You will notice I have put the apostrophe before the S in Father’s Day because my last post and this post are a tribute to my Father—not to all fathers.
There are several more things I want to tell you about my Dad—I could have added them in my last post but it was quite long, as it was. This one will not be so long. I can hear your sighs of relief.
I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you the story I keep promising to tell about my brother, George. There were a lot of things he could not do and because he couldn’t, I was the beneficiary. I’m not glad he couldn’t do the things I did to help my Dad but I’ve always been happy about the time I was able to spend with my Dad. I don’t think either of my sisters had the opportunity to be with him as I was but I know my sister, Grace, feels the same way about Daddy as I. He was a great influence in our lives. My oldest sister, Ora, may also have felt about him as Grace and I do but I never had/took the opportunity to discuss it with her. She was 15 years older than I so she seemed more like an aunt or other relative than a sister. I loved her but I didn’t know her very well.
Let’s get back to George. I think one of my first memories is not really a memory, but more of an impression. I seem to remember being really young and feeling as though something was going on and I was not the center of attention. I see these shadowy figures moving around and the atmosphere was very hushed. I have the impression in my mind that my parents were very concerned about something. I was about 20 months old and I had the measles. In those days they were called red measles (not rubella/German measles). Perhaps they are just called “measles” now since German measles are called rubella. Measles are a terrible disease. Thank heaven there’s a vaccine for all of you.
George was getting over measles but he had developed complications (I believe they called it “measles encephalitis”) and he was extremely sick. He had to be watched and cared for 24 hours a day. Obviously, mom couldn’t watch him 24 hours a day so there were two or three women who took turns sitting with him every day. I don’t know how long this continued but he didn’t get any better—in fact, he was getting worse. My grandfather Black (Benjamin Daniel Black) was the Stake Patriarch. He was at our house and while he was there George took a turn for the worse. His temperature was over 106 degrees and had been for quite a while. Nothing they did seemed to help. Finally, George quit breathing. I think this is the point when I got the impression of the shadowy figures and the hushed atmosphere but that impression has been in my mind all of my life. The rest of what I am about to tell you mostly came from Grace. She was 11 and remembers it quite clearly. Also, I got bits and pieces from my mom but she didn’t like to talk about it much. I guess no one there knew about CPR at that time (1935) and shortly after George quit breathing my grandfather pronounced him dead. It was suggested at that time that it might be a good idea to give George a Priesthood Blessing which they promptly did---my grandfather pronounced the blessing on him. In a very short time George began breathing again. However, he was still very, very sick. The closest hospital was in Salt Lake City. They needed to get George to the hospital and do it very quickly.
There was a man in town whose name was Vernon Rowley. He had a big, fast car and he always drove it like a “bat out of you know where.” I seem to remember that he preferred Lincoln vehicles. Even then the Lincoln would go fast (I don’t know whether fast in those days was fast like cars are now but he always seemed to drive to the limit of the car’s capability). Someone suggested Brother Rowley would be able to get George to the hospital faster than anyone else in town. He was asked and he quickly agreed. Shortly after that, George was on the way to the hospital. A lady named Jenny Palmer went with him because she had a wonderful, soothing effect on George and could keep him calmer than anyone. Neither my Mom nor my Dad could go with him.
George was in the LDS hospital for four months. Daddy was able to make one trip to Salt Lake to be with him. My grandfather Black was in the State Legislature. The Legislature was in session for a period of time while George was in the hospital. Grandpa visited George regularly while he was in Salt Lake doing Legislature business.. The LDS hospital had a wing for children that eventually became the “Primary Children’s Hospital.” Apparently George had remarkable nurses and doctors.
George was so sick and he had that high temperature for such a long period of time that there was brain damage. He was a little “slow” after that. I wouldn’t say that he was retarded because he never seemed to me to be retarded but he was “slow.” He had to learn to walk and talk all over again. They gave him a lot of physical therapy in the hospital but his muscle coordination was never very good. If you were to see him walking down the street and if you didn’t know who he was you would probably think he was drunk. He never was, of course. He was just clumsy. He used to stumble and fall a lot as a child. He never was able to ride a bicycle or drive a car. As an adult, his walking became smoother but he never walked “normal.” I should tell you now that he did graduate from High School—not with A’s, but he was able to graduate. Eventually he went on a Mission to the Spanish-American Mission (Arizona, New Mexico and part of Texas, I believe) and he learned to speak Spanish which he remembered all of his life. He had an incredible ability to memorize. He did get married and he and his wife, Glenna, had three remarkable children--one daughter and two sons. Glenna was a “wild woman” but that is a story for another day.
Now you know why Daddy couldn’t have George helping with the farm equipment. That is the reason I had the privilege of spending so much time working with my Dad.
When I was about eight years old, Daddy was able to buy a United States flag. We didn’t have a proper flag pole. We didn’t even have one of those things that people put on the side of their house in which to stick the pole that came with the flag. It was just a flag on a six foot wood pole. The first Fourth of July after he got the flag he came and woke me before the sun was up and asked if I wanted to help him put up the flag. I did. I got up and got dressed. At higher altitudes it always cools off at night (wonderful for sleeping) and by morning it’s pretty cold. I had to put a jacket on because my skinny little body was shaking with the cold. I went outside to find Daddy and I asked him where he was going to put the flag. He told me he had an idea but it was going to take some work because he wanted the flag to be very high. We had one water tap on the west side of our house and one on the east side. There was a hose on the tap on the west side of the house that was stretched over to a pipe. The pipe was about 15 feet long and the hose fit in one end. The other end of the pipe was placed over the water trough for the cows. The trough was a 55 gallon metal barrel that had a piece cut out so the cows could drink (and the horses, too, when we had them). Daddy had water running into the barrel (water trough). He told me he was filling the trough because he needed the pipe and we wouldn’t be able to put more water in the trough until we took the flag down at sundown. When the trough was full, I turned off the water and Daddy took the hose out of the end of the pipe. He carried the pipe to the front (east) side of the house. He had already leaned the ladder against the roof of the front porch. He had a hammer and nails (in case he needed them) and he had some baling wire. (Baling wire was the “duct tape” of pioneer days). We used it for all kinds of things. He laid the pipe on the ground and climbed the ladder. I handed the hammer, nails and baling wire up to him (I had to climb part way up the ladder). Then he asked me to get the pipe and lean it against the roof over the porch. The pipe was made of cast iron and was quite heavy for me. I struggled with it but finally got it high enough that I could let it lean against the roof. With me on the ground and Daddy on the porch roof, we worried the pipe over to the high point of the roof. He did have to pound some nails into the roof. The bottom of the pipe was resting on the ground and leaning against the roof. That’s when he took the baling wire and wound it around the pipe and the nails to hold the pipe upright against the porch roof. It took him several minutes to be sure the pipe was solidly and securely in place. When he was satisfied the pipe wouldn’t fall, I handed the flag up to him and he stuck it in the top of the pipe. Oh, my, it was grand! I was so proud to see that beautiful flag flying over our house. We got the flag in place just as the sun was rising over the eastern horizon.
