm. E. Mitten was now president and the clerk, George Parker, was from Alberta, Canada. I had charge of the branch, which was the largest in the district. However, things were pretty difficult because of the persecutions. In Manchester we owned our meeting place. It was a converted dwelling, but it was quite nice. I don’t believe the persecution affected the faith of the saints. Rather it helped to draw people closer together. But, they also had their difficulties, and a few asked to have their names taken from the records of the Church.
About the first of November, Elder Mitten was released, and I was selected to be the president of the district. This task I approached with fear and trembling. There were about 25 missionaries, some older and more experienced that I. But, Pres. Rudger Clawson said I was to take over, so I did. I selected Elder Harley Greaves from Preston, Idaho, as clerk.
About this time, the chief paper in the city published an article by a prominent minister of the city. He charged that the Mormons were running a monastery in the section of town in which we lived. The paper sent a reporter out to find out about us. He was very nice, and he published the statement I gave him as to our purpose in the city.
Then for the next week or so, this preacher blasted the Church. I answered him in the next issue. This was out of my line, but I did the best I could. Then, finally, I got hold of a statement by the former U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt. It was a statement Roosevelt made about the Mormons. This seemed to settle the argument. The paper was very fair in giving us space to answer our detractors.
The publicity we got from the articles was bad for us. Our landlady’s minister read them and when he found out we were living in the house of one of his members, he told her she must turn us out. I think she was genuinely sorry to give us notice, but the man had too much power. Consequently, we had to go house hunting. This too was very difficult because as soon as people found out who we were they wouldn’t let us in.
We finally located a place with an elderly widow and her daughter. These people had known better times, and they needed the money very badly so they let us in. This was the best place I lived in. The furniture, especially the beds, were like nothing I had every slept in, but I wasn’t as comfortable as I was in the old place. Our former landlady had had us so long that she had learned what to expect from those full of life Americans.
During this time, Pres. Clawson invited me to come down to the Birmingham District to attend their conference. Conferences were held semi-annually in each district. This is the district where Eljan Barber was, and the district president was Albert T. Smith of Clearfield. I had known Pres. Smith before I left home.
Pres. Clawson called upon me to speak in the Sunday morning meeting. The meetings were held in a large hall and there were several hundred people in attendance. Feelings ran high against the Church, and many of those present came out of curiosity, some even to disturb. I was the first speaker. I had hardly got started when some fellow in the center of the audience began to shout and heckle me. Somehow I wasn’t frightened by the disturbance. I really don’t know what I said. I was completely carried away. Later, Pres. Clawson told me I had really called the fellow down and made him ashamed so everyone sat quietly until I had finished. There were no more disturbances during the conference. Never before nor since have I ever been so completely under the influence of the spirit of the Lord.
During the winter, Pres. Clawson called all of the district presidents from the British Isles to a special president’s conference, to be held in Sheffield. This lasted three days and was a highlight of my mission experience. We discussed our problems and how to solve them. Altogether it was a wonderful gathering.
We still had our problems in Manchester. For sometime we had used the Charlton Town Hall for our conferences, but because of the agitation and publicity about us the council said we couldn’t use it any more. It was a nice place, clean and well suited to hold our meetings, but they said no. So for nearly two weeks, I looked for a place to hold our meetings. I tried motion picture houses (they were closed on Sunday) and every place I could think of, but they all said no. We finally did find a big barn or a place which was not to clean, larger than I thought we needed, but it was the best we could do.
Because of its location, I expected we might have trouble, but I guess our prayers were answered. We had the largest crowd we had ever had at a district conference. The place was not too big and not a bit of trouble. It seemed that people were not taking as much stock in the Graham stories as at one time.
I often wonder if it may not have been because the Lord had a hand in it. At the conference, Pres. Clawson came to our district on a Friday evening. He stayed with us until Sunday evening. While he was with us, I asked if he would lead us (that is the Elders in the lodge) in our evening prayer. I shall never forget that prayer. In it, he asked the Lord to curse Winifred Graham and her books that they would not have any influence on the minds of the people. I would never have dared to utter such a prayer, but I think it was well within the right of an apostle of Jesus Christ to ask God to curse someone who, under the influence of Satan, had caused so much trouble and misery to the members of His Church.