Of course, that evening as it was nearing sunset, Daddy and I did everything in reverse. We had to return the pipe to the back yard to its place at the water trough. That was Daddy’s and my ritual on holidays until I graduated from High School and moved to Salt Lake City where I acquired my first job. After I left Blanding, Daddy fixed another way to fly the flag. It only required one person to take care of it. I missed our holiday mornings together. Even now, I feel a particular joy in the memories I have of that wonderful tradition. I love to have a flag flying on holidays. The kids and I did the flag thing a lot of the time when we lived in Salt Lake City. After we moved to the Lake Powell area the only time we flew a flag was when we lived on our boat for three years. It was very easy to fly the flag on the boat but when we moved to our house, Jack never got around to fixing something so I could put up a flag. Why didn’t I do something, myself? Well, Jack was always afraid I would make a mess of things and he requested I not try it---so, it never got done.
When we moved to Loa, the young men and young women had a flag project and, for a fee, they put flags up all over town. It was a huge job. I paid the fee and I loved having a flag every holiday. This year they decided not to do the flag project but the flags were offered for sale for those who wanted them. I did. Without telling Jack what I was doing, I bought a flag. The flag is on a hollow pole and a length of rebar came with it. Every holiday I get up at sunrise, pound the rebar into the ground; I place the hollow flag pole over it and “voila” I have my beautiful flag to enjoy. At sunset, I go out and bring the flag into the house---all the while remembering the good times I had helping my Dad fly “Old Glory” high over our little house in Blanding. Having a flag was important to him and it became important to me, as well.
(I found a picture of a flag with 48 stars. That’s the number of stars on the flag when I was young. As a matter of fact, Arizona became the 48th State in 1912 and flags had 48 stars until Alaska and Hawaii became states in 1959. Also I have a couple of other pictures but, alas, I have not learned how to add pictures and I certainly do not want to disturb Juli while they are on their “Make a Wish Trip” so, if you read this and there are no pictures, check back in a week and they will have magically appeared. Thanks, Juli!)
I’ve told you a little about my brother, George, and how sick he was and some of the aftermath of his extended illness now I’ll make an addition to that part of the story. He also had a problem with one of his eyes. Sometimes when I’d look at him both his eyes were straight and he looked right at me, but sometimes his right eye would wander over to the edge of his nose and he looked as though he had a crossed eye. My mom took him to a clinic in Price, Utah, four times each year. The doctors tried several things to straighten his eye and get it to stay in the middle like the other one but nothing seemed to work. An eye doctor in Salt Lake City had had some success doing surgery to straighten eyes so, when George was 12 years old and I was 10 years old, it was decided that George should have this surgery.
One morning during the summer of 1943 I woke up quite early and decided to get up and get dressed. I began to put on my hand-me-down bib overalls with holes in the knees but my mother stopped me. She brought me a freshly ironed dress and clean socks and said I should put them on. I didn’t have any idea what was going on but I put the dress and the clean socks on and my shoes. It was then that she told me that I was going to go to Salt Lake City to visit my sister, Grace. Oh, my, I was excited! I’m sure the reason mom didn’t tell me the night before was because she knew I would get no sleep at all. Daddy had arranged with a local truck driver to transport me to Salt Lake City on his weekly run with a load of lumber from the saw mill. The truck driver’s name was Earl Wright. Two trucks went north every week. The second one was driven by Owen (Ode) Black. Both of them were really nice, trustworthy men. Earl and his wife had been married for quite some time and had no children. They both loved kids and were always doing nice things for the local kids. I liked Earl a lot and felt comfortable with him. Mom gave me some breakfast---I was too excited to be very hungry---and she fixed me a sandwich and an apple to eat for lunch. Daddy took me to Earl’s house (Earl had loaded the truck the day before) and away we went. (When I was three my mother took me to her mother’s funeral in Huntington, Utah and when I was five, my parents took George and me to Moab, Utah for about a week. I don’t remember the reason. My Dad may have had a short-term job in Moab. Those were the only times I had been away from Blanding so going to Salt Lake City was a really big deal).
Of course, the roads were not as nice as they are now. Long stretches were still gravel and there were a number of hairpin turns on the way (that have been straightened out since then). We left about 6:00 a.m. We arrived in Salt Lake City at 7:00 p.m. We were in a truck and it was loaded with lumber but now, even in trucks, it doesn’t generally take 13 hours to make the trip from Blanding to Salt Lake City. I really hadn’t eaten much breakfast so by 10:00 I was hungry and ate my sandwich and apple. When we got to Price, Earl and Ode stopped at a restaurant for something to eat. Ode had his daughter, Erna Mae, with him in his truck. Erna Mae was my age and in my class at school. Earl took me into the restaurant. He ordered a hot roast beef sandwich for himself and also one for me. I had never tasted anything like that before and I really liked it. It was my first time ever eating at a restaurant. After we ate, we got back in the trucks and drove on to Salt Lake.
As we drove over the Point of the Mountain and I saw the Salt Lake Valley I was thrilled. There were so many houses and other buildings. It was almost impossible to believe. Of course, it was nothing like it is now, but it was wonderful to me. Grace lived at 214 West North Temple. I have forgotten the lady’s name who owned the house but Grace and a couple of other young women lived there with the lady. It was quite a large house and had several bedrooms. Each lady had her own bedroom and shared the bathroom. They had kitchen privileges and shared the common (living) room. Grace was working at the Small Arms plant in Ogden so she commuted on the bus to Ogden and back every day. They made guns at the Small Arms Plant---I’m sure you all had that figured out---for the soldiers in the battlefields during World War II. Most of the time during the day, I was left to my own devices. The lady who owned the house was there but I was timid around her so I pretty much stayed in Grace’s room and read books or colored in a coloring book. Occasionally, I would go out in the yard and every afternoon I walked down the sidewalk to the corner, crossed the street to the corner drug store and bought a black walnut ice cream cone. (My dad had given me a dollar to spend while I was away.) The ice cream cone was five cents and the man put a BIG scoop of ice cream on the cone.