It was through fasting and prayer of all of the missionaries in the British Mission that the power of the mobs was broken. It was decided by the president that we must make a stand or be driven out of the country. And as the Birkenhead Branch was the last to receive an ultimatum to leave, it was decided that this would be the place we’d make our stand. So everyone in the mission fasted from Friday evening until after the meeting was held at Birkenhead in defiance of the mob. They were there all right, but created no disturbance nor did they do any violence to the elders when they left the meeting on their way home. After these events, the persecution seemed to die out, as if it no longer had any motivating power.
Outside of a little internal disturbance in the Manchester Branch, work in the district went on more smoothly until I was released in May of 1912 to come home.
This incident in the branch had somewhat of a humorous cast as I look back on it now. However, at the time, it had no humor in it. It was common practice for the elders to do baptizing in their turn. At best, none of us got to baptize many people, and it was rare for us to perform this ordinance for persons who we may have helped convert. It happened to fall to my lot to baptize a woman and her daughter. The woman being around 37 or 38 and the girl about 18. And as they were lined up when they were confirmed, I also confirmed this woman a member of the Church.
Soon after, I began getting letters from this woman, which at first I couldn’t understand. I answered a few. Then every day in the morning mail I would receive a letter from her. She finally came right out and said she loved me and thought I was sent over there especially to find her and bring her to America. I was genuinely alarmed and at my wits end to know what to do. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t tell my companion, and this is where I made a mistake. That is why missionaries are sent out two by two. But after earnest prayer, I thought it best to go see her and have a show down and try to get her mind straight.
So, I took Elder Greaves with me and went to call upon this lady. I still hadn’t told Elder Greaves the whole story, and I didn’t know what I was going to do or say. What was more disturbing, I didn’t know how she was going to react to what I said. She greeted us cordially and after our greetings I said to her that I couldn’t quite understand her writing as she had. I said I couldn’t think of her as she seemed to think of me thinking and that it wasn’t the business of an elder to think of any woman in that way. Her eyes snapped and she became very angry. She said that she would never shake hands with a man as long as she lived. That was all and we left. Elder Greaves was terribly embarrassed as was I, but I was glad it was over and out in the open.
I expected her to leave the church, but she was still attending meetings when I left. I am sure many an elder was mystified when she put her hands behind her back and refused to shake hands. I never have heard if she ever relented and consented to shake hands.
These are a few of the outstanding things that were part of my missionary experience. Now, about 25 months had gone by and I was ready to go home. Eljan had just been waiting for me to be released. When it came time to go, there was a large company of emigrants coming to this country from all over Europe. I was asked to take charge of them. But I told Pres. Clawson, I would like to come home by another route. This ship was to land at Montreal, Canada, and I wanted to go to New York City. So I asked him if he would give myself and three other elders the price of our tickets and let us book our own passage. This he did.
This is the reason why four of us came to New York on the Luisitania, one of the fastest ship at that time. We had to buy 3rd class tickets in order to make the money we were given last until we got home. The sinking of this ship by a German submarine five years later brought the United States into World War I.
We reached New York in five days. We spent two days sight-seeing and then took a night train to Niagara Falls. We spent the next day taking in the sights there and then our next stop was Detroit. From Detroit we went to Chicago. We managed to spend our nights on trains and did our sight-seeing in the daylight. Thus we visited St. Louis and Kansas City. We wanted to go to Independence, Missouri, but could not manage the schedule. When we reached Denver on Decoration Day, we were so tired that we decided to go to bed instead of sight-see. We hadn’t had our clothes off for five days. We did all our sleeping in chairs in the train cars. It took almost our last cent to get us a hotel room, but we had to give into exhaustion. So, after a good rest, we took the morning train through the mountains. We arrived in Salt Lake on Saturday. We decided to stay until the next day, so we would be rested up before we got home. We went to the home of Uncle Fred Williams and asked if we could stay the night as we didn’t have the money for hotel fare.
The next day, June 2nd, we had completed our missions, and we began thinking about what we would do to make a living.
I thought I would like to study law, but lacking money for school, I signed up for a correspondence course. Father managed to dig up about $75 for a set of law books and the course tuition. I started to read law. It was quite interesting at first, but so much reading at night just about ruined my eyes. I got some good marks on my papers, but I finally had to give it up.