In the evenings after Grace got home from work, she would take me to see different sights in the area. One evening, we went to a movie. One evening she took me to Salt Air Resort on the Great Salt Lake. She took me on the roller coaster out there and I thought that was a lot of fun. Everywhere we went, we rode the bus. When the weekend came, she took me up to Shelley, Idaho. My oldest sister, Ora and her husband and kids lived there. Shelley is about five miles outside of Idaho Falls. Wow! I thought I was a world traveler. I think Ora had four kids then. Grace had to go back to Salt Lake to be at work on Monday morning but I stayed with Ora for two weeks. I had a couple of interesting experiences in Idaho but I will save them for a different chapter. It was new and exciting being with Ora and her family for two weeks.
After two weeks, I had to go back to Salt Lake because my mom and dad had brought George up for his eye surgery. Ora and her husband, Stanley, took me to the train in Idaho Falls and sent me back to Salt Lake. There was a very nice man on the train. He talked to me and showed me things to watch for out of the train windows. I was a little worried that there wouldn’t be anyone to meet me in Salt Lake and I mentioned it to the man. He said, “If no one is there, I will take you to your parents.” It wasn’t necessary for him to take me to my parents because my Dad was at the train station to meet me. He was so happy to see me (it had been three weeks) that he scooped me up in his arms and carried me back to Grace’s place. He just didn’t seem to want to let me go. He had to walk several blocks from the train station, but he wouldn’t let me walk. That was the last time he ever carried me, but in my mind, it was a very tender time. Grace was also at the depot. She carried my suitcase---actually, I didn’t have a suitcase. My clothes were in a box tied with heavy string. (I cannot imagine putting a 10-year old girl alone on a train in this day and age. I believe the man who befriended me on the train was very sincere and he would have taken me to Grace’s place if no one had been there to meet me. It was a time of innocence. It’s too bad those days are gone.)
We stayed in Salt Lake for another week and then Daddy and I hitched a ride to Blanding, in Earl Wright’s truck Earl hauled products and equipment from Salt Lake to various businesses in Blanding so the truck didn’t go empty, either direction. Someone with a car brought mom and George to Blanding a couple of days later. Durant must have had to stay home and take care of things while the rest of us were gone. He was 15.
The doctor removed the bandage from George’s eye before Mom and he left Salt Lake to return home. George was fitted with glasses and his “crooked” eye was straight.
There used to be a building behind the Church in Blanding. It was called the “Relief Society” building. For many, many years the Relief Society held their meetings on Tuesday at 2:00 p.m. The Relief Society building was where they held their meetings. The building had two big rooms, both heated with a wood burning stove. There was a bell on top of the building and the bell was used to let people know it was time for the various meetings and it was also used to let the townspeople know there was a fire or other emergency in town. The building was used for the school lunch room as well. There was a huge wood stove in the South room. The stove had a couple of ovens and plenty of cooking space on top. We did not regularly have school lunches when I was in school. Most of the time we all took our own lunch or we walked home for lunch. But, once in a while for two or three weeks at a time there would be hot lunches available in the Relief Society building. The building was, oh, maybe 300 feet from the Elementary School. The High School students also ate school lunch there but they walked four or five blocks to get the school lunch. Often, the students lived closer to the High School than they did to the lunch room. However, when hot lunches were served, there was a lot of participation. We didn’t have much variety---mostly hot soup of some kind with a couple of slices of hot, homemade bread and butter. We had milk to drink and dessert was usually a small dish of apple sauce or canned peaches. As I recall, it cost five cents.
Eventually the R.S. building was torn down and we had no more hot lunches available the rest of the time I was in school. The town obtained a siren to alert people to emergencies and the R.S. building was replaced with a concrete slab. There was a small “band stand” that faced east at the west end of the concrete slab and there was a fence around the slab and band stand. The concrete slab had many uses. For one, it was used as a roller skating rink. We could go there once or twice a week to roller skate. The skates we used could be attached to our shoes and we were given a “skate key” to tighten the skates if they became loose as we skated. There was a leather belt that hooked into the heel piece of the skates and fastened around our ankles to make the skates more secure. It was pretty primitive but we thought it was wonderful. We could go there (I’ve forgotten which night) and skate for two or three hours for ten cents. I couldn’t afford to go every week but some kids did and became very good skaters.
I have given you the background on all of this because I’m leading up to another story about my Dad. The concrete slab was also used for dances. We always had lots of dances in Blanding when I lived there. We had Church dances, school dances, Town dances, square dances. We had dances at the “drop of a hat.” People used to love to dance. Those were the days when people actually held onto each other when they danced. They didn’t hop or jump up and down, they didn’t wave their arms, they didn’t jump into the air and do fake “splits.” People DANCED. Everyone was invited to all of the dances---school, Church---everything. We didn’t have “teen” dances or “adult” dances. We had DANCES.
For a couple of summers, some people organized “square dances” once a week. They had a “caller,” musicians (live) and whoever wanted could come and square dance. My Dad loved to square dance. Though my Mom loved to dance, her feet and legs gave her such grief that she could not dance any more but she wanted Daddy to be able to dance. Daddy asked me if I would go to the square dances with him. YOU BET, I WOULD. I didn’t know the square dancing terms or how to execute the maneuvers but I was smart and willing to learn. Daddy and I went square dancing every week for two summers. It was great fun and we had a blast. I was 11 and 12 those two summers. I believe I was the only “kid” who was actually dancing at the square dances. A lot of people came just to watch. The adults who were dancing were very patient and I learned quickly. As I got so I could do the dancing well, I was complimented by the adults. It was a huge confidence building activity for me.
Two or three years later one of the local men built an enclosed Skating Rink so the kids could skate year around. It cost 25 cents to skate for two hours. I didn’t have that kind of money so I don’t think I skated at the “rink” more that two times. The “open air” dance area was there for many years and they continued to have dances most of the summers. Some years later the concrete slab was replaced with a big Cultural hall with a regulation size basketball court. The Chapel didn’t have a Cultural hall and one was needed. The Cultural hall was built after I had graduated from High School and left Blanding. I don’t believe I’ve ever been inside of the Cultural Hall. I’m just grateful for all the fun experiences that are in my memory.
What I am about to tell you now is probably the most tender and touching time my Dad and I shared together. Actually, I have mixed feelings about sharing it with you at all but in order for you to really know my Dad and to understand why he is so dear to me I have to share this memory.
In January of 1951 when I was a senior in High School I was at a dance in the High School gym. I didn’t have a date. I generally preferred it that way. I knew I would have plenty of opportunities to dance; I always did. I enjoyed dancing with a variety of guys inasmuch as I had no one special in my life. I had never wanted to go “steady.” I liked interacting with more than just one guy at a dance. Even after I married Jack, I still liked it when other men asked me to dance. Jack always thought that was dumb. He thought I should be happy just dancing with him. He didn’t like to dance with other women, so if someone asked me to dance, he usually sat that dance out unless he felt absolutely obligated to dance with the wife of the man who had asked me. Occasionally, another couple would ask us if we’d like to trade partners and in that situation, Jack was forced to dance with the other woman. Okay, I’ll have to admit it---Jack was not a terrific dancer. He thought he was but I was used to dancing with my brother, Durant, who was a fantastic dancer---and there was just no comparison. I danced with several exceptional dancers when I was in High School and I loved dancing with the best dancers.
There were always a few couples who were “going steady” and, obviously, they were at the dance together but most of the High School kids went “stag” to the dances.
So, to get back to my story---I was at a dance and there were some new guys at the dance.
One of them, Georgie Boday, asked me to dance. I accepted and danced with him several times. He was nice and not bad looking. We had fun dancing together and when the dance was over he asked if he could take me home. I was a little leery because I had no idea who he was or why he was in Blanding. Finally, I agreed to allow him to take me home on the condition he would take a friend of mine who lived near to me, with us. Georgie agreed, my friend agreed, and Georgie took us home. He asked if he could see me again and I reluctantly said yes. As I have mentioned: He was nice, polite and not bad looking but I was not “smitten.” The next day was Sunday. Between Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting some of my girl friends and I got together to goof off. One of the gals had her parent’s car to drive and we were driving around town. A short time later one of the girls in the car said, “There’s that guy you were with last night. He is following us.” I looked back and sure enough, he was following us. I told them he asked if he could see me again but I was having fun with my friends and didn’t think I wanted to be with him. Several of the girls in the car said, “Oh, Marilyn, he is so cute. I wish he wanted to be with me. You should go.” I allowed them to persuade me and I got in his car. I don’t remember, particularly, what we did other than ride around town that day but we did have opportunity to talk and get acquainted.
Now, just a little history lesson: The last half of 1950 and in 1951 Uranium had become very important to the U. S. Government. The Military had used two atomic bombs on Japan to “encourage” the Japanese to stop fighting. The war ended in 1945 but the United States continued to make and test nuclear bombs. In order to do that, they needed uranium and there was plenty of uranium in the ground in southeastern Utah. There were a lot of uranium mines around Blanding. A Company named “Joy Diamond Core Drillers” had sent a few men to Blanding to drill in various locations to find more uranium and, perhaps, other elements. It wasn’t long before they were referred to as “the Joy Boys.” Naturally, the guys wanted to have girl friends and enjoy the local activities. That’s why they were in Blanding at the dance on Saturday night.
We had fun together and inasmuch as my girl friends thought Gerogie was “so cute” and they wished he wanted to spend time with them, I thought, “He likes me and wants to be with me so I guess I won’t share him.” Suddenly, Georgie and I became an “item.” We dated for a couple of months and he asked me to marry him. I enjoyed being with him and doing things together; I liked him but I was not in love with him. I have no idea why I said “yes.” There were too many things wrong with our relationship. Yes, we enjoyed each other’s company and we did some fun things but we had almost nothing in common. First and foremost he was Catholic and I was, still am, and always will be, a devout member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Still, we plunged ahead making plans, renting an apartment, etc. My parents would never have given their permission for me to marry Georgie so we decided we’d wait for my 18th birthday on April 6th and then we would go to Trinidad, Colorado, where his parents were prepared to welcome me with “open arms” and we’d get married there. All my girl friends got together and gave me a combined early birthday party and bridal shower. Though I had reservations about the whole thing I was allowing myself to be swept along in the excitement and anticipation of a wedding. It just so happened that I had the “leading lady part” in our school musical that year. We had dress rehearsal Wednesday night. Wednesday was also my 18th birthday. Georgie usually waited for me and took me home after rehearsals but the dress rehearsal was going to be quite long so I told him not to wait for me---I would walk home. We were scheduled to do a matinee performance on Thursday afternoon plus an evening performance. The final performance was Friday night and Georgie’s and my plans were that we would go to Colorado on Saturday.
I got home Wednesday night about 10:00 p.m. I was hungry. I hadn’t had any food since lunch so I fixed myself something to eat and grabbed an Improvement Era from the kitchen counter to read while I ate my supper. (When I eat alone, I have always had to have something to read while I eat. My mother had gone to Salt Lake to stay with Grace. Her explanation for going to Salt Lake at that time was, “I’m not going to stay here and watch you prepare to marry someone not of our faith.” Daddy was in bed asleep, as were my brothers, Durant and George.) I opened the Improvement Era and it fell open to an article by Apostle Mark E. Peterson. He was always my favorite Apostle speaker so I read the article and he talked about Temple Marriage. I began to wonder what in the world I was doing. I had always wanted to be married in the Temple. It was my goal. I realized how much I would be giving up if I proceeded to marry Georgie. He smoked, he drank and he was Catholic. I didn’t see any possibility that he would ever join my Church and I knew I would never join his. I got out my patriarchal blessing and read it. There was a sentence that almost leaped off the page and I realized I had never noticed that sentence before. It said: “Pray diligently that you will not be unequally yoked with an unbeliever….” There’s more but that’s all I’ll quote today. I got ready for bed, and as I said my nightly prayers, I asked for guidance.
Thursday morning I awoke feeling very calm. I knew what I needed to do. Durant was in the kitchen and I told him I had decided not to marry Georgie. He smiled, gave me a hug and told me how happy he was and then he said, “Be sure to tell Daddy before you go to school. He’s in the front yard working in the garden.” I went outside and walked over to Daddy. I said, “I have something to tell you.” He stopped working, looked at me and said, “All right.” I told him of my decision not to marry Georgie. Daddy dropped his shovel, put his arms around me, laid his head on my shoulder and sobbed. That was the only time I ever saw or heard my Dad cry. As long as I live I will never forget the emotion of that moment. Though I had always known my Dad loved me, I had never realized the intensity of his love and caring for me. I had very nearly broken his heart. Every time I think of those few minutes with my Dad (and I think of it often) tears well up in my eyes. As I type this, tears are running down my face and my throat aches. I came so close to hurting and disappointing my Dad. I loved and respected him. I’m grateful I had the good sense not to disappoint him.
I met Jack in August of 1951 and we married in November of l951. It has not always been smooth nor easy, but it was certainly better than it would have been if I had married Georgie. That weekend, instead of going to Colorado, Georgie went to Price, Utah, with his buddies. He spent the weekend drunk and in bed with a prostitute. One of his buddies told me about it. I realized then that if Georgie and I had married and ever argued, that’s how he would have spent his time---drunk and in bed with a prostitute. Any problems Jack and I have had seem minor in comparison.
My apologies to all of you. I believe this one is as long as the last one. I will try to make my stories shorter after this. Do you think I can?
I love you all.