And then I became interested in girls. There was one living in Evanston, Wyoming, whom I had never seen, but with whom I had been corresponding for some time. I had my introduction through her brother, Elder Ed Whittle, who was one of my companions. So for the 24th of July celebration, I went up to Evanston to see Kathryn Whittle. I wanted to see what she was like. I knew she was very good looking from photographs which I had. I found her to be a very intelligent and fun loving girl. She was a bookkeeper and cashier for a large implement firm in Evanston. I had a swell time while there, but found also a lot of competition for her favors. Her folks treated me like one of the family, but it didn’t seem like Kathryn and I would ever be more than just good friends. A month later, she came to visit me for a day or two. We had a good time together, but there seemed to be no deep feeling between us. We each went our separate ways.
There was another girl I thought I could get along with through life, but she was engaged to another fellow so that was out. So I was more or less drifting along without any ties. I was enjoying myself. I liked my work as a S.S. teacher in the Church. I was also looking over the girls in town. There were some very lovely girls, but most of them seemed to have steady beaus, and I didn’t seem to have an attraction for them nor them for me.
One afternoon after meeting, I was talking to one of the younger girls (Mary Golda Walker). She didn’t seem to have a steady, so I asked her if I could call and take her to what we called a conjoint meeting in the evening. And to my surprise, she accepted. I was passed 23 at that time and she was not quite 18. I wasn’t quite sure how she would receive such a request from an old fellow like me.
Ours certainly could not be called a case of love at first sight. That date and subsequent dates we had were casual affairs. But as I got to know her better, she seemed to grow on me. Our dates became more frequent, and soon I began to invent all kinds of excuses to get to see her. She seemed to have no objection and her folks treated me well. I was encouraged to keep on with the courtship. For by this time, I had made up my mind she was the girl for me.
However, it wasn’t until early the next summer that I found the courage to tell her of my love. I remember we were nearing our home in a buggy I had bought that spring with the old horse we called "Pruce" just walking along in no hurry at all. Finally, I told her that I loved her and would like her to be my wife.
The effect of my announcement was certainly different than I expected. She became agitated and began to tremble and shake. She could hardly control herself. I hurried her home and took her to the house immediately. Usually, I went in for a time if it wasn’t late, but not this night. She trembled and shook till she could hardly control herself. But I was greatly encouraged by the first kiss, which she gave me while we were locked tightly in each others arms.
I went home elated and happy. However, I was just a little puzzled by what had happened. I remember I slept very little that night.
On our next date, my sweetheart was a lot calmer and we discussed our future with more coherence. But we were both under somewhat of a strain. I asked her if she loved me, and she answered that "she guessed so." She did concede that she liked me better than the other boys. And so, I set about making love to her in earnest because I had decided she was the only girl for me. Before long, she said she was sure she loved me and would marry me as soon as she graduated from high school.
I readily agreed to this because I had no job and no place to house a wife. I set about making plans for a place to make a home. I had been operating the farm, trying to repay the folks for what they had spent on me. All I had was a horse and buggy.
Golda graduated the next spring, 1914, from the North Davis High School, a three room school one mile north of the Church. But we couldn’t see our way to getting married until the next fall. The date was f i nally set for December 16, 1914. As it was to late to build a house that winter, we decided to live with the folks until we could build a small house on a piece of land I had exchanged for my horse. It was located in the northwest corner of my father’s farm.
In the meantime, my father was defeated in the school election for board member. However, he had been offered a job as clerk of the board-a full-time job. This left the job open at the Syracuse Mercantile Co. This job was offered to me, and I accepted it at $60 per month. I went to work as soon as crops were harvested, moving the lumber and coal shed to the west side of the road, near the store building, which was located across the street on the Holbrook farm.
It was while I was thus engaged that my wedding day came around. The weather was cold, but the ground bare and frozen hard so the roads were good. We set out at 1 a.m. from Golda’s parent’s home. Our mothers in one buggy and we in another. We were headed for Layton where we were to catch a Bamberger train to Salt Lake City. I guess we let the horses take it too easy because we were just unhitching them when the train went through. We tried the Short Line R.R., but there was no train so we had to wait until the next Bamberger. When we arrived at the temple, we were too late for the chapel service. But the brethren let us go through the temple. It was quite a relief to me to find we could get married that day.