Now, Happy Birthday to Justin, July 21st and Tal, July 25th.
There are several more things I want to tell you about my Dad—I could have added them in my last post but it was quite long, as it was. This one will not be so long. I can hear your sighs of relief.
I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you the story I keep promising to tell about my brother, George. There were a lot of things he could not do and because he couldn’t, I was the beneficiary. I’m not glad he couldn’t do the things I did to help my Dad but I’ve always been happy about the time I was able to spend with my Dad. I don’t think either of my sisters had the opportunity to be with him as I was but I know my sister, Grace, feels the same way about Daddy as I. He was a great influence in our lives. My oldest sister, Ora, may also have felt about him as Grace and I do but I never had/took the opportunity to discuss it with her. She was 15 years older than I so she seemed more like an aunt or other relative than a sister. I loved her but I didn’t know her very well.
Let’s get back to George. I think one of my first memories is not really a memory, but more of an impression. I seem to remember being really young and feeling as though something was going on and I was not the center of attention. I see these shadowy figures moving around and the atmosphere was very hushed. I have the impression in my mind that my parents were very concerned about something. I was about 20 months old and I had the measles. In those days they were called red measles (not rubella/German measles). Perhaps they are just called “measles” now since German measles are called rubella. Measles are a terrible disease. Thank heaven there’s a vaccine for all of you.George was getting over measles but he had developed complications (I believe they called it “measles encephalitis”) and he was extremely sick. He had to be watched and cared for 24 hours a day. Obviously, mom couldn’t watch him 24 hours a day so there were two or three women who took turns sitting with him every day. I don’t know how long this continued but he didn’t get any better—in fact, he was getting worse. My grandfather Black (Benjamin Daniel Black) was the Stake Patriarch. He was at our house and while he was there George took a turn for the worse. His temperature was over 106 degrees and had been for quite a while. Nothing they did seemed to help. Finally, George quit breathing. I think this is the point when I got the impression of the shadowy figures and the hushed atmosphere but that impression has been in my mind all of my life. The rest of what I am about to tell you mostly came from Grace. She was 11 and remembers it quite clearly. Also, I got bits and pieces from my mom but she didn’t like to talk about it much. I guess no one there knew about CPR at that time (1935) and shortly after George quit breathing my grandfather pronounced him dead. It was suggested at that time that it might be a good idea to give George a Priesthood Blessing which they promptly did---my grandfather pronounced the blessing on him. In a very short time George began breathing again. However, he was still very, very sick. The closest hospital was in Salt Lake City. They needed to get George to the hospital and do it very quickly.
There was a man in town whose name was Vernon Rowley. He had a big, fast car and he always drove it like a “bat out of you know where.” I seem to remember that he preferred Lincoln vehicles. Even then the Lincoln would go fast (I don’t know whether fast in those days was fast like cars are now but he always seemed to drive to the limit of the car’s capability). Someone suggested Brother Rowley would be able to get George to the hospital faster than anyone else in town. He was asked and he quickly agreed. Shortly after that, George was on the way to the hospital. A lady named Jenny Palmer went with him because she had a wonderful, soothing effect on George and could keep him calmer than anyone. Neither my Mom nor my Dad could go with him.
George was in the LDS hospital for four months. Daddy was able to make one trip to Salt Lake to be with him. My grandfather Black was in the State Legislature. The Legislature was in session for a period of time while George was in the hospital. Grandpa visited George regularly while he was in Salt Lake doing Legislature business.. The LDS hospital had a wing for children that eventually became the “Primary Children’s Hospital.” Apparently George had remarkable nurses and doctors.
George was so sick and he had that high temperature for such a long period of time that there was brain damage. He was a little “slow” after that. I wouldn’t say that he was retarded because he never seemed to me to be retarded but he was “slow.” He had to learn to walk and talk all over again. They gave him a lot of physical therapy in the hospital but his muscle coordination was never very good. If you were to see him walking down the street and if you didn’t know who he was you would probably think he was drunk. He never was, of course. He was just clumsy. He used to stumble and fall a lot as a child. He never was able to ride a bicycle or drive a car. As an adult, his walking became smoother but he never walked “normal.” I should tell you now that he did graduate from High School—not with A’s, but he was able to graduate. Eventually he went on a Mission to the Spanish-American Mission (Arizona, New Mexico and part of Texas, I believe) and he learned to speak Spanish which he remembered all of his life. He had an incredible ability to memorize. He did get married and he and his wife, Glenna, had three remarkable children--one daughter and two sons. Glenna was a “wild woman” but that is a story for another day.
Now you know why Daddy couldn’t have George helping with the farm equipment. That is the reason I had the privilege of spending so much time working with my Dad.
When I was about eight years old, Daddy was able to buy a United States flag. We didn’t have a proper flag pole. We didn’t even have one of those things that people put on the side of their house in which to stick the pole that came with the flag. It was just a flag on a six foot wood pole. The first Fourth of July after he got the flag he came and woke me before the sun was up and asked if I wanted to help him put up the flag. I did. I got up and got dressed. At higher altitudes it always cools off at night (wonderful for sleeping) and by morning it’s pretty cold. I had to put a jacket on because my skinny little body was shaking with the cold. I went outside to find Daddy and I asked him where he was going to put the flag. He told me he had an idea but it was going to take some work because he wanted the flag to be very high. We had one water tap on the west side of our house and one on the east side. There was a hose on the tap on the west side of the house that was stretched over to a pipe. The pipe was about 15 feet long and the hose fit in one end. The other end of the pipe was placed over the water trough for the cows. The trough was a 55 gallon metal barrel that had a piece cut out so the cows could drink (and the horses, too, when we had them). Daddy had water running into the barrel (water trough). He told me he was filling the trough because he needed the pipe and we wouldn’t be able to put more water in the trough until we took the flag down at sundown. When the trough was full, I turned off the water and Daddy took the hose out of the end of the pipe. He carried the pipe to the front (east) side of the house. He had already leaned the ladder against the roof of the front porch. He had a hammer and nails (in case he needed them) and he had some baling wire. (Baling wire was the “duct tape” of pioneer days). We used it for all kinds of things. He laid the pipe on the ground and climbed the ladder. I handed the hammer, nails and baling wire up to him (I had to climb part way up the ladder). Then he asked me to get the pipe and lean it against the roof over the porch. The pipe was made of cast iron and was quite heavy for me. I struggled with it but finally got it high enough that I could let it lean against the roof. With me on the ground and Daddy on the porch roof, we worried the pipe over to the high point of the roof. He did have to pound some nails into the roof. The bottom of the pipe was resting on the ground and leaning against the roof. That’s when he took the baling wire and wound it around the pipe and the nails to hold the pipe upright against the porch roof. It took him several minutes to be sure the pipe was solidly and securely in place. When he was satisfied the pipe wouldn’t fall, I handed the flag up to him and he stuck it in the top of the pipe. Oh, my, it was grand! I was so proud to see that beautiful flag flying over our house. We got the flag in place just as the sun was rising over the eastern horizon.Of course, that evening as it was nearing sunset, Daddy and I did everything in reverse. We had to return the pipe to the back yard to its place at the water trough. That was Daddy’s and my ritual on holidays until I graduated from High School and moved to Salt Lake City where I acquired my first job. After I left Blanding, Daddy fixed another way to fly the flag. It only required one person to take care of it. I missed our holiday mornings together. Even now, I feel a particular joy in the memories I have of that wonderful tradition. I love to have a flag flying on holidays. The kids and I did the flag thing a lot of the time when we lived in Salt Lake City. After we moved to the Lake Powell area the only time we flew a flag was when we lived on our boat for three years. It was very easy to fly the flag on the boat but when we moved to our house, Jack never got around to fixing something so I could put up a flag. Why didn’t I do something, myself? Well, Jack was always afraid I would make a mess of things and he requested I not try it---so, it never got done.