I had been through the temple before, but I remember very little that occurred that day. The ceremony was performed by a Bro. Adolph Madison, at the alter just off of the celestial room. And I will never forget that in that ceremony, Golda was to be my wife for time and all eternity if we lived worthy of this blessing.
We got out of the temple about 3 p.m. and not having had anything to eat since 5:30 a.m. we thought we would have something before we went home. But our mothers said they needed to get home and get ready for the reception that evening. They said they would go then and we could come on the next train. We just sat down in the restaurant when they burst in. They had forgotten to get their tickets from me. Then they insisted on us going with them, so they could make sure we would get to the reception. So, we went without anything to eat. We got home about 6 p.m., very hungry and cold.
The reception turned out to be an all night affair. Some of the gang elected to keep us up all night. The next day, I took borrowed chairs back to the Church, but did not go to work. I went to work the next day and every day thereafter so we had no honeymoon. We took that many years later when the children were able to look after themselves for a few days.
The small house we had built was ready by April 1, 1915. We moved in on that day. We were very happy there except that Golda soon began what they called morning sickness. I sure felt sorry for her, but I was powerless to do anything about it. Money was scarce too. Out of the $54 we had left after tithing, about half went on our lumber bill for the house so we had to be very careful.
By the fall of 1915, Father was tired of driving to Layton every day to catch a train to work so he decided to move to Kaysville. He offered to let us live in their house. We accepted, and in November we moved into the old house. We made it our home until April of 1942 when we moved into our present home.
We rented our home to Eljan Barber and his wife Vera. I believe their son Max was born in that house.
I worked at the store until the spring of 1916. I felt like I could do better on the farm than I was doing so I asked Uncle Dan Walker, the manager, to give me a raise to $75 or I felt I would have to give up the job. He felt the company couldn’t afford that much, so I went back to farming.
The folks offered to sell me the farm if I could raise $200 so they could buy a home in Kaysville. They offered to take a second mortgage for the balance of $3,000. So, I borrowed the rest from the Barnes Bank and I was in the farming business again. Besides the 22 1/2 acres in the folk’s farm, Golda’s folks gave us five acres and a cow for a wedding present.
There was a war going on over in Europe so that prices of farm products were pretty good, and I did very well. We had a very hard winter in 1916-17 and food was very scarce. I happened to have quite a lot of hay which sold for as much as $40 per ton in the spring. So after a year or two, I was able to pay enough of the loan that I was able to borrow enough to pay my folks what I owed them. They then bought the place in which they lived for the rest of their lives.
On April 16, 1917, the U. S. declared war on Germany and a draft law was passed by Congress. Many of the local boys either volunteered or were drafted and on their way. There were some who could claim exemption, among them, farmers. But I didn’t apply feeling sure I could not pass the physical examination. When my number was called up, I went to take the physical exam, but was told by the Dr. that I would be exempted because of my eye. I had an accident when I was about six years old and that caused almost total blindness in my right eye.
The war brought good prices, and I did well for about three years. Beets were $11 and $12 per ton and tomatoes $18, $19, and $20, so by hard work we prospered. In those days, we did most all our own work. Thinning beets, planting tomatoes, and we did practically all the harvesting. From late August when tomatoes were in until December 1st or later we really didn’t have to work.
I had four good horses and kept them busy nearly all the year around. I also had quite a few cows. I had bought a 40 acre pasture 1/4 mile south from the south west corner of Section 15.
And, of course, animals weren’t our only increase. Our daughter, Dorothy, was born on December 13, 1915, and Reed came along on September 27, 1918. Christine came to us on September 6, 1920.
The year 1920 turned out to be a little difficult for us. We had a sliding scale contract with the Sugar Company. When sugar dropped from $28 a sack to about $4 or $5 the beet growers were hit pretty hard. We got $5 per ton that fall, and I had fifteen acres, some on rented ground. But we got by somehow. At least, we had plenty to eat because we grew most of our food the farm.
Things got better during the 20’s, and we were able to turn our old pantry into a bathroom. We added water to the house in 1926. By 1929, we had done quite a bit of improving. By trading and buying, 1 had 15 acres more ground and had it all in one piece. But I had raised my debt up to $6,500.
We also welcomed three more children: Pauline, born December 29, 1922, James on January 14, 1925, and Mary on December 31, 1926. In the next seven years, we had the misfortune to lose three babies, from a few hours to three days after birth. We were greatly saddened by this, but felt assured that each of these young spirits were given a body and that they would be ours in the eternal worlds. The names and dates of their births and deaths are as follows: Alan W., December 16, 1928, Fred, December 5, 1930. He died December 8th. Martha, May 29, 1933. Martha lived three hours and we had great hopes that she would survive. However, it seemed it was not to be. This was the end of our increase and we have always been very grateful to our Heavenly Father for these children. We’ve always prayed that we might be worthy of them, and be able to teach them the things we felt would bring them the greatest joy and happiness in life. They have always been willing to help out, and sometimes I feel that if things had been different, and we hadn’t had to work so hard, we might have been able to provide them with a lot of things they needed which were denied them.
By 1929, we felt that things were running smoothly and everything would be all right for us. Then came the stock market crash in October of that year. The effect didn’t get down to us farmers immediately, but we did feel it. By 1930, I had reduced our debt to about $5500, and we still felt secure. Then came the drought of 1931. On top of that we had what was called the white fly in the beets. This reduced yields very drastically. Then the banks began to fail and close their doors. When Roosevelt was inaugurated in March of 1932, he ordered all banks to close their doors. The Deseret Savings Bank, which was in a state of chaos, held our note. The Deseret Bank was one of those that failed, and they began pushing debtors to pay what was owed them. Of course, only the interest on my note was collectable, and I managed somehow to pay this in 1932.
But the crops were poor and 1933 was very difficult. The receiver of the bank advised me to try to re-finance my loan through the Federal Land Bank of Berkeley. He helped make out the application forms, which had to go through the Farm Loan Association in Farmington. Edward B. Clark, was the president of the association, and he and other directors helped greatly in getting the loan through. The most the Land Bank would loan was $4800, so the bank in Salt Lake City decided they would accept it and write off about $700 as a loss. This was better than the average for the bank depositors because they only got about 70% of their money back.
But in 1933, I couldn’t meet my payments. In 1934, it was worse than ever. From eight acres of beets, 1 harvested 2 1/2 tons that year and tomatoes we couldn’t pick enough to can for ourselves. The only thing I had was hay and some corn I planted late on some beet ground that I dug the beets from.
Fortunately, Congress postponed these payments and just added them on the end of our contract. If it hadn’t been for this, we could have lost everything we had accumulated by the hard labor we had performed throughout all those years. And this was hard on the children. It was the time when they should have been preparing themselves for a better future.
By 1935, the outlook became brighter. We had more water. Government men had developed a beet that resisted the white fly, and we began to prosper again.
That year I took a job with the State Tax Commission to classify all farm ground in Davis County. This was done to equalize the tax burden on farm land in the county. To start there were three of us, but the job was so big two more were brought in and we had two teams instead of one. For this, I was paid $5 per day. We didn’t finish until late in the winter. The family pretty well took care of the farm and things were better for us.
I was made a director of the Farm Loan Association, and in 1937 I was given an expense free trip to the bank in Berkeley, where a convention was held. They arranged it so that we could take our wives at a very reasonable rate so we made quite a pleasant trip out of it. The World’s Fair was in progress in San Francisco so we were able to see part of that. It was about the first real holiday my wife and I had had in all those years together.
Our family was now growing up. Some of them ready to leave and make a home for them selves. Dorothy was the first to leave. She had graduated from Weber College and was working in the Scowcroft Canning Factory where we were selling our tomatoes. While she was there, she met a young fellow by the name of Melvin Davis. He seemed to have fallen in love at first sight. I guess it was mutual, for she brought the problem to us and wanted to know what she should do. This was our first experience with this kind of problem, and we pleaded for time to think it through. Melvin was a fine boy and we liked him, but he was still a member of the Aaronic priesthood and we wanted them to be married in the temple. He began to put himself in shape to be ordained an elder, but sufficient time to do this was not allowed to them before they wanted to get married, so we gave our consent with the hope they could go to the temple as soon as possible. They were married by Bishop A.O. Stoker on June 24, 1937. They got them a place in Ogden, and he continued his work at Scowcroft, for a time. By this time, Christine had gone to school for one term at Weber College then to work as a kind of nurse maid to a well-to-do young couple in Ogden. Reed had decided he didn’t want to farm so he started to attend a trade school at Weber College. He wanted to be a mechanic.