When we moved to Loa, the young men and young women had a flag project and, for a fee, they put flags up all over town. It was a huge job. I paid the fee and I loved having a flag every holiday. This year they decided not to do the flag project but the flags were offered for sale for those who wanted them. I did. Without telling Jack what I was doing, I bought a flag. The flag is on a hollow pole and a length of rebar came with it. Every holiday I get up at sunrise, pound the rebar into the ground; I place the hollow flag pole over it and “voila” I have my beautiful flag to enjoy. At sunset, I go out and bring the flag into the house---all the while remembering the good times I had helping my Dad fly “Old Glory” high over our little house in Blanding. Having a flag was important to him and it became important to me, as well.
(I found a picture of a flag with 48 stars. That’s the number of stars on the flag when I was young. As a matter of fact, Arizona became the 48th State in 1912 and flags had 48 stars until Alaska and Hawaii became states in 1959. Also I have a couple of other pictures but, alas, I have not learned how to add pictures and I certainly do not want to disturb Juli while they are on their “Make a Wish Trip” so, if you read this and there are no pictures, check back in a week and they will have magically appeared. Thanks, Juli!)
I’ve told you a little about my brother, George, and how sick he was and some of the aftermath of his extended illness now I’ll make an addition to that part of the story. He also had a problem with one of his eyes. Sometimes when I’d look at him both his eyes were straight and he looked right at me, but sometimes his right eye would wander over to the edge of his nose and he looked as though he had a crossed eye. My mom took him to a clinic in Price, Utah, four times each year. The doctors tried several things to straighten his eye and get it to stay in the middle like the other one but nothing seemed to work. An eye doctor in Salt Lake City had had some success doing surgery to straighten eyes so, when George was 12 years old and I was 10 years old, it was decided that George should have this surgery.
One morning during the summer of 1943 I woke up quite early and decided to get up and get dressed. I began to put on my hand-me-down bib overalls with holes in the knees but my mother stopped me. She brought me a freshly ironed dress and clean socks and said I should put them on. I didn’t have any idea what was going on but I put the dress and the clean socks on and my shoes. It was then that she told me that I was going to go to Salt Lake City to visit my sister, Grace. Oh, my, I was excited! I’m sure the reason mom didn’t tell me the night before was because she knew I would get no sleep at all. Daddy had arranged with a local truck driver to transport me to Salt Lake City on his weekly run with a load of lumber from the saw mill. The truck driver’s name was Earl Wright. Two trucks went north every week. The second one was driven by Owen (Ode) Black. Both of them were really nice, trustworthy men. Earl and his wife had been married for quite some time and had no children. They both loved kids and were always doing nice things for the local kids. I liked Earl a lot and felt comfortable with him. Mom gave me some breakfast---I was too excited to be very hungry---and she fixed me a sandwich and an apple to eat for lunch. Daddy took me to Earl’s house (Earl had loaded the truck the day before) and away we went. (When I was three my mother took me to her mother’s funeral in Huntington, Utah and when I was five, my parents took George and me to Moab, Utah for about a week. I don’t remember the reason. My Dad may have had a short-term job in Moab. Those were the only times I had been away from Blanding so going to Salt Lake City was a really big deal).
Of course, the roads were not as nice as they are now. Long stretches were still gravel and there were a number of hairpin turns on the way (that have been straightened out since then). We left about 6:00 a.m. We arrived in Salt Lake City at 7:00 p.m. We were in a truck and it was loaded with lumber but now, even in trucks, it doesn’t generally take 13 hours to make the trip from Blanding to Salt Lake City. I really hadn’t eaten much breakfast so by 10:00 I was hungry and ate my sandwich and apple. When we got to Price, Earl and Ode stopped at a restaurant for something to eat. Ode had his daughter, Erna Mae, with him in his truck. Erna Mae was my age and in my class at school. Earl took me into the restaurant. He ordered a hot roast beef sandwich for himself and also one for me. I had never tasted anything like that before and I really liked it. It was my first time ever eating at a restaurant. After we ate, we got back in the trucks and drove on to Salt Lake.
As we drove over the Point of the Mountain and I saw the Salt Lake Valley I was thrilled. There were so many houses and other buildings. It was almost impossible to believe. Of course, it was nothing like it is now, but it was wonderful to me. Grace lived at 214 West North Temple. I have forgotten the lady’s name who owned the house but Grace and a couple of other young women lived there with the lady. It was quite a large house and had several bedrooms. Each lady had her own bedroom and shared the bathroom. They had kitchen privileges and shared the common (living) room. Grace was working at the Small Arms plant in Ogden so she commuted on the bus to Ogden and back every day. They made guns at the Small Arms Plant---I’m sure you all had that figured out---for the soldiers in the battlefields during World War II. Most of the time during the day, I was left to my own devices. The lady who owned the house was there but I was timid around her so I pretty much stayed in Grace’s room and read books or colored in a coloring book. Occasionally, I would go out in the yard and every afternoon I walked down the sidewalk to the corner, crossed the street to the corner drug store and bought a black walnut ice cream cone. (My dad had given me a dollar to spend while I was away.) The ice cream cone was five cents and the man put a BIG scoop of ice cream on the cone.