And then another war began in Europe. This time with Germany and Italy as the aggressors. It seemed only a matter of time before we would be involved. In 1940, a new draft law was put into operation and many of our boys were being sent to training camps. Bases at Hill Field and the Arsenal and 2nd Street began a great building campaign. Reed got him a job as a surveyor at the Arsenal. They were adding about 100 new warehouses, besides a powder plant, shell loading places, and a repair depot for heavy ordinance. So we almost had boom times again.
In 1939, I took over the farm and home of Golda’s parents. It was heavily mortgaged so by raising $500 in cash I bought Joseph J. Walker’s equity in the farm and assumed the mortgage on the place. I bargained with Golda’s mother for the lower part of the farm. I was to pay her $25 per month as long as she lived or until I paid her $2000. This gave me a 70 acre farm.
It was unlevel and full of alkali, and generally in very bad shape. I spent several hundred dollars leveling the lower part of the farm, but didn’t get it right and have been doing some ever since. The Mexicans ran it for two years and then moved off.
I got Irvin Cox to come down from Woodruff to operate the Walker farm. He came in March of 1940 and worked it for two years, when we made a great change. In the light of future events, it was probably the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. But right then, I couldn’t see far into the future. I figured it was the right move.
About this time, we were getting near the time when we would be drawn into World War II. In December 1941, the Japs attacked Pearl Harbor and Reed enlisted in the Air Force, and he was sent to school in Illinois. In the spring of 1942, I was offered a good price for the farm where we lived. We could pay all our debts, fix up the house on the Walker farm, and have some money left over. It sounded pretty good so we made a change.
I had to do something about Irvin Cox so we looked around for a place. I put up $3000 and we bought the twenty acre farm owned by Leon Waite, one mile east and a mile and a half south of the Church. We got a Federal Land Bank loan for the balance. Irvin was to pay me as fast as he could and keep up the payments on the other loan.
A month or two later, the Navy came into the district and took about 700 acres of the best land in the county. They paid $700 per acre for this land, and a land boom was on. If I hadn’t sold out so soon, I’m sure I could have gotten double for our farm than what I did get. But there is always the old "if."
So, April 1, 1942, we moved down where we now live. I began remodeling the old house and tried to run the farm at the same time. But there wasn’t much farm land then. So I did some more leveling, dug an open drain up the south side and all along the east side of a place owned by Pauline and her husband Claude E. McBride. We all call him "Mac."
In the early summer of 1942, I went to work at the Navy Base. They were just getting started. They paid carpenters $1.25 per hour with time and a half for all overtime hours. We were working ten hours a day, six days a week so the work was pretty good. I couldn’t pass up this chance, even if I had to let the farm go.
I was working ten hours a day trying to finish the house and farm. It was really a busy time.
Besides all this, two of our girls left us to make their own homes. They were both working at Hill Field, and both found boys they liked well enough to make their partners for life. Christine’s young man was a serviceman stationed there. His name was Ben F. Foster. His home was in Lake View, Oregon, but he had been away sometime in the service and had decided to make it a career He was every likeable young man, but he did not belong to the Church, and for this we were sorry, but did not feel inclined to make an issue of it. We hoped that someday he would join.
They were married May 25, 1942. Soon after this, Ben was transferred to some place in Missouri. He and Christine have been in the service ever since. This was to be expected so long as he was career military.
On November 17, 1943, Pauline and her young man, Claude E. McBride were married in the temple. They came to live in a small house we had here. It was part of the first store in the town of Syracuse, and was located on the road almost in front of our house. I had moved it just to the west of us.
This small house had recently been vacated by Dorothy and her family. They had purchased them a new
 |
| Golda & Lionel Williams |
During this time, James our youngest son, stayed on and helped with the farm. But he was now nearing 20, so we did not feel it right to try to have him deferred from the draft, so he soon was taken into the Army. After a brief training period, he was sent into the Pacific Theater, but missed the hard fighting that many of our boys had to go through.
Our youngest daughter, Mary, decided she wanted to get married. Her young man was our closest neighbor, Bruce Schofield. We thought they were too young, but could not discourage them, so they were married June 13, 1944, in the Salt Lake Temple. This was all our girls.
No comments:
Post a Comment