In the evenings after Grace got home from work, she would take me to see different sights in the area. One evening, we went to a movie. One evening she took me to Salt Air Resort on the Great Salt Lake. She took me on the roller coaster out there and I thought that was a lot of fun. Everywhere we went, we rode the bus. When the weekend came, she took me up to Shelley, Idaho. My oldest sister, Ora and her husband and kids lived there. Shelley is about five miles outside of Idaho Falls. Wow! I thought I was a world traveler. I think Ora had four kids then. Grace had to go back to Salt Lake to be at work on Monday morning but I stayed with Ora for two weeks. I had a couple of interesting experiences in Idaho but I will save them for a different chapter. It was new and exciting being with Ora and her family for two weeks.
After two weeks, I had to go back to Salt Lake because my mom and dad had brought George up for his eye surgery. Ora and her husband, Stanley, took me to the train in Idaho Falls and sent me back to Salt Lake. There was a very nice man on the train. He talked to me and showed me things to watch for out of the train windows. I was a little worried that there wouldn’t be anyone to meet me in Salt Lake and I mentioned it to the man. He said, “If no one is there, I will take you to your parents.” It wasn’t necessary for him to take me to my parents because my Dad was at the train station to meet me. He was so happy to see me (it had been three weeks) that he scooped me up in his arms and carried me back to Grace’s place. He just didn’t seem to want to let me go. He had to walk several blocks from the train station, but he wouldn’t let me walk. That was the last time he ever carried me, but in my mind, it was a very tender time. Grace was also at the depot. She carried my suitcase---actually, I didn’t have a suitcase. My clothes were in a box tied with heavy string. (I cannot imagine putting a 10-year old girl alone on a train in this day and age. I believe the man who befriended me on the train was very sincere and he would have taken me to Grace’s place if no one had been there to meet me. It was a time of innocence. It’s too bad those days are gone.)We stayed in Salt Lake for another week and then Daddy and I hitched a ride to Blanding, in Earl Wright’s truck Earl hauled products and equipment from Salt Lake to various businesses in Blanding so the truck didn’t go empty, either direction. Someone with a car brought mom and George to Blanding a couple of days later. Durant must have had to stay home and take care of things while the rest of us were gone. He was 15.
The doctor removed the bandage from George’s eye before Mom and he left Salt Lake to return home. George was fitted with glasses and his “crooked” eye was straight.
There used to be a building behind the Church in Blanding. It was called the “Relief Society” building. For many, many years the Relief Society held their meetings on Tuesday at 2:00 p.m. The Relief Society building was where they held their meetings. The building had two big rooms, both heated with a wood burning stove. There was a bell on top of the building and the bell was used to let people know it was time for the various meetings and it was also used to let the townspeople know there was a fire or other emergency in town. The building was used for the school lunch room as well. There was a huge wood stove in the South room. The stove had a couple of ovens and plenty of cooking space on top. We did not regularly have school lunches when I was in school. Most of the time we all took our own lunch or we walked home for lunch. But, once in a while for two or three weeks at a time there would be hot lunches available in the Relief Society building. The building was, oh, maybe 300 feet from the Elementary School. The High School students also ate school lunch there but they walked four or five blocks to get the school lunch. Often, the students lived closer to the High School than they did to the lunch room. However, when hot lunches were served, there was a lot of participation. We didn’t have much variety---mostly hot soup of some kind with a couple of slices of hot, homemade bread and butter. We had milk to drink and dessert was usually a small dish of apple sauce or canned peaches. As I recall, it cost five cents.
Eventually the R.S. building was torn down and we had no more hot lunches available the rest of the time I was in school. The town obtained a siren to alert people to emergencies and the R.S. building was replaced with a concrete slab. There was a small “band stand” that faced east at the west end of the concrete slab and there was a fence around the slab and band stand. The concrete slab had many uses. For one, it was used as a roller skating rink. We could go there once or twice a week to roller skate. The skates we used could be attached to our shoes and we were given a “skate key” to tighten the skates if they became loose as we skated. There was a leather belt that hooked into the heel piece of the skates and fastened around our ankles to make the skates more secure. It was pretty primitive but we thought it was wonderful. We could go there (I’ve forgotten which night) and skate for two or three hours for ten cents. I couldn’t afford to go every week but some kids did and became very good skaters.I have given you the background on all of this because I’m leading up to another story about my Dad. The concrete slab was also used for dances. We always had lots of dances in Blanding when I lived there. We had Church dances, school dances, Town dances, square dances. We had dances at the “drop of a hat.” People used to love to dance. Those were the days when people actually held onto each other when they danced. They didn’t hop or jump up and down, they didn’t wave their arms, they didn’t jump into the air and do fake “splits.” People DANCED. Everyone was invited to all of the dances---school, Church---everything. We didn’t have “teen” dances or “adult” dances. We had DANCES.
For a couple of summers, some people organized “square dances” once a week. They had a “caller,” musicians (live) and whoever wanted could come and square dance. My Dad loved to square dance. Though my Mom loved to dance, her feet and legs gave her such grief that she could not dance any more but she wanted Daddy to be able to dance. Daddy asked me if I would go to the square dances with him. YOU BET, I WOULD. I didn’t know the square dancing terms or how to execute the maneuvers but I was smart and willing to learn. Daddy and I went square dancing every week for two summers. It was great fun and we had a blast. I was 11 and 12 those two summers. I believe I was the only “kid” who was actually dancing at the square dances. A lot of people came just to watch. The adults who were dancing were very patient and I learned quickly. As I got so I could do the dancing well, I was complimented by the adults. It was a huge confidence building activity for me.
Two or three years later one of the local men built an enclosed Skating Rink so the kids could skate year around. It cost 25 cents to skate for two hours. I didn’t have that kind of money so I don’t think I skated at the “rink” more that two times. The “open air” dance area was there for many years and they continued to have dances most of the summers. Some years later the concrete slab was replaced with a big Cultural hall with a regulation size basketball court. The Chapel didn’t have a Cultural hall and one was needed. The Cultural hall was built after I had graduated from High School and left Blanding. I don’t believe I’ve ever been inside of the Cultural Hall. I’m just grateful for all the fun experiences that are in my memory.
What I am about to tell you now is probably the most tender and touching time my Dad and I shared together. Actually, I have mixed feelings about sharing it with you at all but in order for you to really know my Dad and to understand why he is so dear to me I have to share this memory.
In January of 1951 when I was a senior in High School I was at a dance in the High School gym. I didn’t have a date. I generally preferred it that way. I knew I would have plenty of opportunities to dance; I always did. I enjoyed dancing with a variety of guys inasmuch as I had no one special in my life. I had never wanted to go “steady.” I liked interacting with more than just one guy at a dance. Even after I married Jack, I still liked it when other men asked me to dance. Jack always thought that was dumb. He thought I should be happy just dancing with him. He didn’t like to dance with other women, so if someone asked me to dance, he usually sat that dance out unless he felt absolutely obligated to dance with the wife of the man who had asked me. Occasionally, another couple would ask us if we’d like to trade partners and in that situation, Jack was forced to dance with the other woman. Okay, I’ll have to admit it---Jack was not a terrific dancer. He thought he was but I was used to dancing with my brother, Durant, who was a fantastic dancer---and there was just no comparison. I danced with several exceptional dancers when I was in High School and I loved dancing with the best dancers.
There were always a few couples who were “going steady” and, obviously, they were at the dance together but most of the High School kids went “stag” to the dances.
So, to get back to my story---I was at a dance and there were some new guys at the dance.
One of them, Georgie Boday, asked me to dance. I accepted and danced with him several times. He was nice and not bad looking. We had fun dancing together and when the dance was over he asked if he could take me home. I was a little leery because I had no idea who he was or why he was in Blanding. Finally, I agreed to allow him to take me home on the condition he would take a friend of mine who lived near to me, with us. Georgie agreed, my friend agreed, and Georgie took us home. He asked if he could see me again and I reluctantly said yes. As I have mentioned: He was nice, polite and not bad looking but I was not “smitten.” The next day was Sunday. Between Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting some of my girl friends and I got together to goof off. One of the gals had her parent’s car to drive and we were driving around town. A short time later one of the girls in the car said, “There’s that guy you were with last night. He is following us.” I looked back and sure enough, he was following us. I told them he asked if he could see me again but I was having fun with my friends and didn’t think I wanted to be with him. Several of the girls in the car said, “Oh, Marilyn, he is so cute. I wish he wanted to be with me. You should go.” I allowed them to persuade me and I got in his car. I don’t remember, particularly, what we did other than ride around town that day but we did have opportunity to talk and get acquainted.
Now, just a little history lesson: The last half of 1950 and in 1951 Uranium had become very important to the U. S. Government. The Military had used two atomic bombs on Japan to “encourage” the Japanese to stop fighting. The war ended in 1945 but the United States continued to make and test nuclear bombs. In order to do that, they needed uranium and there was plenty of uranium in the ground in southeastern Utah. There were a lot of uranium mines around Blanding. A Company named “Joy Diamond Core Drillers” had sent a few men to Blanding to drill in various locations to find more uranium and, perhaps, other elements. It wasn’t long before they were referred to as “the Joy Boys.” Naturally, the guys wanted to have girl friends and enjoy the local activities. That’s why they were in Blanding at the dance on Saturday night.
We had fun together and inasmuch as my girl friends thought Gerogie was “so cute” and they wished he wanted to spend time with them, I thought, “He likes me and wants to be with me so I guess I won’t share him.” Suddenly, Georgie and I became an “item.” We dated for a couple of months and he asked me to marry him. I enjoyed being with him and doing things together; I liked him but I was not in love with him. I have no idea why I said “yes.” There were too many things wrong with our relationship. Yes, we enjoyed each other’s company and we did some fun things but we had almost nothing in common. First and foremost he was Catholic and I was, still am, and always will be, a devout member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Still, we plunged ahead making plans, renting an apartment, etc. My parents would never have given their permission for me to marry Georgie so we decided we’d wait for my 18th birthday on April 6th and then we would go to Trinidad, Colorado, where his parents were prepared to welcome me with “open arms” and we’d get married there. All my girl friends got together and gave me a combined early birthday party and bridal shower. Though I had reservations about the whole thing I was allowing myself to be swept along in the excitement and anticipation of a wedding. It just so happened that I had the “leading lady part” in our school musical that year. We had dress rehearsal Wednesday night. Wednesday was also my 18th birthday. Georgie usually waited for me and took me home after rehearsals but the dress rehearsal was going to be quite long so I told him not to wait for me---I would walk home. We were scheduled to do a matinee performance on Thursday afternoon plus an evening performance. The final performance was Friday night and Georgie’s and my plans were that we would go to Colorado on Saturday.
I got home Wednesday night about 10:00 p.m. I was hungry. I hadn’t had any food since lunch so I fixed myself something to eat and grabbed an Improvement Era from the kitchen counter to read while I ate my supper. (When I eat alone, I have always had to have something to read while I eat. My mother had gone to Salt Lake to stay with Grace. Her explanation for going to Salt Lake at that time was, “I’m not going to stay here and watch you prepare to marry someone not of our faith.” Daddy was in bed asleep, as were my brothers, Durant and George.) I opened the Improvement Era and it fell open to an article by Apostle Mark E. Peterson. He was always my favorite Apostle speaker so I read the article and he talked about Temple Marriage. I began to wonder what in the world I was doing. I had always wanted to be married in the Temple. It was my goal. I realized how much I would be giving up if I proceeded to marry Georgie. He smoked, he drank and he was Catholic. I didn’t see any possibility that he would ever join my Church and I knew I would never join his. I got out my patriarchal blessing and read it. There was a sentence that almost leaped off the page and I realized I had never noticed that sentence before. It said: “Pray diligently that you will not be unequally yoked with an unbeliever….” There’s more but that’s all I’ll quote today. I got ready for bed, and as I said my nightly prayers, I asked for guidance.
Thursday morning I awoke feeling very calm. I knew what I needed to do. Durant was in the kitchen and I told him I had decided not to marry Georgie. He smiled, gave me a hug and told me how happy he was and then he said, “Be sure to tell Daddy before you go to school. He’s in the front yard working in the garden.” I went outside and walked over to Daddy. I said, “I have something to tell you.” He stopped working, looked at me and said, “All right.” I told him of my decision not to marry Georgie. Daddy dropped his shovel, put his arms around me, laid his head on my shoulder and sobbed. That was the only time I ever saw or heard my Dad cry. As long as I live I will never forget the emotion of that moment. Though I had always known my Dad loved me, I had never realized the intensity of his love and caring for me. I had very nearly broken his heart. Every time I think of those few minutes with my Dad (and I think of it often) tears well up in my eyes. As I type this, tears are running down my face and my throat aches. I came so close to hurting and disappointing my Dad. I loved and respected him. I’m grateful I had the good sense not to disappoint him.
I met Jack in August of 1951 and we married in November of l951. It has not always been smooth nor easy, but it was certainly better than it would have been if I had married Georgie. That weekend, instead of going to Colorado, Georgie went to Price, Utah, with his buddies. He spent the weekend drunk and in bed with a prostitute. One of his buddies told me about it. I realized then that if Georgie and I had married and ever argued, that’s how he would have spent his time---drunk and in bed with a prostitute. Any problems Jack and I have had seem minor in comparison.
My apologies to all of you. I believe this one is as long as the last one. I will try to make my stories shorter after this. Do you think I can?
I love you all.
Now, Happy Birthday to Justin, July 21st and Tal, July 25th.
